( yes, of course. it’s because he regrets it! but, then again, he mostly regrets it because it’s directly led to him half-way dangling off the roof of a building. there is almost certainly the tattered remains of his human decency, buried deep beneath multiple layers of increasingly eldritch sediment, that also feels bad for impinging so brazenly upon a stranger’s will and agency, but, well… the magnetic pull of that moral compass is harder to read or discern when the other impulses and desires welded over time into his being have gradually become a much stronger lodestone.
john himself has never been particularly adept at inflicting fear (not naturally or intentionally, anyway). by the nature of his role he was intended to see it or feel it. the ever-expanding document upon which it was inscribed and documented, the focusing instrument through which the fear was transmitted to the Eye to feast… really, jason is far more adept (enough so that Hunters would likely be keen to add him to their ranks). his vertigo lurches further as the promise of a fall is pushed brusquely to the precipitation of one; mid-speech, he stammers and completely stops one of his points as this occurs, squeezing his eyes shut and lapsing into rapid, panicked bursts of breath as terror threatens to overwhelm him. he might not Know much about the young man threatening him, but he finds himself developing an upsettingly accurate picture of exactly how high up he is, how long the fall would take, and how many of his bones were likely to break upon impact.
he does manage to finish his point—for all the good it does him. when he forces his eyes open again, there’s a spark of indignant frustration flashing in their bottomless depths. )
I’m telling you the truth, you—
( he cuts himself off, taking a deep, tremulous breath. if reasoning isn’t a route that’s going anywhere, he needs to find another one.
his first, very unfortunate instinct is one rooted in anger. it’s that same impetuous and imperious side of him that’s already turned this encounter south so quickly: it wants to lash back, to reach into the darkest recesses of jason’s mind to find whatever he could use to subdue him, to overwhelm him, to confound him. threats, promises, blackmail… the endless hunger for secrets that could be held as cards close to the chest, to use at the worst and most painful of moments—
fortunately, john at least knows by this point how poorly choosing that path would go.
which leaves: )
Fine. Fine. ( one more shuddering, steadying breath. ) An offer, then. You know now first-hand what I can do. What was it you said about—what were they, weapons dealers? ( it had been such a mundane, worldly threat that it’d almost immediately rolled out of his mind. the fear and panic helped, of course, ) Whatever you need to know, I can get it it for you. As a gesture of good faith. And… an apology.
( a brief pause before he adds, ) If it happens again, you can throw me off whichever bloody rooftop you want.
no subject
john himself has never been particularly adept at inflicting fear (not naturally or intentionally, anyway). by the nature of his role he was intended to see it or feel it. the ever-expanding document upon which it was inscribed and documented, the focusing instrument through which the fear was transmitted to the Eye to feast… really, jason is far more adept (enough so that Hunters would likely be keen to add him to their ranks). his vertigo lurches further as the promise of a fall is pushed brusquely to the precipitation of one; mid-speech, he stammers and completely stops one of his points as this occurs, squeezing his eyes shut and lapsing into rapid, panicked bursts of breath as terror threatens to overwhelm him. he might not Know much about the young man threatening him, but he finds himself developing an upsettingly accurate picture of exactly how high up he is, how long the fall would take, and how many of his bones were likely to break upon impact.
he does manage to finish his point—for all the good it does him. when he forces his eyes open again, there’s a spark of indignant frustration flashing in their bottomless depths. )
I’m telling you the truth, you—
( he cuts himself off, taking a deep, tremulous breath. if reasoning isn’t a route that’s going anywhere, he needs to find another one.
his first, very unfortunate instinct is one rooted in anger. it’s that same impetuous and imperious side of him that’s already turned this encounter south so quickly: it wants to lash back, to reach into the darkest recesses of jason’s mind to find whatever he could use to subdue him, to overwhelm him, to confound him. threats, promises, blackmail… the endless hunger for secrets that could be held as cards close to the chest, to use at the worst and most painful of moments—
fortunately, john at least knows by this point how poorly choosing that path would go.
which leaves: )
Fine. Fine. ( one more shuddering, steadying breath. ) An offer, then. You know now first-hand what I can do. What was it you said about—what were they, weapons dealers? ( it had been such a mundane, worldly threat that it’d almost immediately rolled out of his mind. the fear and panic helped, of course, ) Whatever you need to know, I can get it it for you. As a gesture of good faith. And… an apology.
( a brief pause before he adds, ) If it happens again, you can throw me off whichever bloody rooftop you want.