001

[asinisterkid]

Who: Jason Todd and YOU!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: The Marsiva
When: A few hours before the shuffle.

[ The broadcast begins with a close-up of a man's face, brow furrowed, head tossing slightly in the throes of some flavor of bad dream. His mouth shapes words that could be no and Mom. When he starts to move more energetically, the camera zooms out and pans down, giving the audience a good view of the thrashing and -- yep, that's actual fighting, pure muscle memory and surprisingly good technique, given that he's unconscious. Probably a good thing this guy's sleeping alone, because anyone in bed with him would be being beaten pretty badly right about now. By the look on his face, though, the fight he's dreaming about is one he's losing, no matter how good he might be.

There's a sharp indrawn breath when he wakes up, but besides that, the biggest clue is that he goes perfectly still for a moment. Then he takes inventory, eyes still closed, flexing his ankle to test for the feel of the boot knife, stretching and moving in ways that would let him locate weapons by feel, rather than just reaching for what he should have on him and letting anyone watching know just where he hides the goodies.

...Nothing. He opens his eyes, reaches for the ones that would be less obvious -- nope, even the garrote wire's gone. Whoever searched him was thorough.

Though somehow his jacket's back, and in one piece. Huh.

He sits up, looks around for a minute, and then speaks to the empty air. ]

...Hey, Bats, if this was your idea, consider me incredibly unamused.

[ Or, wait, no, that's not right, there's something... he knows something... ]

Wait, I'm in space?

Comments

[tothefly]

She shakes her head just slightly at that, not missing the taste of bitterness in his words. Maybe she notices because she can sympathize. She's past the point in her life where she hated what she could have been, what she was, at least for the most part, but she remembers. "Heroics imply some sort of naïvete," she says, not so much shrugging as twitching one shoulder a fraction. "You don't strike me as the hero. Just someone who might do what needs doing. Whatever you want to call that. Either way," and here she smiles just a little, "Galahad was a hypocrite. In my experience, anyone who claims to live a perfect, pious, virtuous life is only trying to hide whatever horrible things they've done."

Experience ages people more than the sheer passage of time. She knows that better than most. She doesn't look at a face like his and think too young to know better, she thinks old enough to have an idea. Old enough to understand that it's always a bad idea, being involved with someone who plays that role in your life, young enough to want to do it anyway. He's probably close to twenty, maybe a couple years either direction. And looking about as enthusiastic about being watched as she's been feeling. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure they appreciate good old-fashioned violence as much as they do a sordid love triangle." It's as much comfort as it is acknowledgement for him of just how much she'd seen of his debut.