#recovered posts

Anarky had had a hard time getting into his costume today (and every day since the Warehouse Incident.) He’d smacked his head against his closet door putting the black sling together around the sleeve of his hoodie, and pulling the the hood over his head with one usable hand was harder than he anticipated. The combat boots were easier just through the virtues of practice; Anarky’d realized he could just push his non-dominant foot into the boot and kick back against his wall until his heels were aligned. Cadmus’ stunt was at an end, thanks to his friend Kirk, and Gotham’s weather was back to normal, but the streets were still at a disarray from the fast melting and he couldn’t afford to leave them or abandon the mission just because of an injury. There were others injured in the fire who didn’t have the resources to just rest their ailments away, and so long as they were on their own and getting on, Anarky wouldn’t indulge himself. He’d already taken too many days to handle his emotions. Red Hood was waiting on him now, and Anarky was a bit suspcious about his offer to help today. He appreciated it, though, and he respected the leatherhead enough not to accuse him of false motives. It didn’t matter, really, anyway; aid was aid.

Red Hood stifled a laugh when he saw the other mask. “Yeah, you sure you wanna go patrolling with that?” He gestured to the sling. It was black, so it didn’t draw too much attention but still, it softened his image immensely. Jason honestly didn’t know how much Anarky planned on doing with an injury like that, but if the kid was anything like him, he wouldn’t be convinced to sit around and do nothing while the streets were flooding. “So, we’re going to your place?” He asked, swinging a leg over his bike and trying to stifle a one armed joke.

Anarky rolled his eyes and shrugged as best he could with the sling, harnessing his eternal grapple behind him and looking out past the vigilante to the street. “I’m fine, I’ve fought with worse.” He’d strapped all his equipment to his back so he could grab them in a fluid motion instead of searching through pockets and straps on the bum-arm side. Anarky nodded, and he whipped his staff out, testing his good arm with a swing and a showoffish twirl before planting it in the ground in front of them. 

Red Hood nodded, not wanting to insult his pride. If Anarky had half the ego he did, he knew he’d get a well aimed punch sometime tonight if he let his mouth run. “Right. Save the baton twirling for the thugs, ok?” He kicked his bike to life, looking to the kid for direction. “Alright. Point the way, One-Armed Swordsman.”

Anarky laughed at the comment, then narrowed his eyes again at the street before them. “… I’m not admitting to any weakness here, but there’s no shame in asking;” he turned to Red Hood on his bike and cocked his head. “Can I hitch a ride? Grappling is too slow with the one armed momentum for that far a distance.”

Red Hood almost smirked. “Are you asking to ride bitch seat?” Part of him groaned and wanted to tell the kid to find his own ride. If he couldn’t even get around, how was he supposed to fight? But another part knew what it felt like to need help and to not ask for it. Usually it resulted in being way worse off. He rolled his eyes and shifted forward. “Fine. Climb on. But if you hold my hips I swear I will throw you off on the highway.”

“‘Bitch Seat,’ classic and classy, as always, Red.” Anarky mirrored an eye roll he couldn’t even see. Throwing a leg over the Hood’s bike and climbing on, he gripped the underside of the seat but sassed the other vigilante anyway: “Is that an invitation to hold on to your sculpted chest like some heroine, then?”

Red Hood scoffed. “Think about trying it, and I’ll rip your hands off.” He sipped through the streets, ignoring the fact that he had a dude on the back of his bike instead of some hot chick. Ignoring the fleeting thought of having Ivy in Anarky’s place, Jason wove in and out of traffic until he reached Anarky’s home base. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Anarky was already off the bike and on the sidewalk before Red Hood questioned him. He shrugged, ignoring the front door all together and taking the alley on the side of the building down toward the fire escapes. “Of course I am. I need some human practice; my dummy isn’t going to call me out on favoring the arm, and someone on the street isn’t going to be unarmed and willing to give me a second shot at a hit.”

Red Hood sighed, following the kid around back. “Fine. But I’m not going easy on you.” Jason knew the futality of being soft on anyone in training, especially when they were trying to prove they could hold their own.

