[ he sends the gps pin of his favourite semi-sketchy bar, INERTIA. it's hi-jacks territory, a neutral zone where the other gangs are forbidden to bring their grievances. ]
Don't get ahead of yourself. Can do after work. Happy hour's the best bet for me.
[ bc he's a cheap "date" and he works for the gangs in the evening, so only a small window of opportunity remains for social calls. ]
I know what you look like, so I'll catch you at the bar. And I'm Scottish, if you hear me before I see you.
[ bobbi gave him the physical description after her night at thor's ;) ]
aw, have you been asking around about me? i knew you liked me at least a little
( who is spreading deets about what matches malone looks like. how far has this gone? who is fitz talking to. is it dick. does he have to break dick's nose. )
let me know when you're off. i'll head over
( no, he's going right fucking now. a sketchy bar? jason's favorite kind of way to burn time. )
[ namely, whoever was carved into in search of chestbursters.
shortly after 17.00, jason gets a 👌, when fitz exits the office, though it takes him nearly half an hour to reach the bar from the corporate district at rush hour.
doors swinging open as they register the neural IDs of prospective drinkers (and flag previous troublemakers, rejecting their entry), the venue itself is high-tech, if cobbled together from spare parts and upgraded on the fly. the clientele varies, with some notable regulars at the fighting rings, races, and botfights, especially those sporting cybernetic augmentations. even from a cursory evaluation, it's obvious the fixtures are designed by individuals rather than the big corporations (a close look at the aircon units, especially, shows parts stripped from recycling transports and old vehicles). the bar buzzes at this hour — though there are mismatched tables with holo games and low stakes gambling about the area.
if jason asks the bartender about fitz, he'll make a comment about this being the second dark-haired newbie that the lad has dragged in here in recent days (sorry, babe). other than that, gossip is sparse: fitz is a rising tech for the hi-jacks with impressive mechanical work, doesn't cause trouble, well-liked but not too notable.
and he gets a little salute from the bartender as he emerges from the happy hour crowds. fortunately, jason's height makes for easy identification. 'course it helps that bobbi knows how to distill someone to their most spyable features. for his part, fitz remains unassuming. a tad scruffy, with the beard and a black button-down rolled to the elbows (in this miserable heat), rucksack slung over one shoulder and padlocked. ]
Surprised you didn't stand me up, Mr Malone. [ slung without bite, as he elbows his way beside jason at the bar. ]
( likes knowing things, uh huh. jason--shows up early, of course. takes some time wandering around dark corners in the bar, listening to idle chit chat of some of the patrons. he likes the look of it: the patched together mess, full of mixed pieces that don't quite belong but fit together regardless.
the bartender gives a bit of info, it's cute, although there is still some deep dark piece of jason that resents being second to dick. he literally asked for it this time, he can't complain. also: the image of dick in this kind of bar is hilarious. he's seen him hang around in clubs before. heard rumors of some of his. . dirtier disguises. but the hole in the wall, rough and tumble bars dominated by gangs has always been jason's scene.
by the time fitz makes his way in, jason's gone through half his glass--whiskey, or whatever this weird ass future considers close enough. he raises a brow, corners of his lips upturning just a bit when fitz says his 'name', lets eyes run down fitz from head to toe, raking in every inch. doesn't hide it, because what fun is that? )
Oh I would never, Leopold. Not you, not after all I went through to get you here.
[ much of jason's features are as expected: a visual similarity to dick despite their family not being, ah, traditional, a little roguish in his manner of dress and styling, an obvious ease with which he waits alone. he blends into this establishment better than connor and dick, to be sure, both of whom fitz has escorted on the premises — but then their first conversation had revolved around the underground. makes sense.
a part of fitz wonders if jason was successful in integrating himself there, thinking that he may have seen him in the fighting ring at one point or another. not his scene, though, despite the occasional visit. jason has about half a foot on him, so fitz tips his chin up in challenge, eyes briefly scanning for injuries.
he doesn't anticipate the full-body review in return, however, an instinctive flush rising along with his arched brows. so, they're still playing at that, are they? fan-fucking-tastic and definitely dick's fault. the leopold of it all is just the topper, prompting tightness at the quirked corners of his mouth. ]
Still work to be done to keep me here. [ he cants his head to the side, tilted at the bar. ] Hope you ordered the 2496.
