gourmetburgers | [c.todd] is the worst name ever

[c.todd] is the worst name ever

[ It was a long night, but far from the longest she's experienced. The world will always be cruel and cold, there was no denying that. Yet... somehow, the immortal allowed herself to believe that these moments of "justice" still meant something. Jason Todd's done the impossible: garnered the loyalty of a witch and the willingness to intervene in a world that doesn't interest her.

She wants a shower, wants to lounge around and order something for dinner but she can't. Not yet. She took the long way on their exit plan for the evening, covering a few more blocks than Jason would have after the shit hit the fan. It wasn't as clean of a job as her confidant would have liked, but this was her third time wearing the oversized crimson helmet.

Jason beats her back to their hideout, even the rolling storm nipping at her heels doesn't light a fire under her. By the time she appears, his spare helmet drapes carelessly against her palms. The witch was left standing in the shadows, golden eyes full of annoyance. ]

Could you not wait a moment longer? Their attention was on me. Do it again and you'll grow uninteresting.

[ A idle threat, one with no bite to it. If there was anything that was clear, it was C.C. kept her attention on this man. Jason Todd didn't have anything to prove to the world, but she makes it easier to help him send messages. A thank you and glimpse of loyalty for what he's offered her in return. ]

Or simply ask me to stay here while you run around the city. It makes no difference to me.

[ A quick toss throws the red helmet his way, showing a playful side as much as her apathetic and dry wit. ]

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[ Jason can't begin to imagine what C.C.'s longest night must have been. He won't ask. Not because he's uninterested, but because he knows their shared investment in "justice" comes from a shared and storied pain. The collective pain of lives dealt a bad hand, leading C.C. to become the witch that she is today, and Jason... the ever-burgeoning crime lord. It's amazing how much he achieved from intimidation alone, brutalizing just the right people and then spooking the rest. It's certainly one way to gain a following aside from doing numbers, and it all paid off in how quickly other bosses' henchmen just folded. Saw that siding with the Red Hood wasn't just more profitable, but was more likely to keep them alive.

That didn't make Black Mask happy. Nor what's left of the Maronis, Falcones, and what have you. It doesn't matter who they are, Jason maintains. What matters is who they serve. Little does Gotham's underworld realize that there are two active Red Hoods, though, one posing as the other as needed. It was a recent development, having C.C. pretend to be him sometimes. Paid off better than expected when this past evening, Jason - wearing only his domino mask to distinguish himself from "the Red Hood" - garroted Great White Shark and seized all of the embezzler's assets. Killing him deprives the underworld of a big financial player, of a resource many turn to despite their conflicting allegiances. Killing him forces others to look to the Red Hood instead.

But doing so wasn't easy. Doing so required C.C. to distract Great White Shark long enough, under the pretext of a "merger" with the Red Hood's nascent empire. The escape was far less slick than the distraction, though. Mr. Shark's accrued far too many loyalists - seasoned mercenaries and killers - and while they weren't a horde of League of Assassins ninjas, they were persistent. They were deadly. After throwing a smoke bomb, Jason allowed C.C. to escape, insisting she take the long way. The scenic route. All so he could hold off their pursuers before he can later slip away at an opportune moment.

Cops, none the wiser to the source of the conflict, entered the fray guns blazing, when Jason's flight led him to the city streets. The distraction the cops caused, despite posing no threat to seasoned mercenaries and criminals, gave Jason the slip he needed to finally escape, navigating some sewers before emerging out of a manhole cover closest to his hideout. Somehow, despite the shorter route's bigger obstacles, he managed to beat her there. He won't admit to the worry he felt in wait. The idea that others could've pursued her, gotten to her before he even returned.

But now that Great White Shark's off the board, how loyal could these guys be?

It proves an irrelevant question when C.C. enters the door, none the worse for wear. ]

For what it's worth, you don't look like shit.

[ He catches the helmet with both hands, appraising it briefly before placing it on a nearby counter. ]

But you do deserve a break. To do what we did, no one else has come close.

[ It did take months of planning. Would've cost Jason years if he was less competent, less driven. But damn, did it try his patience to secure enough good will with Great White Shark: enough to get him right where Jason wanted him. He wants to argue that even Batman lacks that kind of patience... which is no wonder Shark was around for so long. ]

Pizza's on me, as ever. Might double the quantity.

[ He doesn't bother to ask her preference. He knows what she likes. ]

I can go pick it up.

[ Truth be told, he's itching to go because he's also craving pizza. ]

In the meantime, why don't you just... I don't know. I'm not your boss.

[ He smirks at his own words. C.C.'s no underling. More of an accomplice, really. ]

[ Whatever terms they've come to in their agreement... she was loyal. She follows the plan, with little care either way of the impact. If he would have asked her to assist in crime, she'd most likely indulge too. The dissatisfaction in living tugs at her, brings her to find a purpose in Jason that wasn't exactly the most wholesome. It was mutually beneficial and there was a small debt she felt inclined to repay.

The streets will always be littered with those who do harm, she was far from selfless in her sense of justice. Lazy beyond her years, begging for an end that would never come unless she finds someone to agree to her terms – to a power coveted by those keen for the Lazarus Pit itself so she can free herself.

Jason's company had been enough to keep the days from feeling like endless crawls of a snail burning in the sun – it was something that furthered them forward. Accomplice... here and now, was the word that described them best. There was a rare moment when her voice had warmth and her eyes had life in them – but he's seen them on occasion. He knows they're there. ]

I can't say the same for you. You really should find a better helmet.

[ Her body was not shaped like his – but the distraction worked well enough and the Red Hood was retired for the evening. She shrugs a bit, rolling her shoulder to shake off the jacket too heavy for her frame – where blood still cakes into the bare upper bicep that almost feels like a bee-sting right now by the time her healing still does its job. Even the sound of pizza did well to distract her, her hands moving layer by layer to undress – leaving a trail of clothes that results in shorts and a sports bra without a second care. His clothes were horrible.

The last piece was a handgun, set next to his helmet – where she doesn't even make eye contact with him. The witch coldly had better things to address than something as betraying as a lingering look. ]

You'd better, I want the extra seasoning on the crust.

[ She doesn't mention if they should order or if he can leave – instead, she flops to the nearest cushion where Cheese-kun was waiting for her, pressing it to her frame lazily. ]

I'm almost certain some got away. Would that cause a problem in your plans moving forward? I could have taken care of them... but I'm not sure why you insisted I leave. It's hardly a threat to me to see your plans through.

[ Throw herself on a sword, it sounds like, but it was a disregard for her own immortality – something that was rooted through her veins. ]

[ Maybe that's what keeps them so close, no matter how often they flirt with disaster. C.C. being so devoid of purpose, while Jason's all too driven by it. Losing his own life to the Joker, being brought back only to learn he wasn't avenged, calcified his own disdain for the criminal element. Motivated him to don the tainted mantle of the Red Hood and do what Batman never could: address the very root of crime. Not just the symptoms, but the cancer infesting Gotham's core. Stuff that corrupts the vulnerable. Drives them to horrors Jason has had the misfortune of witnessing. That Jason, in his past before Bruce, has had the misfortune of committing.

The kind of work the Red Hood does gets attention. Stuff that put Jason in the crosshairs of many dangerous people... including Batman.

But right now, any thought of Batman is distant. Because of a certain crisis, Jason labors to make it so. C.C., his accomplice, does command his attention. He responds with nothing more than a quirk of his brow at her habits, the casual - almost apathetic - way in which she undresses. By now, it's nothing new, nothing shocking. Jason could laugh and comment on how used to it he's become, but it suffices for him to smirk and scoff. As the accoutrements of his Red Hood costume slowly disappear from her person, though, the graze on her arm reveals itself-- impossible to ignore.

While Jason understands that she can heal, that she's suffered far worse than a mere graze in her whole time on this earth, that doesn't stop him from approaching her, scoffing no more. He does so after thinking he was about to head out the door for some pizza, stepping closer once she's already taken the plunge onto the sofa. Pizza, in his mind, can wait. Instead, with an equal disinterest in any lingering looks - or dead air - he seizes C.C.'s arm firmly, just above the elbow. He takes it with a single gloved hand, all the better to appraise the healing wound. ]

I'll remember that, the seasoning. Thing is...

[ He relinquishes his hold, looking down at her through the white slits of his domino mask. Something he plans to remove on the way to the pizza place, but for now... it's a buffer. A safe little wall between the two of them. Because sometimes, Jason's not sure if he can face her with his own eyes. If the man has any more to show for this than the mask. Maybe he keeps her around, then, to give himself someone to prove himself to. Someone whose unwavering loyalty gives his entire mission some meaning. ]

We live in a world in which gods can get poisoned and supermen can die.

