𝕵̳. ᵀᴼᴰᴰ ⭑

The night is cold and vicious beast, sinking its teeth into the very heart of Gotham city, plunging its streets into total darkness. It is in these conditions where the Scarlet Pimpernel thrives, becoming no more than a shade or shadow amongst the rest of the city skyline. But the business of vigilantism never gets easier, no matter how much time has passed. Marguerite had known that well, had tried to grit her teeth and endure all of the pain and heartache no matter the cost. A few years work and a sudden, faked death had eased the burden ever so slightly, yet, even after all of that, it never seemed to get any easier. So, it would only be natural that, on some nights, she would seek out some kind of respite, to come back down to earth after oh so long with her head in the clouds. Every actor was allowed their intermission, after all.

❛❛ Yes, well ... I didn't have anywhere else to go, ❜❜ with a tinge of sarcasm, she cants her head, eyeing Jason with a quirked eyebrow. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging on her lips as she toys with the edge of her glove. Beneath her fingertips, she can feel the dirt beneath her nails, still remaining from when she had crawled out of her grave, having dug her own claws into the earth and rooted her feet to reality once and for all. The Pimpernel of the past was long gone, but the Pimpernel of today could start brand new. It was a comfort, after all of those delusions of grandeur, to know this simple fact: she was alive, and she could finally breathe freely ... for good this time.

gotham nights are brittle, she does not rest even in the slumber of early summer. his safe house, one of many, was cold and quiet, bare of humanity and chipping bare in every corner, it's his least favorite, a sure place to punish himself. only few had the coordinates to be here, and even less dared trek the back streets and down creaky steps to find him. jason, more often than not, hid here when he knew he could spend a week or more in silence. behind him decorated clean counter tops with half - empty bottles of distinguished alcohol and burning cigarette buds, the scent lingering, sure to follow, lacing on the fabrics of her clothing. it's obvious, by darkened circles and ruddy cheeks that he was not well... as well has he pretended to be. and he had half a mind to leave her stranded in the abyss, have her pretty - self turn back and find respite somewhere else lest he have peace of mind until morning. some bitter, sour rot began to ferment on his taste buds, sarcasm bubbling from the midst of his own throat, threatening to spill over and cause a scene before he could allow generosity to flood forth first.

❛❛        makin' your lack of security my fuckin' problem i see.     ❜❜ maybe it's the heated days and sweaty nights, the endless monsoon uncommon for the city or the dull ache radiating in his lower back. left arm supports an ugly bruise, colored deep purple and worsening by the hour, and he has no care to baby it; all exposed and open, in her face. weight slides from the frame of the door, a heavy sigh escaping past his lips. god, when did he become such a softy .ᐣ best case scenario she finds disgust in his melancholy. can sense some sort of fucked - up emotional turmoil taking place between the ears, can feel jason about to vomit a storm of bitter nostalgia, and leave on her own accord. he let's her through, creating space between them. ❛❛        fuuuuuuuck. goddammit. ( hand runs over his face, taking time to rub the sleep from his eyes ) whatever. how long are you plannin' on stayin' here .ᐣ i got enough food for one. me. ⸻ and you can stay on the couch in the bedroom. i'll take the couch.     ❜❜