expatriates | (futurology) ic inbox

[He wasn't kidding when he claimed to keep odd hours. So given that Jason had spent most of their time sharing a living space outside of it, dropping in and out at odd hours or for scant stretches of time, it doesn't necessarily come as a surprise that he wasn't inside when the inn went up in flames. Which means—]

Don't suppose you took out any renter's insurance.

[This is almost definitely a segue to something. But, you know. Hi Nat, how are you doing. Not Blackened Widow levels of crispy, he presumes.]

Can you believe they weren't offering it? I think they might be fleecing us.

[ She has to figure there's a purpose here and he'll get to it, but in the meantime, snark is a fair comfort when she'd narrowly escaped the blaze herself. ]

I'd file a complaint, but it sounds like the management's gone and skipped town.

[Mrs. Poppy and company vanishing is old—if still loudly unresolved—news, so that's not quite the point, either. This is only partly a social call, if not a check in, per se—he'd mostly assumed she could take care of herself, even if he hadn't seen her since the fire broke out.]

Are you busy?

That depends on how interesting the proposition that you're about to make is.

[ At least she's honest. And at least they're both alive. ]

[That's pretty cute, Nat's meta.]

Maybe I'm just looking for the pleasure of your company.

[You don't know. But, after a beat, on the tails of that—]

I could use a second opinion.

[And he's got a working hunch that she might be the best place to get it.]

I'm flattered.
And just a little curious. I'm guessing I don't get the details until I agree to come out.

[Now you're getting it!]

I'd hate to bore you with the details, otherwise.

[Gotta give a little to get a little. That's just good business. Besides, it's easier to show than tell.]

Swing by what's left of the saloon if you're feeling curious enough.

[A few weeks of familiarity helps make some guesses, but he can't say he knows her well enough to say if she'll bite. He's not so narrow minded he'll dismiss a resource on principle, but he's also not much for counting on the kindness of near-strangers, either.

Its been just long enough that the embers are out and the town's regrouped, and the arson is still very much a subject of debate—and investigation. And it's where he'll be, if Nat decides to bring this to action. Perched on a fence in eyeshot of the charred building with his hood up against the chill and his gloves on. Ash-streaked, a little, but not in a "narrowly crawled my way out of a(nother) firey death" kind of way. (There's something that looks a little like a red motorcycle helmet sitting on the fencepost next to him—not super necessary at the moment, but it helped with visibility and filtering out the air when the heat was on, and he hasn't abandoned his post long enough to ditch it in a bolthole.)]

[ Whether it's a trap or an offer to collaborate, it's wily, if charmingly upfront about it. It fits her picture of him. Not a manipulator, not really, but aware enough of their circles to be cagey and protective with himself and what he knows. That makes him smart just like it makes him dangerous. She likes both qualities, so she goes.

The inn is a deteriorating shell, sloughing off layers of ash as the wind blows through, and she walks right up to where the door used to be, hands tucked into the pockets of her wool mourning clothes, and she stares down at what it used to be. She has no emotional attachment, but she can imagine what it feels like for the people of the town.

A safe place taken away.

Natasha knows the feeling.

She turns her attention towards Jason, sitting just close enough to see, not close enough for comfortable conversation, and she sizes him up. He's comfortable. She'll make the jaunt. It only takes her a few seconds to bridge the gap, trudging around fallen beams from the front panelling. ]

Lucky it didn't take anything else down with it.

[ Yeah. "Lucky." ]

Or anyone.

[It's in the air, same as the smell of ash. The low buzz of fear in town borne from the thought of a safe place taken away—or just the backlash from the realization that it was never all that safe in the first place.

He isn't generous enough to put enough stock in her to be disappointed if she doesn't show. But she doesn't keep him waiting very long. Well. What d'you know.]

"Lucky" is a pretty nice way to put it.

[Optimistic. For an arson, the damage is shockingly contained. Maybe the swift action of the crew and the local law enforcement can take the credit for that. Or maybe the threat to life and property was just incidental—arson's always been a classic way of torching the evidence. He's done it himself, once or twice. Either way, luck probably didn't have anything much to do with it. Now that they're both here, gets to cutting to the chase. Hooks his fingers under the edge of his cowl to take it with him as he hops off the fence to get boots back on the dirt. Setting out toward the back of the building, with the expectation that if she's curious enough to show, she's curious enough to follow.]