[ Part of him can't help but wonder how much of his accomplishments were possible because Bruce just got zapped away by Darkseid. One thing at a time, Jason tells himself-- Gotham's already a lot. He wants to address her question, anyway: why exactly he was so insistent on her leaving. ]

Take all the punishment you need to. Whatever you find necessary... I don't care.

But promise me I won't lose y-- [ He stops himself, here. Showing too much of his hand, he realizes. ]

--promise me you won't die.

[ Now, he tries to ameliorate the tone he set. Smirks a bit. ]

Watch, I'll make it worth your while. Stuffed crust from here on out.

As for any escapees, I have goons who can take care of them. Right now, we've got bigger fish to fry.

[ He points to a familiar wall, on which the photographs of many of Gotham's head honchos are taped. Characters like Great White Shark have yet to be crossed out with a marker, but many others already are. Many more are still waiting for retribution, to fall in line with Red Hood or be cleared from the board entirely. Just a matter of who's next. ]

[ He balances her now, gives her purpose to give some effort in her tired life. Had she more reason to find purpose... perhaps she'd be on the opposite side of his gun barrel, not the one behind him. This was hardly the first time she's accompanied worse men, the difference was she grew tired of cruelty and tired of wishing for something. Instead, what she demands from Jason wasn't even pizza or a roof over her head. A thinly-veiled promise that she plans to collect no matter what.

It wasn't until he approaches and tugs her arm without restraint. She winces only for the mere force and how close he finds himself – lazily she sits up enough to abandon her hold on her stuffed cheese blob.

His concern drips over his lips, a futile attempt to conceal how he looks at her behind his mask. C.C. is far too old to ignore the sign of someone with a poor pokerface, where words speak in volume. A stammer – a correction makes her eyebrows furrow down. ]

Isn't it fortunate I'm no God or a Superman?

[ She knows what he means, but she's a smartass on her own accord too. To be a buffer and hide her own response – how her eyes linger up to him with a slight tremble, as if red was trying so desperately to flush across her stoneface. As if color was trying to return to snow. ]

You're being sentimental tonight. A promise like that is like asking the sky never to bleed. For the wind to freeze.

[ He can assess the wound all he wants, but she sits there with only a tilt of her head to him, when they shift back to business. ]

Bigger pizzas to bake sounds better, but... so long as you're not foolish. They know there's two so I hope your goons are worth something.

More like unfortunate.

Being less than they are is exactly my point. At the end of the day, we're both even easier to dispose of.

[ Might have seemed like it at first, but he's not setting out to belittle her. He knows firsthand just how vulnerable he is, despite being trained by the best. Training that made him feel invincible, but really only made him sloppy. Vulnerable, for instance, to the Joker's duplicities. Who's to say C.C.'s immortality, her immunity to permanent injury, wouldn't someday be a crutch? Who's to say it wouldn't be used against her? Jason shudders to imagine what could be worse than death, and that's something he's already experienced.

Which makes this all a little funny, coming from him. He's still more inclined to gamble on himself, to take unnecessary risks and reap impossible rewards. Like putting himself in more danger this past evening, all to keep attention away from C.C. ]

If you're gonna be so cavalier about it, go ahead. Just know I'll be holding you to it.

Besides, pizza's still in it for you.

[ Fortunately for her, he doesn't appraise the wound for long. Despite living in a world populated by superpowered beings and even fighting some of them, Jason has to see certain things to believe it-- like C.C.'s self-healing. It astounds him what still surprises him sometimes, or at least challenges his suspension of disbelief. Having spent years dead, Jason really hasn't experienced as much surreal shit as his ostensible "brothers." ]

If they know what's good for them, they'll get the job done.

At this point, quitting to defect to our enemies is kind of a death wish.

[ After speaking, he heads to an adjacent closet, discarding the domino mask along the way. Seemingly without much of a care of his own - though fully conscious that C.C. may be watching him - Jason changes out of his own suit: some nondescript tactical gear to distinguish himself from who looked to be "Red Hood" much earlier. He settles for a more casual look now, a dark red hoodie and some gray sweatpants, before making for the door. ]

This should do it. As usual, you can make yourself at home.

I'll be back with the pizza. Extra seasoning, stuffed crust...

[ That's his way of making a last call for anything more she may want. If nothing else, C.C. will watch the door shut behind him, Jason leaving her alone with Cheese-kun. ]

Don't underestimate me. The moment you do, you won't find me here. Remember that.

[ Even if he lets a weak point show, that's the last thing C.C. wants. This man, who may have endeared himself enough to her to earn her loyalty, becoming a liability to her plan was not good. Just as much as she didn't need guilt on her conscience if something went south because of her. A long life yields a long list of things she's grown numb to... but there's beginning to be a warmth once more, a sense of purpose.

C.C. speaks a language of actions over words. Actions are written in history, words can be muddled with ill-intent or misunderstanding. He's close, enough for her to nearly commit his scent to memory and note the small intricacies of his face. ]

You don't have to worry. It'd be an insult to die less than how I should. No one will claim that from me.

[ There's confidence there as he separates them and moves on out. He promises pizza and she'll expect it – so seeing him on the move even as far as thirst-trapping in grey sweats. She'll take her stuffed Cheese into her arms, watching her half-lidded eyes. ]

You really are calm about this. I expected you to throw a fit. Perhaps you truly do trust me. A flattering thought, that is.

[ He lists the pizza with little cause for change, it's good as it is. She'll make note to grab a bottle of Tabasco for kick when he returns but she shakes her head. He's good to leave, and once he does she's up and moving onto the next part of her plan for the night: that shower.

She earned it, but when she finds the old porcelain tub... hm. Maybe a bath was more suitable. It sounds nice, hot water and maybe some bubbles? C.C. wasn't shy about it – by the time he returns she did little to mask where she was. A trail of her remaining clothes lead into the bathroom and he'd find C.C. with her green strands pulled up high into a bun and the bubbles rising past her collarbone, where she soaks and awaits for an old robin to fly back into her company... ]

Look. We're just in a lot of people's crosshairs now, alright?

[ Not that there was ever a time in which they weren't. ]

We're both at risk.

[ Of course, it's only the rumor of two Red Hoods that has a chance of spreading right now. Others who know more, those who've learned from Bruce that Jason and Red Hood are one and the same, are safely sequestered among the superhero community. What would any of them stand to gain from divulging his identity to Gotham's underworld? Not even the Joker cares to do so, and he hasn't shown his face in ages.

So until Jason gets a second chance at killing him, best to keep building his empire. Staying on the grind. Whatever's a good way of putting it as long as he moves forward, escalates. And while in the beginning, he could imagine doing this with or without C.C., her absence is becoming harder to imagine... unless it serves a purpose. Like her safety. Making sure she's alive enough to see him again, even if he has to push her away, make her hate him for it. Wouldn't be the first bridge he's burned, anyway. ]

The worst has already happened to me. Means I can't help planning for the worst case scenario.

I'm just trusting you to plan with me. So consider the pizza some... team-building incentive.

[ And that's truly the last thing he says before heading out, all swagged up in those gray sweatpants. As C.C. goes about her business, making herself comfortable in the tub, half an hour passes before she hears the front door open. Their loft isn't something so conspicuous as to occupy the top floor, so it's nondescript enough for Jason to enter without fear of being followed. It's accessible at the end of a hallway from the nearest elevator, which gives Jason many chances to confirm that he's alone.

It's by himself that he enters, with one hand carrying a stack of pizza boxes as he walks through the doorframe. He follows the trail of discarded clothing to find C.C. exactly where he expects her, the bathroom, and he steps in to place the stack of boxes on the sink counter. It's a cold day in Gotham, all things considered, so he keeps the hoodie on. The warmth from the drawn bath, however, tempts him to reconsider.

But that kind of deliberation can wait. ]

Here. Just the way you like it.

[ It doesn't seem to bother him that she's just sitting in the bath, nude. With a stony expression, the best poker face he's likely mustered in front of her, Jason proffers a paper plate with two slices of pizza to her. He's pretty lacking in the bedside manner department, but at least the pizza's impeccable-- fresh, hot, and aromatic. A comfort, perhaps, to ward off the lingering tension of what they'd both nearly escaped earlier this evening: a victory so desperately and precariously snatched. Escaping not only the jaws of the Great White Shark, but the jaws of their empire's ruin... well before it could truly begin.

In some small way of celebrating, Jason helps himself to his own slice. He takes it from a box filled with his own preferences for pizza, smothered in pepperoni and other meats. "A meaty explosion," he remembers once saying. It's while chewing some of this - finding his way to a small smile as he enjoys his meal - that he looks on at C.C. Here she is in an enviable state of relaxation, the bath exuding a tantalizing pull. ]

Man, I never really questioned it before. But what got you so fond of pizza?

