Francis Barton (thebestshot) wrote in somerealityrpg, @ 2020-03-17 18:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | inactive: francis barton, inactive: jason todd |
Who: Francis Barton & Jason Todd
What: Of Not!Heroes and Penguins
When: March 16th, afternoon
Where: Random rooftop
Rating: PG-13 (swears)
Status: Complete
The roof was a familiar place to be. Didn't matter what roof, one was as good as the next. Being up there, able to see what was going on around and below, that was a place Jason was comfortable. Plus, it got him out of the apartment and away from all the awkwardness it held. Plus, no one was going to give him shit for smoking. Win/win.
He flicked ash from the edge of his cigarette, feet dangling over from where he was sitting. Precarious, maybe, but what's the worst that could happen? Not like he was going to die. Again. A noise from behind alerted him he wasn't alone anymore, and he glanced over his shoulder to see if it was someone he knew before turning his gaze back to the buildings, taking a slow drag and breathing out smoke.
Francis had been looking for new rooftops. The one on top of the apartment building was overcrowded. Sure, it was okay at night when he needed to just feel something familiar, but during the day when he needed somewhere to breathe it was too crowded. So he’d been looking for better places, places he could go when he wanted to escape. So far he’d found a few good ones. Grand Central, the old Scav HQ, was too packed full of fucking people to be of any use to him, and if he went to the theatre then James might know where to look and part of his need to get away was-
Fuck.
He let the door to the rooftop access close behind him even as he saw someone else perched on the edge. A cloud of smoke haloed around the guy’s head for a moment before Francis shrugged his shoulders at himself and walked over, balancing on an tarnished whirlybird (whatever the vent was really called he didn’t know) as it was in his path.
“Figures I’d pick a roof that’s already got someone on it,” he said, staying where he was on top of the vent, just in case the guy told him to fuck off. “There’s an annoying shortage of places which have a good vantage point and an easy escape route.” Nothing like Ultracity.
Jason shifted, leaning one leg dangling as the other came up to rest his foot flat on the ledge, sitting perpendicular to the edge. The guy didn't seem like a threat, certainly not one he couldn't handle, and he squinted slightly as he looked up at where he was perched on the vent. Good vantage point, easy escape route, those were things he'd noticed too.
“Lotta fucking skyscrapers in this place,” he commented, gesturing absently. “Who’re you?”
“Yeah,” Francis agreed, “way different to what it looks like in my future.” Since it was clear only he and James and Torunn were from that particular hellscape. Didn’t quite feel right without Pym and Azari, though. “Still a lot of them have shit roof access and without a grapple arrow I can’t easily get up.” He wasn’t Spiderman, after all.
He tipped his head. “Barton. You?”
An eyebrow quirked at the mention of a grapple arrow, and Jason took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking the butt of it out off the roof. This city wasn’t his, wasn’t anywhere near Gotham, but he knew there were others there who were familiar with it either in its current state or some other version. And here was another.
“Jason,” he replied. “Grapple arrow, huh?”
“My dad was never the most imaginative when it came to naming trick arrows,” Francis explained with a shrug. “Grapple arrow, net arrow, shock arrow… makes it less confusing when you’re looking for something specific I guess?”
He shrugged, preemptively rolling his eyes in disdain for his next statement. “I have them, but it’s not good etiquette or some shit to walk around in the middle of the day with a bow and quiver.”
“Yeah, the general daytime public tends to frown on weapons being carried around,” Jason drawled with a smirk, rolling his eyes. “In my experience.”
Not that that’d ever stopped him, though he hadn’t when in Goodland. Hadn’t ever stopped Roy either, so far as the quiver was concerned, but this kid wasn’t Roy. Unfortunately. “Never been much for a bow and arrow. Had a grappling gun though.”
Francis’ eyebrow quirked in interest. “A grappling gun? Attached to a wrist mechanism so it doesn’t just get yanked outta your hand?” He moved a little closer, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched defensively, but the mention of a weapon had caught his interest. It was enough for him to head towards the edge of the roof.