Anarky turned to him quick, halfway through pushing the window closest to the door open. It opened like a hatch instead of a normal glass pane, revealing a short staircase, but Anarky took a pause on their entry to look at him. “Good.” He pulled off his mask, threw it through the doorway, and nodded to him. His blue eyes steely. “Thank you.”

Red Hood knew Anarky’s identity, but it still made him uncomfortable when he revealed himself. It wasn’t what vigilantes did, not the ones outside of the family, at any rate. Jason kept his hood on and followed the boy inside. “Don’t mention it.”

Lonnie: The doorway went straight into the training room. The floorway was covered wall to wall with black mats, so as they stepped through there was a small spring to every step. His dummy, named Pyotr, was set in the middle of the floor, and he dragged him with one arm to the side and dumped him there. He dropped his hoodie there too, then turned back to Red Hood. “Do you need to do something pre-fight? Need a water?”

Red Hood shook his arms out as he entered the training room. His eyes wandered, and he had to admit, the kid had a pretty awesome set up. Most of Jason’s training was done in alleyways, in his cramped living room, or if he could manage to schedule it right, with Babs. “Nah. I’m always warmed up.” It was cocky, but true. Jason prided himself on being ready for an attack at any moment and he remembered from his early days as Robin how much it sucked to get a cramp while trying to take down some thug. “You?”

Lonnie took a breath, and his eyes traced the other man - his opponent, now - from head to foot. He took extra care to watch his hands and gloves, before falling into a set position with his free arm. “I’m ready.”

Red Hood sank into his fighting stance, the one Bruce had taught him all those years ago. Circling, he took note of any weak points in Lonnie’s stance, aside from his bum arm. It’d be the first weakness a thug would go for, but Jason didn’t play that dirty. He lashed out, aiming a hit straight at the boy’s neck where it connected to his shoulder.

Lonnie ducked. Restricted by the loss of one of his arms, trapped in the sling, he felt the shadow of an old fear claw up his throat. Standing, defiant, against a pack of older boys in a common room, hands tied behind his back with ripped fabric from the pillow cases. Lonnie shook it off and sprung back up, aiming for the other’s gut with a fast elbow and a retreat.

Red Hood fell into the blow, feeling the wind knock out of him. The kid was spry, he’d give him that. But speed and agility were only half the battle. The other half was power. Spinning, he drew a leg up, aiming for Lonnie’s good shoulder, not entirely sure how “real” their spar should be. With Talia and her goons, he knew he could go for lethal shots even in sparring, but he was back in Gotham Things were different. Throwing all his weight into the kick, he continued to spin until his leg made contact.

Lonnie huffed out a grunt at the kick’s impact, knocked back a solid yard in the small dojo. He stayed on his feet, grounded to his center, but it was close. Lonnie paused there, before choosing to change tactics. If Red Hood was more trained in kicks and aggressive offensives, maybe grappling would throw him off. Lonnie surged forward, grabbing him by the arm and twisting it back. Their heights were similar, but the other man still had a few inches on him. He grimaced to himself, but used his sling as leverage against Red Hood’s back to twist and hold the captured arm there.

Red Hood raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. The kid managed to keep on his feet. Just as he was mentally giving his opponent props, his arm was being twisted behind his back. Instinct kicked in and he threw his head back, feeling his helmet crash against Lonnie’s face.

Lonnie dropped his arm, scowling and swearing under his breath. He hadn’t anticipated the defense, but even in pain he kept a level head, sweeping a leg out to try and trip the other man up when he pushed him away. “I didn’t see that one coming,” he admitted through his teeth.

Red Hood lunged forward, trying to keep himself upright. “Told you I wouldn’t hold back,” he huffed, turning to face Lonnie once more. “Tell me when you’ve had enough.” He smirked, the expression showing through in his voice. It felt good to spar. Shooting forward, Jason slammed his upper body against Lonnie, attempting to put him in a headlock.

Lonnie groaned, almost laughing, but too fiercely focused on trying to push the other man off him for it to get past his gritted teeth. He threw up his free arm to try and wedge him off, and his elbow hit the edge of Red Hood’s mask at the chin. There was a sharp sound as the mask flipped off then hit the ground across the room.