You have it good in a past life in Italy or something?

[ It's a real question, but something else compels him to make this kind of small talk. Gauging, perhaps, what he can afford to talk about with her outside of their work. An elaborate, indirect way of asking, "what are we?" ]

[ They were at a crossroads on ideals. Jason, wished not to use his resurrection as a wasteful endeavor, chooses to live and exact a revenge that was beyond him. C.C., hers was a curse of immortal life where each second that passes she loses memories – faces of people she once loved, names of those who harmed her. It grew tiring. Where he wished not to die, C.C. deep down wanted to. Yet, her 'curse' was certainly complicated. He knows little about the intricacies of her powers, so of course he would be foolish to believe she could fall like those Gods and Supermen.

Call her egotistical, but it just doesn't sink the way he wants it.

Part of her wants him to leave such serious topics away from her, where she doesn't have to be reminded of doubt for her actions. Until now, until she found someone worthy – truly, she had only doubt and regret. ]

The worst case scenario is me not helping you play doppelganger. Yet... I am here. Keep it that way.

[ And before long, she'll settle in the tub and relax – while he busies himself picking up and ensuring that whatever tensions or highs of the night's events would fade with each bite of C.C.'s favorite food. By the time he returns, she's sitting up enough to peer up – the smell intoxicating and tempting all at once. She snakes a hand up past the surface of the water to let her hand dangle over, her cheek presses into the rim of the tub. Such an otherworldly view, of someone so tired and old, but her eyes look up to him like a damn child when he begins to offer her reward for the evening. ]

It should be your favorite too. It's the best kind I've had. You should need no others!

[ But, she allows him preference. She'll take a bite casually, sighing in approval as if there was something simple about enjoying the food. Something that was truly like the simplicity of a meal that she'll remember for years to come. A taste she can't quite escape. When he asks her a question buried in centuries of wanting... of a life long lost... the least she can give is honesty. ]

... When I was a child, I was caught stealing from a home. Cheese, bread and tomatoes were among the items stolen. And... when I was caught, I didn't have a single bite, no matter how my bones stick towards my skin or my belly cried. They threw it to the pigs in front of me, letting them eat while I starved.

[ Until she stumbled across a certain someone or pit that allowed her the power she needed to never grow hungry on the verge of death, only lonely. C.C. takes another bite without letting too much impact her. That girl was dead. Long buried, burnt, or beheaded. ]

When I discovered this... something that combined all three some time later... I swore I would eat my fill every time. I'd never let it go to waste.

[ Before Jason left, he wasn't sure what to say to her suggestion. One wrong move, like him pushing it too far - pushing her too far - and she's outta here. He spent the walk to the pizza shop imagining his retort. That the Red Hood's empire would go on well enough without her, that she's not entirely essential to the unfolding of his plans. And while superficially, he'd only be saying that to hurt her... on a fundamental level, it's kind of true. Going into this, he had plans without her, but he never predicted one simple thing:

Crossing paths with C.C. in the first place.

That changed everything. Red Hood's rise to power was always going to be conspicuous, but now, it's unpredictable. Here's a man who really can be in two places at once. At least time out of their loft allowed Jason to simmer down. No way he could stay heated carrying all these aromatic boxes of pizza.

Now, Jason unceremoniously takes a seat on the toilet, lid obviously shut (he's not a complete freak). It's while seated like this that he helps himself to his meaty explosion of a pizza. Despite seeming so rough around the edges, a man so fond of blunt directness, Jason goes about eating his pizza quite meticulously. There's an unconscious strategizing, here, to make sure no piece of the topping can fall off. Maybe he's been burned too many times by a meatball or two rolling off, but either way-- there's a noticeable care that he exercises here, despite typically exhibiting the grace of a battering ram.

Not that any deliberation here is a cry for C.C.'s attention. Jason's pretty silent throughout her speech, brows furrowed with concern. Disgust. Almost enough to ruin his appetite, as the state of poverty C.C. describes is all too visceral. The two of them may be centuries apart in their lived experiences, but Jason can imagine her desperation all too vividly. The misfortune that drove her to steal, the disproportionate cruelty in return. What did such people stand to gain from something so wasteful? So pointless?

Before Jason thought to steal one of the Batmobile's tires, he knew modern Gotham to be no different than that provincial life. So while C.C. might not seem that affected by her own story, Jason sure is. A secondhand haunting. Proof to himself, perhaps, that he's well and truly alive again. ]

That explains a lot.

[ Her eating habits, sure. But her coldness, sometimes. Almost a numbness. How else was she supposed to adjust to cruelty-- centuries of it? ]

I hope you understand those people were sick for doing that. Seriously. You were just a kid in need.

[ Jason's also a fast eater, so he's gotten to the crust already. Crust just as stuffed as C.C.'s, actually. ]

This is why I'm doing this, y'know. Keeping drugs away from children. Making sure the most vulnerable among us aren't preyed upon by those at the bottom... and those at the top.

Just in case the motorcycle swag makes this look like some kinda vanity project.

[ Reaching to grab a second slice, he now cracks a smile. Maybe there's some truth to that. ]

I'll hold you to it, then. Not a single pizza of ours is going to waste.

Hopefully you're not against sharing once or twice.

Edited 2021-08-04 19:20 (UTC)

[ She's aware of the risk that she takes making such a story spoken into the world. It was buried long ago, wars and events that changed history topples over the mere mistreatment of an orphan. If she accepted this centuries ago, the story should sting less, correct?

It doesn't. She wears a mask well, however, a bewitching sense of acceptance that what happened to her was so long ago it wouldn't even faze her. She doesn't bicker or argue when Jason speaks, merely eats away at her own slice with the string of fresh mozzarella webbing between each bite. Her form still hangs half over the tub, her collarbone pressed to the rim and her hand holding the pizza away from bubbles and warm water – careful as she balances two things at once. ]

This world is full of sick people. I've forgotten the name of the family, the look of those who hurt me... but I'll never forget the feeling of being hungry. For a world so abundant, it is just as bleak.

[ Jason may be more affected than her on the outside, where he wears his own sense of disgust pretty plainly. She can't blame him. Even if the Red Hood is a figure to be hated by those so clearly on one side – he toes the line. Means over message, action over debate. People don't like it because it needs to be done – C.C. understands that.

The world forces your hand and then hates you for the cards you play.

When he speaks, she chews thoughtfully on her first crust, setting the second slice down onto the ground and leaning back into the water once more. Her mass of green strands sprawl out under the bubbles, half of it draped over the back of the tub. ]

If the most you wish to do in life is that, it's a good use of your time. You may not make a dent, we've discussed this, but it keeps you busy.

[ Cut the head off a hydra and two more grow back in its place, she's seen dictators fall and two more rise in their place... tsk. But – she doesn't ever deny him or scorn him for it. It is what it is and that's the path she'll follow him down.

When he seemingly makes some promise with her, she peers her eyes to him, golden and unimpressed all at once, she submerges her features down to hide a small smile.

Although, it's clear she was in agreement. ]

[ Time passes. History advances. Events fall away, but feelings don't. Feelings survive. It's just a shame that it's not any generational trauma that C.C. must shoulder, but accumulated centuries' worth of her own. The scars don't sting as much now, sure, but when the ugliness of what C.C. experienced comes back in different ways - any new act of cruelty she may witness, any new indignity - a little bit of that must come back. Jason suspects as much, at least, knowing that to be very much the case for himself. The unfairness of his fate is something he's grown used to, but every so often... the futile rage that it brings drives him to cruelty: something he happily shares with his enemies.

At least he's kinder to his pizza than he is to said enemies. He neatly downs that next slice, only to find himself hungry for another. It's as C.C. replies that he reaches for his next helping... conspicuously flipping open the lid for one of her boxes. ]

Speaking of sharing, you mind? You can try one of mine, in exchange.

[ What can he say? He's curious. Whatever she decides, he's bound to take a slice of pizza - either from one of his boxes or hers - before continuing on with his meal. ]

I hear you. That kind of evil really instills a one track mind. Tunnel vision.

For a long time, all I wanted to do was survive. All I cared about was revenge. For the Joker to die, and for Bruce to see just how wrong he was not to avenge me. As if that one rule was just so important... more important than me.

Made stopping to smell the roses pretty hard, I'll tell you that much. And some of the places I've been before coming here, like Nanda Parbat? Instagram worthy stuff.

[ At that point, he doesn't really know what he's talking about. He could've easily said "Snapchat" with the same intent. ]

This is a war that'll outlast us. Definitely outlive us, or at least me.

