those who died are justified;

[reneger]

WHO: jason todd + various
WHERE: ~~everywhere~~
WHEN: August 9th-16th ish
WHAT: grungefest dates, disappointing siblings, ruining markus' life, etc etc
NOTES OR WARNINGS: booze, bad flirting / vague discussion of torture, murder, and child abuse in damian's thread

Comments

daisy.

[reneger]

( a gps pin and a calendar invite, super adultly. he notes down the start time of the fest, leaves his own shitty abandoned building with approximately enough time, and shows up at her door with thirty minutes to spare.

plenty of time to get there. being fashionably late is only cool when you can make a sick ass entry; there is no awesome entry to be made when showing up at someone's door. and jason doesn't feel like testing the security system on windows of someone he isn't familiar with. his most 'fuckboy outfit' consists of his usual shit: a tiny black tank, dark brown jacket with a massive attached hood, cargo pants with way too many goddamn pockets (thanks cyberpunk future) held up by a red belt.

a hand reaches out, fingers rapping loud against the door frame before he just. stands. waits. )

[evite]

[ she gets to the door first — which is probably a scientific miracle, given the two super spies she happens to be shacking up with — and manages to slip out through it with only a called out 'my gentleman caller has arrived!' observant bystanders should take note of her exceptionally self-satisfied expression as she firmly closes and locks the door behind her, oversized boho fringe lapping at her legs in the process.

where cyberpunk future offers many pockets and lots of black for jason, daisy's hours of thrift shop scouring have netted her the ultimate in wannabe kurt cobain groupie gear. the crop top is cropped a little high for her liking, and the so-called kimono is more of a see-through drape of fabric with fringe, but beggars can't exactly be choosers. or something. she's trying not to think about it too much. ]

So. [ hella casual. ] Did you bring me a corsage?

[ obviously, the assumed answer here is no, but who knows what he's rocking in those cargo pants. ]

[reneger]

( a roll of duct tape in one pocket, super glue in another. various small bits of wire, the closest goddamn thing he could find to a paper clip. . basic shit you would need for pockets. jason immediately recognizes her as the snarky girl from the safehouse. but who gives a shit?

honestly, the sass just makes it even more worth it. coupled with shitty song lyrics and drinks? yeah, he's down. and it gets his mind off of all the other bullcrap going on, too.

that definitely helps. )

Y'know, I had one, but. . must've fallen out of my pocket on the way here. ( an easy lift of his shoulders, coupled with a lazy grin. ) Sorry 'bout that.

[evite]

Way to let a girl down. [ what kind of gentleman caller are you, jason! ] I guess next time we'll both have to wear one, then, and make up for tonight's utter failure.

[ at least his pocket packrat skills are useful. the sheer amount of fringe on the kimono makes her outfit unsuitable for anything but lounging in fields and drinking mai tais from barely-clad pool boys. (it's a shame the latter's not much of an option here.)

once the door is secured and what little daisy's brought with her is tucked away for safekeeping, she gestures towards the exit door at the other end of the hallway. it leads out to an external staircase that dumps out on a side-street. too bad it's not the ritz. ]

Groundtram okay, or is that too bougie for you?

markus. august 10th

[reneger]

( part of cutting the shit out of yourself is stopping and realizing that shit you are capable of isn't a good idea. case in point: fight club when you already keep breaking open skin from getting the shit punched out of you. jason's usual nighttime strategy of investigation include jumping into the shadiest parts, listening to gossip. picking up bits and pieces of conversations that go on within those walls. getting into a few barfights here and there, using those victories as way to up his image a bit in those crowds. fight clubs are fucking amazing, too; there's a lot of cash to be earned, a lot of connections to make.

but he can't pull that crap now. so he goes in the opposite direction: explores up. a simple black jacket with a white shirt under, black straight-legged pants. not--truly expensive, but from a distance one probably couldn't tell the difference. a suit and tie are a little out of his budget range, but jason knows how to blend in with rich kids.

even if these ones are a bit different. getting in through the backdoor is a little more difficult in these parts, but he manages, somehow. improving his posture is no big deal; jason shifts from slouchy and comfortable to standing with his back straight and shoulders squared easy. it makes him look a little bigger in a way that isn't quite right for this kind of setting, but hard to avoid given his build.

the pianist immediately catches his eye. a familiar face in this atmosphere wasn't quite expected. jason's careful on his way over, grabs a glass of champagne with a quiet thank you before leaning in behind markus, murmuring soft close to his ear. )

Sounds familiar. What're you playing?