Spend a whole lot of time around burning buildings?

[In general. Just curious.]

My therapist keeps telling me to quit, but it's not as easy as it looks.

[ Or, in the common vernacular, "Yes." Natasha doesn't make much easy or straightforward, but she doesn't mince her intentions at least, following him at a comfortable pace with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Like this, she looks like she might as well be strolling a pier for all the emotion she affords the scene. ]

Find something interesting about this one?

That depends on what you find interesting.

[Though if she's the type to hang around burning buildings against professional advice, maybe the odds are in his favor. They backtrack along the path of the fire toward the backstage areas of the saloon, where the employees came in and out. As they near the back entrance, Jason grabs for a longish piece of slightly-charred debris as they pass. He spins it in hand before gesturing with it—]

Seems to me ignition happened right about here. [Here, he drops into a crouch, far enough away from the charring proper that he can find another trace of the apparent accelerant—an odd, sticky substance on the ground that he rolls the tip of his stick in. He rocks back on his heels and stands, reaching for a pocket and producing a lighter with his free hand, the kind easily found at the local general store.]

Helped along— [Here's the fun part. He holds the stick away from the two of them and kicks a flame up with the lighter and holds it up to the goop on the stick. It sparks to life with dramatic force, burning violently for a handful of seconds before sputtering out into a steady flame.]

By this.

[Nothing commonly found spattered on the ground on a normal day. So, definitely not an accident, as if that were still a possibility they were entertaining. Spinning the stick in hand, he holds it a distance away from the charred remains of the saloon—where it casts light on trace amounts of the same sticky substance in the periphery.]

Look familiar?

[Hard to trace it to back to a source or supplier if you can't identify it. But worth looking into, considering they're not exactly swimming in evidence.]

It'd make an exciting conspiracy if it did.

[ The way she says exciting makes it sound like she's the kind of girl who could park in front of Netflix for a three-hour documentary on 9/11 as being an inside job. Not because she'd believe it, but because it's an entertaining thought exercise.

She walks over—click, click, click, even over the ashen wood that remains of the floor—and leans closer to get a good look at the tacky accelerant. ]

Nothing you can buy in my universe, I'm afraid. We could always ask the Qorral, if you've got any you trust.

[ For Natasha, the list is short following the arson—too many potential motives, too little time—but she's willing to take a character reference. ]

Or for the more active crowd, we could go looking. I'd bet the bandits have an idea. Maybe even a stockpile and a supplier.

[He watches her carefully, but he doesn't seem too surprised by the verdict. Figures as much—at most he'd been banking that there'd be a chance she'd seen it around where he hasn't. On the one hand, it's pretty good news—means it's not common, so it might actually be a viable thread to follow in terms of narrowing down suspects...if they can track down a supplier. But, as they've established, he's not much of the making friends kind of guy, so the list of Qorral he'll trust is slim to none. He stoops to stub out the flame under his boot.]

That'll be an exciting conversation. [If not an exciting conspiracy.] I can't say they like the pleasure of my company very much.

[The bandits. (Can't imagine why.)]

Really?

[ Natasha's lips quirk in an unassuming smirk. ]

But you're so friendly.

[ At least it sounds like he's resigned himself to the task regardless. She wants to touch the stuff, but shirks its toxicity for probably the same reasons Jason demonstrated its properties on a stick. That just makes her want to ask him how he'd spotted it, but it's a wasted effort.

She's noticed that he doesn't like to show his work or share his toys. At least, not fully. It means it surprises her that he's sharing this much. ]

[He's got better friends than her on the crew, certainly. (A few.) But there are friends, and then there is business. Even after striking out solo he'd still used Talia as a much-needed sounding board on occasion. (Not something he needs, he'd tell himself, but here we are anyway.)

Combing over crime scenes with the world's greatest detective does tend to teach you a thing or two in the process that translates over space and time. (Old habits.) If she's not keen to ask, he's not keen to tell.

Speaking of which—he pockets his lighter and spreads his hands, cowl pinned under an arm. With no small amount of opaque irony in his voice—]

You know what they say about criminals. "A superstitious, cowardly lot."

