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logsinthenight2020-02-16 05:05 pm
inthenightmods) wrote in logsinthenight2020-02-16 05:05 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- bruce wayne (marzi),
- bucky barnes (gail),
- catra (val),
- daylight vis lornlit (melly),
- dean winchester (miyou),
- duster (nara),
- elektra natchios (carlee),
- ellever brandt (crow),
- gregor allaine (leu),
- ignis scientia (helena),
- jason grace (erica),
- javert (rachel),
- jo harvelle (dee),
- kol mikaelson (jade),
- kylo ren (kelly),
- link (psi),
- maes hughes (erica),
- masaomi kida (wind),
- minimus ambus (nara),
- namine (ami),
- nancy wheeler (chrissy),
- newton geiszler (mippins),
- prompto argentum (daimon),
- quentin coldwater (ireth),
- rosinante donquixote (lauren),
- sarissa theron (bella),
- somnus lucis caelum (jae),
- sora (mawi),
- steve harrington (zelly),
- stone (gail),
- will ingram (leu),
- xayah (helena),
- zihuan cao pi (gemini)
EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET
EVENT LOG:
THE NIGHT WE MET
characters: everyone.
location: the path from downtown beacon to the harbor; all over town.
date/time: february 16-21.
content: the forest spirits send off their friends to join the aurora. memory opals drop from the eerie green lights above.
warnings: n/a.
i had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.
For most of the day on February 16, all of the town's forest spirits can be found along the stretch of road between downtown and the harbor, clearly setting up for, uh, something. They're piling snow onto the pathway, creating a miles long sled trail that starts outside the Landmark Inn and ends at the very end of the harbor's dock. Not only that, but the forest spirits are also not super willing to explain what they're up to! They're busy, you lantern-havers.
By the time evening rolls around, the spirits have set up wooden railings alongside the snowy path, as well as a warming tent, hot chocolate booth, and announcer stand outside of the Landmark. Oh, and a starting banner for the race! It's dogsled time!
Throughout the event, Beacon's downtown and harbor areas will be completely overrun with forest spirits, all there to bear witness to this holiday celebration—this holiday is for them, though, not you weirdos with your naked faces. Point is, none of the spirits will be hostile at this time! They're more interested in interacting with each other than with Beacon's residents, though if pressed, a kind spirit might be willing to explain what's going on:
The aurora arrives in Beacon for about a week each year, and the forest spirits believe it to be "friends in the sky". The lights are old friends of theirs, it seems! And each night while the aurora shines above the town, the forest spirits send off a handful of friends to join the aurora! The spirits ready to join the aurora build sleds of their own and assemble mighty sled teams, sometimes comprised of dog spirits and sometimes... other stuff. Then, when the aurora is at its peak in the wee hours of the night, the sled teams will ride off one by one, racing down the snow-covered path all the way down to the harbor, where they'll finally rocket off the dock and out over the lake, picking up more and more speed as each team gallops wildly over the water before arcing up into the sky. Once the spirits are barely a speck, they'll hit the aurora and burst into a shower of light. Beautiful stuff!
See, since the aurora is made of light, forest spirits launched into it are killed on impact! Isn't that wonderful! The forest spirits seem to think so! What is death to a dead thing!
All of this information can be learned through handwaved/played-led interactions with the forest spirits during the event. They'll all be focused on saying goodbye to their friends and cheering them on as they stream through the sky, but they're happy to welcome lantern-havers to join in the celebrations. The hot chocolate is free and only tastes a little bit like mud, so. Enjoy!•••
For the entire duration of the event, the aurora will dance in beautiful silence overhead, lighting up the whole town with its eerie green glow. Every so often, handfuls of opals will rain down like meteorites from the lights above, and these opals each contain the memory of someone currently in Beacon! They can be found all over town, landing on paths and atop buildings and maybe even rocketing straight through your ceiling to crash into your living room. Perhaps a forest spirit decided to hide some shiny rocks in your cereal box or under your pillow... Better hope the Postmaster General doesn't find your opals before you do, though. That spirits sure does love their rocks. Point is, who knows where the opals might turn up?
On that note, if you signed up for a random event, we'll be RNGing characters to receive these random events throughout the event! The event may happen in response to a toplevel on this event log, or we might turn up in your IC inbox... đź‘€ These events will be entirely random, meaning we could dole out any number of them at any time, so it'll be a fun surprise for all of us.
If you missed signups and would still like to toss your name in the ring, go right ahead! Signups will remain open throughout the event, though we can't promise everyone who signs up will get something.
