multiversallogs | movements come and movements go

Entry tags:

movements come and movements go

Who: Bruce, Logan, Jason, and some friendly NPCs (no).
What: The Militia enacts a brutal raid, and your friendly neighborhood wanted terrorists interrupt it. This goes about as well as it sounds like it would.
Where: Flag Hill (west side)... for now.
When: A few days after the Militia announcement.
Notes: This is another one of those incidents that's going to get snagged by the media blackout and never reported on, but we're well past the point of no return with word-of-mouth about civilian-Militia skirmishes.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality. Samm's icon choices.

It becomes apparently not long into his searching that whatever's going on is probably a trap.

There's a “college group” that meets in a cliffside pub biweekly in Flag Hill, and with minimal digging, the fact that it's a local anti-Militia activist group is easy to uncover. Mostly young people and a few mentors who've seen and heard it all, they're passionate, edgy, but mostly peaceful – more bark than bite. With far more than minimal digging, barely-there rumors can be sifted up through the dirt suggesting that the Militia is going to be in the area that night for unrelated reasons – though what reasons, no one knows. Making an arrest? Making a buy? Meeting with informants, meeting with their mysterious, anonymous suppliers?

It's kind of an obvious trap though, Bruce thinks. All it would take is someone figuring out that those dates and locations overlap to deduce that the Militia wants to smash-and-grab both the kids in the bar and whatever vigilantes or fearless journalists show up to cash in on the rumor mill. But, he doesn't discount the notion that it might intentionally seem obvious.

Which is why he's here now, hidden in an otherwise alarmingly unsafe alcove against the cliff wall, watching the bar in question be swiftly surrounded by hooded agents. There's too many of them to do much of anything about at the present time, and besides, there's always the chance they're just going to go in there and scare people instead of making mass arrests – bursting in trying to help might just do damage. So he waits.. and then spots a familiar silhouette and gait: the telekenetic woman responsible for his smashed ribs the week before. Hm. He thinks – well, he'd better be pretty damn sure, huh? - that they found him last time by tracking the radio signal, even though he'd been certain they didn't have that kind of tech (and demonstratably hadn't, before). He's changed it up for now (obviously), but he knows after this he'll have to keep changing it every time. Even with sabotage, they're keeping up. And quickly.

From inside the bar, someone screams. A heartbeat later, a hooded man is dragging out a boy who can't be more than eighteen by his hair.

Well. Shit.

Bruce adjusts the catch of the sword across his back, and starts to move closer along the cliff wall, high above the action.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Suit yourself, his lack of reply seems to say, and he declines to point out that it's going to be a walk of an hour or more through this terrain. (See again: Princess Jason.) If he decides he wants help with it, he can elect to amend his decision and say so.

The forest, growing brambly and bizarre against the side of the cliff they'd just plummeted from, is host to all manner of strange sights, though (mostly) not the horrific, flesh-devouring strange sights like the forests above them. They have to inch their way through thick trees, and at one point, carefully maneuver around a massive, rope-like spiderweb while a great golden spider the size of an SUV tire clicks and shimmers from above, watching but not getting near them. Bruce uses his oddly-shaped sword to slice an opening through the far side of the web so they can get through. On the other side, it shakes clean with barely a movement from him (weird), and he replaces it at his back as the spider scurries down to repair the gap.

"Always nice to find something that's not trying to eat you, here." Mild, a little dry. He watches it for another half-moment before moving on.

It seems to suit him fine, as he doesn't slow or stumble any throughout their journey; he's just not thinking about it anymore and the long term repercussions, in his mind, will be minimal, partly because he still operates like the 'long term' has a maximum length of ten years. This is an improvement on the previous definition of 'long term', which was something like two years. If he ever gets beyond those measures, he will undoubtedly find time to regret a lot of things.

The spider and the comment don't get any response from him since he figures it wasn't an actual invitation to converse. Jason can't disagree with the sentiment and he's generally unappreciative of nature. Some ten minutes further on there's something rustling around behind ferns, but it hurries away as they approach, and by the sound, it is something low to the ground with at least four legs.