[But it's probably got more to do with the way he's made a hobby of picking up where the lawmen don't seem to be doing the job. (Again. Old habits.)]

Only the smart ones.

[ She gives a careless shrug of one shoulder and squints at the horizon. It's dark. If they dropped in on a camp now, it's unlikely they'd come up on much resistance. That makes it tempting, but it also means they don't have the access to rally as many people to come join them.

But if they went in small, and quiet …

She sizes Jason up and takes note of the helmet. She'd seen it in the room, but knowing that it's one of the few personal effects worth saving makes it more interesting. ]

I'm sure the mask helps the effect.

[Well, it had been a gift. Wouldn't do to lose it before he's had a chance to use it for its intended purpose. He drops the mask down into his hands and spins it between them, as if only now reminded of its presence. If she'd asked him about it directly back during their stay in the inn, odds are he would have deflected with some quippy comment about putting safety first. But put it that way, easily—]

It might just.

[Convenient how it works out. There's more practical applications and all, but bells and whistles and secret identity isn't something he's overly concerned about in this particular case. When you boil it all down, the whole cape and cowl game is really a matter of measured theatrics. (Bats doesn't wear the pointy ears because they're functional.) Since he seems to have resigned himself to chasing down this particular lead before it gets too cold, there's no time like the present to test that theory.

Since it isn't lost on him that she's sizing him up, looking out into the distance, making pointed comments about his gear—]

What d'you think?

[About the mask? Or the Effect, or the criminals, or the lead dangling in front of their noses or the way he may or may not have just wasted her time on nothing..]

That a wiser woman would have stayed home.

[ But that's been a character flaw of hers lately. When she was with the KGB, she would have prioritized herself in a heartbeat, forget the rest of them, but since SHIELD, since the Avengers, since … It's harder. She finds herself drifting towards the kind of stupid decisions the people she deems heroic make, as if it'll somehow be the thing to make her deserve a place among them. ]

And you're either digging for compliments, or trying to get an idea of how much I've already figured out for myself so you know what not to share.

[ Honesty. That's something, right? You have to give it to get it. Natasha has never been anything but honest, or so she'd say. The truth is as inconstant as water. ]

What are you afraid I'll see?

[Whoops. Well, can't get away with the vague act forever. She's a smart lady. Which is most of why he's found himself hassling her here in the first place. The danger with smart ladies, they see right through your bullshit. There's a beat. While he weighs his willingness to answer—]

Nothing wrong with fishing, is there? Maybe my self esteem could use a little pick-me-up.

[(it's ironic bc it's probably true.) Dodging, if a lot less deftly than his usual efforts. Less a sidestep and more a stonewall. Gotta give a little to get a little, but maybe he shouldn't be fooling himself into thinking he needs to do either to get by.

But it's not like he's bothered much with pretenses, just skimped on the actual explaining himself. Still, a direct answer seems to be long in coming.]

I don't know how they do the cape and cowl game where you come from, but there's not usually an overabundance of sharing.

[He sounds a little bitter about this topic!!! Who'd have thought. Given she'd commented on the mask, (and given at least a few people here find vigilantism to be a pretty common thread) he doubts it's a reference that'll be lost on her entirely.]

Some keep to themselves. Keep their secrets.

[ She can agree on that. She thinks of Peter, poor kid, and of Spider-Woman, who she still can't place. Children who could face some serious consequences if it were to get out. There are a few still lurking, too—metahumans, especially in New York, after the Incident. SHIELD had quite a few under observation, but …

Between Tony Stark and SHIELD, the majority of the world finds the whole concept … obsolete. ]

But most of us realize that there comes a time to drop the act. When cooperation and transparency matter more.

[ The fall of SHIELD really had done a number on her, hadn't it? She finds that she's surprised by the honesty behind her words—it's not just about making Jason feel like she's safe to trust (although, she'd be lying if she said it weren't in large part an effort to make him feel better about coming forward). There's real sentiment buried there, born out of the catharsis of outing herself. Born out of the betrayal of HYDRA. And of Fury. ]

[He snorts like she's said something funny, and it's the bitter edge on it that keeps it from sounding properly amused by the idea. Jason's no Peter Parker. He shows his age less in his concern over his civilian life (what civilian life) and more in the way he defaults too sharply back to defensive, shows his teeth more than warranted at the offered advice.]