Red Hood felt Lonnie struggling to free himself and then – fresh air. It hit him like a semi truck and for a moment, he was distracted. Shit. Shit shitshitshitshit. He knew wearing his back up mask was a bad idea, but he was still too distrustful of what Ivy might have done to it. Trying to keep the boy from seeing his face, Jason powered through the hammering of his heart as he tightened his grip, but his surprise had caught him off guard and the movement was a moment too late.

Lonnie was almost out of breath from the effort of fighting with just one arm, shallow breaths dragging in short bursts across his lips, and he fell automatically back into his fighting stance when he turned back to — Jason. He paused, and his eyes widened slightly, lighting up. “Holy shit.”

Red Hood 's eyes widened. He knew that look. That was the look of recognition. Of course he recognized him. He'd met the kid at Bruce's, he'd seen him online, hell Tim had planted a very big kiss on them both not even a month ago. Fuck. What was he supposed to do now? Throwing himself towards the boy with a new fervor, Jason rugby tackled the one-armed kid.

Lonnie fell to the floor with a whoomph. A sharp pain shot through his shitty arm, but it was nothing compared to the new information that was gunning through his mind. Jason was Red Hood, it all made sense. In fact, it made so much sense Anarky was almost angry at himself for not connecting the dots. Mostly, though, he was impressed at his friends ability to keep the secret. The rush of figuring things out sent his heart thudding in his ears, and he thought fast, using the force of Jason’s attack to roll them over. His elbow dug into the older boy’s sternum.

Jason went flying over Lonnie before he could even get a hit in, landing on his back with a grunt. Jason refused to make eye contact, but they were so close he couldn’t help it. It was like if he locked eyes, then it made this real. It validated the new information in Lonnie’s head, it made it real that Jason had just accidentally exposed himself. He was vulnerable and he hated it. He tried to roll them to the side using his body weight, but he used a little too much power, sending them toppling over more times than he would have liked.

Lonnie wasn’t expecting Jason to roll them over again, and the way they landed was a near mirror to the initial position. Similar, but closer. Their chests were pressed together by the turn, separated only by the bulk of his injured arm. Lonnie could feel the heat of Jason’s skin on his cheeks. Their heavy breathing had to be the loudest thing in the room. Head held up only by the angle of his arm on the side of the other boy’s head, he chose to ignore the obvious. The challenge was rough when he said it, and it came between shallow breaths. “What, that’s all you’ve got?”

Jason cursed himself for letting Lonnie back on top of him. He grunted, glaring at the boy. He was angry, angry that he’d seen his face, angry that he’d gotten the better of him and angry that he’d allowed himself into this situation at all. He was breathing hard, but out of exertion where Lonnie’s breathing had a different element to it. His opponent’s words only inflamed him more, and that’s when Jason had an idea. Tim had asked this kid out on a date, right? Wriggling his left arm away from Lonnie’s injured one, he grabbed the kid’s head and pulled it close, closing the small space between them. For one brief second, their lips touched and Jason hoped that it was enough to disarm his opponent. Rearing back, he slammed his head into Lonnie’s, throwing his weight over so he was straddling the boy, his forearm resting firmly on his neck. “Sorry. Never really learned to fight fair.” He answered, trying to forget the fact that he’d just used his mouth as a distraction on someone who wasn’t a chick.

Lonnie was momentarily taken aback. He’d planned for a few different responses from Jason - there were a number of ways to get out of a straddle hold, and thanks to his over-roll a moment ago Lonnie wasn’t even grounded over him. The press of his lips was foreign and over before he could have a fully formed though about it, and it worked to Jason’s advantage. He paused long enough for him to gain the advantage, slam their heads together, and reverse their positions entirely. “That’s pretty obvious, Red.” With his good hand he pressed against the arm at his neck, more for distraction than anything. After a beat he reared his booted heel up and slammed it against the other boy’s knee, using their closeness as leverage. Using the moment to get back to his feet, he grinned openly, though he wiped a thumb over his bottom lip in fast curiosity before glaring back at him. “With one arm tied behind my back.”

Jason jumped to his feet, unwilling to yield even though every part of him was screaming to run away. His face was a mask of anger though it was cracking at the seams. He was pissed but laid bare in front of the kid. At least he trusted Lonnie on some level, and, despite how much it irked him, he was proving himself pretty capable with the sling, even if it did look dumb as hell. Lashing out, Jason went for Lonnie’s right side, his undefendable one, aiming a hard kick at his side.

