multiversallogs | hello welcome to the party. hi I've never met you before. I know.

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hello welcome to the party. hi I've never met you before. I know.

Who: Will! Kaitlyn! Fauxlivia! and Jason!
What: by their powers combined, they are VAGUELY CONSPIRATORIAL AND ANTI-MILITIA
Where: assorted places
When: assorted times
Notes: did I forget anyone help I have a brain like a sieve. ALSO don't feel like pressured to immediately sign them on, this is possibly more like "so this is how Jason meets your characters and takes interest in them" thing. Presumably he'd also stalk them for a bit, to the best of his ability (UNSURE) let me know how you feel about that possibility.
Warnings: captain planet; spinach dip

There are a million things to do, which is really how Jason prefers life to be. He's all over the city talking to people, some of whom he returns to, some of whom he never sees again; he buys things, steals things, stores things, moves things. It's not all carefully planned, either. Some people and things he simply comes across in his travels, and he keeps his schedule flexible enough to accommodate these opportunities.

His funds are limited. Criminal conquest is more fun with more money, but sadly, Talia isn't here and if she were, she wouldn't have the al Ghul resources with her. Of course, she could actually be here and simply declined to contact him. Or she could be here, just a version of herself that never became involved with him, or from before such things happened. He tries not to think much about things like that, primarily because it's pointless and he has so many more important things to be thinking about. Still, there are empty, waiting moments on the train or the streets where his brain revisits these ideas, for reasons beyond his comprehension or capacity to care. But he reaches his stops, he finds something else to observe.

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Jason's attention is naturally drawn to conflict, as much a commentary on his training and mindset as it is his personality. Tinker's Lot is often a place of much excitement in the form of technological experiments gone right/wrong/left/everywhere, so it can be difficult for him to immediately pick out a true interpersonal struggle. Today, however, it seems that a man has taken issue with Will over the matter of missing, purportedly stolen, tools and/or equipment. There's no evidence of any such theft on Will's person — he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time — but the man is growing increasingly irate, gesturing and getting in his face. Jason drifts closer to observe, in no hurry to meet with the xenian who's constructing his motorbike.

“Look,” Will says, dodging absently around the guy's flailing hands. “I don't exactly have anywhere to hide stolen goods. Look at what I'm wear-” he pauses, pivoting neatly out of the way when the man lunges at him. “– ing. I mean, this thing has a lot of neat functions. But I can't really hide anything in it, right? I had to get a bag for my wallet. Hell, I had to buy a wallet.” He sounds more like he's engaging in slightly boring small talk than like there's someone getting increasingly closer to trying to punch him in the face, but hey. He'll get serious if he has to.

"Calm down, Zeke —" But the man who tries to intervene gets shoved aside, which doesn't faze him so much as makes him roll his eyes. He also just makes a dismissive gesture, though, so Will is on his own.

Jason, ever the good samaritan, says nothing and just watches.

Zeke says with flat, barely repressed anger, "You were the only one there. Could be you've got accomplices, could be you've got special abilities, but you were right there, and you can just rot in the Sheriff's office for all I care."

Perhaps this isn't an unusual occurrence, judging from the reactions of those watching. A few men and women look annoyed and not very surprised when Zeke takes a two step detour to pick some handy piece of scrap metal, a solid-looking pipe, and lunges in again to swing it at Will's head.

What, really? Will ducks under Zeke's arm, turning to grab him by the wrist and the shoulder and jerking downward to bring his elbow into contact with Will's knee. He drops the pipe and Will twists his arm around behind his back and propels him forward until he's facedown on the ground with a helpful flick of Will's foot. Zeke's bigger than he is, but keeping him down isn't so hard. He's got a good grip on that arm and a pointy knee in strategic locations does pretty well at keeping someone still.

“You want to calm down?” he drawls – and yeah, that's probably just going to make Zeke even angrier, but he doesn't particularly care about that right now.

The Terrier's Sharps hold sway in Aspic, and few gangs would roam there, let alone oppose them. In this case there had been no intention of a full out war, but personalities had clashed, tempers had flared, and what began as a personal conflict escalated in the early hours into group unruliness along Fray Street. Was the Militia interference to break up what could have been a highly destructive fight only timely, or do they have a closer eye on Aspic than Jason thought? He swings by Fray St since he's in the area, listening to people talking of it, and asking a casual question or two of the shopkeepers and vendors stationed there.

In the interest of not earning a reputation as 'the guy who asks a lot of questions and knows a lot of people', though he hardly supposes most people would notice, Jason dresses and looks different throughout the week. Today there's no leather jacket, just plain clothing topped with a fleece sweatshirt, a hat, and Nate's glasses. He's foregone dying his hair, which he hates. As he makes his way down the street, he can't help but notice there's somebody else who seems to be doing something similar, though she's coming from the opposite direction. And if he's noticed her, it's worth checking to see if she's noticed him. He pauses to pet a dog, keeping his eyes down but watching her in the reflection of a shop window.