[ the year of the whiskey he prefers himself, hint hint. maybe they have similar tastes in some things (*bars and liquor). ]
( there's bruising around his eyes, in the traditional haven't slept in four years way; a few scratches on his neck, old bruises along cheek bones. the bandages that had been covering his chest have been removed, replaced with butterfly bandaids which are. a little harder to see through the skin-tight tank he wears under a jacket despite how fucking hot it is outside lately. it's a thinner jacket, at least; not the faux leather he usually wears but softish cotton, torn at the sleeves with threads hanging down from the bottom. faux leather gloves cover hands, because like hell is jason risking anyone of their mix-matched group touching skin and causing emotion shares.
easier just to keep himself covered. the flush is met with a wider grin, before jason turns himself back around towards the bar. raises his glass and rotates a wrist to stir the whiskey inside. )
All this work to avoid me, when we could've been enjoying good whiskey together this whole time. ( another way of saying of course that's what he has. jason offers his own glass, holds it towards fitz. ) Figured if we were going out for beer, I'd get something a little stronger while I waited.
Dicky wasn't over exaggerating how cute your accent is, either.
[ fitz thinks, at least, that he knows similar types to jason. well, he knew one man, in particular, pushing his buttons. not so many years ago, ward might have bothered him like this, albeit with less overt flirtation, waiting in fitz's room for want of entertainment (or maybe just to stave off the loneliness). towering and teasing, too, like this.
that experience means he doesn't hesitate, tipping the glass to enjoy generous swig without seizing jason's drink, unafraid of the intimacy, despite his general misgivings about this entire sequence of events. and thank god he did 'cause, jesus christ, he's going to fire dick grayson. all press is bad press, especially the sort being volleyed back in his face now.
buying himself time to answer (and obscuring the stupid, traitorous flush), he drags a hand across his jaw. ]
Yanks are easy to impress. [ dry as anything. ] Or amuse, in your case.
[ he huffs. ]
So, were you hoping I'd entertain you, [ gesturing between them. ] or is this about scoring points in a pissing contest?
[ why does anyone even care if he has a poor opinion of them, anyway. he's just the grouchy tech monkey. ]
( jason would agree: all press is bad press but in this case, it works to his advantage. dick called fitz out publicly to jason, jason cornered him into finally coming out and meeting up face to face. fitz has information, and a variety of it from what he's heard of him. the invite to shady bars that were enough to get into fight rings, what he has heard around this bar in particular. )
Leopold, I had my eye on you way before Grayson came along. ( yes it's about dick but it started before dick so it's only slightly about him. just a little. )
And it seems like you've gotten yourself in well here, haven't you? ( a gesture around the bar, to it's patrons. ) You always bring your dates here?
( he wants the info behind the gang, but jason knows better than to start asking big questions. )
[ again with the leopold. a sideways glance, as if jason having asked after him slots neatly into his appraisal. ]
Only the mouthy ones. [ meant beyond the obvious dig: it's always loud here, so you can speak freely. ]
[ he sighs, flagging down the bartender with a raised hand to put a beer on jason's tab. if they're going to dance like this, he needs a drink. a tip of his head this way and that follows, considering jason's inquiry. then, mildly — ] I know how to handle myself.
[ fitz laid out his credentials on the network, making his ability to integrate with the gangs more understandable, if still surprising to anyone who has spoken to him, well, ever. he has more settings than most people see, at least after recent events. ]
Friends? No. ( not any one he would admit to. certainly not any natives, not yet. he had plans, but they were momentarily delayed by figuring out what the hell is inside his chest. little hard to get into the nitty gritty of the underworld when your body's full of holes.
but jason has full intentions of getting right back on that train once he's back at 100%. not quite yet, but soon. )
Had some family shit came up that took some precedence over my previously voiced plans. ( dick's arrival kind of fucks him over too, the shit. he's always judging what jason's getting into, on his ass about stupid bullcrap. and jason hasn't found his stride with dick yet. where his limits lie specifically. it makes getting into his own plans hard. not impossible, because he'll go with them anyway, but harder. )
Don't suppose your gang is looking for a few more lackeys.