In contrast, Bruce thinks nature is actually pretty cool, which is probably runoff of his time in Tibetan Bhutan, and thus a difference that goes beyond height and hair - though it's not like he's stopping to take pictures. There's just a care to the way he moves. Then again, that could just be because he's an actual ninja.

Silence is passable for many long minutes, even after the thing in the bushes darts away. A marsupial-like tree dweller with saucer eyes peers down at Jason first, then Bruce, blinking curiously but too sluggish to move. Also there are mosquitoes. Which totally blows.

Curiosity nags at him just a little. It's not quite like it was with Ivy, even though he appreciated her disdain equally. She was curious about him in return, whereas Jason seems to hope Bruce will just burst into flames and leave anything useful behind.

It is a byproduct of his face, though in actuality what Jason currently hopes for is to not have to talk to Bruce about anything of personal importance and then to go their separate ways and continue not talking about anything of personal importance. He assumes that after tonight's hilarity, they won't be working together, which is fair enough considering the sheer chaos of it. Coordination might have made it better, and coordination is still possible, but it's just weird. In situations like these which involve a lot of people's lives, including his own, it would be most ideal not to have awkwardness and tension.

He has met a lot of versions of Bruce, so many that he can't quite tally it up (and doesn't want to). Some, like this one, didn't know him. He didn't exist or he wasn't around, it was one of those weird eras with fancy hats, all sorts of things. So it's not exactly personal. This one kills, at least. These are seriously boring but persistent thoughts, not unlike the goddamn mosquitoes. Jason slaps the side of his neck and thinks resignedly about malaria and blood flukes.

"I've never turned anyone to stone by looking at them," is his comment long into the silence, almost sounding unconcerned. "Though not for lack of trying."

Jason doesn't have to talk to Bruce about it, but it seems uncharacteristically kind of the older man to not comment on how poorly his aggressive ignore tactic is working. Maybe it's a side-effect of how alien he feels lately that he decides to poke this with a stick - a year ago he'd have ditched Jason the second he noticed. But then again, it's worth it to know where they stand, if he has to worry about Jason flipping out and trying to kill him over some longstanding grudge at home, if Jason was trained on Gangkhar Puensum, if he used to work for the Wayne Foundation. There's a wide margin for danger that could sink them both.

He is pretty sure he knows what this is, and he can be fair about identifying himself without getting personal. Although both 'fair' and 'personal' are going to be special definitions here.

"A version of you trained me for a few years, we had a disagreement, I split and now I never send you Christmas cards." Jason says without sentiment or even much irritation. The tone is more is that sufficient, should I go on? Everything he said is factually true and he's even started to think of it like that sometimes. Of course he'll never forget anything, but it's started to matter less and less, right up until this moment here, trudging through a forest, feeding mosquitoes and probably leeches and thinking about pizza and/or dying of parasites.

"I just want to get out of here before something burrows through my eyeball, maybe sleep for a few hours, and I'll be gone."

And here he was hoping for something not that. Serves him right for picking at the issue, but now he's got to deal with it.

Bruce wonders distantly if the disagreement was over guns, but then, no, if he was going to lose his mind and train some kid, he'd a) make sure they'd know how to use firearms properly and b) part of that would be instructions on how to not fire wildly at things that probably have the ability or make to bounce bullets back. So it's something more personal - unsurprising, given the depth of the sycophantic behavior from the others. His age, too. He remembers very well being pissed off for many, many years.

He's still pissed off. It's just. Different.

"That's the most honest answer I've heard out of anyone. Thank you."

That gets an inadvertent, genuinely exasperated noise from him. Tim. If Jason felt the least bit responsible for or attached to Tim, he'd sound apologetic. But he doesn't and he isn't, so he only sounds annoyed. And if Bruce thinks of him in a way comparable to how he think of Tim, well, he's oblivious to the irony.

"It's a mess, okay?" He says, grudging even that much detail. In a way, this is about as much apology as Bruce will ever get. It's not Jason's place to apologize for every single person from his world or worlds similar to it. "I'd rather just forget it."

