Jason Todd (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asinisterkid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-04-27 12:38 am
asinisterkid) wrote in driftfleet2015-04-27 12:38 am
Entry tags:
002
Who: Jason Todd, and whoever wants to bother him.
Broadcast: None
Action: VRD // Waystation
When: 4/21, in the wee hours of the morning // 4/27, mid-afternoon.
{{ It's two, two, two events in one! The first will be a lovely VR romp through Gotham at night, set up for his new friends, but open to anyone who feels like crashing the party. The second, taking place a week later in honor of Jason's Death Day (4/27), will involve a lot of alcohol. OMG SO MUCH ALCOHOL. And as many fights as he can get away with starting at the nearest Waystation. }}
[ For the moment, half of the VRD has been turned into a little slice of Gotham, all gargoyle-encrusted skyscrapers and gothic splendor. There's a full moon overhead, and only the smallest shreds of cloud. Between that and the ambient light from the city, visibility's pretty good. It's a gorgeous summer night, and Jason's relaxing for the first time since he got here.
It's a cheap trick, but he's willing to be soothed by this little taste of home, especially since this place should allow him to run the way he's used to. He even went out of his way to pick a time when there would be less competition for the space, and less chance of someone turning his city into a beach mid-jump.
Robins need to fly, after all. ]
[A week later: Jason hasn't had a chance to earn much money yet, but he's spent some of the past week working security, picking up what he can. And now that he's got money to put towards things not a ship upgrade, he's gone and spent it on alcohol.
Yes, all of it.
This isn't a good day for him. This is the day that Jason Todd, Age 15, got beaten nearly to death with a crowbar and then blown up. He's been increasingly keyed up over the past couple of days, the nightmares getting more frequent, and generally he's been feeling like there's a scream trapped in his throat, getting louder and louder...
So obviously, the solution is no sleep, and lots of alcohol. He's got a few bottles of something that might be space vodka, or might be industrial strength engine degreaser with a vodka label half-assedly slapped on the bottle. It tastes foul, either way. He's sitting in the central courtyard of the waystation, already halfway through the first bottle. When not sending drunken text messages with his communicator, he's been harassing random people. ]
Hey, you. Yeah, you.
Fight me.
[ Is he talking to you? A random passerby? A potted plant and/or especially lifelike bit of statuary? YOU BE THE JUDGE. ]
Broadcast: None
Action: VRD // Waystation
When: 4/21, in the wee hours of the morning // 4/27, mid-afternoon.
{{ It's two, two, two events in one! The first will be a lovely VR romp through Gotham at night, set up for his new friends, but open to anyone who feels like crashing the party. The second, taking place a week later in honor of Jason's Death Day (4/27), will involve a lot of alcohol. OMG SO MUCH ALCOHOL. And as many fights as he can get away with starting at the nearest Waystation. }}
[ For the moment, half of the VRD has been turned into a little slice of Gotham, all gargoyle-encrusted skyscrapers and gothic splendor. There's a full moon overhead, and only the smallest shreds of cloud. Between that and the ambient light from the city, visibility's pretty good. It's a gorgeous summer night, and Jason's relaxing for the first time since he got here.
It's a cheap trick, but he's willing to be soothed by this little taste of home, especially since this place should allow him to run the way he's used to. He even went out of his way to pick a time when there would be less competition for the space, and less chance of someone turning his city into a beach mid-jump.
Robins need to fly, after all. ]
[A week later: Jason hasn't had a chance to earn much money yet, but he's spent some of the past week working security, picking up what he can. And now that he's got money to put towards things not a ship upgrade, he's gone and spent it on alcohol.
Yes, all of it.
This isn't a good day for him. This is the day that Jason Todd, Age 15, got beaten nearly to death with a crowbar and then blown up. He's been increasingly keyed up over the past couple of days, the nightmares getting more frequent, and generally he's been feeling like there's a scream trapped in his throat, getting louder and louder...
So obviously, the solution is no sleep, and lots of alcohol. He's got a few bottles of something that might be space vodka, or might be industrial strength engine degreaser with a vodka label half-assedly slapped on the bottle. It tastes foul, either way. He's sitting in the central courtyard of the waystation, already halfway through the first bottle. When not sending drunken text messages with his communicator, he's been harassing random people. ]
Hey, you. Yeah, you.
Fight me.
[ Is he talking to you? A random passerby? A potted plant and/or especially lifelike bit of statuary? YOU BE THE JUDGE. ]
no subject
One: [ counting on his fingers ] If we're talking average civilian, if they're not cheating, it won't be a fair fight, so I'm pretty good with that.
Two: Pretty sure everything's all automated here, so it's not like I'll be making the overworked staff of this fine waystation clean my blood off the floor when they just want to go home because their feet hurt and that one asshole who drinks all night and never tips wouldn't stop trying to grope them, because there is no overworked staff.
Three: If I was looking for something that didn't end in blood or expulsion from this... not even actually a bar, and why are there no real bars here anyway? [ We will now take a minute for Jason to find and resume his train of thought. Wait for it... Aha! There it is! ] ...Right, if I was looking for something that wasn't messy and ugly, I'd be sober and hitting up one of my sparring partners.
Sometimes you've just gotta ride the wave of glorious self-destruction until you fall overboard and crash into sanity more or less by accident. [ Okay, so maybe that metaphor's a little mixed. He's pretty sure he still made his point... as sure as he is of anything, that is. ]
no subject
A perspective she's happy to change.]
You're still just coming off as any other drunken idiot. They all make exactly the same boasts, and they all say they're the strongest in the room until someone lays them out.
