2019-05-07 - A Face Ill Remembered


Jason shows up on Barbara's doorstep.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Tue May 7 23:37:19 2019
Location: RP Room 3

Related Logs


Theme Song



It hadn't been a bad day for Barbara. Work at the library went about as well as could be expected, which meant she thoroughly enjoyed herself as she reshelved books and audio/visual media. If anyone could read her mind, they'd likely be worried at how much enjoyment she drew from handling books and keeping track of checkout status and such. After her shift, she had gone over to the Staten Island Police Headquarters to give them a hand with some server and network upkeep - before returning to the library to finish more shelving after hours where she wouldn't be interrupted.

At 11:03pm the redhead emerged from the building, arming the security system and locking up. She turned, then, and began to unhurriedly walk down the many stone stairs of the grand, gothic styled entrance. Yes, it had been a very successful day.

Jason has not been having a good day. He hasn't been having a good several months, in fact. He had a failed encounter with his mother and little sister just the other day, and he's been beating himself up over it since. He helped himself get over it by going out earlier tonight and beating the snot out of several thugs in a back alleyway, but unlike the old days, he didn't kill them. One of them will never hold a gun again, though, and the other two might have a limp for the rest of their lives.

A little beaten up, but mostly just tired, Jason heads to one of the only sure things he knows of in this city : Barbara is going to be working late at the library. Some things never change. Jeans, boots, a faded Talking Heads t-shirt under a jean jacket with a baseball cap, someone would need to know who to look for to recognize Jason at first glance. He spots Barbara leaving the library from a few buildings up and takes a deep breath, beginning to follow her. She'll likely notice in a block or so. The lone figure keeping pace.

Barbara Gordon wasn't the kind of woman to go crazy over expensive purses or hand bags. Okay, she had a few Dooney and Bourke purses - which were more expensive than the things one would find at a Bullseye or L-Mart. But she only bought those because they had characters from some of her favorite movies and she could still rebel against High Society by attending Bruce's gala's and events dressed lavishly, while still repping nerds and geeks everywhere. No, in her day to day, Babs was a backpack sort of girl. Still not so removed from her college years, plus it was simply more practical. Tablets and laptops don't fit in purses.

When Barbara noticed her shadow, she was indeed a few blocks from the library, and still a little over four more to her apartment. Her hand instinctively tightened around the backpack strap but she continued her pace. Running wouldn't make it any better. And it could be a coincidence. After 11pm.

After another block he dips into a side-alley. He's been learning this area all day, and knows how to get where he is going. As she keeps the same pace, he picks his own up. He moves through the alleyways swiftly, hopping trash cans. He ends up between Barbara and her apartment…but only just.

As the redhead turns a corner and spots her apartment building, she finds the man sitting on the stoop in front of the building's door. He glances up and reaches up, pulling his baseball cap off. She'll probably recognize him immediatly, fresh black eye and all. "Uh. Hey, Barbara," he calls out to her. He lifts a brown paper back with a bottle in it. "Drinks?" Yeah, just like that. He is nervous as hell, but not showing it.

Barbara Gordon completely expected something was going to happen - and was convinced she was right when her shadow disappeared when it did. But she wasn't prepared for it, him, to return in front of her. On her apartment doorstep. Or that her shadow would turn out to be,


The surprise on her face was reflected in her eyes. She just did not see this coming. She had stoppped short of the stairway, still beyond arm's reach as she looked at someone who had disappeared two years prior and, if she was completely honest, may well have killed himself, or been killed, given the mental issues to be battled.

She looked at him in silence for almost a minute before looking to the sack with a bottle in it then back to his face.

"The last time I saw you? You broke three of my ribs. Two more were fractured and both of my kidneys were bruised."

She doesn't answer the offer for drinks as she waits to judge his response to her comment about that time where Red Hood attacked Batgirl.

He flinches as if struck, but does his best to keep a stoic face. To a person who didn't know him he'd seem uneffected. She pretty much grew up with Jason, though, and she can still read him like a book. The slight sag to his muscled shoulders. The nervous shift of a planted foot. She can read his profound regret in his body, even if he barely shows it in his face. Instead, he furrows his brow and glances down at the bag.

"I did a lot worse to a lot of other people, Babs. You don't need to forgive me for it. I don't deserve that. But I…" He trails off and glances away from her, to an unspecific space down the street. Anywhere but her eyes.

"…I didn't want to be alone tonight. I can't go to the Manor. I…don't know anybody else." Nobody that isn't some crooked contact. "I'm, uh…back in town, by the way…"

Back in town. Well that was going to go over well, wasn't it? Part of her really wanted to be there to see -those- fireworks. There are no family reunions like Bat Family reunions.

She watches his reaction. She sees the change in demeanor. the little movements she remembered so vividly.

"Yes. You murdered …. it doesn't matter how many. You did it." She still hasn't moved.

"But you know what? I almost could forgive you for those. Even if that isn't how we were trained, isn't how we did things, how we still do things. They were all among the worse criminals ever to exist on Staten Island. But /we/ were not strangers." She felt betrayed. She knew he had been brainwashed. But somewhere deep down she felt that he should have been able to fight it. Batman could have. Would have.

But no, that isn't fair to believe or to hold against anyone who is not Batman. Only the Batman could have the resolve to beat attempts at mind control.

She regretted her accusation the moment she said it. The moment she realized she was judging Jason against the Shadow of the Bat. Against that shadow? Who could be found equal? She wasn't certain it was possible to answer that question.

She looks to the man in front of her again. Lost. Afraid. Clearly in need.

"You can sleep on the couch. I wasn't expecting company so there isn't much to eat that isn't leftover Chinese."

She watches him, waiting for his response.

"I have a place of my own. It's just empty. I'll head back there before hitting the sack. I just needed someone to be with tonight." She wasn't far off when she earlier thought about him offing himself. He hasn't been fully right since waking up in his own coffin and having to dig his way out. He's had his gun in his own mouth on more then one night…this one included.

He clears his throat and rises, holding the back up. "Drinks, like I said. Company. Conversation. We have some catching up to do, right?"

Barbara Gordon nods, albeit curtly. She's tense. Expecting him to attack her at any moment, really.

Pushing past him, she moves to the door, unlocking it with her building ID - gone were the days of doormen. Now it was just an RFID pad that determined who could be let in or not. She held the door for him with her foot then began to climb the stairs. It would be three flights up but she was not about to risk being in an elevator with him, yet.

A final glance at him over her shoulder then she silently unlocked her door and let him enter first, following after.

Her place looked more like a college dorm than an apartment. A basket of unfolded laundry. Some dishes in need of washing. paperwork strewn all about the very fancy computer desk. And computers? There are at least seven of them. A few being server towers, a few laptops. And the array of wide screen displays looks like something out of a scifi or military movie where the good guys are fighting evil hackers or aliens. Everything on the computer desk is easily worth more than the rest of the items in her apartment combined.

Dropping her backpack near the computer desk, she turns to gesture toward the couch while she goes to get a couple glasses, asking finally, "what are we drinking?"

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License