ya gotta wanna be a battering ram

[headandhand]

WHO: The entire dang city.
WHAT: Dualis Days, a week-long summer celebration.
WHERE: Central Square Park and the rest of the city.
WHEN: June 17-23.
WARNINGS: Terrorist violence, likely some blood and injuries. Please warn in individual threads!

June 17; Central Square Park.

Every year for as far back as anyone can remember, the start of summer is heralded by the week-long festival known as Dualis Days. This celebration officially kicks off at midday in the middle of Central Square Park with a commencement speech by the current mayor. This year marks Marcelina Dubanowski's third term as mayor of Dualis; she is an average-sized, middle-aged human-presenting woman with blonde hair styled in a short bob and a plastic, toothy smile that never seems to turn entirely off.

"Welcome, one and all!" she begins, with the practiced cadence of someone who is quite comfortable with public speaking. She invites all citizens, new and old, to spend the next week indulging in festivities in all districts of the city and getting to know their neighbors a little better. This is a joyous time of celebration, and the crowd responds with enthusiastic applause as the mayor finishes her speech and introduces this year's parade marshall, Peshtigo Tengfei.

Tengfei blows a whistle six times to signal the start of the parade - and this is where the celebration goes sideways.

A loud explosion tears through the air, and it's followed by panicked screams and the sharp screech of microphone feedback. A bomb has gone off at the platform where the mayor was standing, collapsing the wood and tearing it to splinters and dust. Chaos erupts in the gathered crowd, and as the people shift in all directions to get clear of any possible additional bombs, a loud siren cuts through the cacophony, calling attention to the sudden crackle of video feed present on all television screens throughout the city, including those set up in the park to broadcast the mayor's speech for those standing far from the stage. The picture is plain, a black background and bold white block letters filling the screen:

WAKE UP
WAKE UP
DON'T BELIEVE THE LIES

The final image is an anatomical graphic of a human heart, displayed for about three seconds, and then the feed goes black again.

Confused murmurs sweep through the crowd as citizens resume tending to the injured and evacuating the area until official first responders arrive.

June 17-23; aftermath around the city.

Dualis Days continues as scheduled, though Mayor Dubanowski is unable to enjoy the festival, as she is spending the week in the hospital recovering from her injuries. A team of Iterations guard her door - no visitors allowed - but the news media frequently report updates on her condition. Nothing to worry about, folks! Return to your celebrations, and don't mind the increased visible presence of the Hand as Iterations are stationed every few blocks throughout the city. It's only for your protection, after all.

Comments

jason todd (cws: death, blood, dissociating & hallucinating, probs some mild suicidal ideation)

[scathefires]

lazarus got no dirt on me. (open; central square park.)

This shouldn’t be happening.

Not what’s transpired in the park minutes ago - Jason wasn’t here to witness the bombing, too busy waking in shock and confusion underneath a pair of speaking statues, too busy punching solid surfaces in the temple so hard he splits his knuckles bloody. Too busy wandering through city streets in a daze and wondering how all descriptions of hell he’s ever read or heard about got it so wrong.

Or maybe not so wrong - the destruction and injuries Jason stumbles into once he reaches the park are a little more like what he expects to see. If he weren’t dissociating and questioning whether all he sees is a prolonged death-hallucination, his training would’ve kicked in, along with the instinct to help, to save people from harm, but all he can do is stare, bewildered, as he wanders through the crowd.

Which is not a good look for someone dressed for winter weather in jeans, a black wool coat, and a teal-colored scrub shirt stained with dark, dried blood down the front. Not in the midst of a mysterious bombing.

soldier, keep on marchin’ on. (closed to nida and seifer; central hand station, after the bombing.)

The Iterations that escorted Nida and Seifer to the station were - perhaps unsurprisingly - tight-lipped on details as to why they’d been summoned for questioning. They’re shuffled into an interrogation room and left to stew in whatever they’re feeling for the next few minutes, until the door opens and a stern, professionally dressed human-appearing woman with dark brown hair pulled back into a severe ponytail enters, studying a small tablet held in her hands.

“Which one of you is Nomura,” she asks, without glancing up at either of them, “and which one’s Almasy?”

Someone Gonna Get SMACKED

[skyward_eyes]

Today has been a bit much, okay? Boyfriends and bombs and fussy old cops, and now this. A room and he doesn't deserve to be in here, right? That's his story and he's sticking to it, old cops aside. Hilariously enough, he's been in this position a bit, in interrogation rooms, and he was more than used to frustrating cops when they did this. Didn't know if Seifer was, though, so he hoped to lead by example here if Seifer hasn't been through it.

Leading by example means that by the time the woman enters he's leaning back in his seat, slightly off balance with his feet stretched out before him and crossed. Can't easily jump to his feet, meant that he wasn't a threat. You know, unless he chose to grab someone and slam their head down against the table. What? Sometimes you have to do that sort of thing.

As much as he hated letting SeeD Nomura take over, it seemed the best approach right now. So when the woman came in, acting like she didn't even care they were there, he offered her a cheery smile.

"Now if we were hauled in here for some reason, I'd expect you already know the answer to that question, or could look it up. But it's okay if you haven't gotten that far in whatever delightful thing you're already reading. Tell you what, I'll give you time to do that, and we'll see what you come up with."