“Is it recyclable? I mean, do you discard it after each use?”
Considering the amount of use those guns got in Gotham, Jason couldn't imagine what it would be like if they weren't reusable. The city would be littered with them; anyone could get their hands on it and what a bad idea that would be.
“Nah, they retract. I mean, there's not always time to do that, but it's not a one use only type of thing.”
“That makes sense,” Francis said with a little smile, sitting down a foot or so away from Jason but he was still sitting there. This was a good thing, right? “Same here. I have to go collect my arrows to make sure that they- uh, well, so the wrong people don’t get them but also that stuff is hard to make, y’know?”
He leaned his elbows on his knees. “You have it with you? Not like, right here. But, like here?”
Jason’s gaze followed him as he sat, gauging the distance between them. It was all true -- a pain in the ass to make the toys, and definitely not things they wanted to fall into the hands of bad guys. That vigilante life didn't have an R&D department to fall back on.
“No, I don't,” he said with a tinge of annoyance. “I don't have any of my shit here, which sucks.” He had a couple guns and knives, but those were easy to come by, nothing special or custom. “You a hero type, then?”
Francis’ shoulder lifted. “I only had my bow and a few arrows when I arrived by then overnight the first night I was here my shit just arrived.” He picked at the inseam of the knee of his jeans and looked over at Jason’s question.
Was he a hero type?
He scoffed a little.
“Dunno,” he said. “Don’t got any roads named after me or anything. No invite to the Big Leagues and all. Your grappling gun used for hero stuff or for crime?” Because it’d be really handy for crime.
“Is that what makes someone a hero? Having roads named after them?” Jason rolled his eyes, trying to imagine Gotham having a Batman Way or some shit. Bruce already had enough things with his real name slapped on them.
“I’m not a criminal,” he answered shortly, though he wasn’t about to label himself a hero either. He’d been a sidekick once upon a time, and now… he wasn’t sure what he was. Necessary.
“Me neither,” Francis answered, “but I guess any kind of,” he waved his hand, “doing stuff that involves grappling hooks and kicking bad guys in the face is probably against some kinda law here.”
This place didn’t seem like the type that would appreciate vigilantes and heroes and stuff.
He paused, chewing his lower lip. “I dunno? I mean, I grew up at the end of the world so I’m not really sure what makes a hero. I figured, statues… roads being named after them, some kind of national holiday or something?”
“It's against the law most places, but the police sure as fuck aren't going to handle things on their own.” At least, not in Gotham. Hell, even the guys who got tossed in jail or Arkham were bound to get out and go right back to it. Stupid.
“End of the world, huh? That had to be rough.”
Francis snorted, “Yeah, I learned pretty quick you can’t trust the police. The people that are meant to keep you safe and shit? More secretive than literally anyone else in the world.” He’d heard stories of SHIELD, of the police, his dad had told him about how the Avengers - doing the right thing - and law enforcement clashed all the time even though the ‘people’ loved them. “Dunno if it’s the case here but I’ve not seen any cops.”
He lifted his shoulder. “Never knew anything different,” he admitted, “so it is what it is. This place is way too quiet though. Not enough near-death experiences at the hands of angry robots for me.”
“There’s cops,” Jason said, shrugging a shoulder. “Live with one.” He paused, remembering that Kori had a job at the same place as Dick, though he wasn’t sure if she was a detective like him or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, only that he and Kori didn’t exactly sit around discussing work. “He’s an idiot but he was that way before he became a cop.”
A hint of a smirk turned at the corners of his mouth. “I get that, the too quiet thing. Gotham is… well, I guess it could feel like the end of the world. Not with angry robots, but a bunch of fucking psychopaths running around all the time.”
Francis snorted. “Too many rules for cops,” he added. He’d looked it up. They had a whole bunch of rules and apparently ‘punch first ask questions later’ was the wrong approach to the job. So he knew he wouldn’t fit in there. Not that he really knew where he fitted. Fuck this stupid place. “You got family here, then?” he asked, because it was his natural assumption. Everyone here had family. Stupid place.