[She is Not Impressed. Although she does know that engaging drunken idiots is risky, so she's prepared to defend herself if she has to. And, okay, maybe (and she'd never admit this) she's been frustrated since arriving here, and she's not acting as calmly as she normally would have.
She's good at handling drunks, she's just not interested in putting in the effort right now.]
no subject
True enough, but, here's what I want to know: who's the bigger idiot in this situation? The drunken idiot trying to pick a fight, or the sober idiot lecturing the drunken idiot like that's actually done anyone any good ever?
See, I'm thinking that shows either a staggering lack of awareness of the habits of the drunk and violent -- which I kind of doubt, seeing as how you've got all that prior experience -- or some unresolved anger issues which you're maybe trying to solve by getting the fighty drunk to hit first.
[ He leans forward and meets her eyes. ]
I'm fighty, and I'm drunk, but I'm not hitting anyone that hasn't made it clear they wanna be in this fight as much as I do. So you wanna do this, first punch is yours. Go nuts.
You don't wanna do this, that's fine too, but you're probably not gonna make me feel bad about my life and my choices at this point, so it's really a waste of effort if it's not making you feel better just... inherently.
[ headtilt ] Is it inherently making you feel better? 'cause if it is, you can lecture more. I don't mind.
no subject
But he's also right, and that catches her off guard. She never expects other people to see through her.]
It feels pretty good actually.
[Punching him would probably feel even better, but she knows how this goes. He's expecting a punch to the face, which means he's ready to dodge, and he's also holding a bottle which is a pretty good weapon. Assuming he can use it without slicing his own hand open, which, in her experience, most people can't.
She considers him for a moment. He looks like someone who can. But she's a soldier, and she's picked up a few tricks, which is why her first punch is just a feint. It goes for his nose, and as soon as he moves she'll throw her foot out to trip him up.
Because if she makes him fall on his arse, that'll feel even better.]
no subject
[ She throws out that first punch, and he laughs and goes to dodge... and then her foot's right there, and while it's not enough to knock him on his ass, blunted reflexes or no, it does make him stumble and stagger back. ]
Okay, I like you.
[ He grins at her and tosses the bottle out of easy reach of either of them: he's not looking for that much blood. Not from random strangers, anyway. Still, no point in leaving a weapon for his opponent, either. Even if it is a waste of alcohol. ]
no subject
[All she knows about him, after all, is that he's a drunken brawler.
Although she does appreciate the fact he tosses the bottle aside. She's not interested in either of them getting cut, and by the smell it's not much of a waste anyway. She'd been meaning to try a drink here herself, but maybe she'll be happier if she doesn't.
But that decision is for later. She's a skirmisher through and through, and there's a very important rule to surviving a skirmish: Never give your enemy a second to regain his footing. She follows after, and the punch aimed at his gut is not a feint.]
no subject
[ Given Jason's current state of inebriation, regaining his footing and blocking the punch is asking too much. He needs to pick one... and if he lets himself tip over to save himself from this punch, he opens himself up to a lot more.
So while she's punching, he's getting his feet under him and tensing his stomach muscles. He lets all the air in his lungs out in a soft huff the instant before her fist connects, so when the punch actually hits, it doesn't get more than a pained grunt out of him. Not fun, not fun at all, but he took it and survived. And now his fist is heading for her jaw. ]
--I don't make a habit of indiscriminate drunken brawling? [ Being able to take a punch doesn't mean being unaffected by it, and there's something pained and a little breathless in his voice right now. He's still grinning, though. ]
no subject
Then why are you doing it now?
[Aside from general frustration caused by being kidnapped and stuck in a strange place-- Maybe she doesn't need to hear his explanation after all.
She jumps back, but the punch still grazes her jaw, enough to jolt her head sideways. He's fast for a drunkard, and there is absolutely no way she can let someone like that win, even if that did hurt. She ignores it, stepping close instead to plant her knee in his crotch.
What? You use the tricks that work.]
no subject
[ And while he's not planning on getting into detail with someone who's already made up her mind about him, even if he wanted to, her coming in close to knee him in the balls would cut him off before he could go any further.
He sees it coming, but he doesn't have the reflexes to block her. Not right now, anyway.
He's going to go down as soon as she gets that hit in and pain takes up all the mental focus he's using to stay upright... but maybe he can take her with him. When he moves, it's ugly, clumsy, an attempt at a grab and throw that lacks all finesse... but if he's going down, he'll be going down swinging. ]
...Nice. [ His voice is tight, pained... even all his training and the buffering effect of space vodka can't make him brush off getting kneed in the balls. ] I should've been watching for that.
no subject
So she sees that coming, but she doesn't know ho to react to get away.
She instinctively grabs into him when he throws her, though, trying to stop it and then just... bracing herself for the impact. She might be a little bit impressed, too.]
Where did you learn that?
[At least falling doesn't hurt much - well, one arm landed a bit awkward, but he seems worse off, which is good enough for her.]
no subject
My-- [ He shuts his mouth abruptly, cutting off whatever he was going to say. ] --a guy I used to work with. Taught me a lot about unarmed combat. Maybe not everything I know, but damn close.
[ He rolls away from her a little, giving her room to get back up. ]
I could teach you sometime. Maybe not the whole fighting style, but how to throw someone, how not to get thrown... And if you don't trust the asshole who tried to pick a fight, I can find you someone who knows the same stuff but hasn't been a drunken idiot at you.
[ For now, though, he's just gonna stay here on the floor. The floor is good and steady, and would never ever betray him. ]