Brandon :>

The city is big, and populated and, well, a city. The streets ebb and flow with traffic and people-- the quiet knowledge of the power any individual might hold hangs heavy amongst the citizens. Any one of them could be a hero or villain in disguise. Jaron is none of these--- hero, citizen, or villain. Rather, he thinks that public nuisance is a much better word for what he does.

Jaron remembers a time when himself and Rek had only just moved in together. The sun had long set, but neither man had even thought about sleep yet. Nerves, stress, a regular night of insomnia--- neither really knew what had caused it, but there they were. Jaron had been sprawled out over their sofa, his feet propped up on Rek's lap, when Parker asked what, to him, was a harmless question. "What do you actually do for work, Jaron? I feel like you've never actually told me." It's a simple question. Or, rather, it should be simple. He's unemployed. However, he kind of thinks that Rek might stress himself to death if he learns that- and it's not like he doesn't have an income! It's just not... the most ethical sort of cashflow. There's no delicate way to put what he does, and he doesn't intent on just telling Rek, that's ridiculous. So he grabs the next best thing that comes to mind. "Oh, y'know. Odd jobs here and there." Jaron you have got to be the stupidest person on the planet, He thinks. 'Odd jobs here and there?' What the heck was that supposed to mean?? For some god-forsaken reason, Parker seems to believe him. Whatever blank his mind has filled in, Jaron hopes it's something less suspicious than what's actually come out of his mouth. Rek lets out a small, "Huh. Cool." and turns his attention back to the TV. Thank God.

==========

Jaron gets rather rudely reminded of what his line of work entails the next day. It's crowded, as Saturdays tend to be in the market plaza. It's almost overwhelming how large the crowds get on days like this. Conversations pass him by faster than he can quite fathom. The smells seem to intoxicate him- to coax him forwards and into the mass of people. It's perfect.

The crowd seems to swallow him and Jaron makes his way to one of the stalls. He doesn't care what's in it, he just needs a cover. It's a simple stall, some sort of handcrafted leather goods. Jaron lets himself "accidentally" bump into the man next to him, and apologizes immediately. Hidden inside of Jaron's pocket is the man's wallet, where he's already begun to thumb through it. Change is worthless enough to leave behind. Between his fingers, he holds a bill. Bingo. He drops it into his pocket properly now, and holds the wallet in his palm. He tips it just outside of his pocket right as he turns away, letting his footsteps mask the quiet thud.

It's routine. It's practice. He knows what he's doing. Jaron cuts between two stalls and starts through the allery. He's made more than enough cash today, and if the new watch on his wrist is as nice as it looks, maybe him and Rek would be sitting pretty this week. But he just can't help himself when he spots another person walking down the alley. It's risky, but the way Jaron's hand twitches in his pocket is already completely consuming his mind. He runs his usual routine. WHAM. His back hits the wall behind him as soon as the familiar weight hits his pocket. His eyes take a second to refocus on the person in front of him. "Give it back--- Now." The other person hisses. They've got one hand on his chest pushing him against the bricks, and the other is cocked back, ready to swing. Jaron thinks he likes his chances. A grin spreads across his face as he shrugs. "I have no idea what you're talking about man, I just lost my footing a little bit," He fibs through his teeth.

The hand on his chest pushes harder. He wonders if it's possible to break ribs like this. He won't let it get to that point. "You know what I'm talking about--- Give me my fucking wallet back." Wow, they're insistent. And rude, you'd think Jaron had robbed them or something.

"I don't have your wallet." He leans towards them a little. It's cocky and he knows it, but where's the fun lies!

"If you don't shut your fucking mouth and give me back my wallet, I'm shut your mouth for you." Fiesty, Jaron thinks. He parts his lips to speak, and it comes. A blur of skin comes toward him--- a fist. Jaron closes and reopens his fingertips in his pocket just in the nick of time, and-

"What the fuck!" The person holding him lets go and yanks their arm back out of the swirling portal between them and Jaron. When it comes back out, their skin is littered with bloody, red dots. His assailant looks down with wide eyes at what's become of their arm.

