Cautionary Tale.

This probably isn’t a surprise for anyone but, yes, this blog is inactive now. Too many connotations to old things and bad people, and I can’t be in the DC fandom anymore. Good luck to you all, and thank you to the nontoxic people who still gave me their time, their words, and brought energy to the dash.

I came back on here with a gusto, all HEY NERDS WRITE WITH ME, and then I disappeared. I know I owe responses to several people, including an awesome terry blog that made me a starter, and I’m really, truly sorry for skipping out a couple days later.

If you want to know what’s going on, you can find it here. This was my other blog in this fandom, and it’s where the details of what’s been going on with me are posted. However, please be warned that topics of sexual assault and trauma are discussed; I don’t want to trigger anyone.

I’m still going to be low activity, because I also just moved into a new place and very well might move again, so things are a bit hectic and I’m all over the place. Still, if you decide to stick with me, thank you. I’ll try to make it up to everyone soon, okay?

Strengths DIFFER from people to people, Dick’s just happen to be FOOD RELATED. He KNOWS where to find the best grub depending on what HOUR of the night it is and where one is in the city. Tonight, it had been burger’s from Reggie’s - a tiny little greasy spoon tucked away between tenements. A nice place, if a little dingy, but home to the BEST burgers in the city. 

Bracing his foot against the retaining wall, he leans up to glance at the aptly named goons that amble about the lot below, humming softly to himself. They’d been staked out for hours, now, with little more to do than COMMENTATE on what LITTLE was happening below. 

        “Mmmhm, agreed. S’a total of           eight now. He’s definitely got           something FUNKY going on in           his pants.”

Given the DISINTEREST of the guards, he’s beginning to wonder as to the INTEGRITY of their information. It’s approaching 11 now, and if Hood is RIGHT - they may have been given some BAD intel. Which calls into question a LOT about their set up, and what they’re operating on. 

Still, he doesn’t go so far as to say it - this IS Jason’s op and Dick is here only as support. He’ll offer his voice when it is needed, and QUESTIONING Jason’s sources seems more … counter-intuitive than anything else. 

Scratching at his cheek, he takes another, smaller bite of the burger.  

          “Not a peep. He’s cowl deep in his             own stuff with Batwoman, pretty sure            his focus is ELSEWHERE right now.”

He glances up at Jason, considering the set of his shoulders and back. His THOUGHT PROCESS is not immediately clear. There’s no outward signs of FRUSTRATION or a FRAYING TEMPER. He can’t TELL where Jason’s head is at, right now. 

          “Think he’s bailed?”

It’s an INNOCUOUS approach as he can make; there’s a rather large QUESTION MARK hanging over things right now and Jason is the ONLY one with the answer to it. 

Something about this entire mess is itching at the back of his mind, but Jason isn’t about to lose his temper over it, not yet. Even so, the fingers of one hand tap a faint rhythm at his thigh, just above the holster of his favorite gun. Wasted time is one thing— being lied to? Quite another.

               "That’s what happens when you find love in all the wrong               places. Suddenly it burns when you pee and your night shift               guarding an empty building for the boss is not only boring but               itchy.”

A slight edge to his voice is the only sign of the conclusion he’s drawn; this whole thing is a bust. Jason pushes away from the ledge, finishing the last of his food mechanically. The tip-off might be crap, but the burger’s still good. Licking ketchup off his lip and pacing silently across the roof, he shakes his head.

              “Roman’s anal enough about his schedule that he’d be               here if he meant to, unless he couldn’t cause something               else came up that’s detained him. There’s no alert out on               Bat Wireless and no fires on the horizon, so I’m guessing               that one’s out.”

Jason remembers very well how fun it is to be that particular kind of nuisance. He’d put quite a few bees in the Black Mask’s skeletal bonnet, back in the good old days when he didn’t have to pack rubber bullets for team-ups with the old crew.

              “So, it’s either shit intel from a bad source, or shit intel               fed to a good source on purpose.”

As easy as it is to buy a snitch in this town, Jason’s not ready to write it off as a sell-out. Martin’s plenty of things— gambler, boozer and whiny bastard, to name a few— but he hadn’t liked the new business Black Mask was bringing in. Something about it made him squirrelly, enough that Jason hadn’t needed threats to make him started talking, just a promise to keep an eye on Martin’s kid and ex-wife across town.

When Jason smiles, it promises violence, the kind that made the paper in the morning and the best stories months later over breakfast.

« @unexalted » « STARTER CALL » « STILL ACCEPTING »

     “Here.”

Is the only warning before he’s tossing a burger-shaped paper packet to his fellow look out, crossing the rooftop to the fire-escape and the ONLY place that is out of the wind, it seems. Hunkering down in the shadows, he unwraps his own burger and takes a hefty bite to sate the hollowness of an empty stomach. 

       “’nyfing?”

He speaks around a mouthful, content to feed as Jason provides an update. The burger run hadn’t taken him more than ten minutes, and Jason is STILL on the rooftop - so he HAS to imagine that nothing has happened since his departure. 

Glancing over the edge of the building at the parking lot below, he notes the ambling paths of the watchmen and the steady glow of light from the factory windows before returning his focus to his dinner. 

No. Nothing’s changed. No sign of Black Mask. YET. 

        “Mmmhm, eat up. S’warm and           free. Seconds probably won’t           be and if we gotta go, there           probably won’t be time. S’a           good burger, man - just eat it.”

There’s something being flung at his head, which isn’t as unusual as it ought to be, but easy enough to snag out of the air. Too many years of training are good for something, and knowing the man he’s partnered up with for this job, it’s as likely to be a wingding as anything else. Luckily, tonight it’s food, smelling like heaven and still warm enough to feel through his gloves. How the hell the bluebird wonder manages to get hot, fresh food this fast while they’re working, Jason’s still not sure. He isn’t complaining, either. You can take the boy off the streets, et cetera, and free meals are free meals.

While Dick manages to talk through half a burger, Jason eyes the hired muscle beneath them and snorts.

               “Oh, you missed a ton. Goon #3 scratched               his ass three more times. S’probably hemorrhoids.               #5′s switched his earpiece radio from baseball to a               Spanish drama about a policeman’s daughter and her                forbidden love for a local farm boy. Riveting stuff. #2′s               been making eyes at the alley; either needs to piss or               he’s gonna cut shift early and leave these fuckos to deal.”

Peeling back the paper wrapper, Jason checks the bun. Cheese, no tomatoes, extra pickles. Dick’s memory is as good as it ever was. Biting down, he manages— barely— not to make an inappropriate noise at the taste. Hot food on a stakeout with frost and windchill is about as close to heaven as they ever get, he figures. That, or perfect head shots, but Dickie might have something to say about that one.