Log: Gonna make a comeback this time.

[hititwithacrowbar]

who: Jason Todd
what: Just a batboy out being his hot mess self.
when:the 6th-20th.
where: Around the Quarantine.
warnings: Violence, and language will update with more.


A: Communal housing & Garage
The last thing Jason had expected upon getting home from work and showering was the sound of the front door. After a quick conversation with another member of the Parameter Guard and a familiar set of keys shoved in his hands, Jason ran down to the elevator without bothering with a shirt or shoes. When he saw the red and chrome machine he couldn't help but smile. He had been saving since he arrived to try and buy a motorcycle even close to this one. And it had it's own little reserved spot. Like it belonged here as much as him. He smiled, almost cheeky, the way he had so often as a boy before pocketing the keys and making his way back inside and up to finish getting dressed.

Jason found his way back down to the motorcycle once he was done with his normal afternoon busy work. Slipping on he just sat there and let the engine idle a bit. He had missed his bike. He sat there awhile before slipping off to look over each part to make sure everything was as It should be.

An hour or so later, he tore out into the night speeding.


B: Trixie
A few nights after the fight at the sleazy bar, Jason made his way to Trixie, after all, it was the best place to go when he missed his replacement, not that he would ever in any life admit that. Plus Loki was still there, and he hadn't gone to see the guy in awhile. Friendship, or whatever it was, was a two-way street. He gave a nod to the bouncer on his way in, if it was Nico a moment was spared to talk to his creepy friend.

After making his way inside he didn't go to the VIP but to the bar proper to sit and do his usual taking in of people around him. A book opened on the counter as he quietly read. He would go hunt Loki down soon but a chapter or two at the bar while he nursed a beer wasn't a big deal it would kill time.

C: Floor Six
It was pushing three am when the window near Jay's room slid back open. He always vanished around ten or eleven, stepping in he yanked the bag over his shoulder and he looked around at his roommates, if they were asleep or not. His jacket was zipped up as he made his way right to the bathroom. He made quick work of disarming the taser in his body armor and pulling it off in chunks. Each part he hides hidden in his bag as he made his way back out. The bag shoved in the trunk as he shed his pants and grabbed the red cloak up wrapping it around himself as he headed into the kitchen in just the boxers and cape. Making himself a bowl of cereal and moving to sit down at the TV.

D: Random Club
It was a Saturday night, and while he should be out patrolling, or god knows what else. He opted instead to shake off his loneliness by going to one of the clubs. He had even dressed the part, and styled his hair pretty neat, which wouldn't last if he actually danced with anyone. He hadn't told his roommates where he went, he never does after all. Once he got in, he went to the bar and had a couple drinks to start the night off. As the night went on, he eventually made his way to the floor.

He was feeling better as the night went on. Dancing with different people, and just generally pretending to be someone else. Jason Todd had a night off, so, he was trying to be like any other twenty three year old on a Saturday night. He wasn't looking for anyone to take home, just for a few minutes of unattached fun to the thumping club music.

Comments

[adiuvio]

John doesn’t know Jason. He didn’t choose this bar, windowless, in the basement of a rundown building, with unsavoury food, and even less savoury people, to know them. No one does. You choose it to disappear amidst the clouds of smoke, or in the bottom of the bottle, or the front of a stranger’s jeans, in a dirty bathroom, or a back alley, without names or shame. A bar like this one isn’t for the faint, or pure, of heart. People come here looking to forget, to fuck, or to fight. The men Jason bumps into, already drunk and angry long before he’d crossed their paths, are looking for the latter.

John doesn’t have to know Jason to know the odds are against him. John has killed two men in a bar with a pencil, among other writing implements and utensils, but that's him. Living proof that the odds don't mean jack shit if you're of a constitution that defies them.

Jason leaves the bar. The men follow Jason. John follows the men. He'd come to the bar too, after all. Maybe he was just as guilty of looking for violence as these thugs, the difference being that he has standards. His blood's gotten too rich for pointless skirmishes. He's been recently cursed with a taste for purpose.