[ He smirks cynically at that suggestion. ]

But I'd like to give as many bad guys a hard time for as long as I can. If they're gonna be shitstains anyway, they'll need a constant thorn on their side. Maybe I'll end up making Batman's job easier and he'll leave a bigger dent than any we could dream of.

[ With Bruce gone, that's something Jason can still trust Dick to do. Even if he kicked Jason off a train during that so-called "Battle for the Cowl." ]

Say I get my ass killed, though. A punk with a gun gets lucky.

What would be next for you?

[ Despite all his training, Jason holds no illusions about the fact he's only a man. No powers are gonna save him when shit hits the fan. All he has are his wits, his tools, and his skills. Things that have taken him pretty far, to be sure, but not even Bruce was able to save himself by the same means. ]

[ She nods to his request to sample her pizza. And not, that was not the worst dirty innuendo ever, thanks. C.C. truly does believe what they have now is shared. Any inch of their space is hers, any plan he devises is hers to see through. Sure, she objects to steer him on the right course if he's stupid – but he appreciates that. She isn't his servant by any means and it's clear that she's far too free-willed to ever be subjected to that.

She resurfaces soon after, tilting her head back and already debating reaching to the second slice on her plate that rests on the floor. Alas, such an addiction can't be curbed, huh. But, she listens to him go on – the points he makes are more reflective than she'd be lead to believe but... he is smart about this to some degree. He knows the experience of death, he knows the mortality behind certain things go deeper than having one life on this earth. What is one life if you can't ensure change?

He weighs things on his shoulders like his brothers, albeit a different and messier tendency... hm. ]

When you get as old as I, good and evil blend together. There is a saying now, I believe fairly recently: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It isn't that I believe you're doing good as much as you believe your conviction will change the world. Had you wished to amass a sum of money to live out your days wealthy and secure, I'd support you all the same.

[ Would she? It's easy to say but even with the dry voice, there was sense there. She knows the difference of good and evil, she simply was too stubborn to blab about it.

And then she sits up a bit more, dragging her hand over the edge to grab onto her slice and lift it up. A shrug, lazily, and she takes a bite. ]

Mmph – you won't. [ Confidently, without any hesitation. ] For every bullet sent your way, my body is your shield. We've discussed this before. No matter how uncomfortable it makes you, it is the truth.

[ If Jason were ever to think of C.C. as a servant, he certainly wouldn't be the one getting her pizza. Ever since they met, their paths were irrevocably intertwined. It really would have to take one of them dying, or even the crumbling of their criminal empire, to see that bond severed. And even then, there's still doubt that's possible. Because something about C.C. seems impossible to get rid of. Aside from the obvious immortality, there's something else about her that endures. Something that makes Jason feel like he can endure, too.

Which is why he isn't so concerned about his cholesterol going for that third slice, the one he'd taken from C.C.'s box. ]

Good intentions, huh? Yeah, I've given Bruce an earful all about that. Nothing I haven't repeated to you ad nauseam, though.

[ Like how that sacred "no killing" rule - despite its good intentions - has led more people to suffer and die at the hands of criminals Bruce has left alive. Criminals like the Joker. ]

Guess belief's just not as important, then. Gotta let results speak for themselves.

Outside of the occasional mercenary, criminals are scared shitless of us. Maybe this won't last, but it feels good just knowing that.

[ It's precisely the kind of power, the kind of control, that he didn't have as a child. ]

As long as some creep thinks twice before hurting a kid because of us, I'm happy.

[ But that doesn't seem to mean he's satisfied. Not when he believes there's so much work left unfinished.

Then she talks about being his shield, being absolutely ride or die for the cause. Or more accurately, for him. ]

You know I'm gonna start taking that seriously, right? I'll make a habit of carrying you like a riot shield to a fight.

[ Unceremoniously, he then takes off his hoodie, revealing nothing else underneath. In a sight not unfamiliar to C.C., a panoply of scars are scattered across his body. Though his resurrection had wiped his body clean of wounds from his previous life - when his body was consumed by an explosion the Joker had caused - he accrued new scars ever since. Accumulated from past trials to get where he is now, as getting a second chance at life hasn't made him invincible, let alone immortal. ]

Sorry. Steam's been killing me.

Honestly, after all the shit we went through... I could also use a bath.

[ At that, he takes another bite of his pizza. Trying and failing to make this as un-awkward as possible. ]

I can just wait till you're done.

[ And just keep eating pizza shirtless on a closed toilet seat, in grey sweatpants. Like a total picture of sanity. ]

Unless, y'know, you really don't care either way. In which case, I also don't care. Y'know.

[ He can't even look C.C. in the eye right now. What was that about trying and failing again? ]

[ It was important for him to realize that despite it all, her conflicting morals or true lack of empathy when it came to things needing to be done – she was still human. If the occasion called for her to be ruthless to those deserving, she'd never flinch. Yet... there were beacons of humanity in here – where Jason's mission resonates with her and she's gone against him to ensure he thinks big picture: of who his actions could hurt.

C.C. soaks in the tub, floundering around pretty much with the warmth keeping her hostage. She rises to the surface again when he speaks. ]

Rarely do things last in this world, remember that. Those more powerful have fought hard to ensure nothing goes against them. It takes a wildcard to ensure the game they play can be won.

[ By the time he's pulling off his hoddie, C.C. props her hands onto the rim of the tub and preps her chin there – looking at him without shame. This wasn't the first time he's walked around like that – neither hers either. With the weight of green strands pressing to her faces, C.C. doesn't take much offense. ]

A little obvious, wouldn't you think? Invest in better armor and smarter plans and I wouldn't have to be your riot gear.

[ A sharp tongue follows, but she'll go ahead and watch him as he fumbles over his words as if there was tension between them. With C.C.'s aloof nature, with her disregard for anything short of living as she was... Jason has to deal with someone so handwavy over simple things. He makes it awkward, but not to her. ]

I'll be done in a moment. [ And, yes, she'll grab one more slice or finish her second without much conversing – girl was focused. Even if she had some thot in front of her trying to pose for her in thirstrap fashion. ] Unless you came into here for a specific purpose other than a post-mission briefing and dinner.

[ Pointed: ]

The water's getting cold either way.

Edited 2021-08-12 15:36 (UTC)

No kidding. I mean... look at us.

[ Helps to have already witnessed C.C.'s words in action. Or more accurately, to have brought said words to life himself. The Red Hood descended upon Gotham's underworld as a total anomaly, a non-sequitur in the well-oiled machine that was its criminal ranks. While wild cards like the Joker reigned supreme on their debuts, they were eventually folded into what would become Gotham's status quo. For all the mayhem caused by the likes of the Joker and Two-Face, their brand of villainy came to be expected after a while. Red Hood, on the other hand... is a non-sequitur. Far too principled to let the exploitation of children and the poor slide under his watch, yet just violent enough to rock the boat. Keep Gotham's rogues in line.

The work's in reeling in those who disobey. Who see to it to challenge Red Hood. But fighting back... that kind of work requires refueling. Like the kind Jason's getting from all this pizza, which he happily continues wolfing down. He cracks an amused smile at her facetious critique, C.C. pointing out the obvious flaws in his plan to treat her like a human shield. ]

Ha. One way or another, I'm supposed to use protection.

Besides, you never know. I could have all the armor and planning in the world, but I might still have to rely on your body.

[ Well that came out wrong. He thought better than to say it at first... but said it anyway. Like he's all too fond of poking hornet's nests, even at his own expense. ]

As a shield. For protection. From enemies.

[ Y'know what? He's just gonna focus on finishing the crust-- what's left of this slice in his hand. His concentration's clearly divided. Then she says the thing about the water. ]

Right. Can't have that, can we?

[ Given the care with which he'd been eating all this pizza, he'd actually only been using a single hand to do so. The other hand, clean of any foodstuff, is free to dip its fingers in the bath, gauging the temperature. "Getting cold" my ass, he thinks. Maybe it still will in ten or more minutes, but the warmth to the touch suffices. Which is why, when he's finished the last of that crust, he rises to wash his hands on the nearby faucet. It's then that he proceeds to disrobe further, losing the grey sweatpants... and then the boxers underneath.

Again, it's nothing they both haven't seen already. This behavior between them isn't new. But that doesn't make Jason less... stiff. Tense. Never quite sure where he really stands, but sustained nonetheless by an excitement he can't quite articulate. ]

Nothing we can't heat up sooner or later.