( he asks, but doubts fitz is going to share. especially considering the kind of shit jason intends to get into, and he hasn't been quiet about it. )
[ the not-quite-question disarms him. see, fitz likes to be the smart guy, with answers and advice up his sleeves. he, too, has recently begun pushing for a network of operatives, scattered across the local organisations: pitching noctis on the nafd, nudging rey towards that or giles bell, and recruiting illya to fight for one of the gangs, as yet to be decided. he may be the techie, but he’s also the guy who managed to become the de facto head of the most feared organisation on his earth.
his beer arrives, and fitz takes a generous swig, considering the remark with a measured seriousness. a brief thought is spared for the ethics of aiding dick’s younger brother to integrate himself with the underground. they hardly seem disparate in age, though fitz has got over half a decade on both of them. something about jason feels young, as if he has more to prove. ]
[ evenly — ] I’m in the market for allies, not lackeys.
[ and maybe not friends, either. unabashedly, fitz sharpens his focus on jason, keen to gauge his reaction. ]
Provided you’re interested. [ canting his head. his mouth quirks, privately amused. ] I don’t do unrequited.
[ an offer for intel, advice, even teamwork — but only if there’s something to be had in return. ]
( fitz is clever. smart. knows what he's talking about. jason hasn't known him very long but he's been going back through the network logs, gathering intel about those who have been stuck here along with them. the immediate openness regarding his own connections down here caught him off guard, momentarily. what kind of dude just shares that he has connections with this bit of the underground? the corners of his lips shift up into a small smirk as he raises the whiskey glass back up to his lips, finishes off what's left in the glass,
waves the bartender over for a beer. )
Sounds fair to me. ( voice even. jason keeps his eyes leveled on fitz' own. looks fairly nonchalant, even if he's running through a dozen questions inside his head. ) Tell me, Mr. Fitz: what are you after?
( leaning in a little closer, a mischievous glint behind dull blue eyes. )
[ this time, fitz holds his ground. he can work with a bargain far better than aimless teasing. business is easy. ]
Information. [ i like knowing things. ] The more we know, the clearer our plan going forward. [ the same thing he said before, only it should be obvious now that he means it. intel on gang involvement in their situation, on the creature carcasses still circulating the black market, and higher still, on the rich individuals servicing the crime families. people like that may very well be patronising other questionable causes, including human experimentation and trafficking. ]
Now, [ rolling a hand, utterly casual. ] the Hi-Jacks wouldn’t suit you. [ no need to lower his voice. this is their territory, fit-for-purpose. ] Mechanically-inclined, merit-based, neutral in all disputes. [ manifold uses for him; not so, for others. he feigns an interest in fixing jason’s collar, and his tone drops. despite perking at the name of the gang, the bartender looks away and spies another order to take, uninclined to linger on apparent flirtation. really, fitz oughta thank jason for setting up a cover with his flirty bullshit. ]
You’ll want the Kings or Warlocks. Maybe the 66. [ a light tug on the jacket, bringing them closer, though his features remain schooled into neutrality. ] S’likely someone has an eye on you, anyway, if you’ve made yourself a familiar face or had a start in the fighting rings. [ jason’s a tank, like illya, built for taking hits and executing knockbacks. doubtful he has the credits to join the races with a vehicle of his own or the mechanical know-how to tech for those — let alone the botfights. fitz wouldn't last in the ring, for that matter. play to your type, mate. ] As I understand it, they all have ties to the big crime families.