He's not looking for an apology - it's not Jason's place to, and hell, if anyone was going to apologize, shouldn't it be Bruce? He's the one whose alternate screwed all these kids up. He believes, honestly believes, that Ducard got to him longer in those other worlds. Did something to him, damaged him. Why couldn't he have been stronger? It's... haunting, slightly.

"Yeah, it seems that way." It's a loaded statement that should ring of dark finality in that Batman Is Irritated So Shut Up way he has (and is perfectly capable of using), but instead it's - a lot. It's sort of bleak, like he's looked into the abyss, and also shades of These Fucking Kids On My Lawn, which is kind of funny, in contrast. And he also sounds a little bitter.

Which also might be funny. Who knows.

It's not quite a doorslam of the conversation, though Bruce (thankfully) doesn't seem inclined to go poking further into it on his own. Jason's answer is a fine one. Mystery solved.

Someone needs to apologize for Tim. Hell, Jason would like to accept an apology for Tim. Nobody seems willing to take responsibility, however.

As for Jason, that is good enough for him too. All he does is exhale very quietly, with something like a smile that's small enough to hide in the dark — an answering black humor there, and he would shake his head if he thought Bruce wouldn't notice. Shit is strange. He's willing to accept that and move on.

"What?"

Slightly cranky, but mostly deadpan. Look, if Jason is going to not-laugh that deliberately (and he should know even micro-expressions seem deliberate, to this guy), he's going to get side-eyed to just spit it out, man.

He hesitates, debating the worth of actually giving an answer, and also what exactly the answer would be. There are a lot of things he could say to represent what he feels, but he's not sure which one is the most accurate, and which one is the right one to give. Eventually he smiles, more deliberately, but with no sincere humor.

"It's just that we're not the worst ones."

It has to have occurred to this Bruce already. But for Jason, this is no hypothetical, or logical extension of known experiences. He's been there, and he's seen them. Perhaps it is for Bruce as well?

"How many weirdos have you met?" That should be a safe enough question, easy to decline or fudge and leave details out.

'Worst' is a varied and diverse word, in this context. He's not sure he wants to explore it.

Bruce is quiet for a while, contemplating if he should answer that - and how, if so. A list? No. He's not sure what some of those people were, and honestly doesn't want to know; they're gone, he doesn't have to deal with them anymore. If they show back up, they get to behave appropriately and efficiently or they're going to get killed. And that's that.

"I seem to have a knack for these places," he says eventually, and he sounds resigned. It also sounds slightly awkward because it's pretty clearly The Beginning Of A Story, and they both know how great Bruce is at communicating complex ideas that aren't schematics. "In another one, there's this bar that severed as a common teleportation entry point to the dimension. So everybody was in there a lot." He sounds so reasonable explaining it, too. "I went into the bathroom to make a phone call, and this guy followed me."

(Oh no.)

"There was this - weird moment, because I thought he was trying to hit on me. And when I communicated this, and 'no means no', he looked like I'd killed his mom, apologized, and ran off."

(Oh no.)

There is dead silence for at least three full seconds and then Jason is shaking with suppressed laughter. He's trying not to be loud in the middle of a horrible forest full of frightening things, it's just. Impossible not to see it. Dick Grayson, socially awkward male model. Now, finally, he has to slow his pace, because how can he see where he's going if he has his face in his hand? At some point he tries to say something, but all that comes out is "no," like no way, you're fucking with me but he is pretty damn sure Bruce isn't.

At least twenty percent of the severity of this reaction must have to do with being tired and cold, admittedly. It is, however, genuinely hilarious to him.

"I'm sorry, just. Give me a second."

Edited 2012-09-28 04:40 (UTC)

For a moment, Bruce's reaction is comical. All encounters with Jason thus far have not led him to believe he's the kind of guy who cracks up with hysterical laughter and has to take a moment to collect himself over it, regardless. But maybe that's... him projecting. Anyway, he does stop, and after a brief 'Oh god what is happening' expression, he simmers back down into tolerant exasperation.

"Take your time." It's not like they're on the run, or anything. (He doesn't actually sound mad.)