You get that one out of a fortune cookie, sensei?

[Wow, for a guy who'd been bitter about a lack of transparency, he sure is touchy about the opposite, too. But apparently he'll bite.]

How's that approach been working out?

[He reads the network—even if he wasn't on Zeta-12 during Tony's little Avengers advertisement, he's seen it after his little side-mission had wrapped up—but even then, connecting point A(venger) to point B(lack Widow) isn't a leap he's going to make without actual grounds. Still, she did say "us," that's enough admission on certain professional levels to put it out in the open. (So much for letting the plausible deniability stand on that guess. His feelings on the hero kind of thing are complicated.)]

Will it matter what answer I give you?

[ The bitterness is stronger in him than she'd expected, and frankly, from the moment he forces her to introspection, she's not sure she has any business recruiting to the cause anyway. She straightens her back somewhat, and runs with the approach that keeps him on his heels instead. ]

If I say it's been free of problems, you won't trust me. If I acknowledge the bumps in the road, you'll feel vindicated in your opposition, in saying it can't work. If there's one thing cynicism does well, it's confirmation bias.

[Will it matter?]

Depends on what your endgame is.

[If what she wants out of this is for him to cut the dodgy crap and trust her. She's pretty up front about the options, if nothing else, which is one of the few things about this particular turn in the conversation that doesn't immediately pick his hackles up. (There is very little that would alienate him harder than feeling handled.) On such a small team, so far away from their own context, a whole lot of the normal confidentiality problems of the job become pretty moot. But handing out actual measures of trust is a personal problem more than a professional one for him these days anyway. Not a whole lot of line between Jason Todd the public face and Jason Todd the vigilante, anymore.]

Nothing personal, I just don't want you getting the wrong idea. I'm gonna go beat the crap out of some dirtbags to see if they've got a bead on who decided to light us up last night. If you're looking for Justice League material you're barking up the wrong tree. I don't do that anymore.

[ 'Justice League' is enough to arch her brow. It sounds like some Starz rip-off of the Avengers for profit. But she leaves it at that, accepting what sounds more like a caricature than an actual team. It's enough for her to figure that most people probably hear the Avengers and think the same. ]

Neither do I.

[ The unfortunate truth, which she supposes gives the straight answer to his earlier question. She shrugs her shoulders and offers him a piece of too-sharp honesty that leaves her voice somewhat thick. Losing the Avengers hurt worse, somehow, than visiting Russia again. Staring at graves. ]

I'm just trying to figure out where I fit in.

[From the society that brought you "Superman" and "Batman." Not much of a creative mecca for monikers.

His hands have shifted to clenched at his sides. Jaw tight, posture squared up like he's braced for a fight, and it eases only by inches at the choke in her voice and the late answer to his question and the fact that he doesn't get any one of the dozen canned do-gooder answers that he half-expects.]

So much for cooperation, I guess.

[He backsteps, spreading his hands at the wreckage of the saloon they're standing under. Conscripted into service on some alien world for the will of some opaque organization they never asked to back. From the moment his head broke above the waters of the Lazarus Pit he's been fighting to make sense of being alive again. And it was awful, a whole lot of hard truths and shattered foundations, but never without direction for long. Goals to work toward, plans to make. Scores to settle. Here, he's been cut off at the pass, a few universes away from Gotham and largely removed from every hard line goal that's kept him grounded since.

Helps to keep busy. Interdimensional timekeeping organizations to nose in on, genocidal goddesses to put a bullet in, arsonists to chase down. But give him some idle hands and hell if he's the guy to talk to about fitting in. Barking up the wrong tree for that one, too.]

Maybe you'll have some better luck fitting in around here. Me? I'm going to go ask our friends some questions before the trail gets colder.

[It's no invitation. He's not going to tell her not to come, either.]

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expatriates - 2017-01-25 02:36 (UTC) - Expand

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gutpunching - 2017-01-25 07:55 (UTC) - Expand

(futurology) ic inbox

text @red, after the fire, I know you're on hiatus so no rush, but since I missed the log by a lot

clings to this to ease off hiatus into actual new threads ur the best

you and me both, friend

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100 years later

it's ok i just replied to a tag from november

you're a far stronger soul than I

or a much, much slower one

still impressive, probably.

ukw i'll take it

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