Before I'm forced to spend the weekend studying for human physiology, I wanted to write a little something since I can't do a new chapter of my fic on ao3. So for my friends on Tumblr, here's a short clip of a few characters that will be in my upcoming Jason Todd x Oc work. No spoilers, no real connection to the plot. Just something fun.
“Pazi!” Halima hissed, catching the heavy copper tray with her hip. Setting it down with a clatter, she reached to adjust the kerchief that had inched looser and looser down her head.
The patrons paid no mind. They were regulars anyway.
As usual, the flurry that had shoved past her didn’t pay any attention either, stopping abruptly at the register. Palms pressed firmly onto the counter, breath labored, her full attention on the small TV hanging on the wall.
Esma Ahmedovic had always looked strangely like a freshly made corn doll. Flowing limbs that she used to her advantage on the ice with long, bright hair. Freshly made because Halima was certain that there was nothing that could dry out the life in those dark eyes.
“Tarik, where’s the remote? I want to see what’s going on in Goth-” From the kitchen, the small remote flew, landing clunkily in her hands, “They’re saying there was an Arkham breakout again. See! See!”
Pointing wildly at the screen, Esma emphasized the coverage of the hostage situation, where a green-glad lunatic was putting the residents of the next city over through it. Halima tilted her head, scanning over the little footage provided.
At least no one was dead yet.
“You worried, bebo?” Finally noticing the girl behind the counter, Esma poked at her cheek, “Didn’t Wayne Enterprises want to talk to you tomorrow?”
Merjema Ahmedovic rolled her eyes as she rapidly typed something on her laptop. Perched on one of the stools, teenage boredom spilled out from her.
“What is there to be worried about?”
Halima winced as the shot closed in on the dwindling time on a rigged bomb. A tingling sensation built from her hands up to her shoulders, and she turned, clearing a few extra plates off one of the tables. She could practically hear the ticking in her head.
“If that happens when she’s there, Merjema will just disarm the bomb. It can’t be that hard for her.” Pushing past into the kitchen, Halima knew her joke hadn’t landed well. It sounded awkward to her own ears.
Pale green eyes met hers before Merjema went back to her work, “No need. I’m certain the people of Gotham know how to handle their local crime. Like we know how to handle ours.”
Esma sighed, placing her cheek into her hand, dreamily responding, “Yeah, Nightwing.”
Bludhaven’s hero. The man who attempted to quell the festering gangs and alliances spread all across their lovely city. Halima couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a glimpse of black and blue in this part of town.
“Sure.” Barking out a laugh, she called from the kitchen, “Has the news caught sight of Batman yet?”
The sound of the door opening harshly and then slamming filled her senses. There was a pause of silence, the jingling of the welcome bell dying down. Halima peeked her head out, rolling her eyes at the three men who had shoved themselves into the space. Exchanging a look between the other two girls, Merjema pushed past into the kitchen before stomping up to the second-floor living space.
It was better for her to be up there anyway.
The remaining patrons quickly packed up with hushed whispers. In less than a minute, any casualness and teasing had ceased to exist.
Halima bristled at the gruff voice of the man, noting the red tinge on his nails as he waved her over with two fingers. Eyes flickering back to the screen, she paused watching the process of the bomb being disarmed.
Instead of the usual looming figure of Batman, an equally intimidating persona had come to aid this time.
Even dimmed by the camera, she could still see the deep, sick red of the mask covering his face. Frowning, she turned off the screen, nodding to Esma that she’d take the new customers.
A whistle pierced her brain, and she scowled. She hated her current patrons as much as the color.
“I’m coming. Don’t call me like a dog.”