After another second or two, Jason clears his throat quietly and tries to put on a more neutral expression, but there's one more private-but-still-visible-to-Batman grin as he starts walking again.

"Yeah, I've met that guy. Not in a bathroom, though." So this is what it takes to make Jason converse like a normal person. A comparatively normal person. There are more things he could say — it's obvious he knows 'that guy' better than only having met him — but he remembers that into-the-abyss look Bruce had a few minutes before. They've probably stared into it enough for tonight. It's not hiding stuff if they both know Bruce can tell, and if they both know Bruce doesn't really want to know. It's what it is: alternate histories which can be discussed if they really want, but also left alone.

"You know it's not.. actually comforting to know you didn't even need a name, for that reaction." Does this happen often? Is that a pattern? Should he be further worried about his imaginary virtue? He wants to think it's the byproduct of naive optimism and social awkwardness, but it's distressing, all the same.

"They're all just so. Sad. At me."

Slightly forced out, and Bruce sounds both annoyed and honestly perplexed at that, which is just so Bruce it's almost as funny as the story about Dick Grayson cornering him in a public restroom. This Bruce is younger, clearly only used to working solo, and genuine concern and warm gooey friendship aimed at him is like trying to pet a cat's fur backwards. It's terrible.

It's also roundabout approval of Jason's lack of fucks, even if there's still clearly something going on there. Bruce doesn't want to know. It's between him and that other guy.

"Oh, no wonder you like me so much," Jason says blandly, pushing some vegetation back from the path they're taking. It seems like he might have forgotten his promise about leaving, or rather, now there's less of a guarantee he'll stay away so ardently. Bruce brought this on himself. What if he has more stories like that? Anyway, they both hang out with Vanessza, apparently.

"Yeah, you're completely cool." Deadpan. Look at this, check out this bonding they're doing here, these are the sparks of the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

No, he isn't that disdainful, he's just... Bad at this? Maybe? It's not quite banter, and it's not even exactly friendly - it could be the strange faux-ease he has due to his age, his contemporary modern context, or it could be a mirage. Bruce has learned by now that the stoic and mysterious act draws more attention to himself, but one-on-one and in public. Which is why he fully embraces being an insufferable nerd when he's not Batmanning around. Whatever Bruce is, he's always a crap shoot to read.

Their trek begins to move more obviously uphill now, and alongside the beginnings of the cliffs that Flag Hill rests atop - crevices in the rock wall are visible even in the dark, framing a deep blackness that is somehow ominous. One of them appears to have a spiral-shaped top, and Bruce instinctively picks a path that gives it a wider berth. Not In The Mood.

He does another one of those little exhales of amusement, and unlike Tim and Dick, nothing about Bruce's manner (at the moment) bothers him personally. It's been years since he's been so acutely attune, so reactive to whatever Bruce is doing or saying the way they are. Something of that still remains on the few occasions when they've fought, either against each other or together against other opponents, but it doesn't exist here with this one, as far as he knows. There's no sense of jarring disconnect in Bruce's differences or lack of personal relationship, there's only completely appropriate disconnect and lack of personal relationship. And if he can't read him, that's what Jason expects, and frankly a comfort.

As long as there's not lots of climbing, he won't have any cause to renege on his apathy toward a splint. Jason concentrates on making his way. The silence is just silence now, he's not steaming or brooding or trying not to laugh.

Bruce doesn't want to admit to himself that Jason reminds him a little of himself against Ducard, because that would put a spin on things that he's just not willing to consider. There's a hollow sort of gladness, however, that at least one of them has had the sense to be bitter about it. The reverence and concern is just. Too much, and too wrong. Fear is understandable, hatred is understandable. He's a monster. There's no room to pretend otherwise.

Their gently sloping hike leads them briefly alongside a small pool formed from a barely-there trickle of a stream, lined with tiny, blue-glowing frogs. Bruce thinks they're fantastic, but doesn't say so.

A little while after they leave the frogs, he stops - not short, but one moment he's moving and the next he's not, fully alert in a pointed way, dead silent, hand on the hilt of his sword and staring ahead into the darkness. There's no sound.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

movements come and movements go

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject