jason todd | the red hood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bamboozlement) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thesphererp2019-04-14 04:32 pm
bamboozlement) wrote in thesphererp2019-04-14 04:32 pm
Entry tags:
two | memory (two kids, you and me)
Night - that’s when you do your work in this stoplight-colors uniform, eyes and identity concealed behind a red domino mask. You’re out patrolling on your own tonight, and the sounds of an altercation ring out from the darkened alley below, sounds you find all too familiar. Three well-muscled men - thugs - have a fourth man cornered on the ground; he’s younger, unruly red hair tied back with a white bandanna, either too drunk or too apathetic to fight back as the other three take turns kicking him down over and over again.
“... Call yourself a superhero? You dirty lowlife drunk …” one says, showing the bottom of his boot to the side of the redhead’s face. This is your cue to jump in. You call out from the rooftop above with a easy-going tone that manages to still mean business.
“That, coming from a guy wanted for assault in three different counties?” The thug looks up in surprise, trying to discern who’s speaking, and you work quickly, hurling a bat-shaped boomerang at his head, knocking him out and to the ground. The second man you take out with a five-ball bola thrown and wrapped around his neck as you leap to the ground, not missing a beat in your banter: “They really don’t make anonymous thugs like they used to, huh? Look how easy you break.” You land next to the last of the thugs and crack your elbow right into the side of his head, and he too slumps to the ground, unconscious.
You step forward out of the shadows toward the redhead kneeling on the pavement in bewilderment, a triumphant smile curving your mouth. “There. That’s better,” you say. “You’re Roy Harper, aren’t you?” (You know exactly who he is.) “I’m Robin. Version two, actually - although I bet you could figure that out on your own.”
“Why,” Roy asks, eyes turned up on you, “why are you helping me?”
“They took these from you back at the bar,” you say, holding out a bow and quiver of arrows for Roy to reclaim. “I thought you’d want them returned. My predecessor told me once that you were a good friend of his, before you fell off the wagon. I wanted to let you know I’m here if you ever need a friend.”
Roy takes his weapons and pulls himself to his feet, shaking his head. “I don’t need friends,” he protests, a slight slur blurring the edges of his words, “friends just let you down.” You smile knowingly, because you’ve said the same thing in the not-too-distant past.
“We all need friends, Roy.” You produce a grappling hook gun from your belt and aim it at the nearby rooftop. “You change your mind, just come find me.” You fire the gun and follow the wire up into the night, leaving Roy standing in the alley below.
“I’ll be waiting.”
audio; un: j.doe
[and not too long after that memory broadcasts, jason's voice follows, sharp and shaking with rage at the intrusion:]
Get. Out. Of my head. NOW.
“... Call yourself a superhero? You dirty lowlife drunk …” one says, showing the bottom of his boot to the side of the redhead’s face. This is your cue to jump in. You call out from the rooftop above with a easy-going tone that manages to still mean business.
“That, coming from a guy wanted for assault in three different counties?” The thug looks up in surprise, trying to discern who’s speaking, and you work quickly, hurling a bat-shaped boomerang at his head, knocking him out and to the ground. The second man you take out with a five-ball bola thrown and wrapped around his neck as you leap to the ground, not missing a beat in your banter: “They really don’t make anonymous thugs like they used to, huh? Look how easy you break.” You land next to the last of the thugs and crack your elbow right into the side of his head, and he too slumps to the ground, unconscious.
You step forward out of the shadows toward the redhead kneeling on the pavement in bewilderment, a triumphant smile curving your mouth. “There. That’s better,” you say. “You’re Roy Harper, aren’t you?” (You know exactly who he is.) “I’m Robin. Version two, actually - although I bet you could figure that out on your own.”
“Why,” Roy asks, eyes turned up on you, “why are you helping me?”
“They took these from you back at the bar,” you say, holding out a bow and quiver of arrows for Roy to reclaim. “I thought you’d want them returned. My predecessor told me once that you were a good friend of his, before you fell off the wagon. I wanted to let you know I’m here if you ever need a friend.”
Roy takes his weapons and pulls himself to his feet, shaking his head. “I don’t need friends,” he protests, a slight slur blurring the edges of his words, “friends just let you down.” You smile knowingly, because you’ve said the same thing in the not-too-distant past.
“We all need friends, Roy.” You produce a grappling hook gun from your belt and aim it at the nearby rooftop. “You change your mind, just come find me.” You fire the gun and follow the wire up into the night, leaving Roy standing in the alley below.
“I’ll be waiting.”
audio; un: j.doe
[and not too long after that memory broadcasts, jason's voice follows, sharp and shaking with rage at the intrusion:]
Get. Out. Of my head. NOW.
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You could always try being friends with some of the older people here, too.
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But they're not kids, you know? They don't do kid stuff.
Well... okay, Ivar does...
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So what counts as “kid stuff” for you?
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Like... you know. Playing games. Doing dumb stuff.
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Just like riding bikes.
But Dodger's gonna show me how to make a motorbike.
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I already can do wheelies on my bike.
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How’d you get to be so good at everything already?
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Been out of my world for a while. But the wheelies were from my friends back home. Well, some of 'em. Some didn't.
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How long’ve you been stuck here?
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A few months. I was in a different place a few months before that.
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