Lonnie tried to block the kick, but the impulse only had him attempting to reach out impotently with his broken arm. The blow landed hard, but Lonnie had learned how to handle a shot like that a long time ago. He used the pain and the motion, using his working arm to surge forward and push Jason back while he was still recovering. They hit the wall together with a bang that made one of the targets hit the floor, and Lonnie made the decision all at once. Distractionary techniques were meant to be his forte, over Red Hood’s, and he’d be damned if he were outdone. Other thoughts were there, maybe, but they were overshadowed by a clear desire to win. Like just another counter in their fight, he gripped his lapel in his fist and kissed him back.

Firefly stood atop a high building, the perfect view for his creations. All across the city, he could see the smoke rising, the orange glow from his children, each rising up to take on their new world. It was bliss, sheer bliss to watch the warehouse be consume by the flames, orange and yellow mingling with the indigo night sky. He let out a breath and with it, all the aggravation he’d been feeling since this whole snow storm began, all the anxiety, all the frustrations…everything…​gone. His mind had finally reached the blank nirvana he so craved when a shout interrupted him. His eyes snapped open and he turned, seeing a mask in the darkness, screaming. “No need to yell.” He said calmly, though irritation was beginning to creep into his tone. Why was he here, ruining this special moment?

Anarky curled his fists hard enough to bruise them, the metal top of his arm guard cracking. He was fast to meet the man on his own level, standing just outside the madman’s space. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked over the Firefly’s shoulder, trying to make out any people through the flames. He heard a scream, and the color fled from his cheeks. Hand gripped firmly around the electrified baton, he held himself back. “Did you do this?" He asked, biting off his words.

Firefly cocked his head to the side. Through his mask, Gar could taste the flames and he inhaled the smoke. How could anyone be so angry when they were covered in such glorious fumes? It took a good amount of concentration for Gar to keep focused on the man in front of him. All he wanted was to turn away and gaze into the depths of his lover, but he couldn’t do that if he was being observed. “To what are you referring?”

Anarky slammed the end of his staff against the roof, the electric charge bursting into bright blue sparks. “The fire. The fire, obviously. There are people in there!”

Firefly glanced back at the warehouse. He hadn’t expected there to be casualties in this particular explosion, but a smile rose on his face. “Even better.” He noticed the sparks coming off the man’s sticks and his face lit up. “Electric staff?” He questioned, curiosity overcoming him. Oh, what he could do with an electric staff. His mind was buzzing.

Anarky frowned through the mask. That was enough of a confession for him; the explosion itself an act of violence that could warrant retaliation. “Yes,” he allowed, “It is.” Anarky, whiplike, moved to slam the blunt side of the staff against the Firefly’s helmet with a crack.

Firefly took the blow, leaning his body with the force. He’d learned how to take a hit long ago, and though the electric current rippling through his suit was new, it only added adventure. “How magnificent,” he commented, activating his jets, slowly propelling himself upward. He would not let this vigilante take away his precious moment or his prized view. Pulling a small explosive out of his belt, he turned it in his hand. “A fan of electricity,” he murmured. “Does that mean you enjoy the flames as well?” Pressing a small button, he threw the explosive. “Fire in the hole!”

"Not particularly… " Anarky stared up at him for a second, awed momentarily by the mechanics that must’ve gone into his personal jets. He didn’t have much time to mentally recreate it, though, because within seconds some sort of grenade was whizzing through the air. Anarky ran. Sprinted to the edge of the roof and vaulted with the staff, up on to what remained of the warehouse’s top floor. He turned, scowled at the flying arsonist, and shot the grapple end of the staff through the air, aiming for his arm.

Firefly felt a tug on his arm, pulling him back toward the earth. “Get…OFF!” He yelled. Yanking his arm up, Gar shifted into overdrive. Fine, he wanted to tether himself to the Firefly? Then he better know how to fly. Gar shot upwards, pulling the rope, and whoever was attached to it, towards the edge of the roof. “You’re playing with fire, little boy!”

