(( I had to consider this long and hard and have predictably opted for the worst of all worlds. as always lmk if this needs an edit etc!!!))
[Jason’s lived a dangerous life. Growing up fending for himself (and Catherine, for a time,) in Crime Alley. Working as Batman’s partner. Hopping around the globe to learn from the best of the worst, and cleaning up after himself when he’s done. All of it fosters a healthy sense of paranoia in its own right. And it’s kept him alive, so far. (…save for, of course, the crucial time he trusted the wrong person. And then it didn’t.)
So he’s got a good sense for his own sensibilities. Usually he has a good sense for why he might be getting a bad vibe for a person, or a situation. But if you asked, he wouldn’t quite be able to put a finger on what it is about this weedy looking guy that manages to set his teeth on edge. Buzzing at the fight-or-flight instincts in his hindbrain. Picking at the short hairs on the back of his neck.
Not right away, anyway.
So at first…John does his digging, and it does seem to take. All spooky supernatural nonsense that pushes past the sense of wary unease picking its way up his spine, and the conversation carries on with the same deliberate kind of nonchalance that had proceeded it.]
Me, I’m getting the lay of the land. Word is there’s a weapons dealer who’s got runners working this side of the neighborhood. But they change their routes often enough to—
1/2
[Jason’s lived a dangerous life. Growing up fending for himself (and Catherine, for a time,) in Crime Alley. Working as Batman’s partner. Hopping around the globe to learn from the best of the worst, and cleaning up after himself when he’s done. All of it fosters a healthy sense of paranoia in its own right. And it’s kept him alive, so far. (…save for, of course, the crucial time he trusted the wrong person. And then it didn’t.)
So he’s got a good sense for his own sensibilities. Usually he has a good sense for why he might be getting a bad vibe for a person, or a situation. But if you asked, he wouldn’t quite be able to put a finger on what it is about this weedy looking guy that manages to set his teeth on edge. Buzzing at the fight-or-flight instincts in his hindbrain. Picking at the short hairs on the back of his neck.
Not right away, anyway.
So at first…John does his digging, and it does seem to take. All spooky supernatural nonsense that pushes past the sense of wary unease picking its way up his spine, and the conversation carries on with the same deliberate kind of nonchalance that had proceeded it.]
Me, I’m getting the lay of the land. Word is there’s a weapons dealer who’s got runners working this side of the neighborhood. But they change their routes often enough to—