Jaron isn't a villain. That much is true. Not like the kind you see on the news. Two days ago, Clownpierce took down one of the highest-ranking heroes in the city. Jaron assumes that's why the bar is so packed tonight. There's a weight to the air, he notes. He sits up a little taller (which doesn't really do a ton for him) so as to not be compressed entirely by it.

Behind the bar, Percy's eyes linger on Jaron for a moment. His gentle smile is unwavering as he cleans an an already-spotless glass.

"Busy night, huh?" Jaron tries. He's honestly much less affected by the hero's death than he's pretended to be.

Percy's neat smile falters slightly, but almost precisely. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that." His shoulders shrug only sightly. "It's been pretty packed since--- Well, you know."

Parker nods next to Jaron. "It's a lot for everybody, I think. Nobody likes seeing heroes die. I mean, we certainly aren't immune to it."

He's right, at least about himself. Jaron's noticed the late shifts, his tired eyes. It took a bit of convincing to get him out of the house, but Jaron's speciality seemed almost to be convincing people. He was paying, yes, but with the bar as busy as it was, that was absolutely not his problem.

"It's terrible, really. But the world keeps on turning, doesn't it? I'm sure some newcomer will pop out and take her spot soon enough."

Jaron looks up at him for a moment and nods. He picks up his drink and tucks his other hand into his pocket.

Whatever they talk about for the next hour or so is completely lost on him. The wide-eyed (presumed) civilian flashes across his mind, clutching their arm. Before he realizes it, his third drink of the night is gone and his head buzzes comfortably.

Jaron takes pride in being as suspicious as he is. In his head, it's a bit of a horseshoe. Surely the guy in the shady cap and trenchcoat wouldn't actually be up to something? It's too obvious. It's perfect.

He weaves amongst the morning crowds and bites back a snide comment sizzling on the tip of his tongue. Of course Parker's favorite coffee place has a line all the way around the block! Why wouldn't it? He's never going to get out of this line before Rek's done at the gym. Curse this gosh-dang-

He spots her a moment later.

Clad in the bubblegum-pink she's practically trademarked already, JumperWho makes her morning rounds. She's probably on a regular patrol, but Jaron lifts his head and scans the tops of each nearby building just to be safe. They're clear, unfortunately. No Clownpierce to be seen. Dang it.

That's when it hits Jaron. While there may not be an active threat, what's stopping him from creating one instead? Nothing crazy, but something at least distracting enough to cull the crowd a little bit. Maybe threat is the wrong word for it... Yes, he much prefers distraction or perhaps 'organized chaos.' Whatever that means.

His hand twitches in his pocket as the sea of people just never seems to calm. He picks someone at random--- A businessman or banker type, he thinks--- and his wallet is aquired within just a second.

This time, he doesn't keep the contents for himself. Instead, Jaron opens it up and leaves it to hang about halfway out of another customer's purse.

Now comes the worst part. This wasn't routine, it wasn't practiced, it wasn't what he knew, but at this point Jaron would do just about anything to cut down on the line ahead of him. He sucks a breath through his teeth. God, this is going to be so embarrassing.

"Dude, I think that guy just stole your wallet!" He says probably a bit too loudly and tapping the poor guy's shoulder. The man is a fair bit taller than him (though that's not very hard to do), so Jaron crosses his fingers that this works. He points to the wallet hanging out of the other man's purse.

The man turns around quickly. He's clean cut, well-dressed... Jaron thinks he looks a little bit like a penguin in his suit. His eyes wander quickly before landing on his own wallet.

All eyes turn--- including JumperWho's--- to the scene as it unfolds. The Penguin, as Jaron has so kindly dubbed him, pushes the other to face him. Jaron balls his fingers into fists within his pockets as a crowd starts to amass.

"Dude did you seriously think you could get away with that?" The Penguin asks. He's British. Yuckkkkk. Jaron's muscles tense involuntarily at the question even though it's not directed at him.

The other man shouts something back, but Jaron has begun to tune both out as he weaves towards the coffee shop doors. With all eyes on what's becoming a rather boisterous scene, it's not nearly as difficult as he thought it would be.

He tries not to stop himself as eyes bore into the back of his head. The doors are almost in sight. Jaron doesn't quite clock that the space behind him is much quieter than it was a moment ago. He gets into the shop finally.

A hand wraps around his biceps and squeezes harshly. Sharp, pink nails dig into his skin the slightest bit.