Anarky felt a stab of fear when he was dragged by his own tether, but he pulled himself together with a hard bite to his cheek. “You’re going down, Firefly. I’m not that easy to shake!” He thought for a second he might, actually, be that easy, but as he neared the edge of the roof he caught site of a pile of concrete roof, destroyed and organized by the chaos of the explosion. Pulling hard on the tether, he lodged the staff into the debris and squared his stance. Flicking the switch on the side of the baton, he watched the electricity shoot up the cable with immediate satisfaction.

Firefly lurched backward and turned with wide eyes, watching the bolt of electricity shooting up the rope. The shock flowed through him, but instead of fear, Gar only felt satisfaction. His muscles ached from seizing, but he felt more alive than he had in ages. It was a pure form of fire, coursing through his veins. Turning his flamethrower towards the roof, Gar let the flames go, attempting to sever their tie. “We’ll see how easy you are to shake!”

Anarky abandoned the staff where it was stuck in the concrete, rolling quick away from the fire as it rained from the sky. His foot stuck for a moment in a part of the roof that was collapsing and he fell back, huffing for breath. The cord of the grapple line was a metal tension cord, so it should last - but it couldn’t last forever. Anarky had to move fast. Think fast. Planting an elbow against the roof to push himself up, his hand hit glass. Miraculously, unbroken glass. Yes. Scrambling for his utility belt, he poured his own accellerant into the barrel of the beer bottle and shoved a gauze through the neck. He didn’t even need to light a flame; pushing to his feet, he grazed the homemade bomb against the red barrier surrounding him and chucked it toward the leashed Firefly. It hit his left wing with a hollow ‘clunk’, falling right into the turbine and, after a tense second, exploding in a sudden, brilliant inferno.

Firefly tried to see what his opponent was doing, but he seemed to be hiding his actions. “Come out and play!” He called over the roar of the flames spiraling down. When the mask pushed to his feet, Gar recognized the object in his hands. “Oh, how brilliant!” His affection for flames consumed him. He knew when to admire another artist’s work, and this was it. “How thoughtful! A present for me!” Only when the man threw the cocktail, it landed in his wing. This was not good. Gar was torn between admiration and worry. Luckily, he had learned from his mistakes. Fire would not turn on him again so soon. When the blast went off, he felt himself lurch to the left, his wing out of commission. “Damn you!” He screamed. Tonight was supposed to be perfect! And instead he was using his love against him! Luckily, Gar felt her warm embrace, tongues of flame licking his wounds as he spiraled down. Landing on a small overhang, Gar took the small extinguisher from his belt and put his suit out with a sense of sadness.

Anarky couldn’t muster a smile for the success of his attack; he was still possessed with the lives below him. The lives he knew could not have moved from the Warehouse in time to escape the initial explosion. The violence of the whole scene, the flame’s hot breathe on his neck in a burning sort of intimacy, it was getting to him. Clawing at his composure, and trying to break it into tiny bits with the names of people who called him ‘Allie,’ or ‘Sweetheart,’ or ‘Good boy.’ The faces of the possible dead haunted him. He ran after the arsonist, vaulting from the roof onto the overhang below and, without his staff in hand, fighting hand to hand. He moved to strike the man with an armored blow to the chest, the metal protection of his gloves serving a more violent purpose.

Firefly looked up with a smile. No electric bar? Well that was disappointing. He longed for the rush it gave him, but this would have to do. Gar would show this man that his private moments were meant for him and him alone. “Looks like things are heating up, Mask.” He said, falling into the blow. It surged through his chest, and he knew instantly that it would blossom into a large purple welt by the time he woke up. He grimaced through the pain, pushing himself off the icy ground. Launching himself forward, Gar pulled out a small knife, his back up for hand to hand combat. Lifting the blade to a nearby blaze, his eyes lit up as the steel flared to life. “Napalm,” he said, utter adoration seething in his words. “What a glorious concoction, don’t you think?” He slashed forward with his fiery blade, pure lust in his eyes.