[saviorexe]

[The piece he’s coaxing out of black and white keys is something that’s classically overplayed; but the sort of people who frequent an establishment like this aren’t the type to care about being trite. Markus knows this; that here, he’s only the atmosphere, not the center of attention. A background novelty, meant to provide ambient entertainment. The only critical eye he had to suffer through was his initial set, played to perfection during his audition for this job — after that? As long as he plays smoothly, continuously, with an air of quiet refinement, he could be performing a maudlin variation of Chopsticks and no one would care.

Thankfully, his standards run a little higher than that.

The grand piano glistens in the lighting, polish sheer enough to almost catch Jason’s reflection as he leans in from over Markus’ shoulder. The android catches a familiar voice close to his ear.

Markus almost, almost, misses a beat in a measure. But muscle memory is a good friend of his, acting as his salvation when his mind becomes distracted by Jason — the last person he would’ve expected to see here.]

…Debussy. Clair de Lune.

[He doesn’t even glance over, only keeps eyes lowered on the keys, back straight, accentuating the fine lines of his dark suit. A prerequisite of working here is that Markus has to be dressed to the nines, and tonight is no exception to that rule. He continues speaking in a low tone, so that the flourish of music isn't interrupted by his own words.]

What are you doing here?

[reneger]

( it's a soft tune, one that matches the restaurant itself. jason understands the appeal. likes the sound of it, too. and markus does a great job of not flinching despite jason doing his goddamn best to get a rise. he moves back enough to not cause too much commotion. like he wants a closer ear to the piano, without interrupting the artist playing. jason keeps his expression neutral, too. an almost soft smile on his face, although it never quite reaches his eyes. )

Checking this part of town out. ( why else would he be here. a fancy restaurant clearly isn't jason's scene. he--is trying to blend in a little better, right now. there are no tears in his clothing, his boots are polished, hair slicked back, he almost looks like he could be a decent fucking human being.

but they both know better, right. )

Figured juicy drama comes from both sides, doesn't it? The rich and famous, and deep down under in the drains.

damian, august 11th

[reneger]

( it's been a day since the incident. a day in which jason has careuflly avoided all the places damian (and dick) would bother visiting. because he did fuck up, this is completely, entirely on him. it's his fault damian got the shit end of the stick, his fault gaby latched on and targeted him.

jason deals with it like he deals with everything: avoids the fuck out of it, because it's better than facing it and screaming in damian's face when he starts getting pissed off, because they both have temper problems, and damian is still figuring out how to cope with his own. they're both messes, shoving each other together in a tense situation is only going to make shit worse.

and it works, for a while. until jason runs out of other places to go. until he wants to go home, lay on his own crappy couch (newer, considering the other one smelled like burnt plastic and was missing half it's cushions) and nap in his own goddamn space. he's more than a little tipsy when he makes his way through the warehouse door, figures he puts up with himself so much easier when he's drunk. it's late, but they're all nocturnal. maybe damian will have already gone on his nightly escapades.

maybe he can nap for a moment without being noticed. )

[batricide]

[ Fat chance.

Perhaps avoidance would have worked with a younger Damian. One who hasn't been left the sole, disowned son of an already shattered family. He notices when he's being avoided, even if he's also doing his fair share of avoiding. Having his dead brothers here is a gift he didn't expect, and one that's sent his mood into a violent tailspin. There are secrets -- secrets he can't tell. Secrets they'd throw him out for, the same way his old man had.

But secrets kill.