[ The water bill's among the least of their concerns, to be sure. So finally he takes the plunge, one foot in before the other, as he takes a seat in the soapy bath. With his added mass, the displacement of the water threatens to have it spill over the tub's edge, but he's cognizant of this. He reaches to open the drain for a few seconds, shutting it once the water's at a safe volume. ]

That's more like it. Big spills are the worst.

[ He remembers how much of a mess he made climbing out of that Lazarus Pit.

Now, at least, he can finally relax, leaning back on his side of the tub. Both arms extend to either side of him, on the tub's rim. Beneath the water, he sits cross-legged, not wanting to take up too much space. The tub's really only spacious enough for, say, 1.5 people? But maybe, for them... a lack of space isn't a problem. ]

Y'know, after all the shit from tonight, I kinda needed this. I'm just really damn sore.

[ Jason was not the first she offered her care, skills, and time to. The immortal had gone through hell and back in the years she was a mere human – but there was one thing for certain now: that pain was buried under centuries of others. Names, faces, events that made her happy for brief, fleeting moments before being lost to time.

Was he another one that will be outlived by the ticking of a clock? Most likely – C.C. isn't religious enough to believe in miracles but... she was still just a woman. Still one that felt loneliness, felt sadness and pity and believed that maybe there was a chance Jason could be the one to grant her wish.

Seeing Jason fumble over words was new as of a friend weeks, maybe. Possibly one of the most recent times she took a hit for him like a literal shield – and in that moment, she knew there was a new tension tugging them together. They had not cared about any modesty, focused on goals or just lounging around without a second glance. The mission, the one Jason feels in the root of his heart, far more important than indulging.

Time crawls to a standstill by the time he disproves her thoughts on him – as he undresses just as casually as she does! There's no way he'll get away without a scoff on her end as she sits upright and scoots her back on the opposite side of the tub. It's clear what was going to happen and those golden eyes don't break from him. Yes, she watches him as if trying to shame him silently. ]

I made vows to you. You know this. [ Not promises or contracts, but vows that were true to her nature. He knows she gives with little to ask for in return (seemingly). When he shifts the water up and joins in the luke-warm pool they've claimed as their own after long nights... C.C. feels the water push up to the underside of her breasts, her knees pulling up for her head to prop against, cheek sideways and her eyes on him curiously. ] When was the last time you even had a bath? You've taken hour-long showers as long as I've known you.

[ And she never let anyone encroach upon her personal space as long as he's known her. She was guarded most of the time, but now they sit naked in a tub, looking at each other as if they're on opposite sides of a chess board. Too bad she doesn't like playing that game much. It disinterests her, so she asks plainly: ]

Are you feeling lonely tonight?

Edited 2021-08-16 15:58 (UTC)

[ Jason can only imagine how much C.C. remembers of old connections, old bonds. What he can't imagine is how much more C.C.'s forgotten. He knows he's far from the only mystery aficionado in town, but he suspects this to be another reason he keeps her around. Her immortality and everything it entails is so... puzzling. Nothing about her is opaque, and for Jason, it's gripping-- to watch someone to whom the passage of time has shown no mercy. Not in terms of her age or appearance, of course, but in terms of her experience. Like being in her mere presence teaches him something.

Even if he can hardly fathom the lesson, what with his lived experience being ill-equipped in its shortness. His is a candle that was snuffed out prematurely, yet relit. Hers has been lit unhindered for a long time... almost like it cannot stop. All the two seem to have in common, then, is the pain of burning. Whatever they're going through and dealing with, however much they struggle to process or bury the accumulated tragedies of their lives, they know something changed when they learned they could shoulder their pain together. Despite learning about C.C.'s healing factor, Jason always thought he'd be the one to take a bullet for her... and not the other way around.

But even now, with the two of them on each side of the tub, he has to remember her vows. Perhaps he's constantly surprised by her loyalty because he's never seen a promise fulfilled on his behalf. Where was any justice for him, long after the Joker murdered him? How quickly was he forgotten by the superhero community, that he had to go and rough up the newest Robin, Tim Drake, at Titans Tower... just to prove a point? Jason spent so long crying out for acknowledgment, recognition, respect. And now that he rules Gotham's criminal underworld with fear... even that's not enough. Because really, the recognition C.C. gives - wrapped though it may be in a vows - is enough.

Jason's just afraid to know what that means-- if for any reason that might threaten his conviction, his drive to be Red Hood. He's not ready to let go of his war on crime. He's afraid to learn who or what he is without it.

And maybe that's why being around C.C. is so captivating. She and all that she represents don't just puzzle Jason. They scare him. ]

Honestly?

[ Indeed, he's struggling to remember when his last bath was. ]

Probably sometime when I was a kid. Back when I was living at the lap of luxury in Wayne Manor.

[ There's irony in his words, a clear sense that he resents what he describes. ]

First time for everything, though. Don't think I've ever been this sore, anyway.

[ Mercenaries like the ones he fought earlier weren't as common as they were when Red Hood first appeared many months ago. Jason might have grown complacent roughing up mobsters and their relatively unskilled bodyguards. ]

Nor, I guess... this lonely.

[ There's a forthrightness in C.C.'s question that gets him to chuckle self-consciously when he answers. Like he's impressed by how quickly she can read him, even though she's done that a million times over. Maybe it's the sense that because of all the lives she's lived, she might know more about him than he does. Like a lot of things he's done and a lot of things he can look forward to are stuff she's already experienced. ]

Not a flattering thing to admit, I know. But screw it.

[ He dare not move from his seat, though, not wanting to alarm her and give her one more reason to stay guarded. For now, he's content to recline against his side of the tub, sinking his arms in the water's warmth. ]

Aren't you the same?

I know we both keep walls up. I know a lot of your loyalty's bound up in vows.

But what are we beneath the walls? What are we outside of these vows?

[ He looks away, unable to face her again. Embarrassed is what he is. Never having opened his heart to another, never having taken such stupid - almost juvenile - risks because the most turbulent and heartrending years of his youth were ripped away from him. Here is a man stunted, despite what he's achieved in adulthood. A man willing to jeopardize everything after losing it all once already... because he doesn't understand just how much he's lost.

In a way, he's as much a mystery to himself as C.C. is. ]

This stupid. I know it's stupid.

If you wanna leave now, I won't stop you. Hell, I can just go.

[ The room feels immensely smaller than when they first arrived here. This makeshift base of operations did little to provide comfort, but it was all she had known as of recently. It's good enough. This partnership was good enough. A bath was enough for her to soak her problems away, letting them float away like bubbles.

She doesn't look at him when he starts speaking with a candor she's grown use to. It wasn't refreshing as much as it was... expected. There were few things Jason hesitated with, got bashful over. There's an admittance of loneliness and she shuts her eyes to listen to him speak. They were close – more than physically – whether they were admitting it to themselves. A bullet was little for her to grow concerned with, she'd take it for him repeatedly but his words prove more invasive.

Handling his admittance was one thing, but he tries to pull from her now. His questions make her golden gaze fall upon him, as if the questions were more bothersome than accepting. ]

You invade my bath and then expect me to leave? [ Was the first order of business – she knows he won't leave the tub. He's not an insensitive man when it came to her. Part of her didn't like the partial treatment, but she was far too old for this dance. ] This whole world is stupid. If you've lived a life as long as I have, it'll become clear.

[ ... There was a little vagueness there, as if she's telling him he will understand it. Hm. Sus.

But, for now, she sees a boy before her – how couldn't she? Even under the scars left behind and how he's healed from every one ... there's something there that she reaches out to. Her hand moves to find his on the edge of the tub. A tender touch, but she doesn't call for him. They meet in the middle. ]

You're asking me questions I don't know the answer to. What I possess leads a lonely road, an obligation to carry when kings fall and civilizations come and go. This is how I've felt for so long that the word loses all impact. It is all that I am, I'd imagine.

[ Lonely. ]

What do you feel we are? What do you see me as beyond what I have been?

[ "You invade my bath and then expect me to leave?" she says. ]

Eh, not immediately.

[ That does get a small laugh out of him. At least in his haste, he's not beyond self-awareness... or self-deprecation. He also knows he sounded like he was telling her to just ditch him immediately if he was being too forward. As if the warmth and comfort of the bath wasn't worth his annoying presence. But part of their relationship entailed C.C. holding equal ownership over this bath - this penthouse - to Jason. A very literal extension of being two Red Hoods, to be sure. He should know, then, that she wouldn't give it up so easily.

Though that seems to become the least of her concerns once she muses about the stupidity of this world, an existence that has chewed her up and spit her out into her current state. There's no "for better or worse" here, because she's experienced better and worse time and time again. ]

So stupid that a cosmic punch brought me back to life. And a dip in mystical water restored my "sanity."

Shit's just weird from top to bottom. Never know when the rug will be pulled from under your feet. Don't need to be your age for me to get that.