Anarky rolled his eyes at the clear gimmick in his words. “I’m not a mask.” he corrected him, and, when the knife lit up between them and then surged forward he winced and tried to dive out of the way. He wasn’t fast enough, and the combination of steel and flame bared the skin on his left arm. The blade stung and burned all at once, and he shouted out in pain. “… I am the fist,” he bit off through it, “of the people you just killed.” Pulling out his hand-held and gripping it awkwardly in his non-dominant hand, he drove the taser into the Arsonist’s stomach. All three taser wires and probes buried themselves inside the Firefly’s armor at too-close range, and the sparking of the weapon nearly burned at Anarky’s hand.

Firefly grinned when his blade made contact. “And a mighty, fiery fist you are!” The taser struck him hard in the stomach, and though his armor protected him from much of the charge, bolts of electricity danced through his muscles, seizing them, setting them convulsing with energy. He let out a loud, almost maniacal. laugh. Through the tears that came unwillingly to his eyes, Gar saw the sparks dancing around him and the other man. “If you can’t stand the heat,” he started, noting that his opponent was sure to have some damage on his tasering hand. “Get out of the kitchen!” With that, Gar plunged forward, setting them both flying off the roof towards the fiery blaze.

Anarky grunted at the impact as Firefly tackled him back, and he braced for the fall. They barreled into the flames, falling through one of the burning building’s crumbling floors onto the one below it. Anarky felt something in his arm crack. It was a new horror to see the world he’d built eaten, to see things he’d hung and put into place blackened and changed. The great python of the Arsonist’s fire slithered, whip-fast, across the floor. It took with it blankets, and tents, food, and books. Still staring, horrified, from under Firefly’s armored bulk, he saw the hair of a little doll alight and dance like some terrible transformation from cherub to living fire. There was a black dust beneath them, and it stirred in his sudden violence. He slammed his head against the other’s helmet, the report of his mask fracturing at the temple and Firefly’s goggles shattering joining the crackle-song of the flames around them. Anarky rolled them over, straddled the torch at his chest, and aimed an elbow through the new opening of his face mask. The tempered glass bit through the fabric of his sleeve and pricked his skin, but he felt his blow hit bone and heard the snap of a broken nose. 

Firefly felt the warm caress of his lover’s flames reach out to him, cushioning his fall. The wings of his suit, now mangled, still attempted to slow his descent, though with the added weight of the mask, he crashed much faster than he would have liked. Before he knew it, his opponent was head butting him, shattering the fractal goggles he wore into a million pieces. Gar glared at the man before he felt the bones in his face crack. Where was the electricity? Where was the heat, the fire? This was no fun. Reaching a hand to his belt, he pressed a small button, setting off a manageable explosion, catapulting the other man off him. Pushing himself to his feet, Gar looked around. This was his element, this was the soul of his creation. Though he began to feel the smoke curling through his lungs, threatening to replace the air, he felt a kind of elation he hadn’t hoped to find, not for a million more blazes. His heart stammered, but he was still being spied upon. Pulling out his flamethrower, he trained it on his enemy and pulled the trigger, a twisted smile upon his face.

Anarky ran. He didn’t have a choice, though he was winded by the small bomb. Chased by the encroaching flame, he ran and dove through an opening in the floor that was once a stairwell. The railings were twisted around themselves from the earlier eruption, like metal grins cheering on their pursuit. He hit the debris-covered stairs with a hiss, his arm hanging useless at his side, but still he ran. Down three flights, into the pit of the flaming warehouse. He was wary of losing his pursuer, though, and at each landing he tossed a flare into the air that erupted and joined with the larger fires, the snake that chased him, in a chaotic mess of red and golden sparks. They reached the basement at Anarky’s sprint, and he swung up on his good arm and hid on the belly of the a large pipe, waiting for the Firebug to hit the end of the stairs. 

Firefly was initially content to let the man retreat like a coward, but when he saw the brilliant sparks accentuating his already perfect blaze, well he couldn’t just stand by. He needed those incendiaries. Lord only knew what they could add to his displays. He took off after his intruder, pausing at each landing to reach out and caress the new additions to his creation, welcoming the new children. When the spark came to a stop, Gar was in the basement of the old building, small bits of flame peering out from beneath floorboards and behind old pieces of machinery as if waiting with bated breath to see what their master would do. “What, no more fervid flames? You disappoint me, Mask.” He taunted, ready to set the entire room ablaze.