His mood is foul after the incident. He gives Jason a wide berth, avoids him like the plague. He can't even think about him without his skin getting hot and itchy, and so he doesn't. He buries himself into the task of making somewhere livable for Dick, and into pursuing other odd jobs around the city. He needs money. They need money. And Damian is the best fighter and the most durable of all of them, the least likely to die, so he figures he'd better start putting himself to work.

He's just about to head out when he hears the doors open and close, only calmed by the sound of familiar footsteps stumbling through the door. He doesn't need to guess where he's been or what he's been doing.

He gets to his feet, steps out of the enclosed space he's starting to call a room. ]

... Jason.

[reneger]

( a voice immediately recognized and categorized as plan failed, he should have fucking known. god. damian stands up, but jason doesn't look to him. just keeps his steady pace towards the couch until he's close enough to let himself collapse down onto it. he hasn't--made himself a corner of the warehouse, yet. nights between loki's place and wherever the fuck else he's found himself hadn't quite made that a necessity. and regardless of what universe this damian is from, jason knows better than to think he's going to get any personal space around him.

he's nosy and gets into everyone's shit. it's not a secret. he's not drunk enough to stumble. just enough to feel a comfortable buzz that's a step passed tipsy but he exaggerates his movements anyway. figures maybe damian will leave him the hell alone if he's not useful.

raises a hand once he's planted his face down into the cushions to try and wave him off with a mumbled, ) Tired.

( not tired enough. but he can fake it with the best of them. )

kate, august 10th

[reneger]

( a cool smoothie equivalent in one hand and kate's arm wrapped around the other is sure one way to spend a nice, overly fucking toasty afternoon. the jacket he's wearing is lighter than the dark brown one he usually puts on, but it's still. a jacket. there are numerous cons to having a wardrobe purely made of tanktops and coats.

this is number one, right here. )

You sure being seen with me in pubic is a smart move? People might think you're ( a dramatic pause, for the effect ) getting up to something.

[fledges]

[Kate, meanwhile, is in shorts, a tank top, and her trademark purple aviators, as always. She grins up at him.]

Getting up to something because I'm hanging out with a dude wearing a jacket when it's a million degrees out?

[reneger]

Never know what I could be hiding up these sleeves.

( shifting to put his smoothie down in his other hand without jostling kate's grip on him too much, so he can. grab for those aviators, thank you. )

Could be hiding guns.

thor. august 12th

[reneger]

( the asgardian's place is comfortable. running water, towels, nice shampoos, food, sometimes. jason likes to come by every now and again, leech off some crap. drink a beer, clean himself off, take off again. he leeches, but he generally leaves shit behind, too. an extra back of beer every now and again, some zany street food in the fridge--it wouldn't be great to take and take and take and never give, so he balances it out.

a new 6-pack's sitting on the kitchen counter, but jason's not even close to there; he's got fingers in black tufts of hair, scrubbing out grime with one of loki's shampoos under the stream of hot water. bathroom door closed, but not locked. he leaves boots right outside of it instead, in case anyone isn't goddamn listening close enough for the sound of running water.

there are fresh healing scars over his gut, up his chest over his sternum but the stitches have all been removed, and the skin is patching itself up together. dried bits and pieces of blood flake off and roll down the drain, and there are a few more obvious bruises along his sides, gross patches of yellow and purple in various stages of fade.

but those are normal. unconcerning. )

[ofmyth]

[ It's an exciting life, working security jobs. Some days you stare down the hoodlums watching the moneyvan being unloaded. Some days the hoodlums think they're tough shit and you have to tell them to back off. Then, on days like today, the hoodlums organise themselves and you have to beat some sense into them.

Thor lives to fight, but always at his own will. Rarely has Thor ever fought at someone else's command, under another's command, of course, but able to walk away if he wishes. Yes, it was wrong of those men to try to rob the van he'd been guarding, but he sees the imbalance in this society, how some have everything while others die in the streets. In a certain light, keeping the poor from having what they need is the real crime.

At least he gets to go home early to ponder it all.