He stands off to the side in the dark parking lot, just one more shadow among shadows, and watches. He doesn't know Jason, but upon his first strike, first taunt, first light of madness and joy in his eyes, John knows who he's betting on, and it's against the odds.

[hititwithacrowbar]

Jason choose these haunts for the anonymity, another dark haired man nursing piss poor beer in a rundown excuse of a bar. He doubted they even had the proper licences or a health score, but the information that could be gained, the trouble that could be found. The rush of the forbidden that no one would blink an eye at. These were things that attracted him away from the glittering offer of free booze at two of the nicer bars. These were the closest places he'd ever find to the hell of Gotham the kinds of places where the man behind the mask could find his next mark.

While he had not taken a life in this new world, he didn't ever take that off the menu. Scum sometimes needed put down. Jason could have pulled the knife under his belt, or anything near by but no, that would mean he saw them as a threat. Four drunken thugs weren't enough to even really bother him.

Jason moves with skill, and enough fluid motion to show he hadn't drank all that much at all. Fists connecting with jaws, faces and anywhere that came in his range. One of the men managed to land a punch, and before he even had time to think instinct took over, the blood from his lip spit in the man's face and Jason's forehead slamming hard into the other's sending him back stumbling and right down on his ass. The ciggarette from behind Jason's ear, falling down beside the other, but there was no time to worry about that. Jay's head was ringing now but four had dropped to two, and one of those two was starting to look a little less brave without his bigger buddies around. Jason didn't wait though, fire was in his veins, and he's been cooped up to much, he wanted the pain and the flash of fists. He wanted a challenge. Charging forward again he swung hard as the uncertain one turned to run, but his buddy swug thinking he could do what the other's hadn't and the sound of punches connecting could be heard before a retching noise. Jason's fist in the other's stomach as he tumbled down next, vomit spewing free near his shoes.

Both men stood still a second before, and one remained. His eyes watched the runner. His mind had been so focused on the fight he forgot Bruce's rule, always pay mind to your surroundings. Somehow he missed the shadow in the shadows.

[adiuvio]

It turns out John does know Jason after all. Now that he’s seen him in action, wild, and free, the resemblance is uncanny. It’s like looking into a mirror, give or take twenty years. John, in his bloody, reckless youth. Made up of tooth, nail, and sharp edges. Unsettled and satisfied. John hadn’t found himself at the top of the food chain by accident. More than anything, it was the hunger that did it. The same hunger he sees in Jason’s eyes right now.

“You missed one.” John steps out the shadows, watching with some amusement as the last man standing takes off across the parking lot, leaving his buddies to groan in their own blood and vomit on the pavement. John wonders if Jason will choose to go after the straggler. He, for one, wasn’t in the habit of leaving loose ends. You’re bound to trip over them, sooner or later.

That said, John isn’t half so hungry as he once was. The straggler will undoubtedly be looking for a new watering hole, and that would suit John just fine. It’s not his fight, or his loose end to tie. He stands neutrally, and more importantly, unarmed, making no move towards Jason or the straggler. John is tall, dark, and considered by some to be handsome, but is otherwise unremarkable, dressed down in worn jeans and a leather jacket. The suit he reserves for the occasional business, and even more rarely, pleasure.

[hititwithacrowbar]

Jason lived for these moments, a little more than he cared to admit. He felt more alive when he was pushing himself, when he was beating dirt bags down, teaching them not to try things like this. He saw himself as being something closer to a hero than a villain, but really everyone is someone's villain. He knew he could be so much more if he wanted to be. He had people who wanted him to be...

Still, he would always be as Damian had once called him The great brawler. He didn't let the surprise show when he heard the voice speak up. The accent he noticed first. Not mentioning it of course. Just noting it. "No reason to curb stomp a coward.He was smart enough to run, so he can keep his teeth." He as he pulled the cigarettes back out to shake one loose from the pack, he wasn't however above kicking one of the writhing men at his feet in the stomach before turning to look at the stranger.

They weren't dressed all that different. A brown leather jacket, with a black t-shirt and jeans with his boots under them. He offered the pack over silently. The man was interesting in his way. Most would have called the cops or gone to get back up. This one didn't. It had his curiosity piqued.