Olivia's been careful to make sure she's not garbed in anything to identify her as a part of Hellsing when she moves through Aspic to gather information about the Militia intervention. She's also wearing her hair blonde so as to delay any sort of immediate recognition, if there's anyone who might recognise her at all.

She is wearing a leather jacket, incidentally, the collar pulled up to fend off any errant chilled breeze. And she has, as it happens, noticed him. If only because he's noticed her. She makes eye contact through their reflections, thanks the woman she's been chatting with for her time, and takes a deep breath. Then she continues in the direction she was headed, which will bring her right past Jason. It's a bit like a game of chicken.

Jason looks back at the dog, continuing to pet it. As hyperaware as he is of the woman passing him, conditioned to automatically calculate her speed, the path she's taking, the time it will take her to get about ten to fifteen feet past him, a small part of his mind reflects that this dog does not really look like any domesticated breed of dog. Its features are sharp and wild like a fox, though it's not a fox. As if to confirm Jason's thoughts, the not-a-dog abruptly rockets off out from under his hand, shooting straight in front of Olivia and disappearing down the street.

The not-dog crossing her path causes Olivia to halt in an effort not to walk into or trip over it. She takes a breath then, collecting herself and slowly looking back over her shoulder to Jason. "Man's best friend, huh?" It's supposed to be a quip, but the edge is hardened too much by suspicion. She turns halfway so she can face him and then tilts her head in the direction she was headed. "Going my way?" It's both invitation and challenge.

The urge to respond in kind is too strong for Jason to resist, though he's been attempting to stick to this relatively new policy of not trying to actively antagonize every person he meets. He smiles, not wholly pleasant or unpleasant but an easy, reflexive balance of both, and puts his hands in the pockets of his fleece.

"Was thinking about it," he says, mock-flirtatious, a manner that he's aware would better suit his usual attire. But then, she seems to see through it anyway.

Then a step forward, which still leaves a perfectly respectable distance between them, but wasn't strictly necessary for conversational purposes. "Can I buy you a drink?"

That he doesn't suddenly back off is a point in his favour. Olivia considers him for a moment before nodding her head. "Sure." She smiles in return, nothing sugary about it, but it's also lacking of some of that sourness from seconds earlier.

She mirrors Jason's movements in that she slides her hands into her own pockets. It looks casual, but it's also done in that way that comes second nature to people who make an effort to appear non-threatening. Most people don't know the difference. "Where to?"

It is too early for drinking and that's really what he likes about the proposal and acceptance of it.

"The place by Damnation Army?" Jason suggests with only a hint of put on innocence. 'The place' he's referring to is a rundown absinthe bar which remains proud and stubborn in its commitment to continuing to look rundown. Not a nice place, but not a bad one either, even if you have no interest in absinthe. Jason certainly doesn't. It would be a 5-8 minute walk.

Does the logic of it's always five o'clock somewhere still apply in Baedal? Conventional logic and this city don't always seem to go hand-in-hand. Then again, it isn't anything to do with logic or justification of drinking at this hour that has Olivia agreeing the the offer.

She knows the place, and it isn't one she'd probably venture to on her own. Let's be honest, that's why she's going to go now. Not blindly, of course. But what's life without a little bit of danger? "Sounds great."

He smiles again and this one is more conventionally nice, but only because it's the role they've both chosen to play for now. He walks by her side at a companionable proximity, self-assured and confident like many twenty-something year old men.

"You don't live around here, do you?" Jason asks, casually knowing. "Because then you probably wouldn't've been interested in the brawl."

"I'm scouting neighbourhoods to move into," Olivia responds conversationally. It's not a denial, and it's even partially true. "Just trying to find out if this one's safe." Her smile is a couple degrees off from chilly, but not enough to be warm. "I mean, if it's common for the Militia to step in..."

That's not a plus in its favour, for many reasons. She raises her brows as she peers sidelong to he young man. She can play this game as long as he can.

This answer, if given before his initial impression of her, might have been enough to send him on his way. But Jason doesn't quite believe that anymore. It might be partially or even completely true, and he may be wrong — it's happened, he's scouted a lot of people so far and rejected many — yet the answer and the way it's given spurs him on.

"Not in Aspic, usually. Nobody wants to start a fight with the Sharps. It must have gotten out of hand... but you probably figured that out." He doesn't look at her, not even in a reflection. "I'm Jason, by the way."