[ Despite everything, his words are uninterrupted by her touch. Not so much because he likes to hear himself talk (though that's part of it), but because this matters too much to ignore. Making their connection known. Speaking secret feelings, buried feelings, into existence. ]

Maybe you can worry about walking that road again next time I die. But for now, dammit... perish the thought.

I don't need all the answers to know this. For however long it lasts, neither of us have to be alone.

Right now, you don't have to be alone.

The weight of your history's a lot. It's numbing. But... I wanna shoulder that with you, too. Lighten that burden while I'm still here.

[ Now, he's unsure. Unsure how to answer the call of C.C.'s touch, her manner of meeting him in the middle as their hands make contact. The best he manages, for now, is to take her hand, hold it firmly. Use it, then, as a chance to pull her in closer-- see if she'll budge. Because the hope, here, is for him to guide her to his side of the tub, her back facing him... to have her sit between his legs and lie on his bare chest, to fall gently into the protection of his embrace. ]

Now bear with me, here. I wanna try something.

[ Soon enough he attempts his little plan, initiating as his hand tugs hers. His grip travels to her forearm, goading her towards him further in the process, as he waits in anticipation for her to move. Maybe he can say it'll be easier to reach the pizza on the sink counter this way? He does wonder if he'll get hungry after long, so it would benefit him, too.

But that's just his way of trying to justify his actions to himself. Like a small part of him just can't accept this proximity to another person. This willingness to endanger himself with the kind of intimacy that leaves one so... vulnerable. Susceptibility to yet more pain, more suffering, where putting walls could easily mitigate the embarrassment.

Then again, Jason realizes, look at her. This is a risk she's taking, too. ]

[ The truth of the matter was C.C. was as tired as she was old. She's taken a million baths, eaten thousands of slices of pizza, and had lovers that she can't even remember their faces. It should all be boring, mundane, and leave little to be desired but here she stays to hear what he has to say.

And most importantly, the way he says it. Instead of arrogance and a total disregard for the moment, he speaks with a vulnerability that felt odd coming from his lips. Sentimentality, maybe, but he was wearing his heart on his lack-of-a-sleeve for right now in hopes of soothing wounds C.C. has long since buried underneath layers of a disinterested exterior.

The immortal was unlike anyone he may have crossed paths with. No ninja, alien, time traveler – whatever the fuck the world threw his way... C.C. lived as her title of witch would assume: bewitching those close enough to catch onto her spell. The demeanor of Jason has changed, making her fingers move up to press into the bottom of her eyelids – as if double-checking a phantom fear that her Geass had returned. That those around her would love her, would covet her, and find her worthy.

No. It wasn't that.

He speaks, she listens – but when he acts? The tug brings her tiny frame towards him, where her side presses into him briefly – her bare, wet form a pressure he may not be use to. Yet... she understands where he was getting at. With slosh of the water around them, she turns until her back presses into him. Her head docked under his chin, tilted to the side lazily as her fingers graze down to the side of the tub again to brace herself.

He can feel a heartbeat, he can feel her warmth. The woman long since meant to be snuffed out in this world alive. A reminder that Jason was not alone, just as he wanted. ]

You have a habit of complicating things. Everything, actually. You have obligations to me I won't let you get away from, even if we share a bath. Do you understand?

[ The softness in her voice grows stern, reprimanding as if they both can pinpoint the risk involve puts them on edge. It was alright, they lived life that way already. ]

No matter what's happened to the past, the pain we both have. Your life belongs to me.

[ Compared to C.C.'s past coconspirators, it could be something about Jason that's painfully different... or painfully the same. He knows he's an outlier in terms of the fact he's literally come back from the dead, but the tableau of destruction in which he walks-- the drama of human violence, of exploitation and greed that he actively confronts, is something C.C.'s seen multiple lifetimes over. Even Jason, who revels in this path, can see that the cyclicality of it all must be exhausting. That fatigue he can only imagine must give way to ennui, the likes of which C.C. hasn't at all been shy about.

It's the first thing Jason came to know about her. Yet clearly, even now, he still wants to know more. Not while under the influence of some glamour charm, or some other external will. Only his own. Because beneath the weight of time and history that leaves C.C. so weary, so jaded, is the only person Jason's allowed himself to be this close to. He nearly found a family under Bruce and Alfred, they nearly earned his trust, but before then - and especially after - he was alone. Always alone.

And like her... always, he found his way back in the gutter.

At least now, the gutter can wait. They can both revel in their riches. Comforts stolen from the wealth of their enemies, made theirs by Red Hood's inexorable wave of dread and violence. He's set Gotham ablaze in what he imagines to be a purifying fire, but C.C. doesn't seem confident this will change things. Jason's willing to die for the hope of change, for the ashes of Gotham to herald its rebirth. It's enough, then, that she'll take a bullet for him. Put herself at risk for a cause she doesn't believe in, even if she only believes in Jason. Or believes, at least, that he'll honor his obligation to her.

Which is why her question gets him to scoff. ]

Does it look like I'm running away?

Only direction I'm headed is towards you... much as it means you riding my ass.

[ He doesn't speak it into existence, but he certainly feels it. The expectation that he should have a stronger reaction to this, to the gentle pressure of C.C.'s body on his, to the sight of her allowing his closeness in this way. But for some reason... it doesn't feel wrong. It doesn't even feel awkward. It just feels right. Like two puzzle pieces that were made to fit.

With this understanding, Jason doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her from behind. Hold her close in an embrace as his lips - easily, now - can hover over the side of her neck, his breath ghosting her skin. Even easier is his ability to plant a kiss on said skin, lips sucking on it with an experimental carefulness, as his hands share the same spirit. They relinquish the embrace to instead cup C.C.'s breasts from behind, calloused and worn hands squeezing softly. Tapping, somehow, into a gentleness so unlike the violence his hands typically dispense.

His body speaks a language foreign to him. Yet towards this recipient, it all couldn't feel more natural. More deserving. ]

If you think I'm gonna complain about that, [ His life belonging to her, ] you're gonna be disappointed.

"Red Hood" stays afloat because I'm yours. I get to do this because I'm yours.

[ His words, by now, are spoken at a lower register. Almost a whisper while he's so close to her ear. By the time he now speaks, his kisses have risen to her cheek. And like those kisses, his hands on her chest prove unceasing. Deep and firm caresses as secure as any embrace. ]

And who the hell else am I gonna eat all this pizza with?

[ There was little about the act of taking a bullet, being at risk that felt brave or earned. She couldn't die. No matter the means, death was a truth she'd never understand. It was difficult to chew at times, that a finish line continued to allude her. Life was not something measured, but full of moments that come and go – ones that remain. However... in all her years, she's forgetful. Moments are what keeps her tethered to a mortal realm, a feeling that she can continue on without madness consuming or drowning her.

Jason was one of those memories.

With her so close to him, it ignites feelings that she hasn't experienced in some time. A kind of attention that was beyond an accomplice, beyond a master of any kind. C.C. feels the skin raise on her forearms when he touches her and she huffs an air of annoyance when his lips take her neck. ]

We'll see.

[ He speaks so confidently, claims just as much so. C.C. can't help but squirm back into him, to arch her back when his fingertips squeeze onto her with no restraint. The way he speaks shifts the dynamic, from some boy trying to play games he shouldn't to a man who sought something clearly. There's no grey area when his lips find her cheek and she tilts her neck just enough for their gaze to meet. Lips inches away, her fingertips move to hold onto the side of his neck softly. ]

I would think your appetite would be far... far more different without me...

[ Hazy, hushed words were all she speaks – invitation to what his appetite may consist of now lingering right there. And no, it wasn't pizza. ]

[ “We’ll see.”

A challenge, then. Jason can only smirk cynically at that. “That” not so much being C.C.’s attitude, but Jason’s response to it. He used to agonize over having to prove himself, of considering it unjust that the Robin mantle was stolen from him in death. Everything was a test before he got killed, and everything was a test after. But now, he couldn’t be more happy to do this.

Prove himself.

Here’s Jason now, more willing to show someone else just what he’s got… and mostly because that someone else happens to be C.C. She doesn’t need to understand death to understand him. To find him so easy to read only to find - indeed - things worth clinging to.

Like the mutual loyalty that they share. How much more meaningful it is that Jason, who can die again, would take a bullet for her. And that C.C., who can never die, still has no plans of leaving his side. If life is so ephemeral, so transient, why stay? It’s all fleeting, right? So for those who wonder what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, look no further than this very tub where both meet. Meeting in such a way that, indeed, Jason shows a different kind of appetite than the one that pizza could sate.

