#talonstray

The thing is—Jason is Stray. He deals in information and it so happens that some old elite has information another client wants.

The handsome payment is contingent on how much Intel Jason can glean from them though. Which is none because this fucker has ties with the deepest part of Gotham's underground—the Court of Owls.

Hence Jason's predicament with being hunted by their stupid bird of prey with its clipped wings and sharpened talons.

It's a common occurrence for Jason to stick his nose where he shouldn't and get himself into trouble, but he thinks he's outdone himself this time. Truly.

Talon is relentless. Whenever Jason thinks he gives the monster the slip, they seem to appear from the darkest shadows. Eyes unnaturally bright against the pitch of night.

This must be what a sleep paralysis demon looks like. It's a thought barely formed in his head before he's snatched out of the sky and then they're rolling along a rooftop.

And it should hurt (it's going to - Jason is ready to tear this monster apart with claws and hands alike), but it doesn't.

Because Talon braces for him when they hit the ground. Protecting him. And even when Jason looks ready to attack because he's been cornered, there's no threat that Jason can see or sense.

It's disconcerting. The Court and its Talon are a nursery rhyme in Gotham, but those who know—they know.

Jason's chest still heaving from adrenaline and exhaustion and fear. And he still wants to lash out, knows he should take the opportunity to strike and run again, but there's something to Talon's expression, his eyes, that stills Jason and breaks his heart.

In the end, Talon backs off on his own. A flash drive gets held out to him though because this monster-weapon-tool is passing off intel to him.

Jason looks at Talon, searching his expression and hurting, aching the more he looks.

'They'll kill you for this.' He tells the Talon.

And they look at him, tired but determined. Resigned and resolved. For a moment, he looks like a man before the shadows swallow him again, leaving Jason with a rough voice, disused; never spoken to, never heard: 'Counting on it.'

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