Eyes turned ahead again, this time her smile is genuinely satisfied. "Olivia. You aren't from around here either, I take it." She chuckles quietly, like they're sharing some private joke (and in some ways they are). "What do you suppose the odds are of two non-residents curious about the same thing crossing paths in Aspic at the same time?" She might actually ask Astrid that later just for kicks.

"Getting higher." He says with a reckless smile, and moves a step away from Olivia to let a bike messenger zip between them without losing a beat. "It seems like the more people I talk to, the more people I find who are interested in what the Militia's doing, despite the risks. I find that encouraging."

The last pronouncement is said with light irony. It's a platitude that he's not much given to saying, and it covers everything he's been saying and doing for the past few weeks the same way a handkerchief covers a gun. Every person he talks to could be Militia, a Militia informant, or a potential informant. Someone could be listening. But he doesn't think she is, nor anyone around them. They can't comb the entire city listening for seditious thoughts or conversations, or else there wouldn't be any problems.

"Definitely." Encouraging, that is. "You're not the first person I've come across paying close attention to what the Militia's up to," she admits, though she doesn't elaborate on that just yet. ~~Tom.~~

"But you know, it's funny. It's like the Militia actually does some good," is sarcastic, but also true. If he's talked to the same people she has - and judging from some of the reactions she got to her questions, he has - he's probably come to the same conclusion, that the Militia did actually step in and keep the peace the way they claim to. It's probably less surprising to someone who's lived here longer. Olivia arrived just in time for video leaks, and reports of brutality, and first-hand observation of the corruption in action.

"Today they did," he agrees, "and they serve a function."

It is perhaps too calm an assessment. Jason doesn't like cops even when they aren't ruling the city with an iron fist. The calmness is artificial, even if it's a good imitation of the real thing.

"I guess what grinds my gears is all the questions that will never be answered. But then again," he pauses as they near the establishment. People coming out hold the door for them. "Then again, I'm used to looking for the truth. As are you. And so."

The bar is truly old, its scars polished, the darkness of the interior sullen and almost palpable, as if the building is inhabited by a creature that curls in itself. The bartender saunters over grudgingly, and Jason tilts his head, indicating Olivia should order first.

Olivia knows faking calm. She may not have the same problem with law enforcement on the whole (for reasons that should be obvious), but the whole iron fist part of it churns her stomach. And subversion is an art, truly. One that she had hoped she wouldn't have to get into again, but for the right cause...

She takes in the bar for a moment. There doesn't appear to be anyone waiting for them, apart from the 'tender waiting for customers in general. It's one paranoid line of thought she won't put entirely out of her mind, but at least remove from the forefront. "Beer for me, please." It's way too early to justify anything stronger, for her part.

"Same."

Though the bartender takes her time moving away to fill their orders, Jason waits until she is preoccupied to continue speaking. If the pause is awkward, so be it.

"You know, I heard a lot of the ones identified in the transmissions were killed. Imagine that." Now Jason looks at Olivia directly and smiles again, a perfectly nice and carefree expression. "So the next question I had was, why weren't they mad about it? Why weren't any arrests made?"

He leans one elbow against the bar, keeping the bartender in his peripheral vision. "Because they don't care. Because there will be resentment, but no punishment, no inquiry, no measures taken."

And his shrug says so be it, but he's watching her.

The pause is only awkward if they aren't waiting for the same moment. They are, which shouldn't surprise Jason in the least.

It wouldn't do to return that smile in quite the same manner it's given, but her eyes light up with a mock-surprise and amusement all the same. "Imagine that! Who'd have thought that being identified as a scumbag would get a person killed?"

Then she does smile and rest both elbows on the bar to lace her fingers together at chin level. "Don't you think it's got to be a little unnerving being a member of the Militia right now? What kind of message does that send when no one even investigates the death of one of their own?" There's no real sympathy felt there, and she doesn't really make much of an effort to play at it, either.

From what he can see, he has enough time to say this before they have to get quiet again: "'Get caught, get hung out to dry.'"

He too makes a little monosyllable of fake sympathy, and drinks until the bartender busies herself elsewhere.

"But I think it's going to happen more. These are such exciting times. I'm so glad I got kidnapped here so I could witness this and pay for the inevitable fallout with my life or livelihood. Truly, we are chosen."

Now he mock toasts her with his beer.

It's so fucking absurd, Olivia can't help but laugh and clink her glass to Jason's. "This is what I get for always being picked first for kickball, obviously." Maybe this place is some kind of purgatory. Though she's not here because of kickball. That's silly.

"I think you're right, though. It's going to happen a lot more." She takes a long drink, tilting her head just enough so she can check the bartender's whereabouts out of the corner of her eye for herself. Not that she doesn't trust Jason's keeping tabs on things. "It's like we have ringside seats," she chimes cheerily. She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial murmur, "Or maybe we're just waiting for our turn to tag in."