And finally... Each day, we'll post a list of the forest spirits joining the aurora! What, did you want to know in advance? The forest spirits have never been a particularly organized bunch, so they're winging this—which means more surprises for you. :)
Enjoy the races and the lights and the opals, residents of Beacon, and remember: WHAT IS DEATH TO A DEAD THING!
| QUICKNAV | |||
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JASON TODD | OTA
if you would like a happy, sad, or traumatic memory, please comment to this post and let me know any personal things you would like me to consider, such as squicks.
Because comics.)
for peter
“Enough! All of it ends tonight!” he calls out. “You say you want to save Gotham! To kill a part of it so it can survive. You say you want to be better than me. But it won’t happen.”
It’s clear he’s stalking through the building to follow the younger man, his face only obscured by a domino mask. His clothes singed, and only a gun in his hand. The contempt he has as he looks at the one speaking is apparent.
“I know I FAILED you. But.. I tried to save you, Jason. I’m... I’m trying to save you now.” the older man’s voice lowers, softness seeping in.
The shock of his words is apparent on Jason’s face, who gives out a half laugh of disbelief.
“Is that what you think this is about? Your letting me die?” There’s a beat, heaviness hangs in the air. “I don’t know what clouds your judgment worse. Your guilt, or your antiquated sense of morality. Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me.”
Jason backs up slowly, nearing an old closet door.
“But why… why on God’s earth—?!” He punctuates this statement, kicking the door in, allowing what looks like a man with bleached skin and green hair and a wide richter grin to fall to the floor. “Is he still alive?”
The clown breaks into hysterical laughter, once the scene sets in for him.
“HAHAHAHA NOW WE’VE GOT OURSELVES A PARTY! One big happy — all together again! Who’s got a camera? Dracula, you MUST have a digital picy-poo on that hardware store that you wear around your waist!” Joker croons happily.
“Get one of me and the kid, first. Then you and me. Then the three of us. Then one with the crowbar.”
It’s at that moment that Jason pistol whips him and then leans over him, his voice like ice and daggers.
“You’ll be as quiet as possible or I’ll put one in your lap first.”
“Party pooper. No cake for you!”
Jason focuses his attention on Bruce again, his gun still trained on the Joker’s head.
“Ignoring what he’s done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he’s filled, the thousands who have suffered…” he pauses for effect, emphasis on the next sentence. ”… The friends he’s crippled…”
Bruce looks at him impassively, though Jason’s voice is just getting more emotional, more impassioned. More upset. Gone is any sense of sarcasm, or mirth.
“… I thought… I thought killing me— that I’d be the last person you’d ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody mass. If it had been you that he left in agony. If he had taken YOU from this world…”
His stance tightens for a moment, a flash of anguish crossing his face.
“I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage… And sent him off to hell.”
Bruce looks down, his tone unchanged from his earlier apology. Jason’s pleas falling on deaf ears.
“You don’t understand. I don’t think you’ve ever understood.”
“What? Your moral code just won’t allow for that? It’s too hard to “cross that line”?” Jason retorts, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“No. God almighty… no. It’d be too damned easy,” Bruce emphasizes and raises his hands in a placating gesture.
“All I have ever wanted to do is kill him. For years, a day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t envisioned taking him… Taking him and spending an entire month putting him through the most horrendous, mind-boggling forms of torture.”
Bruce’s attention is focused on Jason, and both of them are pointedly ignoring the Joker’s delighted face.
“All of it building to an end with him broken, butchered, and maimed… pleading — screaming— in the worst kind of agony as he careens into a monstrous death.”
“Aw… y’see, I’ve thought about that too,” the Joker can’t help but interject.
“I want him dead— maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” Bruce continues. “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place… I’ll never come back.”
“Why?” Jason asks, helpless.
“What?”
“Why do all the cub scouts in spandex ALWAYS say that? “If I cross that line, there’s no coming back.” I’m not talking about killing Cobblepot and Scarecrow or Clayface. Not Riddler, or Dent.”
Jason gestures his gun at the Joker, who is giggling quietly over the whole conversation.
“I’m talking about him. Just him. And doing it because.. Because he took me away from you.”
There are tears welling up in Jason’s eyes, despite his best attempts to keep it calm, and cool, and under control.
He’s failing. Horribly.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“That is so sweet.”
Jason looks like he might kick the joker again. But this time he pulls out a second gun, and tosses it straight at Bruce. As he continues his statement, he pulls the Joker up, roughly, from the ground.
“Well, you won’t have a choice.”
“I won’t,” Bruce says with a hint of helplessness in his voice.
“This is it. This is the time you decide,” Jason continues as though he hadn’t said anything. But this time, he’s definitely crying. “If you won’t kill this psychotic piece of filth… I will. You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me.”
“Stop this. Enough. You know I won’t—“ Bruce says, awkwardly holding the gun.
“All you’ve got is a head-shot. I’m going to blow his addled, deranged brains out— and if you want to stop it.. You’re going to have to shoot me. Right in my face.”
“This is turning out so much better than I thought…” the joker says with a giggle, while Jason’s gun nuzzles closely against his temple.
no subject
it sends chills down his spine and he wants, desperately, to pretend that he hadn't seen anything. to wrap the stupid stone up in a cloth and shove it under a bed and forget about it.
but he doesn't. that wouldn't be fair.
it's not that he thinks he won't be able to look at jason in the same way. it's not that it changes his opinion of jason, not at all.
what it does do is slot a few things in place for him. it means he understands jason a little more. he understands — not entirely, he wouldn't dream of claiming he could entirely understand — his feelings about bruce. about batman. hindsight is twenty-twenty, and peter thinks he understands some of their conversations a little more now. he wonders if he'd have said anything different if he'd known. he wonders if he'd have had as much patience, if he'd been jason.
he thinks he can understand both sides of the coin: he doesn't let himself kill for a number of reasons. one is the simplest, one is that it's morally wrong, end of. the second is that he thinks if he did, he wouldn't be able to come back from it either. he thinks that he's violent in a way he wouldn't be able to rationalise from any of his villains.
he knows, too, that if he'd been faced with that choice, he'd have made a very different one to bruce.
he knows that if it had been may or mj, his anger would have been cold and unrelenting and whoever had hurt them wouldn't have lived to see the light of day.
he doesn't know if he thinks batman made the right call.
he sends a message, then: the usual place and hopes that jason will know where he means. he doesn't specify a time — he figures he'll go and just wait. there are worse things to be left with than his own thoughts, and he thinks that it'll give him some time to think of what he wants to say to jason.
he sits on the roundabout, legs planted on the dirty, dusty ground. his head's bowed and by his feet is his rucksack; in his hands is his tablet, though he doesn't seem to be doing anything with it. ]
no subject
because irreverence is a coping mechanism. and it's one he thinks that he and peter share-- just with a little more flare for violent tendencies on his side. ]
sure.
[ he could say more. maybe actually say that irreverent joke that he'd been thinking about in his head. but there's something needling at the back of his head that maybe, with as little as peter's said, that he's managed to say a lot.
and jason doesn't like any of it, as he makes his way to their usual meeting place on the roofs of beacon. ]
Gotta stop with these late night calls, Spidey.
[ he says when he lands on the roof. he's not trying to conceal his presence, not this time. ]
no subject
he glances up at jason, taking the moment to study jason. he almost feels ashamed, embarrassed, for having seen something so intensely personal, something that so obviously wasn't his.
(no, it's not shame. it's not embarrassment. it's guilt.
of course it's guilt.)
he opens his mouth — go on, he thinks, make a joke, parker. say something funny, because that's what you do when you feel uncomfortable.
(but what is there to joke about?)
he lifts a hand, in tandem with the opening of his mouth before seeming to decide that he's not going to run with it at all. instead, he drops his hand onto the bag next to him, gloved fingers stretching out across the top and pulling the material tightly together before pushing it towards jason. ]
For you, [ he says and then he's silent, for one second, then two, then— ] I'm sorry.
no subject
skipping because of a stupid status effect doesn't get to him. the darkness of this place, as long as he works around it, doesn't get to him.
but this is something that made peter want to find him immediately, just to give back the opal. and here he was, trying to lean in to irreverence. again. ]
Ah. That explains it.