"I saw you do that."

Frick.

He turns slowly to face JumperWho. He's never been so close to a hero before. He hates it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"Listen, maybe you are as dumb as you look," Jaron swears he can feel the swipe of a papercut graze his skin, "but you'd have to be a total moron to not see what you're doing."

Jaron's eyes widen and every muscle in his body threatens to contract. His throat is completely dry of both moisture and words.

"You only told him about his wallet to cut everybody in line!"

Oh. Oh! Fabulous! Jaron's face shifts as he regains control over it.

"Sorry- sorry yeah you caught me-" He throws his hands up and forces a laugh. "Listen, I'm already in line now, but it won't happen again. I swear on my life." He draws an x over his heart and lowers his hands back to his pockets.

JumperWho nods. "Don't let me catch you again." Her voice is just as sharp as her nails. Finally though, she drops her grasp on Jaron and steps aside, her glare unwavering as she returns to patrol.

When Jaron turns, he's first in line. A quick glance at the clock tells him he's cutting it a little closer than he would have liked, but it's nowhere near impossible. He places both his and Parker's orders, paying with cash as per usual.

"Mate, that was really kind of you back there."

Frick Jaron's stupid baka life.

"Oh, yeah, it's not a problem at all. Just- I dunno, I saw him grab it and thought you should know." He doesn't look at The Penguin at all. He rocks on his feet slightly.

The Penguin nods. "Yeah- If you haven't paid yet I could get your drink or something?"

Jaron's hands curl up again. The barista calls out his order and he takes both cups. The Penguin seems to understand.

"Well, I'm serious, if I can repay you somehow-"

"I need to leave, sorry, kind of in a rush-" He starts for the door, but the Penguin starts to follow him.

Sure, maybe he survived not getting to watch his best-friend-slash-roommate work out, but in the same breath... Fine! Ok, maybe he wanted to watch for a little while, sue him! But that gosh-darned Penguin couldn't seem to take a hint.

And so when Jaron catches the dreaded Penguin's eye a week later, he can't even begin to fight the thoughts racing through his mind. He wishes his power was something like freezing time instead, at least then he could think of a way to get rid of the Penguin for good.

It's risky, but maybe he could open a portal and drop him straight out of the sky? Should he (and he should) plummet to the ground, Jaron would be nothing but an innocent bystander, just as he always seems to be. How could anyone expect him to be at the root of such an awful tragedy? Little old Jaron? But he's not a killer!

Only because of the fact that the portal that does open is a bit... misguided. A sticky lollipop gets completely sucked up between the white bars of the crosswalk the Penguin is in, and disappears. The Penguin's stupid awful smile spreads across his entire ugly (it's really not ugly, but Jaron feels better about wanting him dead if he can convince himself that it is) face. Jaron forces a tight grin of his own and waves in response. Curse his gosh-darn friendliness! As expected, the Penguin comes right up to Jaron, and his white teeth seem to catch the sun. The image of them burns into his brain like a hot torch, only something isn't quite right. Jaron can't put his finger on the problem, but he knows that the picture in his brain is not what he's seeing in front of him.

He drifts down to chat with Percy when he's home alone. Of course, he's no Parker--- nobody could be Parker--- but he's company. His large tips tend to keep either the conversation or drinks moving, and he couldn't ask for more. It's a little easier to show off when Parker's around, too... not that it's a big deal or anything.

Percy runs a dry rag over an equally-dry glass. He likes to look busy, even though the bar is mostly empty. Jaron's been sitting at the bar for over an hour, but isn't too sure that day-drinking suits him, so he has a soda. He watches the bubbles emerge from the darkness, and cling to the cold walls of the glass. With as many as there are, they almost look like the stars that dot his voids. One bubble breaks free of its small cluster, rises-- up, up up-- and pops. Such is the nature of bubbles.

"Percy?" The name leaves his mouth before he can catch it. His eyes don't leave the glass.

Percy hums out what Jaron takes as a response.

"Do you think we actually hear about every hero that dies? Or do the big guys just tell us numbers and hope we buy it?"

Percy's hands slow a bit, Jaron assumes in thought. His face shifts a little. Jaron wonders what he hides behind the mask. The physical one, that he wears. It's a lovely shade of black, Jaron thinks. Warm, comfortable.

