(no subject)

[prodigaljaybird]

It's strange to be outside again after so long spent indoors; first the endless dark of Rapture, and then the shuttered quiet of his own bedroom. He's seen the sunlight in bits and snatches, trickles through the slatted walls of the hut and shining through the door, but no more than that.

It feels good. Warm on his face when Jason tips it skyward, comforting. It feels good to know that in spite of the whole world ending, the sun and sky, the trees, the island is still here.

And going on as normal, if the sounds that greet Jason as he shuffles down the boardwalk are any indication. That feels good, too, and Jason feels better for every step he takes. In many ways, he feels like he's been ill, like it was a fever that's kept him indoors and not his own insurmountable dread. He feels raw and worn out, too hollow, but under the sun again...Bucky was right. He feels better.

He has no aim for where he's walking. There are faces he wants to see, but even now, he's afraid to seek them out. What will they say to him, what have they heard, or worse, what if they didn't care to notice he was gone?

The familiar hurt turns in Jason's stomach, and he takes the path not to the Compound, but down to Robin's Gym. Outside of class, the place is like a graveyard, but the wooden structures are familiar and sunlit. As ever when he's here alone, Jason thinks of Tim, and he smiles a little. "Way to miss the fireworks, little brother."

[ooc: wide open to familiar faces~ find him at Robin's Gym or on the way there]

Comments

[backward]

Silently, she raises both hands to her ears, pointing her index fingers upward in the shape of the cowl, brow sharply arched. She doesn't spend much time watching films, but she'd run off that summer, run to Italy, tried to live like girls her age were meant to. Flirted, danced, went to the theater, watched the same movies as everyone else. The last shred of normalcy she'd known, really.

"Yeah." And no matter how ridiculous it sounds, there isn't a shred of her doubt when she asks her question in turn. "He's your father?"

Her gaze shifts to the side, fleeting, buried in thought. "He's kind of fucked, isn't he?" The ring of a shot. The sound of a bus hitting— the sound— hollow. Subconsciously, her shoulders raise as she wraps her arms around herself. How do you fix that? How do you erase it? She tries for a smile, all for him, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, too resigned to travel far. "Real wanker."

[prodigaljaybird]

"Everyone's fucked in Gotham," says Jason without a hint of mirth. "You're rotten as soon as you're born inside those walls. He just - our family just - we fight it harder than most." He touches the scar on his head. "Get more fucked up because of it."

He pulls his hand away with a frown. "He adopted me when I was eleven. He's not my blood, but he feels like it."

[backward]

"Maybe it's about time someone took it down," Effy suggests underneath her breath. She'd never be the one to press the button and send it all exploding, careening, falling to pieces and through their fingers. Having ruined lives before, she can't imagine ever doing so again, never willfully tugging at heartstrings until people threaten to fall apart from it all. And if it's home to him, well, then Effy expects Jason to be capable of it even less than she. But sometimes a statement needs to be said, a truth needs to be heard, for however difficult it may be to finally part ways, it's the start of letting go.

Her hand reaches out for a moment, but doesn't come quite close enough to touch it. The scar. (It's worse than any of hers. So much.)

"He's your blood," she adds, under her breath. "When you bleed for someone... here," Effy motions over his chest, "then they become blood. More important than who you're born to."