[ he reaches out to grab the material, feeling the hard surface under the cloth. here they were. ]
Found one from you, too. You beat me to the punch, though.
no subject
[ peter's not sure if he wants to know. he's relived so many of his worst memories so many times and though he knows he has good ones there, too — happy ones, ones with him and may and ben; him and gwen and harry and mj, the four of them; him with each of them, separately; the bugle—
though he knows his life is full of more joy than he allows himself to realise at times, he's not sure if he wants to know if that's what jason saw.
he thinks maybe it'd be better if he hadn't. would it be like a kick in the face? peter, who's lost so many people important to him, compared to jason, a guy that had — died and not had the one person he'd hoped would avenge him do that.
making a joke feels like it'd be making a joke about norman. making a joke about bridges and gwen, but it's not his pain to joke about.
he wonders, too, how the teenager here — bruce wayne — can grow into that man. he knows they all do what they do for different reasons, hell, that was why frank was—
well, frank, right? and peter knows that for as much as he might try and say "I'm trying to be a better person" or "I made a mistake once and I'm trying to do better", he knows it's an obsession.
with great power must also come great responsibility, ben had said, and he'd taken him so very literally. he has that rule and then he has the others: the ones that keep him on the straight and narrow. good people, he thinks, don't need rules. he could see that, in batman. the words — "it'd be too damned easy", he'd said, and though peter had only experienced the memory the once, that had stuck out and stuck with him. peter understands the sentiment, even if he can't imagine those words coming from his mouth.
it's honest in a way that peter rarely is. honest in a way that jason didn't — doesn't — deserve.
he's had nightmares like jason's memory. nightmares with gwen and norman, with gwen asking him again and again why he didn't save her. the goblin, taunting him again and again for not saving her. taunting him for not killing the goblin in return.
why?
gwen deserved that much, didn't she?
(I'm sorry, he always says in those dreams.)
but harry didn't deserve that much.
did he?
norman was a psycho, he'd never be a better person. ] —Uh, [ peter gestures at himself. ] Spandex me or me me?
no subject
You’re asking the guy who’s been more comfortable going by his alter ego for years. [ a beat ] No mask.
[ he decides to get serious. It sounds like they have things to talk about one way or the other. ]
When you get that mask off, you wanna go first or me?
[ he doesn’t need to point out the obvious. Honestly, he wouldn’t say getting buried is a common part of their job, unless you’re dead. There are some tortures that we’re either beyond villains capabilities— or their imaginations. Whichever. Maybe the villain specializing in that niche hasn’t come into their own yet.
That’s a dark thought. ]
no subject
peter inhales sharply and pulls off his mask, mussed hair curling down into his eyes and, incongruously, he thinks that he needs a haircut.
he doesn't answer jason's question. he shifts his weight and turns to look at jason. it'd probably be easier if he wasn't, but— ] There was you, [ he says, carefully, and pauses. he doesn't mean to, but his gaze shifts away from jason, just for a second. ] Batman and — [ and who? had the third guy been referred to by name? ] —a clown? [ he finishes, intonation lifting ever so slightly with a question. he wasn't a clown, but—.
he doesn't know if he needs to say any more than that, or if he should, not unless jason asks. ]
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for bruce
And he looks up.
That action gets the start of a choked apology from Jason, though it’s not clear for what.
“I’m so—“
“Shhh.”
Bruce interrupts him, and he’s too exhausted to fight back. There are IVs hooked into his other arm, and a cut cloth over his face. But none of that stops Bruce, who immediately moves to hug him.
And Jason hugs him tightly back.
no subject
But it isn't just that.
In the time they've circled one another the seal around the truth, the past, their not-quite-shared history, has loosened. Some ghosts have come away. Some ripples have moved outward. And it leaves him with this. This moment inside the stone.
Maybe he never should have brought Jason under his wing to begin with. Maybe he never should have wanted more, pushed for more- knowing so well how readily the people he loves are put in harms way. Having seen so many people die for him. Maybe he should have mourned the family he found and then lost. But Bruce knows who he is underneath. He knows that maybe the kind thing to do would be to leave Jason alone, to have let him stay buried.
Bruce isn't kind.
He knows he's a selfish man.
He would rather have this, a son that hates to look him in the face, who resents and regrets him- than to have never had a son at all. The idea that he could have something like this- watch someone else walk through Wayne Manor, listen to someone else talk over breakfast, have three chairs together for Christmas dinner with Alfred-
It makes him want a future. In a way he'd never thought he could.
The opal stays with him for two weeks. Bruce takes it out only when he's alone; he visits that small moment again and lives inside of it. How small Jason had been. How easily his hand had fit beneath his own.
And eventually, because it must be done. Because it's the right thing to do- he leaves the opal just inside the entrance to the Invincible's basement. No card. No note.
no subject
there's a decidedly bitter taste in his mouth viewing that memory.
and there are only so many people that could have seen it. so many people who would have returned it this way. quietly, without a word. no note. no sign of who they were. beacon was full of too many people who were not planners. who couldn't imagine not starting a conversation about things like this.
this was, thankfully, better than the graves when he first arrived.
but only just. there was no mystery in his mind who would do this, and it takes the better part of a day to figure out what he wants to say, as he pulls up Bruce's messaging history. ]
so.