Ever a creature of habit, he has a beer off the counter, strips off his shirt and frowns that his brother is home and showering-- but thinks nothing more of it. He's still thinking nothing of it a minute later when he opens the bathroom door. On the way home he'd stared at a reflection of himself in the train window and decided a beard wasn't for him. Somewhere in here are a razor and cream.

Steam swirls out as he opens the bathroom door. For the hundredth time he thinks of how nice it would be to have a hot spring here. Anywhere.]

I tire of all this, brother. [This. The world. Their lack of powers. Having to hunt for the Odin-damned razor and shave in a fogged up bathroom mirror. Loki will know what he means.]

[reneger]

( the black clothes thrown about the countertops, much too large to be loki's but a little smaller than thor's, would be an additional sign that it definitely wasn't loki in the shower. jason hears the door open and closed, thinks nothing of it. it's probably loki, who--has seen him nude enough that jason doesn't give a shit anymore. he's not big on shame as is, bodies are just that: bodies.

but.

the voice definitely is not loki's, and it stops him mid-scrubbing some suds out of his hair, has him leaning in to the shower door, making out blond beyond the fog from the too-hot shower. not a great idea, considering it has soap falling down into his eyes, effectively burning the shit out of them. ow. a palm presses against one while the other presses to the door, clears his throat. )

Not your brother, big guy.

( now that that is out of the way, ) But man, I get it. I'm tired of everything, too. All the bullshit going down here, the shitty weird assed Morning Star bullshit, New Amsterdam's entire Thing. . it's all fucking stupid.

( completely normal conversations to have in the shower, right. )

loki. august 16

[reneger]

( it's august sixteenth, three in the fucking morning. an absolutely ridiculous time for most people, sure, but jason isn't most people, and nor is loki, right? and they've both got needs. needs they can help each other fulfill. and jason? he's shoving a hand into the open window, pulling it open just enough to fit his goddamn body through the opening. it's been a bit since he's shaved, there's stubble fucking everywhere, but who cares about that.

when he's here for pancakes.

boots land against the ground with a soft thump, and while he can be stealthy when he wants to be, jason doesn't try. his footsteps resound loudly on his way into the kitchen, the clank of silverware loud as he opens a drawer, pulls out a fork and knife.

look this is serious business. )

[selfimage]

[ even if Loki has to succumb to things like sleep now, he doesn't always heed the call. when he can't sleep he spends his nights reading—anything he can find: books, blogs, newsfeeds, sometimes he spends his days trolling random forums on his neural implant and thinks about how ridiculously easy it is and how much he misses his StarkPhone. small things, really.

both Thor and Loki come and go as they please, like true Asgardian princes, and Loki's sprawled backward in his bed while Thor is missing—a new job, or drinking, or fighting, or whatever Thor manages to do in his spare time. there are lots of things that he must miss, so Loki leaves him to his distractions.

Jason tumbles through the window like a force of nature, and Loki sighs and hums lowly. there's demanding footfalls and the rustle of silverware like he owns the place. Loki almost regrets leaving the window open, even if he's glad for the company. ]

Some of us have jobs we need to get to in the morning.

[ he calls from the loft above when Jason makes a particularly clanky noise.

also it's Friday, so he doesn't. have a job. in the morning. ]

[reneger]

( jason works, when he feels like it. a few games of poker there, a fight here, various nonsensical underground bullshit he can get away with. he's. been careful with his body, lately; avoids fights, because any complications will only set him back even further, and no one wants to deal with that. least of all himself.

but three in the morning is a perfectly normal time for nocturnal creatures to be up and about, and bats are by nature, creatures of the night. jason never tried to be anything different and has no intention of starting now.

utensils between fingers, jason shoves open the fridge. grabs onto the first beer he finds and sifts through the shelves searching for. . something. god knows what, but he's determined to find it. )

Hey, Lo. You busy?