[ it’s advice as much as intel, angled to ensure the population of anomalies embeds individuals in every organisation. even in this, fitz believes that offering more is the move. omissions should be strategic or necessary, used sparingly enough that no one suspects you of being the withholding sort. and as he sees it, he can only gain something from this conversation. even if jason stirs shit with the gangs, it'll draw attention away from rumours of the vigilantes with glowing chests. ]
( jason has spent years using body contact, getting close, being flirty--as a way to disarm others. as a weapon of his own, because people don't fucking like it when others get into their personal space. it's a comfort zone thing; everyone has their own personal bubble they dislike being punctured. fitz using that against him is pretty fantastic. he gets in close, fingers along jason's jacket, toying with his collar before flattening it back down and dragging him in.
lips spread into a grin when fitz leans in closer, and jason slouches forward. gets in closer. listens, because fitz is fucking clever and obviously knows what he's talking about. that's good. great. )
I've been playing around the fight rings a little. ( ""a little""; more like fucking lived in the ring the first several days of freedom. he knew what he was getting into, and between damian, kara, and stephanie all showing up at the same time he did--a little financial backing was a little necessary before he let damian shove his grimy little fingers into jason's chest.
his hand reaches forward, gloved fingers moving against fitz's cheek before curling in behind his ear. because one-upping him is important. ) Maybe the 66. ( imitating the same raise in fitz's voice, dull blue eyes meeting blue. ) Tell me more 'bout them.
( because obviously if the answer is maybe that means there's a reason behind that maybe. and anything risky enough to get a maybe is going to be the option jason latches onto. go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. and he's always looking for trouble. )
[ the ghost of surprise across his features, brows lifting when jason skims his face to find an anchor of his own in their intimacy game. at least gloves prevent empathy flowing through his chest, though it's curious that jason wouldn't use that now, when fitz considers it the sharpest tool in his arsenal. he hopes that means jason is confident in the direction of this conversation.
fitz's mouth widens, eyes sparking with the same little thrill. going this route is dangerous in a way his old self would have balked at. ]
You're good at this. [ playacting, maybe, or the push and pull of sharing information. he is, so why not acknowledge it? another thing worth sussing out now: does jason like a compliment, or does he prefer to be contrary in all things? a huffed laugh. ]
But if I say go left, are you going to swing right just to prove you can? [ amused now, where he would have been bothered earlier. fitz doesn't need someone who listens for this. a keen eye for trouble will do. ] 'Cause I'm not here to misdirect you.
[ a fair assumption, given their short history, but he's here to signpost the best routes for a guy like jason, who suddenly seems like he could be very useful, despite his initial misgivings. ]
The 66 are another gang with a focus on robotics. [ tilting his head into jason's touch. ] A harder sell on your type, given your build and playing in the ring, but perhaps they're more varied than the Hi-Jacks. [ a thoughtful hum. they do need someone there, especially since fitz now knows the hi-jacks aren't feeding back into organised crime — someone is, without a doubt. ] Could introduce you to mine and theirs. [ the hi-jacks and the 66. they're the people he sees every damn week, if not more often than that. a thoughtful hum. ] Spread the word that both the Kings and Warlocks are interested in you. See if someone bites at the next fight, especially if a few of us clever sorts bet on you and bolster your profile. [ then, sharper. ] Provided you've recovered enough to win, of course.
[ from his chest injuries and all. not a comment born of concern, but more of a practicality. smart guys don't bet on losers. ]
( the blue glow is something neither of them can afford in this kind of public space, jason is well-aware of the risk that come with skin contact. he's learned to weaponize their empathy bonds, has used it far more than he ever thought he would be comfortable with. jason--doesn't do touching. or feelings. combining them both is just asking for trouble.
sometimes a little trouble's what you need to get by, however. and he's more than aware of that. )
I'll go whichever way suits me best. ( sometimes that is in the opposite direction he's told. sometimes it's towards where he's directed. depends on the day, who he's talking to, what he feels like. because jason todd is all instinct and passion, all the time. and he has absolutely no intention of changing that. even if his emotions do get him into shit he shouldn't be in 90% of the time. ) You say left and left looks nice? I'll go left. If right seems better. .
( fingers sifting idly though short hair, before they move down to frame fitz' jawline. run a thumb over his chin. lets the skeevy grin fade into a half smile. it's softer, at least. )
Give me another week, I'll be back in the rings. ( not time he needs necessarily but time he should take. with everything else going on, jason can use a little caution. only thing it hurts is his pride, and that was decimated years ago. ) But I'm a guy of many talents. Could have a knack for playing with bots, never know. ( could he figure it out? probably. would he bother trying? why. that's tim's job? where is their team tiny nerd when he's needed. )
Maybe I'll show you a thing or two while I'm at it. ( whether he means robotics or toying around in the ring jason intentionally leaves unclear, but he says that loud enough to be overheard. it's not something that needs to be hidden between two dudes staring lovingly into each other's eyes, is it? brows wiggle suggestively as he lets the hand drop away from fitz's face, slouches back into his seat. )
[ there's a self-awareness to jason that fitz hadn't expected. he can appreciate that — alongside a healthy dose of self-interest and personal judgment, meaning he's capable of making a call on the fly (even questionable ones). only jason pushes the boundaries of this game not by being blatant or skeevy, but by softening. a light card through fitz's hair makes him more uneasy than anything else, so he doesn't escalate it, loosening his grip on jason's jacket instead and ducking his head to avoid that slight smile. ]
Good. [ that he'll be back in the ring soon, well enough to be of use. a beat before fitz fully recovers, returning to his drink and offering a contemplative tilt of his head. ] But it might be that others are less nuanced than yourself, you know.
[ a genuine counter, despite the sarky tone. there are several mechanic, robotic, and hacker types around, just in need of a nudge in the right direction. there are fewer folks capable of taking a beating — a number that further narrows when fitz considers who he wouldn't worry over in the ring, from both a practical and personal perspective.
again, he considers how dick would be disappointed by this conversation and all it entails. when he'd asked fitz not to babysit his brothers, he probably didn't imagine his new friend would have a hand in helping one step out of line instead. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
SDLKJGSKJS I LOVE YOU....
ugh. ]
Why.
<3
great taste in beer? a cute accent?
tell me more
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he pauses. ]
I told you plenty, and you were rude.
Are you going to apologise or just pull my pigtails?
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[ and then brought up LEONARD. ]
So, for that.
[ #petty ]
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you're very smart and clever and i shouldn't have wasted your time
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I accept your apology, Malone.
However, if you're so keen on seeing me, you'll have to buy me a beer.
[ 😇 ]
I'm told I have great taste and a cute accent, if it helps.
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when would be a good time for our date?
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Don't get ahead of yourself.
Can do after work. Happy hour's the best bet for me.
[ bc he's a cheap "date" and he works for the gangs in the evening, so only a small window of opportunity remains for social calls. ]
I know what you look like, so I'll catch you at the bar.
And I'm Scottish, if you hear me before I see you.
[ bobbi gave him the physical description after her night at thor's ;) ]
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i knew you liked me
at least a little
( who is spreading deets about what matches malone looks like. how far has this gone? who is fitz talking to. is it dick. does he have to break dick's nose. )
let me know when you're off. i'll head over
( no, he's going right fucking now. a sketchy bar? jason's favorite kind of way to burn time. )
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[ namely, whoever was carved into in search of chestbursters.
shortly after 17.00, jason gets a 👌, when fitz exits the office, though it takes him nearly half an hour to reach the bar from the corporate district at rush hour.
doors swinging open as they register the neural IDs of prospective drinkers (and flag previous troublemakers, rejecting their entry), the venue itself is high-tech, if cobbled together from spare parts and upgraded on the fly. the clientele varies, with some notable regulars at the fighting rings, races, and botfights, especially those sporting cybernetic augmentations. even from a cursory evaluation, it's obvious the fixtures are designed by individuals rather than the big corporations (a close look at the aircon units, especially, shows parts stripped from recycling transports and old vehicles). the bar buzzes at this hour — though there are mismatched tables with holo games and low stakes gambling about the area.
if jason asks the bartender about fitz, he'll make a comment about this being the second dark-haired newbie that the lad has dragged in here in recent days (sorry, babe). other than that, gossip is sparse: fitz is a rising tech for the hi-jacks with impressive mechanical work, doesn't cause trouble, well-liked but not too notable.
and he gets a little salute from the bartender as he emerges from the happy hour crowds. fortunately, jason's height makes for easy identification. 'course it helps that bobbi knows how to distill someone to their most spyable features. for his part, fitz remains unassuming. a tad scruffy, with the beard and a black button-down rolled to the elbows (in this miserable heat), rucksack slung over one shoulder and padlocked. ]
Surprised you didn't stand me up, Mr Malone. [ slung without bite, as he elbows his way beside jason at the bar. ]
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the bartender gives a bit of info, it's cute, although there is still some deep dark piece of jason that resents being second to dick. he literally asked for it this time, he can't complain. also: the image of dick in this kind of bar is hilarious. he's seen him hang around in clubs before. heard rumors of some of his. . dirtier disguises. but the hole in the wall, rough and tumble bars dominated by gangs has always been jason's scene.
by the time fitz makes his way in, jason's gone through half his glass--whiskey, or whatever this weird ass future considers close enough. he raises a brow, corners of his lips upturning just a bit when fitz says his 'name', lets eyes run down fitz from head to toe, raking in every inch. doesn't hide it, because what fun is that? )
Oh I would never, Leopold. Not you, not after all I went through to get you here.
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a part of fitz wonders if jason was successful in integrating himself there, thinking that he may have seen him in the fighting ring at one point or another. not his scene, though, despite the occasional visit. jason has about half a foot on him, so fitz tips his chin up in challenge, eyes briefly scanning for injuries.
he doesn't anticipate the full-body review in return, however, an instinctive flush rising along with his arched brows. so, they're still playing at that, are they? fan-fucking-tastic and definitely dick's fault. the leopold of it all is just the topper, prompting tightness at the quirked corners of his mouth. ]
Still work to be done to keep me here. [ he cants his head to the side, tilted at the bar. ] Hope you ordered the 2496.
[ the year of the whiskey he prefers himself, hint hint. maybe they have similar tastes in some things (*bars and liquor). ]
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easier just to keep himself covered. the flush is met with a wider grin, before jason turns himself back around towards the bar. raises his glass and rotates a wrist to stir the whiskey inside. )
All this work to avoid me, when we could've been enjoying good whiskey together this whole time. ( another way of saying of course that's what he has. jason offers his own glass, holds it towards fitz. ) Figured if we were going out for beer, I'd get something a little stronger while I waited.
Dicky wasn't over exaggerating how cute your accent is, either.
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that experience means he doesn't hesitate, tipping the glass to enjoy generous swig without seizing jason's drink, unafraid of the intimacy, despite his general misgivings about this entire sequence of events. and thank god he did 'cause, jesus christ, he's going to fire dick grayson. all press is bad press, especially the sort being volleyed back in his face now.
buying himself time to answer (and obscuring the stupid, traitorous flush), he drags a hand across his jaw. ]
Yanks are easy to impress. [ dry as anything. ] Or amuse, in your case.
[ he huffs. ]
So, were you hoping I'd entertain you, [ gesturing between them. ] or is this about scoring points in a pissing contest?
[ why does anyone even care if he has a poor opinion of them, anyway. he's just the grouchy tech monkey. ]
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Leopold, I had my eye on you way before Grayson came along. ( yes it's about dick but it started before dick so it's only slightly about him. just a little. )
And it seems like you've gotten yourself in well here, haven't you? ( a gesture around the bar, to it's patrons. ) You always bring your dates here?
( he wants the info behind the gang, but jason knows better than to start asking big questions. )
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Only the mouthy ones. [ meant beyond the obvious dig: it's always loud here, so you can speak freely. ]
[ he sighs, flagging down the bartender with a raised hand to put a beer on jason's tab. if they're going to dance like this, he needs a drink. a tip of his head this way and that follows, considering jason's inquiry. then, mildly — ] I know how to handle myself.
[ fitz laid out his credentials on the network, making his ability to integrate with the gangs more understandable, if still surprising to anyone who has spoken to him, well, ever. he has more settings than most people see, at least after recent events. ]
Have you made any friends around here, Malone?
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but jason has full intentions of getting right back on that train once he's back at 100%. not quite yet, but soon. )
Had some family shit came up that took some precedence over my previously voiced plans. ( dick's arrival kind of fucks him over too, the shit. he's always judging what jason's getting into, on his ass about stupid bullcrap. and jason hasn't found his stride with dick yet. where his limits lie specifically. it makes getting into his own plans hard. not impossible, because he'll go with them anyway, but harder. )
Don't suppose your gang is looking for a few more lackeys.
( he asks, but doubts fitz is going to share. especially considering the kind of shit jason intends to get into, and he hasn't been quiet about it. )
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his beer arrives, and fitz takes a generous swig, considering the remark with a measured seriousness. a brief thought is spared for the ethics of aiding dick’s younger brother to integrate himself with the underground. they hardly seem disparate in age, though fitz has got over half a decade on both of them. something about jason feels young, as if he has more to prove. ]
[ evenly — ] I’m in the market for allies, not lackeys.
[ and maybe not friends, either. unabashedly, fitz sharpens his focus on jason, keen to gauge his reaction. ]
Provided you’re interested. [ canting his head. his mouth quirks, privately amused. ] I don’t do unrequited.
[ an offer for intel, advice, even teamwork — but only if there’s something to be had in return. ]
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waves the bartender over for a beer. )
Sounds fair to me. ( voice even. jason keeps his eyes leveled on fitz' own. looks fairly nonchalant, even if he's running through a dozen questions inside his head. ) Tell me, Mr. Fitz: what are you after?
( leaning in a little closer, a mischievous glint behind dull blue eyes. )
I'm sure we can. . come to terms.
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Information. [ i like knowing things. ] The more we know, the clearer our plan going forward. [ the same thing he said before, only it should be obvious now that he means it. intel on gang involvement in their situation, on the creature carcasses still circulating the black market, and higher still, on the rich individuals servicing the crime families. people like that may very well be patronising other questionable causes, including human experimentation and trafficking. ]
Now, [ rolling a hand, utterly casual. ] the Hi-Jacks wouldn’t suit you. [ no need to lower his voice. this is their territory, fit-for-purpose. ] Mechanically-inclined, merit-based, neutral in all disputes. [ manifold uses for him; not so, for others. he feigns an interest in fixing jason’s collar, and his tone drops. despite perking at the name of the gang, the bartender looks away and spies another order to take, uninclined to linger on apparent flirtation. really, fitz oughta thank jason for setting up a cover with his flirty bullshit. ]
You’ll want the Kings or Warlocks. Maybe the 66. [ a light tug on the jacket, bringing them closer, though his features remain schooled into neutrality. ] S’likely someone has an eye on you, anyway, if you’ve made yourself a familiar face or had a start in the fighting rings. [ jason’s a tank, like illya, built for taking hits and executing knockbacks. doubtful he has the credits to join the races with a vehicle of his own or the mechanical know-how to tech for those — let alone the botfights. fitz wouldn't last in the ring, for that matter. play to your type, mate. ] As I understand it, they all have ties to the big crime families.
[ it’s advice as much as intel, angled to ensure the population of anomalies embeds individuals in every organisation. even in this, fitz believes that offering more is the move. omissions should be strategic or necessary, used sparingly enough that no one suspects you of being the withholding sort. and as he sees it, he can only gain something from this conversation. even if jason stirs shit with the gangs, it'll draw attention away from rumours of the vigilantes with glowing chests. ]
Then, all we do is keep in touch.
[ those are his terms, in an ideal world. ]
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lips spread into a grin when fitz leans in closer, and jason slouches forward. gets in closer. listens, because fitz is fucking clever and obviously knows what he's talking about. that's good. great. )
I've been playing around the fight rings a little. ( ""a little""; more like fucking lived in the ring the first several days of freedom. he knew what he was getting into, and between damian, kara, and stephanie all showing up at the same time he did--a little financial backing was a little necessary before he let damian shove his grimy little fingers into jason's chest.
his hand reaches forward, gloved fingers moving against fitz's cheek before curling in behind his ear. because one-upping him is important. ) Maybe the 66. ( imitating the same raise in fitz's voice, dull blue eyes meeting blue. ) Tell me more 'bout them.