Here he is hoping he’s not the only one this… hungry. Expressing that hope with every kiss planted on C.C.’s neck, seeing that hope returned when her fingers cascade his neck. It’s enough to make him blush, give truth to the name “Red Hood,” that he’s lucky C.C. can’t fully face him. Luckier that she’s this responsive to his advances, willing - if only for a moment - to live in the moment. But what Jason’s done so far doesn’t quite “seize the day.” Far from it.

Which is why, carefully, his hands find themselves on her breasts. Press against them with a sort of experimental hesitance, wary of any misstep. Then again, what’s there to screw up? Fondling someone shouldn’t be so complicated. Intimacy at all shouldn’t be, either. But when has Jason known that? When has he really?

Seems now’s the time to find out. To press on as his fingertips press against each of C.C.’s nipple, all before each finger stretches to avail an open hand, palms pressing against the whole of her breasts. What he’s really achieving here is a glorified massage, but when’s the last time C.C.’s been to a spa? It’s only the beginning, anyway, of certain gestures he has in mind. Touches as ravishing as the sweet nothings he’d find too corny to say, despite wanting to. All things he’s wanted to try out, then, but only ever thought of in the most secluded and repressed fantasies of a stolen adolescence.

How, now, can he rekindle a flame that was snuffed out too soon? ]

[ She cared little about the pizza growing cold when the waters in the tub remained piping hot. Despite how scalding it had been when she drew it, they were warm for other reasons now. They literally were testing the water with intimacy of two damaged people. It wasn't just him obsessing over her like her prior Geass powers would invoke, it wasn't him needing a quick lay to get through the day. He explores, tentatively with curious fingers and attention to her own reactions.

Her thighs clamp together as she sighs, sinking into him at each deeper touch of his hands. The water may slosh around them but she tries her best to remain still among the shivers that cracks down her spine. ]

You know how to use your hands in many situations. Color me impressed.

[ Her head tilts back, the undeniable way he kisses away and focuses only keep her firmly pressed back between his legs – where any truths can easily be revealed at this point. He was, but only human. A man in every sense of the word. The massage was less about relaxation, she suspects – if that was his goal he'd hire another to lay their hands on her. Instead, he claims responsibility. He claims purpose. And it makes her groan in annoyance.

He knew how to touch her in ways lovers long since forgot how to. The history she's had filed away, buried under years of apathy. Where boredom would bring another to her bed, but when that grows tiresome...? Then what? She did not sustain herself devouring men or women alike, instead the centuries on this Earth were filled with one goal.

And now he messes that up. ]

This is stupid, Jason. You know it is...

[ To be sure, the heat of the tub beats the terrible power of the Lazarus Pit— it being filled with a substance so volatile that while it raises the dead, it risks insanity for the living. Insanity, even, for the resurrected. Maybe this whole enterprise is a product of Jason’s slippage from reality, the expectation that the Red Hood can actually get off the ground and make a difference. In a playground like Gotham, however, madness reigns. This city is probably the best place to make Jason’s dreams a reality— by making evildoers answer for his nightmares… and by bringing their own to life.

Conversely, the moment at hand feels like a dream. Like something Jason never felt he wanted, but now something he desperately needs. Like if he doesn’t claim it for himself, someone else will take it. Like this isn’t even supposed to be his in the first place. Like he’s stolen this. Thus, despite his carefulness around C.C., there’s an urgency compelling his actions, the stiffness with which he goes about holding her from behind, rigid arms cradling and fondling her body. As good as he is with his hands, he owes this more to good instincts - or beginner’s luck - than genuine experience. Such prowess, he suspects, is something he can more accurately credit to C.C., what with her eons of experience on him.

The thought even makes him laugh, though she’ll think he’s responding to her remark: that she’s “impressed.” But that, too, he finds funny. He does pride himself on his versatility. His ability to make the most out of a bad situation, and his ability to make a good one even better. ]

Better not be the last time I impress you.

[ He speaks with a grin she might not see. What with her being far too busy opening her neck for more of his kisses, the suckings of his lips against her skin. It’s all to compliment his ministrations below, venturesome hands squeezing her breasts, fingers pressing on her nipples. Every movement is in service of pleasuring her, awakening feelings woefully neglected or forgotten. Stuff Jason manages to, like himself, resurrect. And his pursuit continues as a single hand of his lowers, its fingers finding C.C.’s slit. Probably can’t lead her to finish with all these sensations underwater, but Jason suspects this to be the point of foreplay sometimes.

Which is to say, finishing can wait. For now, the moment is paramount.

Hence the concentrated touches of Jason’s fingertips, the deliberation with which he canvasses her folds, stopping only to spoil her clit with similar touches. It’s with this that he continues his work above, refraining from kissing only when it be comes necessary to speak. ]

Stupid, eh?

Now when the hell has that ever stopped me before?

[ Gotham was the last place she thought she'd set foot. Europe was an easier place to be. Residing in countrysides and old ruins – disappearing into thin air when her life grew bored and she'd resurface elsewhere. Gotham was a weaving, crime-ridden city and showed some of the worst she's encountered.

Jason wished to change that, or at the very least, scare or eliminate enough people to make a dent. C.C. didn't sign up for some altruistic cause, the kind that under layers of a broken man may be a goal he isn't too keen to share. The witch reads between the lines, most men don't hide themselves easily, she's come to realize.

And what she is also coming to realize is his touch was gentler than she thought. It feels as if it knows how she prefers things... to warm up just like she adjusted to the water itself. He wasn't as reckless as she may have believed, instead focused solely on impressing. Interesting. Her hand moves down, cupping at the back of his palm. Fingertips to knuckles, C.C. shows her anxiousness in ways the sighs of relief didn't. Physical paired with audible like a fine wine. ]

I don't do well with stupid. You're not trying to... nnn, void our contract, are you?

Is that what multiple lifetimes have taught you?

[ Not doing well with stupid, that is. He doesn't blame her, of course, with no amount of resentment making itself known in his continued touches. Instead, what nearly gives him pause is the touch of her hand, the way her fingers embrace his knuckles. Despite the heat of the tub, he feels her distinct warmth. Just as she doesn't look centuries old, she doesn't feel like a corpse.

Then again, neither does Jason. His own warmth is already so abundant, so apparent, in his closeness, what with CC's back still pressed against his chest. Here she sits, open and pliable to his many touches, which not only persist... but also escalate. The fingertips that once canvassed her folds now slip further between them, exploratory as they venture further and further into her slit. Even Jason suspects that the friction underwater isn't the best for this kind of stuff, but for the moment? For the start? He hopes it suffices. He hopes he leaves an impression.

Though it's far from the only one. He still hasn't let go of her breast. If anything, he clutches it tighter, now discovering the upper limits of his concentration. Learning that the most he can manage, though it's far from a bad thing, is what his hand's up to between her legs. How much further his fingers go, and deeper as yet more of their lengths sink inside her. He figures that from his position he can't quite achieve the best entry, but again... this is only to start. Only what he suspects to be mere preamble. ]

If the contract's all that's keeping you around, I don't think so.

I'm not against modifying our arrangement to include more of this. Ya feel me?

No. It's what humanity's taught me.

[ Anyone can parse it in one lifetime. C.C. has had to relive many stupid moments, cruel moments – all that make her feel as she if she was truly curse. Yet, in warmth she feels no regret. A fear, even if it was pushed and swallowed down with every sweet breath she takes, does still bury itself in her heart. That's not what this is. This was living, this was making the kind of mistakes that wouldn't leave scars.

She's too close to him.

He's too close to her.

They both understand and play the game carelessly. For two people who experienced death, what's a little pain if this doesn't work out?

Her back remains firm to his front half and she just sinks further into him, thighs spreading and pinning his to the sdies of the tub. His own eagerness is what gets to her and allows him to prod and test where she needed him most. A cruel witch leaves it to him to figure it out – to follow the sucks of air and way her body twitches. ]

Don't say that again. [ To modify or ya feel me. What are you, 13? C.C.'s hand climbs to claw at his forearm and downward, rooting roughly into him to guide him where he falls short, dancing against the back of his knuckles eventually. ] Our terms are satisfactory. They fuel us each... – hah – each day, do they not?

Considering how long you've been around, is there really a difference?

[ The cyclical repetitiveness of it all, what C.C. has experienced that Jason can only imagine, is staggering. To have died and been brought back to life, no matter how dismal the circumstances, seems like a blessing in comparison. Like the chance for closure he exacted against Bruce, against the Joker, was still more of a chance than C.C. ever had. Where's her closure? Where's her redemption? How can she find it in a path without end, in a path so far removed from where she began that she's clueless as to where she's headed?

It's maddening. It's pitiful. It's... sad.

