#reknight

the   question   greets   conner   like   an   old   nemesis   ⸺   it   startles   him   a   little,   exhaling   tar-laced   smoke   outward   in   a   fit   of   coughs   that   leave   him   winded   more   than   anything   else.   it   blinks,   rapid   and   adjusting   once   more   to   the   moody   low-light   that   seems   to   *only   exist   in   gotham,   gaze   focusing   on   the   side   silhouette   of   jason   todd.   it   lingers   there,   intense   in   all   the   way   their   artificially-crafted   eyes   seem   to   bloom.

though   the   question   had   forcibly   pulled   conner   from   the   daze   that   he'd   settled   in   previously,   it   doesn't   really   strike   it   as   a   question   too   out   of   the   blue   for   jason.   he   balances   half   of   a   cigarette   between   its   two   fingers,   idly   sniffing   as   their   rumbling   voice   comes   to   respond,   ❝ i   don't   think   so.   i   think   bringing   folks   like   us   fucks   us   up   and   nobody   knows   how   to   *deal   with   us   after   we   don't   come   back   the   same. ❞   he'd   seen   it   in   the   others   ⸺   though   members   of   his   own   had   been   able   to   help   where   he'd   asked,   conner   still   felt   a   shell   of   themselves.   it's   not   sure   if   it   was   better   or   worse   off   in   the   long   run   ⸺   conner   knows   there's   more   parts   of   him   worse   for   wear   than   not.

it's   even   worse   for   jason.

@reknight; "who did this?"

their   back   kisses   rough   brick,   breath   *forcibly   leaving   their   body   with   the   impact.   their   eyes   *struggle   to   focus   ⸺   blinking   rapidly   as   they   try   to   focus   in   on   the   vigilante   in   front   of   them.   where   had   he   come   from?   pocket   almost   assumes   jason   is   here   to   collect   on   time   *borrowed   from   escaping   death   seventy   long   years   ago.

pocket   frowns,   head   rolling   forward   and   then   backward   as   the   metallic   tang   of   blood   meets   their   lips,   ire   rekindled   *brighter   within   the   back   of   their   eyes.   there's   a   sneaking   suspicion   in   the   furthermost   corners   of   their   brain   ( of   which   is   still   able   to   rationalize )   that   pocket   had   been   roughed   up   more   than   they   originally   assumed   ⸺   though   assessment   earns   a   small,   triumphant   smile   of   blood   and   pride   as   they   realize   they   had   been   able   to   walk   away   with   limbs   still   *functioning.

❝ 'unno   -   'm   sure   they'll   be   back.   r'ya   with   'em? ❞

words   come   out   *barely   decipherable,   tonal   content   dictated   by   the   way   their   eyes   continue   their   struggle   to   focus   on   jason.   try   as   they   may,   limbs   gawkily   swing   forward   as   they   *propel   themselves   off   the   wall;   a   piss-poor   attempt   to   project   that   they   were   ( not )   prepared   to   continue   to   defend   the   *only   thing   they   had   on   them   ⸺   a   beaten   up   briefcase   tucked   behind   their   legs.

there's a firm set to his mouth  —  a near-imperceptible press of his lips,  like he wants to frown but is consciously,  pointedly deciding not to  —  that she recognizes.    a micro expression she can only pinpoint because she's seen it reflected in the mirror,  to date,  an uncountable number of times.    she never noticed it when she was younger,  if she's being honest.    she'd catch sight of herself  (in the gleam of polished medical equipment,  against sleek metal or muddied glass while navigating unknown city streets  -  rendered,  most clearly,  on the surface of the bedroom half-length vanity she keeps meticulously clean)  and not think twice of it.    the subtly pinched brows,  lips pulled in,  it was the way her face sat,  she believed,  and never wondered at the reason she labored to examine it any further.

a hushed    "jason"    settles in the shared silence.    it's a quiet night for gotham  —  flickering streetlights and muted club music from a block over their only backdrop.    she pauses,  caught between it's okay and i'm sorry / caught between the creeping urge to ask what do you see when you look at me and wishing  (selfishly,  clinging to the memory of years bygone)  that this unspoken non-secret of hers had remained outside his bounds forever.     