( obviously ignoring commentary about sleep. sleep is for the weak, psh. )

noctis ""sky"". august 13th

[reneger]

( a half hour before their agreed-to meet time and jason's standing just inside the safehouse, arms folded over his chest. it's fucking hot outside, but he's still covering every inch of skin possible: a long-sleeved undershirt covering down to his wrists, faux leather gloves on hands, cargo pants on below and massive ass boots. all in black.

because that's how it works, right? there's a canvas bag thrown over his shoulder, eyes looking off to the side with a far-away glaze; he's dicking around on his implant but still keeping a vague eye on shit that goes on around him, just in case. no need to be caught off guard, is there? )

""matches"" ""malone""

[fessus]

[ Noctis does not arrive half an hour early. He does not arrive ten minutes early. He does not, even, arrive on time.

He's only -- only!! -- five minutes late when he actually does make it to the safehouse, equally darkly dressed in spite of the heat but he's found himself far more form-fitting pants and a far looser shirt. A patterned dark grey boat neck-cut paired with purposefully faded denim? Some looks, he has decided, are universal and trans-dimensional.

Noctis realizes only upon arriving that he has no idea who he's looking for, however, and it's unclear at first what has him stopping near Jason to give him a once-over. ]

... Matches? Those pants make me think it's you. [ mystery solved ]

""noct"" ""is""

[reneger]

( not only is noctis late (not even just not early, but late, you fucker) but he shows up with sass on his tongue and a bite in his tone. which is fucking great, and he's quickly becoming one of jason's favorite brats running around this trash heap.

there's a moment's pause where he does almost look confused (just to fuck with him) before jason's letting his lips spread into a wide grin, raising a brow as he

sizes noctis up. looks him over head to toe. )

Man, for someone who talks so much shit, you sure are small.

( jason does know better than to underestimate someone by their size. but it's fun anyway, bullying noctis for his. )

You sure you're up for it?

dick. august 16th

[reneger]

( the blue was enough, as was the words embroidered into his jacket. jason immediately shrugs off the more tacky one, switches it out for the one in dick's bag. adjusts it on over his shoulders, zips it up a bit--and searches his way through the city for one loser who wears a little too much blue.

finds him in the safehouse, hair still wet from his shower and chatting with some chick jason's never seen before. she's probably unimportant, who cares. he's careful to make his presence known, walks right behind dick and bumps his shoulder a bit before stopping several steps away from him, hip leaning up against a wall.

waits. )

[preceded]

[It's not quite the response he'd been expecting, especially after their last conversation. Jason had said he was trying- had taken the critism he'd bestowed when they'd spoken about Damian, and seemingly agreed to do something about it- so Dick had wanted to do something to mark the day. Prove that the effort would be worth something.

But he'd sort of anticipated that Jason would let the moment pass without comment. Or that he'd make some remark to him over the neural network, or he'd simply see him wearing the jacket when the weather cooled. Or perhaps, never see it amongst his things at all. He hadn't expected Jason to hunt him down at his current location, and aim specifically for his attention.

He gives it, easily. The conversation he'd been having, while nice- had only really been engaged in to pass the time. There might be a few fringe benefits to the safehouse, but for entertainment value, it strongly left something to be desired- and makes his way over, stopping before him with his arms crossed over his chest and a slightly curious tilt to his head.

After a brief glance around, he greets him]

Mal. [A few of his fingers are lightly bandaged- nothing to write home about, and while the embroidery on the back of Jason's jacket is impeccable, he'd clearly been out of practice doing it. But he's not going to acknowledge it until Jason does first]

[reneger]

( he talked to damian. apologized, for what it was worth. but with them it's always a case of what's done is done, jason can't go back in time and fix it. he'll just--have to be more careful with his actions from now on. be more gentle with both his words and his actions. it's--not a skill he has, especially when it comes to handling damian wanyne, professional pain in his ass.

but he's trying, like he promised to.

eyes shift down to focus on dick's fingers when he moves closer, raising a brow as they shift up to meet blue, then back down to fingers. )

Grayson.

( holding out a gloved hand, palm up. not demanding, but asking for a closer look at bandaged fingers. )

Looks like you've been busy.

( a loose smile on his lips, and it does actually reach his eyes. he's in a good mood, there's no point in trying to hide that. )