[Look, they might as well get something useful for all their trouble. Because it's been a lot of trouble. And honestly—there are worlds where he wouldn't bother. Worlds where the cargo was something else. He's got a mercenary enough attitude of certain things, he knows when to cut his losses. But in the grand scheme of survival, under food, and shelter...medicine ranks. He'd learned that early. Back before Bruce, when his mother—(when Catherine)—had been too sick from her illness and too poor and too alone to keep up the chemo and had turned to the cheaper, easier stuff to take the edge off while she died. Easier to get heroin in Crime Alley than healthcare.
This place isn't the same, necessarily. But it has enough familiar rhythms for him to recognize it. So. Back to basics. Worth sticking around at least until the water decides to make itself a problem again.
This time, he notices the flare of red under her hands when she grabs for the crate. Clocks the way the screws twist themselves out of the way under her grip. He blinks, his focus narrowing. But once he gets the gist, he seems—
...Mostly unfazed, apparently. Perks of growing up as a child vigilante. B didn't like metas in Gotham, but Jason's met Superman. He did his short stint in the Teen Titans. He can hang.
So, first things first. He ducks in beside her to frown at the bags, picks one up to tear it open and inspect the goods.]
It'll have to be. For now, anyway. We'll see how much is left if we get room for round two.
[Odds are either the elements or the (metaphorical) vultures will get there first. He'd initially planned on scoping the place out, bringing his bike along from where he'd stashed it (high and dry, out of sight and out of the floodwater) once he'd had the lay of the land and loading up with enough product to make it worth his while. Kind of went out the window, given the circumstances.
Though— He twists the cap from the first bottle he can find to check that it's all still dry inside and worth the trouble. His eyes are down on the bottle, but his attention hasn't left her. While he does, and conversationally—]
Nice trick.
[He means it. He's not not impressed. And definitely not not interested.]
extremely sorry for the wait it was a Week
This place isn't the same, necessarily. But it has enough familiar rhythms for him to recognize it. So. Back to basics. Worth sticking around at least until the water decides to make itself a problem again.
This time, he notices the flare of red under her hands when she grabs for the crate. Clocks the way the screws twist themselves out of the way under her grip. He blinks, his focus narrowing. But once he gets the gist, he seems—
...Mostly unfazed, apparently. Perks of growing up as a child vigilante. B didn't like metas in Gotham, but Jason's met Superman. He did his short stint in the Teen Titans. He can hang.
So, first things first. He ducks in beside her to frown at the bags, picks one up to tear it open and inspect the goods.]
It'll have to be. For now, anyway. We'll see how much is left if we get room for round two.
[Odds are either the elements or the (metaphorical) vultures will get there first. He'd initially planned on scoping the place out, bringing his bike along from where he'd stashed it (high and dry, out of sight and out of the floodwater) once he'd had the lay of the land and loading up with enough product to make it worth his while. Kind of went out the window, given the circumstances.
Though— He twists the cap from the first bottle he can find to check that it's all still dry inside and worth the trouble. His eyes are down on the bottle, but his attention hasn't left her. While he does, and conversationally—]
Nice trick.
[He means it. He's not not impressed. And definitely not not interested.]