And fathoming this, reckoning with it. Maybe it's all symptomatic of how close he's finally gotten to her.

Too close.

But Jason's never been one to hesitate. Never been one to turn back from making a choice, no matter how much the hurt and lonely child inside him might fret about it. Might fear the potential consequences. Amidst his little jests, his experimental attempts at intimacy, her own attempts to guide him where he wants his hands - his fingers - to go, there's a look of displeasure about him. Dissatisfaction. A furrowed brow as he gazes down at her from behind.

Like he knows that a wrong he can't even articulate must be made right.

His fingers don't stop. More than before, their tips canvas C.C.'s folds, palpating the circumference of her clit, pressure sometimes focalizing on her center. There's something tantalizing about it, like the promise of more waits to be fulfilled... but his arms, as they encircle her, tighten. And for a moment, he relinquishes his hands from between her legs, instead wrapping his arms around her stomach. Pressing her back, for that matter, closer to his chest.

He holds her tight. Lips linger, now, beside her cheek. But rather than kiss her, show some other kind of affection that could also evince arousal, he nuzzles the side of her head. Holds her close, as if meaning to keep her secure. To protect her the way no one else has. To cherish her, almost, when in eons past she might have been deemed cargo. Detritus. ]

I'm plenty fueled, lady.

But you're not just useful to me, alright? Believe it or not, you're not something I'll just throw away one day.

I don't know why I want you to hear this. You just seem like someone who hasn't... heard it enough.

[ He's been there. Maybe not to the same extent.

But he'd know. ]

[ To her, he was once the same as any other. A recipient of a contract that he didn't read the fine print on. The writings on the wall. The distaste for life. The lament of what was unfair, desperate to selfishly undo what was done to her. A foolish girl, through and through, no matter the façade of a witch. Jason acts in a way she would dub foolish too, so two fools in a bath tub with pizza growing room temp feet away was just – fitting, wasn't it? For all the walls she builds up, she sinks further back into him – her backside snug between his legs and pressing into any part she can, her thighs spreading to open his up further.

Diligent fingers were not put to waste. They bring pleasure instead of pain, a closeness to make her ache and want more. When he finds a spot that really hits her core, her hand lingers instead of guides. He's learned – but then again, he's definitely adapted to handling the mysterious woman who was more likely to kick him to the couch to steal his bed than initiate this.

But, they're doing this now. They're committing to something that words don't need to explain. ]

Jason.

[ Sharp, he consumes her. Exhaling with a quiver past her lips – that mass of green hair presses back further into him and her head tilts. The way he nuzzles her, close to a kiss but afraid to commit. She was too. ]

Not now. Talk about what I am to you another time. I can't take your fingers and your heart at the same time. [ Is she incapable? Is she calling a bluff she'll lose? The words she whispers to them were partnered with a series of whimpers, childish in their own pitchy way – a reveal that was almost unfitting for an old witch like her.

But, if anything... it's proof he proves he's enough too – to crack that mask. ] If you have any sense to you, you'll keep going until I deem otherwise.

[ Maybe Jason's come to terms with own foolishness long before they met. What he thought was right always superseded what he thought was logical. That's why, when he was Robin, he pushed an abuser off a building. Why he pursued the Joker against all warnings. Why, eventually, he perished. But with all the "good" he's doing now, as the Red Hood, Jason senses that he's being rewarded for his disposition. That ultimately, the world bends in the same direction as his morality - a view less antiquated than Batman's, to be sure, in the pragmatic recognition of violence's necessity. More than the incapacitating blow that preserves life, but the killing strike.

To remind every evildoer of their precarity.

A sensation of vulnerability, of helplessness, that both Jason and C.C. know all too well. A deprivation that now unites them.

Physically, at least. Because for the first time, C.C. hesitates. Whatever apathy she hid behind is no longer as present-- nothing stands between her and Jason, who continues to hold her close. Who continues to keep her in his arms, unoffended by her resistance. By her enduring commitment to keeping walls up, protecting herself from being vulnerable. The idea here doesn't disappoint Jason. Her reaction is exactly why he holds her this way. That defense mechanism, were the roles reversed, isn't solely hers.

It would be his, too. ]

I haven't thought about this enough. The kind of shit that involves, well... this.

[ He cups one of her breasts for emphasis, as if incapable of broaching foreplay when he's already well in the thick of it. ]

But right now, it's all one and the same to me. What I do with my hands, and my heart.

[ Nothing he says prevents him from continuing, like she commands. The hand that just began fondling her stays there, as the other one sinks back between her legs. From this angle, there's still little he can achieve to go as deep as he wants to, but for now, enough of his fingers slip into her slit to suffice. Enough, that is, to cause a sensation that may instill in her a deeper yearning. His fingers curl against her walls for as much as he can reach, opposite hand still clutching her breast with a similar eagerness - palm giving unrelenting pressure with every press. ]

Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop, though. Like hell am I gonna stop.

[ Jason knows how she feels. To have had time play cruel games, to stop ceremoniously or rush them through their own life. Growing up far too fast before things were brutally ended. Second chances, third chances, fourth chances – it didn't matter. They were cut from a cloth of expendability but even the most relaxed must draw a line in the sand. C.C. claims to be a shield, offered up as a middleground between Jason's life and death... but she wouldn't do it unless she had reason.

And was this moment reason enough or just a humble reward?

She's thin despite the immense carbs she consumes, lanky with her arms seizing up to wrap against his forearm. C.C. starved herself of other things than food, denying herself connection to a world far too mortal for her. Far too alien.

The hitch in her throat becomes more apparent now that the masks were being pulled away. To breathe the hot steam that still lingers on the surface. ]

You shouldn't think about this.

[ They both know what it means. An attachment words fail both of them. At least that makes it easier. He's doing everything selflessly at the moment. Touching, groping, sinking with her in this well of uncertainty. When she gasps his name? It's to be expected. A scold and a sensation of consumes her. C.C.'s frame can't settle. The waters rock more violently, her knees clamping together and her backside pushing between the space his lap offers.

As much as she steels her demeanor on, she scrunches her nose all the same and clamps her eyes shut – the feelings overwhelming her.

Pleasure over pain.
Companionship over loneliness.

It was a new formula to the same equation she's played out – where her contracts change now, revised in something other than ink. Her juices against his fingers offer that change, a different slickness to the water around them. Each nerve-ending feels enflamed, tortured by lingering wants when she's denied herself these moments before. If she allows herself to submit, what does that mean? ]

Close.

Could be closer.

[ No, that's no self-critique. It's a promise. Because despite the haze of arousal that clouds both of their minds, leading them ever closer to each other, Jason's intentions are clear. His will perseveres in keeping with the trajectory of their... collision. The bond they forged the moment they met, and a bond they now consummate - and cement - through intimacies once thought to be beyond them, beyond the violence and the turmoil that defines their transient lives. They became each other's grounding wire. With C.C. in his arms, the world suddenly makes a little more sense.

With this understanding, it's time to follow through. Time for Jason's fingers to commit ever more. Though seated behind her, he can't slip them inside her as far as he'd like. His fingers persist in canvassing what they can, each tip pressing against the walls within their reach. Perhaps there's something tantalizing about that, but something that also satisfies in being yet another promise. This needn't be the last time they be so... close. Sharing with each other what they've closed off to the world. ]

I'm not stopping, you know.

[ In their desperate search, his fingers curl with greater vigor. He can't quite pummel away at a great speed reaching from behind, but to savor the final stretch, his fingers press even deeper against her. There's something almost possessive about the way his free arm wraps around her waist, hugging her tight - and practically holding her in place - as he carries out his ministrations. His lips even return to her neck, quick to leave deep and claiming kisses on her soft skin. There's something almost brutish about them, almost violent, in their amateurishness. Despite the rough exterior, Jason clearly wears his heart on sleeve.

He just never got the chance to grow up, to find someone to share that heart with. But now, despite the screwed up set of circumstances that led them to each other, maybe this is the closest Jason will ever get. Maybe this warmth that he's found, this comforting touch, is the most fate will allow.

So of course Jason's going to hold her tight. Clutch her like he could lose her. Like he will lose her.

After losing himself once already, he can't doubt it.

So here he is deepening those touches, fingers unrelenting as they press away inside her, curling against her walls. However much C.C. may writhe in place, moaning and gasping Jason's name with the shock of his every touch, he is unceasing. He kisses her neck, her cheek, her ear, her shoulder-- all that he can reach, none to be spared from his affection. He wants her to feel warm, he wants her to feel held.

Held like he'd never been held. Held in a way that feels like it can last. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[c.todd] is the worst name ever

c.todd dropping the hottest album of 2021

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