[ the first word sent, and he's already regretting this. ]
guess i should be glad you're not feeling particularly nosy.
no subject
But what Jason decides to do with that knowledge is anyone's guess. Bruce makes his way back to the museum empty handed and it the parallel between that vision and the week of dreaming does not escape him. Both times he'd slept in a chair beside Jason's bed. Both times he'd held his hand and feared the worst. He lingers outside, not yet ready to cross the threshold and find the overlap of memories within.
It isn't productive, he tells himself; it won't help anyone.
Jason's reply comes a day later. Bruce isn't sure if it's an obligation or an expression of gratitude, but then, perhaps he'll never be sure. He suspects that whatever comes from their connection, it won't be simple. That it might always be two things at once.]
I'm always feeling nosy.
[And then-]
I thought privacy was all I could give you.
no subject
it also is a gross misrepresentation of what their relationship is like back home. it's complicated, but the good moments like this get quickly ruined. it wasn't even a month later that Bruce had tricked him into going back to Ethiopia, after all. Back to the place he had died out of some sort of desperation to bring back his sone.
one son at the expense of another. ]
that was probably about right
[ separating the two is important. keeping parts of his life under wraps is important. maybe not as tightly as he has been, but when it came to Bruce? an abundance of caution is necessary. ]
it wasn't always bad.
no subject
Just mostly.
[It both is and isn't a question. Jason wouldn't regard him the way he does if moments like these were the norm. If their relationship had been defined by mutual respect and love.]
I'm sorry for keeping it from you.
no subject
it's what i'd expect from you.
[ he remembers going with Bruce, after that, to Africa. taking down the mercenaries, and then getting tricked into going back to Ethiopia. Back... to the place he'd died, specifically. And how moments like that have colored every perception he's had of Bruce.
even when he tells himself he doesn't deserve it. he doesn't. but it's hard to shake. ]
you know the joker yet?
no subject
The truth is, Bruce isn't sure if he's capable of imagining a relationship without selfishness.]
No. I don't know anyone by that name.
for riku
Jason’s voice is confused. It’s quiet, other than his question breaking the night air, as the sand swirls around their vehicle as they travel.
“Because I need your help, Jason,” Bruce responds vacantly, his voice starting to raise Jason’s suspicions, and he glances at him. It’s impossible to read his expression, given his helmet.
“Where are we going?” But his tone gives him away. He’s suspicious, and starting to grow angry at the lack of forthrightness from Bruce.
“Just over the next rise of dunes.”
“Where are we, Bruce?”
“Ethiopia.”
Jason feels the car slowing down as they start to move into a stop, as they cross the threshold Bruce had said. And the heat rises in his voice. How stupid does Bruce think he is?
“I know we’re in Ethiopia. I can read a GPS. Where in Ethiopia?”
The car stops, and Bruce steps out before he answer’s Jason’s question. But Jason sits in stunned silence as he realizes the truth of what’s just happened. As he steps out of the car, a growing pit of dread in his stomach, as Bruce starts to recount what he already knows.
He pulls his helmet off as Bruce starts to talk.
“The Magdala Valley…” A beat. “This is where you died.”
Jason thinks he’s going to be sick, and he’s so stunned that it gives Bruce the space to continue, when really he should have just punched him in the face then and there.
“If I close my eyes, I can still smell the cordite in the air around the ruined warehouse... on that bright, horrible day… your body already cold to the touch.”
Jason finds his voice. His voice is filled with all the venom and anger that had rendered him speechless just a moment before.
“You lied to me. This wasn’t about taking down those mercenaries.”
He gestures angrily at the ruins in front of them, the pitch in his voice raising to near hysterics.
“You wanted to bring me here, to the worst place in the world… And here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith—“
Bruce interrupts him, unfazed by his growing anger. And it makes Jason angrier.
“Those killers were the mission, but this was… something else… Something I couldn’t ignore. I thought bringing you here could jog your memory—“
He pauses, an immense sadness weighing on his voice.
“Maybe retrieve a detail buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came back to life so I—“
“— Could apply it to getting Damian back.” Of course it was about Damian. It was always gonna be about him. But he’s so sick with anger, that he can only play at sympathizing. “Yeah, I get it.”
He didn’t get it. He was too busy trying to fight off every horrible memory that came with this place.
“Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep? If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I’ve been trying to forget.”
His voice raises and he tosses his helmet to the ground, so close to just punching the source of his problems. The person who tricked him and brought him back to this place.
“I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life, all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies, Bruce, but I’m done looking back.”
no subject
He doesn't recognize ideas like Ethiopia except through the lens of Jay's experiences, he knows it's a place. That it's dry, like Vanitas's wasteland, the Keyblade Graveyard, like Agrabah and its endless oceans of sand. Magdala Valley.
Where you died. That could shock anyone. Why wouldn't it? Riku, who has died twice, who has never sampled resurrection at the church, still finds the concept of coming back shrouded in mystery, a taboo, a forbidden act that invites disaster, like leaping recklessly through time.
Yeah, I get it. That definitely strikes a chord with Riku, who one could say was first tested by his jealousy. Long after he's put away the opal, the sense of... of betrayal threads through him, it sits too close to how he feels whenever he--
But this isn't about Riku.
It's about Jason and... a version of Bruce. Even if his eyes don't totally recognize him, his heart does, and what doesn't make him immediately attribute one to the other is-- it's the existence of people like Eleven, or Eliot, or Skyler, people who to varying degrees are like someone else but for various reasons aren't exactly the same as he's met before.
He's reminded, most of all, of the damaged trust Riku had with his father.
Why?
Bruce is so much younger than that man in Jason's memory...
In the end, he sends a text, determined to return this memory, not to Bruce, but to Jason.
It's Riku. I have something that I think belongs to you.
for vanitas
But there’s a deep, boiling, simmering rage just underneath his skin, that he can’t quite ignore. Not now that he has this man in his clutches.
”Who’s there…?” a voice cries out, tinny and annoying. Everything about it sets Jason’s blood on fire with a deep seated hatred.
“Tell me who you are… or I’ll kill you,” the voice continues and it becomes apparent that the person it belongs to could hardly be considered that. At least, Jason doesn’t consider the man with bleached skin, green hair, and the tell tale stretch marks from his usual richter grin (gone because even the Joker can’t ignore he’s in a pickle) human.
“… You think I’m kidding…?” He asks as Jason finally pulls close. There’s no recognition in his face— likely due to the full, red mask that Jason wears.
But there’s a hint of excitement at the back of Jason’s mind as he pulls out a crowbar. The recognition doesn’t register, even then. Because there’s no telling how many people this sad sack of psychotic filth has beaten to a bloody pulp with a crowbar.
Still, he’s going to relish it.
“No, I’d never think that,” Jason answers, mockingly.
And then he swings, as hard as he can. And again. Again. He needs to feel his blood come splattering off his body, even if the Joker doesn’t react the way he’d like. Laughing maniacally as Jason beats him. Jason knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted— get the Joker to beg for his life, or to acknowledge the danger he was in.
But he hoped.
And it still felt good, like relieving tension against the person who’d hurt him the most.
“Tell me...” He pulls off his helmet, once the Joker finally collapses into unconsciousness.
“… How does that feel?” he asks the air. The question ringing back at him, in that tinny voice as the Joker beats him.
It feels better to have this be on the other foot.
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This is a private thing. The face Jason puts on, in front of everyone, Vanitas has the impression this memory being spread around wouldn't be the sort of thing he'd be pleased about. And Vanitas has no intention of doing it— not for now, anyway.
When he comes across Jason, he doesn't greet him. He hucks the opal directly at his head, expecting to either whack him painfully with it or for him to exercise those reflexes Vanitas knows he has to catch it before impact.
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after all, he has a reputation to uphold.
probably. god, it's insane to think he might have been in beacon long enough to have any sort of reputation. ]
This must be mine.
[ he lowers his hand, and glances at the memory-- immediately recognizing it within seconds.
one of his more... vengeance filled moments, that's for sure. ]
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Looks like he deserved what he had coming to him.
[ He looks pleased with this idea, a little smirk on his face. That hatred had been so deep, so huge... an abyss like the one Vanitas lives with every day. ]
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[ said idly, with a half smirk, dripped in bitterness. ]
That bastard's somehow still alive, and he's lucky I've got other shit to do than obsess over killing him these days.
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[ It's mean, but Vanitas is rarely anything but, and he can't really figure why else Jason would have given up on his revenge. That much hatred and anger? It doesn't just go away. Vanitas would know. Either way, he's giving the other guy a look of appraisal. ]
I didn't know you had it in you.