He huffed out a breath, “Gotham? ‘S that where you’re from?” He wondered where that was; he didn’t ever remember seeing it on any map. Not that his world geography was great. He knew his way around the old sewers of Ultracity but anywhere else in the world? Eh, he might have seen a map or two. An atlas or whatever. But he’d never really travelled. “Psychopaths like… bad guys?” he asked, trying to place the word for context. He’d heard it used as an insult, but only between the people he knew and only ever in anger.
“No,” Jason answered easily, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. “No family.” The closest thing he had to that was Kori, but they weren't family. Half the time, he wondered how they were even friends. But then he remembered Tim and that hint of a smirk turned into something more real. “I am a guardian of someone here and say he's my son to piss him off, if that counts.”
He took a long drag, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m from Gotham. It's a shithole, like I said. And the psychopaths… yes, like bad guys. Fucking crazy lunatics with weird ass schticks. We literally got a guy who calls himself the Penguin. Dumbass.”
Francis’ eyebrows lifted. “I’m gonna assume you know the guy rather than just… picking a random kid out of the housing block that needed someone.” He could get behind saying something to someone just to piss them off; he did it to James to get a reaction out of the guy when he was just sort of staring into space and moping, doing that numb thing that Francis was trying to knock him out of but didn’t seem capable of. “But I think that counts?”
He shrugged again. “Wouldn’t know. ‘M not exactly the arbiter-” he hoped he’d used that word right “-of family relationships.”
He tilted his head, watching the cigarette curiously before his attention was drawn to the Penguin. “Like the bird? Penguins are birds, right? I- uh- I’ve never seen one before. Does he look like a penguin?”
“I know him,” Jason confirmed with a laugh. He sure as hell wouldn't have agreed to be a guardian to someone he didn't. Tim could take care of himself, for the most part. Other than the general existing without being a disaster thing. But hey, that was a Bat Family trait. “Hey, me either. Wouldn't know what it's supposed to be if it punched me in the face, which it probably would.”
He paused to consider the Penguin. “Yep, he looks like a penguin. Always wearing a tuxedo like that doesn't make him stand out like a sore fucking thumb.” Flicking some ash off the end of his cigarette, his brow furrowed as he looked at Francis. “You've never seen a penguin?”
“It’s slightly less weird then,” Francis said with a little grin. “‘Benevolent smoker takes pity on random kid’ is a weird headline.” He snorted, “I’m generally the one doing the punching, it’s my ‘thing’. Torunn had her lightning-sword-Asguardian thing, Azari had his whole lightning thing. Pym could shrink. James was, well, James. Francis was good at shooting shit and punching people. In that order. “There should be a club. ‘We don’t understand family’. We can throw stuff at people in parks.”
His eyes slid to the cigarette again. Though he was downwind the smell was one he wasn’t familiar with. No cigarettes in the apocalypse. Not much of anything, really. He’d found whiskey was quite good, though he hadn’t asked Cooper to buy him any more. He probably should. He liked TVs well enough. But the music was his favourite, the devices and how many different types there were.
“Is it that surprising?” he asked, eyebrow arched. “Apocalypse. Robot apocalypse. No zoos in the robot apocalypse.”
Jason huffed out a laugh. “Not a headline they'd ever write about me,” he replied, rolling his eyes. Tim was an exception because the kid didn't need much help, and if he did he damn sure wasn't about to admit or ask for it. That was why when he had, Jason knew it was serious. “I'm usually doing the punching too. Well, shooting and punching. Kicking. Pretty much a little bit of everything.”
He raised an eyebrow right back at Francis. “Do they not have books in the robot apocalypse? Or computers?”
Francis snorted. “With a gun or a bow and arrow?” Even in the future they didn’t have guns in the strictest of senses. Clint had told him about them, weapons with recoil that were more dangerous than a bow and arrow (but also a lot louder). He’d seen a few before, but bullets had been in short supply and they’d had to go back to spears and lances, stuff hedged together from broken machine parts.
“Oh, gee,” he sniped, “if I ever get to go back I’ll be sure to ask the robot overlord who wiped out most of humanity and integrated himself into, like, every piece of technology ever to make sure that he saves us some books. And to stop trying to kill us for long enough that we can read them.”
Rolling his eyes, he added, “But, like, this Penguin guy. Is he like, a bird-person?”
“Guns. Know a guy who does the bow and arrow thing though.” It made Jason miss Roy more, thinking about it. Having Kori there without him felt weird. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen a few seconds before holding it over toward Francis. “There, that's a penguin. Jesus Christ, you're dramatic.”
He took another drag before shaking his head, exhaling smoke. “Not a bird person, just a person person out of his goddamn mind. Like I said, Gotham is full of psychopaths.”
“Well,” Francis said, admirably fighting the urge to stick his tongue out because he was not the dramatic one thank you very much, “I’m disappointed he’s not a bird person. Is he just called Penguin because he wears a suit?”
Still. The penguin looked cute. He wasn’t about to admit that but the more he looked the more his curiosity softened his features a little. At least, until he caught himself.
“That’s a stupid way of naming yourself.”
“You know, I never stopped to ask him why he called himself that,” Jason said wryly, slipping his phone into his pocket. “None of our psychopaths are particularly creative with their names. Mostly self explanatory. Guess that makes ‘em easy to keep straight.”
“Are they all named after zoo animals?” Francis asked. “Or do some like to mix it up a bit and name themselves after popular foods?” The thought of some mob-boss, kingpin wanna be calling himself ‘The Donut’ was an amusing one and it made his lips twitch up a little. “Or places?”
He figured the Penguin had to be a bad guy, since Jason called him a psycho. “We just have Ultron. And his robot army.”
Jason snorted. “No, not named after zoo animals. But like… Black Mask? Guess what he wears on his fucking face. Like I said, not creative but easy to keep track of.”
He rubbed his hand over his face, brow furrowing. “Robots never been our problem. Guess you got all those.”
Francis barked out a laugh, surprised by the bluntness of the statement. He wanted a book of these bad guys so he could laugh at them when he was having a bad day. “You got like a gallery of them? And, I mean, if you fight them doesn’t that kinda make you a hero?” His definition was very black and white in that sense. He didn’t know enough about anti-heroes or… other definitions. He wasn’t a hero, really, because he’d just done what he was meant to. And he didn’t even get the killing blow on Ultron.
“Guess so. Robots are dicks. Ultron’s the dickiest of them all. I think I’d take humans with funny names. Wanna swap?”
“We’ve got a fuckton. They get locked up, escape. Shut in the asylum, escape. Annoying as fuck.” Because they never learned, never changed, just got out and went right back to being awful. Hurting people, killing people, no regard for any of it. Jason frowned as he considered Francis’ question, even though he already knew the answer.
“No streets named after me,” he replied with a wry grin. “No statues either.” So no, not a hero. He looked out over the city a moment before his gaze turned back to Francis. “Sure, we can trade. I’d love to blow up some robots.”
“Your prisons sound shit.” How did people keep escaping if it was a prison? Maybe that was part of the problem? Or maybe just everyone in Gotham was on the side of the bad guys and no one wanted to help the people. Except Jason.
He snorted, “Yeah,” he echoed, “me neither.” So also not a hero. His lips twitched up a little. “Cool, sorted. I’ll take my best friend and go kick the asses of your psychos. You can take on our robots.” He paused, adding, “We’ve got, like, no hot water. Or fresh food. Fair warning.”
Jason huffed in agreement, because the prisons were shit. And the city was corrupt. So nothing could be relied on -- except Bruce doing the same things over and over, expecting different results.
“That's all overrated anyway,” he replied with a shrug. “I think I can handle it, go take on your robots. It'd be a fun change.”
Francis grinned, wider this time. “It’s a deal. Anything else I should know about Gotham?”
What people should know about Gotham before stepping foot there could fill a whole book. Jason smirked softly, flicking the butt of his cigarette off the roof. “You can't trust anyone.”