It is exactly what he wants to hear, which is why he immediately second-guesses her. Some of it is reasonable paranoia, and some of it is an instinctive distrust of getting what he wants. He's been getting a lot of that lately and he's waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under him. Olivia could very well be that. But he continues without so much as the slightest hitch in mannerism. If it is a trap, he can't give a sign that he suspects it.

"A lot of people feel that way. Seems like I meet them everywhere I go." That's pretty quiet, and he leans in a little to keep his tone of voice to that playful fake flirtation. Sure, it's way off for them to genuinely be two people hooking up at a bar in terms of timing and the way they came in, but it's better than barely pretending not to conspire against the Militia in the middle of the day.

"Now for the racy question of the day." Deadpan. "What cohort are you in?"

Olivia knows the feeling. It's hard out there for someone with an agenda they need to keep hidden. In the other universe, she was alone in her mission, save for her mechanical operatives and a bribed individual here and there. She couldn't - or wouldn't - truly trust anyone.

And here it's not all that different, is it? She has Hellsing, which is a lot like her team from back home, but they can't act openly. They're allowed to operate by the Militia. She wants to find others like her without those ties, and she wants to be able to trust them.

To his question, she responds with an expression that's suitably saucy to match their little liaison. She ticks off her answer like the slow reveal to a mystery. "Ceidary. Blue. Five-two-three."

The way he laughs fits both the pretend situation and his sincere reaction. Most of the women he talks to, he has to step carefully around for a variety of reasons: he and Barbara have history and he's trying his best not to sabotage their relationship, he doesn't know Stephanie well despite their shared experiences, he's trying to convince Kate that killing is fine, he's wary of Hermione's magic, he must be respectful of Vanessza's boundaries and secrets... things aren't sunshine and daisies with Olivia either, but the caution he has to use here is different.

Jason almost reaches inside his jacket for a pen before he remembers he's not wearing the it, and instead retrieves it from the fleece. "Give me your hand."

It's in keeping with what they're pretending but not strictly necessary either to write his CiD number on her palm. As he does so, he murmurs, "And if I die or disappear, the others will murder the fuck out of you."

He finishes writing and smiles at her, as warm as he had before. He isn't actually trying for ominous or threatening, he's really just unironically enjoying their play-acting.

She pulls the sleeve of her jacket back a bit and wipes condensation from her glass off onto her jeans before offering her palm. It should be unnerving, what he says, but her expression stays flirtatious, her grin wide as he leaves ink on her skin. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she muses. "It goes both ways, by the way." Whether she'll tell anybody about meeting Jason or not she hasn't actually decided yet. But if they're going to be making half-threats to ensure their own safety... They may as well be even.

There's something honest in this, knowing that they're both putting on an act. She meets his eyes to hold his gaze for a moment, as if gauging something there.

He does the same, steady and unblinking. There's something about his eyes that is cold, but they're not unusually so; probably not even as bad as Newton. And after that moment, he just nods and says with that same deadpan, "Well, it's good to know we're both equally serious about this."

Jason straightens away and puts down enough money for both of them, plus tip.

"Unfortunately, I do have to meet some people. But we should speak again soon."

He does plan on seeing her again much sooner, in the sense that he'll make every effort to track her down and follow her movements. It won't really ease the anxiety that she's affiliated with the Militia, but nothing will except time.

Newton's gaze will haunt her until the day she dies. Jason's may only leave her questioning herself for the next few days. She doesn't like that feeling, but it's a necessary evil. Just because she's paranoid doesn't mean there isn't someone out to get her.

"Well then." She wonders if he can tell what's going on beneath her surface, or if she hides it as well as he does. "I suppose we should say goodbye for now." She stands up from her seat, secretly pleased with the minor edge she gets in height from it. "I'll leave first, if you don't mind."

She's pleased with it, because it allows her to have the final word, which is in the form of a brief, but heated kiss before she turns to part ways. If there was any question as to what they were up to on their end of the bar, she's hopefully put the finishing touch on their little ruse. "I'll call you," she assures without looking over her shoulder as she heads for the door.

Though there's only a moment where he's thrown, the moment was there regardless. He makes a quiet sound of amused acknowledgment, but doesn't try to extend the moment; Jason just watches her go, and directs his smile at the floor as if that would hide it. If he feels more at ease with Olivia, that itself should be a warning to stay more on guard. He has to remember it's an illusion.

It's a nice one, though.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

hello welcome to the party. hi I've never met you before. I know.

Tinker's Lot, early morning: Will

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Fray Street in Aspic, early afternoon: Olivia

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