[ If he's got a half accurate guess on who Jason's likely to be living with at the moment, unwanted reminders aren't likely to be high on the company menu. Loki might be okay, but if he and Loki need to talk then it's not under the same conditions as a drink with Jason on not-business. ]
You could come to the empty husk of my old apartment. We still have a few pieces of furniture.
[ And he's lost track of who's been where at this point, so drops a GPS pin to their mostly abandoned rental and logs a note to self in his implant to be there the next day. ]
[ As much as it would be nice to get wasted, he lives with a recovering alcoholic of— at least a century. Going back stinking of anything would be as cruel as messaging him drunk to let him know he won't be back until the next day. Best to avoid either. ]
[ When the next day comes, he makes sure to arrive at the apartment in plenty of time, bringing with him the essentials: namely, a couple of glasses. When Jason arrives at the building, he'll clear his ID for entry. ]
( quiet, but what else did he expect? jason brought the whiskey and himself, which is all strange asked for and all he's getting. when the door lets him in, he--just waltzes on in, takes a look around the place while he's at it. )
[ The apartment is brochure standard, all smooth lines and floor to ceiling windows along the outer wall at the end of the hall, then the same in the lounge where Jason will find him sitting in a stock armchair alongside his stock couch. The two glasses on the stock furniture coffee table are the only trace of personality in the room - a pair very evidently lifted from Red Wings.
They're leaving the place as they found it. All traces of his life here are gone. ]
You too. [ He sits there for a few seconds, watchful, waiting— then shakes himself, a visible flinch of the head, and forces himself to his feet to welcome Jason in with a gesture to the couch. ] You're a surprising addition to the reunion tour.
[ There are a couple of new features of note to differentiate the man who greets Jason from the one he'll have seen last. Firstly, a lichtenburg figure scar that creeps in angry pinks, reds and purples up from under the collar of his shirt to reach branches across his throat and snake away behind his neck. Second, and perhaps less noticeably at first, hands that have never seen a scar in their lives. ]
( boring. no personal touches, no nothing. it makes him wonder what the hell stephen has been doing here. or how long it's been since he was here. jason--reaches up for a higher shelf, runs gloved fingers across the bottom of it to see how much dust he can pick up. keeps his attention there instead of on strange for the moment. )
Well, y'know. Can't exactly leave without tying up all my loose ends. What kind of guy just does that?
( most people who have left, actually. his head tips back to look back towards strange, notes what's different. he's no tim drake, but all of his pack have been trained to notice subtle differences. and strange's aren't exactly subtle at all. his eyes stop on those hands, raise a brow. )
[ None of the brothers rowdy, that's for sure. Jason came back for his loose ends, Damian made neat work of his even in his absence, and it would appear that Dick's back too, with or without any recollection that it's a return. (Dust is perhaps the only telling thing Jason will find in this place: thorough cleaning doesn't seem to have been a priority during the great exodus of any trace of personality, and Stephen certainly hasn't made any contribution on that front since returning.)
The question is unexpected. It shows only in the slightest pinch of his brow, there and then gone. ]
No. [ No. For a year and a handful of months he'd avoided the all too easy act of getting a fix for the mistake that changed his life. And now... ] I just never drove off a cliff.
so this aerie shit is even more complicated than it seemed at first glance. it's one thing to fuck with someone's memories. jason has seen that happen over and over again. erase what's there, replace it with something else, brainwash people to think they're something that they're not, that whole bullshit.
fucking with them down to their physical bodies takes something else entirely. gods. of course. stupid of him to underestimate them. )
That's fucked.
( rolling his shoulders, before moving over to the living room area and setting the bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table. helpfully. )
[ That's certainly a word for it that he's not about to argue. With the whiskey duly deposited, Stephen plucks it up off of the table to crack it open and pour a couple of glasses. A glass and its amber liquid tremors slightly as he holds it out to Jason. ]
Only a little cosmetic fix up.
[ Everything is still more or less as it was, only now the damage is exclusively internal. ]
( not that he's super doubting strange but also. if his body has been changed that an incident didn't happen, wouldn't those changes also be internal? is this, potentially, just some asshats fucking with the scar tissue that's visible, or is this strange's psyche fucking him over because he doesn't know how to turn off what damage had happened before? )
[ A wry little twitch around the mouth. The glass he offers remains held out in front of him, shuddering slightly every time Stephen's concentration slips. ]
Unless the pain and the renewed difficulty with fine motor control are psychosomatic.
[ He's fairly certain. But there's genuine humour in the response: it's a fair question to have asked if you've a good head on your shoulders, which Jason has. ]
[ There's a discordant comfort to be found in hearing a little slice of home. Stephen huffs out a breath through a smirk and ducks to snatch up his own whiskey, taking an answering - considerably smaller - swig before landing himself back down into the seat he'd occupied when Jason first entered. ]
To what do I owe the honour?
[ Not business. Not pleasure. But surely not just commiseration, either... They've made strides, but enough to have earned a well-being check-in? ]
I can't visit you for a drink without needing something?
( a check up, but he won't admit to it out loud. there's no need. strange will either get it or not. jason doesn't care much either way, long as they don't need to stop and talk about their feelings. for each other. they've got more important shit to figure out how to manage than that. )
Oh. So it really is just a check in. He does them both the favor of not dwelling on it out loud just now, something to think about later. ]
A couple hundred years living in luxury with the world at my feet and more power than most people would know what to do with. [ He hadn't struggled, of course. He'd known exactly what to do with it. ] I wouldn't say it was that bad.