torn suit, split knuckles and a dried up bloodied nose; a little banged up would be the understatement of the century. he sure looked the part, mask pooled into his lap from when it was peeled away from flushed cheeks, revealing his own brunet tangles saturated with perspiration. peter somehow felt a lot better than he looked, and his eyes ever alert remained a surprising contrast against limp frame. he paid no mind to acrid air, unsure if it was coming from the unused space, or them. probably both. he hadn't yet bothered to look himself over, or take account of any broken bones. the way his body slumped into jason's said enough; that he was content that way, everything else could wait.

" straight from the maple. " his own response just above a whisper, watching crimson shell come apart to reveal tired eyes that told many a tale. never did he hold any shame for simple requests, the barriers of their masks could wait a few more minutes. observant, prying as suspected, though in the way of caring. his eye swept over familiar features. " 'course there's somethin' to look at. " another mutter, slightly raspy in his throat as gloved fingers lifted to push dampened curls from the other's skin. he wouldn't push it, despite the tingle at the mouth that wondered what his partner tasted like with a hint of iron.

IT TAKES HER A SECOND TO REALISE HER BEARINGS. for that split second, the music sounds a little too loud & she has the blinding urge to dig her nails into something.. merely to rip it apart. once felines fall on the culprit, she freezes ─ only for a second, before letting her heels melt into lace-up hot-pink wedges. JENNIFER'S AT AN ALL-TIME HIGH RIGHT ABOUT NOW. & all she can think about is the sweet release of flesh stuck in teeth. you can tell she's at the brink of expiration, sweetness turning *saccharine rot as her lancôme juicy tube isn't powerful enough to cover all the peeled patches on her lips. Still, she remains the most wanted there. ❛❛ jay─ I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING. ❜❜ it comes out rather ugly, like she's forgotten the past three months: the sweet 𝒥ennifer 𝙲heck who wouldn't dare hurt a fly– murdered in the span of seconds. but somewhere within those seconds there's a scan of his features by siren eyes, and immediately, she softens like a pup. it's enticing, sultry, almost– OUT OF THE ORDINARY, despite being the exact same expression she's known to always wear.. eyelashes flutter up & a manicured digit drags itself ever so slightly across his seemingly clenched jaw: ❛❛ ─Did ya' come 'cause you missed me reeeeeeal bad.. ? ❜❜

' no- no, not that one, ' eddie blurts out far too fast. ' we weren’t going in there. ' he hurries along the hallway and pulls the door shut with both hands, like it might swing open again if he lets it go. something about the kasprzak household: it's made up of boxes, of magazines, old news clippings, pharmaceutical boxes and medicines kept like collectibles far past their dates. sometimes it's hard to make your way through a corridor without knocking something down. the worst room of all is the one jason's stumbled into after eddie gave a bogus direction to the bathroom.

' it’s just a storage room, ma’s boxes. old clothes. nothing interesting. ' he swallows, breath a little shallow, a little tight. ' if it stays open the air gets bad and i start wheezing, so it’s supposed to stay closed. that's what ma says. '

nobody probably would have seen these two coming from a mile away. first of all, guy doesn't do gotham. especially when it's the turf of the one hero he doesn't particularly like. secondly, the red hood doesn't really team-up with the green cosmic knights. ( does he do team-up's at all? guy has no idea. he assumed jason was just like him: a lone wolf. ( ... ) okay, that sounds corny as shit, but you get the picture. ) so the duo in and of itself was pretty ridiculous.

but after a few conversations they've had here and there, they've learned it actually makes more sense than anything else.

" didn't ya say ya got this like five seconds ago? " guy teasingly throws back before his ring picks him up from the rubble and floats him over to where jason was taking care of the rest of the goons. with his back turned towards jason's, he conjures a construct hockey stick in his hands and a helmet to go with it. " didn't even think ya had the word 'help' in yer vocabulary. does this mean yer heart has finally grown three sizes? "