"I'm sure there's some level of confidentiality they have to keep. Some standards or laws." He's blunt, as always, and his flat tone matches the new face he's taken on.

"I mean, yeah, but do you think they all make the news?"

A pause. Percy takes a deep breath, and his chest rises and falls with it.

"No. No, I don't think so."

Jaron's memory is... spotty at best. But this is how he remembers the night:

Parker comes home at nearly 10:30. Every muscle in his body seems to be tense. Woagh. His brow is low and furrowed, like maybe his head is already hurting.

Jaron's sitting at the counter, head propped up in his hand as he comes in. Words spill out of his mouth before he can even think to catch them. "Welcome home, handsome." He lets out a stupid giggle, hopefully lightening his own admission into more of a joke.

Thankfully, a small smile creeps across his roommate's face. He hangs his bag up and shakes his head. Jaron swears that just for a moment, as he faces the wall, Rek really grins. "Thanks honey."

It's a joke. Jaron knows it is, at least. Even so, his feet start to swing on their own. Parker crosses over into their kitchen and goes straight for the medicine cabinet. "Another long one?" Jaron's already up grabbing water.

Parker gives a shallow nod and turns to lean against the counter, facing Jaron now. "One of the newer guys got hurt on the job. Now he's going all-- I don't know-- de facto? It's like all of a sudden, he's not working, talking about our rivals, all this out of nowhere,"

Oh, that was easy.

Jaron passes him the glass and parks himself perpendicular to the other. "Yeah? All that just from an injury? What was he doing?"

Parker takes two acetaminophen, then pauses. "Just-- just routine work. Finally get him out into the field, and immediately just- I don't know."

The words strike Jaron immediately. What does Parker do for work? Does he know? He doesn't think so. Jaron's throat seems to run fully dry. But he trusts Parker. More than anyone else in the world.

He hates seeing Parker like this. How does one even go about helping something like that?

His initial plan sets itself back into motion. Without hesitation, he takes both of Parker's hands into his own. Surprisingly, he doesn't let go, but his eyebrows quirk up a bit. Jaron lifts both of their hands between them, presses their palms together. Parker just lets him. He's smiling, Jaron realizes.

His heart is pumping straight into his ears. "Y'know what might be a little more fun?"

"Hm?" Parker's eyes finally lift from their hands.

"How about we go out and have a couple drinks? At our usual place?" He swallows his remaining fear and locks their fingers together.

Parker shakes his head just a little, and drops his eyes to their feet. Vaguely, Jaron feels his hand tighten around Jaron's. "I don't think I've got the cash for that right now-- Maybe once this paycheck comes in?"

Jaron commits. He squeezes Parker's hands right back. "And what if it was all on me instead?"

"I couldn't make you do that, Jaron,"

"I'm offering, and I want to, too. Come on, let's have a little fun!"

Finally, Parker smiles. "Fine- Let's have a little fun."

==========

As though it were meant to be, Percy is bartending! He's already got a drink in progress by the time Jaron and Parker sit in front of him. His movements are quick again, almost chipper. It's nice to see him enjoying his work again.

Jaron only gets a few drinks in before his night blurs. He remembers sitting close, warmth, laughter, Parker's perfect smile-- But that's about it.

The next thing he remembers doesn't come until the next morning, and he's not even sure of it until he opens his eyes.

Clownpierce is spotted a few days into the trickling move. He's not doing anything, to the best of the public's knowledge, except menacing... and one other thing.

He's not alone anymore.

It's difficult to see from the ground, even with the fancy news cameras-- Or, maybe that's just the couple's (as Jaron at least considers them) TV resolution-- but Clownpierce has a *team* now.

An older gentleman, Jaron guesses. He'd be surprised if a 20-something had such stark white hair, but he can recognize that it's not impossible. His suit, unlike Clownpierce's costume, is highlighted in a rich purple. It's coordinated, put together in a way that seems almost manufactured.

Jaron feels like he should get up to wipe the screen-- there's no way. No way in a million hells. Sitting next to him, Jaron can practically see Parker's mouth run dry as he clocks the figure stood between Clownpierce and his unnamed sidekick.