[ Flippant? Perhaps. But he'd watched that world through the eyes of too many others to see himself painted as a victim of that place. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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( never bring it up again because he hates it, thank you. )
when you're ready, i'll take you out for a drink
no rush
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It'll be easier to invite me in for a drink for the time being, if it's business.
[ Until whatever dust there is settles and he can a grip on his newfound notoriety. ]
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( not exactly pleasure either though so. you know. )
so whenever
you can come over if you want, but the place is crowded
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You could come to the empty husk of my old apartment. We still have a few pieces of furniture.
Wherever we end up, tomorrow afternoon?
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i'll head in your direction
( if strange doesn't want to come over, jason can get back in his space. )
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[ And he's lost track of who's been where at this point, so drops a GPS pin to their mostly abandoned rental and logs a note to self in his implant to be there the next day. ]
Let's say 4:00.
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got a preference?
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Nothing too strong.
[ As much as it would be nice to get wasted, he lives with a recovering alcoholic of— at least a century. Going back stinking of anything would be as cruel as messaging him drunk to let him know he won't be back until the next day. Best to avoid either. ]
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Let's go with the whiskey.
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stay in one piece in the meantime
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[ When the next day comes, he makes sure to arrive at the apartment in plenty of time, bringing with him the essentials: namely, a couple of glasses. When Jason arrives at the building, he'll clear his ID for entry. ]
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Welcome back.
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They're leaving the place as they found it. All traces of his life here are gone. ]
You too. [ He sits there for a few seconds, watchful, waiting— then shakes himself, a visible flinch of the head, and forces himself to his feet to welcome Jason in with a gesture to the couch. ] You're a surprising addition to the reunion tour.
[ There are a couple of new features of note to differentiate the man who greets Jason from the one he'll have seen last. Firstly, a lichtenburg figure scar that creeps in angry pinks, reds and purples up from under the collar of his shirt to reach branches across his throat and snake away behind his neck. Second, and perhaps less noticeably at first, hands that have never seen a scar in their lives. ]
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Well, y'know. Can't exactly leave without tying up all my loose ends. What kind of guy just does that?
( most people who have left, actually. his head tips back to look back towards strange, notes what's different. he's no tim drake, but all of his pack have been trained to notice subtle differences. and strange's aren't exactly subtle at all. his eyes stop on those hands, raise a brow. )
You get patched up?
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The question is unexpected. It shows only in the slightest pinch of his brow, there and then gone. ]
No. [ No. For a year and a handful of months he'd avoided the all too easy act of getting a fix for the mistake that changed his life. And now... ] I just never drove off a cliff.
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so this aerie shit is even more complicated than it seemed at first glance. it's one thing to fuck with someone's memories. jason has seen that happen over and over again. erase what's there, replace it with something else, brainwash people to think they're something that they're not, that whole bullshit.
fucking with them down to their physical bodies takes something else entirely. gods. of course. stupid of him to underestimate them. )
That's fucked.
( rolling his shoulders, before moving over to the living room area and setting the bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table. helpfully. )
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[ That's certainly a word for it that he's not about to argue. With the whiskey duly deposited, Stephen plucks it up off of the table to crack it open and pour a couple of glasses. A glass and its amber liquid tremors slightly as he holds it out to Jason. ]
Only a little cosmetic fix up.
[ Everything is still more or less as it was, only now the damage is exclusively internal. ]
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( not that he's super doubting strange but also. if his body has been changed that an incident didn't happen, wouldn't those changes also be internal? is this, potentially, just some asshats fucking with the scar tissue that's visible, or is this strange's psyche fucking him over because he doesn't know how to turn off what damage had happened before? )
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Unless the pain and the renewed difficulty with fine motor control are psychosomatic.
[ He's fairly certain. But there's genuine humour in the response: it's a fair question to have asked if you've a good head on your shoulders, which Jason has. ]
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don't waste his cheap whiskey.
when he speaks up again, jason--accentuates his accent. lower new york, rhotic. )
I ain't a doctor, this isn't my area. So. ( a wave of a hand towards strange, before he tilts his glass over his mouth to down a good portion of it. )
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To what do I owe the honour?
[ Not business. Not pleasure. But surely not just commiseration, either... They've made strides, but enough to have earned a well-being check-in? ]
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( a check up, but he won't admit to it out loud. there's no need. strange will either get it or not. jason doesn't care much either way, long as they don't need to stop and talk about their feelings. for each other. they've got more important shit to figure out how to manage than that. )
Heard you had a rough go.
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Oh. So it really is just a check in. He does them both the favor of not dwelling on it out loud just now, something to think about later. ]
A couple hundred years living in luxury with the world at my feet and more power than most people would know what to do with. [ He hadn't struggled, of course. He'd known exactly what to do with it. ] I wouldn't say it was that bad.
[ Flippant? Perhaps. But he'd watched that world through the eyes of too many others to see himself painted as a victim of that place. ]
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( a roll of his eyes, before wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand and sets down his glass. )
Hell, power itself ain't perfect. Causes more problems than it solves.
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