( because obviously if the answer is maybe that means there's a reason behind that maybe. and anything risky enough to get a maybe is going to be the option jason latches onto. go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. and he's always looking for trouble. )
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fitz's mouth widens, eyes sparking with the same little thrill. going this route is dangerous in a way his old self would have balked at. ]
You're good at this. [ playacting, maybe, or the push and pull of sharing information. he is, so why not acknowledge it? another thing worth sussing out now: does jason like a compliment, or does he prefer to be contrary in all things? a huffed laugh. ]
But if I say go left, are you going to swing right just to prove you can? [ amused now, where he would have been bothered earlier. fitz doesn't need someone who listens for this. a keen eye for trouble will do. ] 'Cause I'm not here to misdirect you.
[ a fair assumption, given their short history, but he's here to signpost the best routes for a guy like jason, who suddenly seems like he could be very useful, despite his initial misgivings. ]
The 66 are another gang with a focus on robotics. [ tilting his head into jason's touch. ] A harder sell on your type, given your build and playing in the ring, but perhaps they're more varied than the Hi-Jacks. [ a thoughtful hum. they do need someone there, especially since fitz now knows the hi-jacks aren't feeding back into organised crime — someone is, without a doubt. ] Could introduce you to mine and theirs. [ the hi-jacks and the 66. they're the people he sees every damn week, if not more often than that. a thoughtful hum. ] Spread the word that both the Kings and Warlocks are interested in you. See if someone bites at the next fight, especially if a few of us clever sorts bet on you and bolster your profile. [ then, sharper. ] Provided you've recovered enough to win, of course.
[ from his chest injuries and all. not a comment born of concern, but more of a practicality. smart guys don't bet on losers. ]
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sometimes a little trouble's what you need to get by, however. and he's more than aware of that. )
I'll go whichever way suits me best. ( sometimes that is in the opposite direction he's told. sometimes it's towards where he's directed. depends on the day, who he's talking to, what he feels like. because jason todd is all instinct and passion, all the time. and he has absolutely no intention of changing that. even if his emotions do get him into shit he shouldn't be in 90% of the time. ) You say left and left looks nice? I'll go left. If right seems better. .
( fingers sifting idly though short hair, before they move down to frame fitz' jawline. run a thumb over his chin. lets the skeevy grin fade into a half smile. it's softer, at least. )
Give me another week, I'll be back in the rings. ( not time he needs necessarily but time he should take. with everything else going on, jason can use a little caution. only thing it hurts is his pride, and that was decimated years ago. ) But I'm a guy of many talents. Could have a knack for playing with bots, never know. ( could he figure it out? probably. would he bother trying? why. that's tim's job? where is their team tiny nerd when he's needed. )
Maybe I'll show you a thing or two while I'm at it. ( whether he means robotics or toying around in the ring jason intentionally leaves unclear, but he says that loud enough to be overheard. it's not something that needs to be hidden between two dudes staring lovingly into each other's eyes, is it? brows wiggle suggestively as he lets the hand drop away from fitz's face, slouches back into his seat. )
Brute force isn't the only thing I'm good for.
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Good. [ that he'll be back in the ring soon, well enough to be of use. a beat before fitz fully recovers, returning to his drink and offering a contemplative tilt of his head. ] But it might be that others are less nuanced than yourself, you know.
[ a genuine counter, despite the sarky tone. there are several mechanic, robotic, and hacker types around, just in need of a nudge in the right direction. there are fewer folks capable of taking a beating — a number that further narrows when fitz considers who he wouldn't worry over in the ring, from both a practical and personal perspective.
again, he considers how dick would be disappointed by this conversation and all it entails. when he'd asked fitz not to babysit his brothers, he probably didn't imagine his new friend would have a hand in helping one step out of line instead. ]
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