[There’s a reason—besides just keeping his identity under wraps—that he’d opted for a full face mask for his planned reappearance in Gotham’s criminal underworld. For one, it probably wouldn’t strike a ton of fear into the mafiasos if the new threat in the scene couldn’t even buy booze yet in the more reputable parts of the city. But also—he’s just never been all that good at clamping down on what he’s feeling. He has to put intention into obfuscating it, when someone knows how to look. It writes itself into everything he does.
So, yeah. He’s never been all that good at indifference, either. (Even when he’s tried to convince himself otherwise.)]
That’s the story.
[When you put it that way. Of course, “passing through” implies a way out. The locals have been a lot less solid about that, so far. Some of them say they've been here for generations.
He toes the door back open to get a better look at Marc’s handiwork with mook number three, still slumped abandoned and unconscious inside.
“Normative determinism,” huh. Name, then. Probably. The carefully easy posture Marc holds up doesn’t do much to ease off his wariness, though that’s pretty par for the course. Jason spent the last several months hopping around the world with some very deadly people. From the League of Assassins and miscellaneous merc groups to explosives experts to hand-to-hand masters. So on, so forth. So, y’know. He likes to think he has a feel for the type. (That is: dangerous, by trade. Whatever shape that trade might take. Makes you wonder. Shame about the bloodstains if the suit is supposed to be some kind of cover. What with him being a priest and all.)]
no subject
So, yeah. He’s never been all that good at indifference, either. (Even when he’s tried to convince himself otherwise.)]
That’s the story.
[When you put it that way. Of course, “passing through” implies a way out. The locals have been a lot less solid about that, so far. Some of them say they've been here for generations.
He toes the door back open to get a better look at Marc’s handiwork with mook number three, still slumped abandoned and unconscious inside.
“Normative determinism,” huh. Name, then. Probably. The carefully easy posture Marc holds up doesn’t do much to ease off his wariness, though that’s pretty par for the course. Jason spent the last several months hopping around the world with some very deadly people. From the League of Assassins and miscellaneous merc groups to explosives experts to hand-to-hand masters. So on, so forth. So, y’know. He likes to think he has a feel for the type. (That is: dangerous, by trade. Whatever shape that trade might take. Makes you wonder. Shame about the bloodstains if the suit is supposed to be some kind of cover. What with him being a priest and all.)]
Heard much about that during your sermons?