[firacrux]

Oh what the hell now? To say Seifer was annoyed about being picked up would be an understatement. He hadn't done a damned thing except tried to pull people out of getting trampled or dead, and now they're getting questioned? Seifer was not accustomed to being interrogated, or stuffed obnoxiously in rooms other than disciplinary rooms. It's about the same thing with an instructor breathing down your neck that you don't care to talk to instead.

Seifer was just leaning his elbows on the table. Scowling at anyone who would dare pay attention to him. Yeah, that's right, you in the corner? Scowls. Lady coming in with her files? Scowls. Nida looking too damned relaxed? More scowling. Although, at Nida's initial answer Seifer did shoot him an unreadable look while he tried to figure out what the angle was. Then, deciding to play along, he lazily propped his chin in the palm of a hand and gave the woman a bored look.

"Knew our descriptions well enough to hunt us down in the first place. Then again I suppose we do look so much alike." He drawled, heavy on the sarcasm. Were they going to be blamed for the bomb? Maybe. Hell if he knew, or cared, honestly he didn't even know why they were in this weird place anyway.

[scathefires]

“I know who you are,” she answers, finally glancing up at Nida and Seifer with a cold, thin-lipped smile. “I was just checking how much of a problem you both are planning to be. See, if it was up to me,” she continues, closing the door behind her and pacing toward the table, “I would’ve put you in separate rooms. That way, you’re less likely to be a bad influence on each other. But, as you may’ve noticed, we’re a little short on space at the moment. Been an exciting day here at the station.”

She powers the tablet down and sets it on the corner of the table closest to her, lightly kicking the chair on her side of the table to the side but making no move to sit. Arms folded tightly across her chest, she frowns for a silent moment, like she’s carefully mulling over her words before speaking them aloud.

“Do you know why we’ve asked you down here today?”

[skyward_eyes]

“Actually, while I can’t speak for myself, I can guarantee he would be worse without me. You have no idea. You aren’t just saving men, you’re sparing yourself an even larger headache. Congratulations. Or as they say on our world, Chocolations!”

They don’t say that. At all. Ever. It has never once been uttered on their planet. But damn if Nida’s smile isn’t completely genuine and serious. If she buys it, he has a timeshare on Centra he’d like to sell her.

And frankly, he’s been on the receiving end of those serious looks too. Xu does it better.

“Because someone blew up your mayor, and as competent men who ran toward the issues instead of away from it, we’re viable suspects. Ignoring the fact, of course, that we have only been around a few days and until now I thought your little utopia was amazing and better than the one we just came from. Which was hell. Remember the doppelgängers, bro?”

[firacrux]

Seifer just offered her a helpless shrug as if to say 'what can you do?' in response to Nida's assertion. He's not wrong. Seifer would be equally, if not more resistant to this interrogation. He didn't much appreciate people coming down on him for things he wasn't responsible for. "Mm, I bet. That's a shame on the space thing. Y'know I've an idea or two might clear out a couple rooms for you."

The absolutely biggest smart-ass smirk in the world would probably be all she needed to see to know his suggestion was 'stop wasting time interrogating people who've only been here a few days.' He's feeling confrontational tonight it would seem.

"I remember 'em, and I think I'd take 'em again if it meant fresher air. This place is kind of a pit if you ask me." Seifer replied with a shrug, then just gestured toward Nida in emphasis of what he just said. Yeah, they're here because a bomb went off and they were stupid enough to try to help people. "That, and I miss my dog."

He really does miss his dog.

[scathefires]

The woman shakes her head like she’s disappointed with both of them, chuckling under her breath like there’s some private joke they’ve unknowingly stumbled upon. “No, Mr. Nomura, neither of you is a suspect in the attack on the mayor today. In fact, unless you plan on confessing to being involved, the reason you’re here has nothing to do with the attack.”

She reaches into her back pocket and produces a clear plastic evidence bag, then tosses it onto the table between Nida and Seifer. What’s inside makes a light metallic clink as it hits the table, and if Nida and Seifer take a closer look, they’ll see that what’s inside the bag is a pair of dog tags.

The woman backs up to the wall behind her and presses a switch, and the wall becomes transparent, revealing that it’s actually a two-way mirror set between this interrogation room and another just like it. In the opposite room, there is only one man seated at the table. He’s broad-shouldered, slumped forward with bloody, split-knuckled fingers raked up through dark, unruly hair and a set of handcuffs around his wrists.

“We found those on him,” the woman says, gesturing to the dog tags, then pointing to the figure on the other side of the mirror. “Do you recognize this man?”

He can’t be listening in on this conversation, but as if on cue, the man in the other room pulls his head out of his hands and sits up, then slumps backward against his chair, head dropped back to stare up at the ceiling, cuffed hands folded against his stomach. There’s a large, dark stain of dried blood down the front of his teal-colored scrubs shirt, and the expression on his face is a mix of angry and bewildered, dazed and exhausted.

It’s Jason. Bloody, bruised, but alive again.

[skyward_eyes]

Disappointed? Like they aren't used to that for varying reasons. But he does give a small, triumphant smile and a gesture as if to say 'see, you did know which of us is which' when she uses his name. Is even ready to crow about it when the bag hits the table and he sees dogtags. Doesn't even have to look to know what's on them. No, instead he has this aching suspicion in his stomach and the room suddenly feels seven sizes smaller. Then the trick with the wall and honestly? This is too much.

On a scale of 0 to 10, with 0 being very unlikely and 10 being very likely, the probability of what he sees beyond the glass is... well, it can't be produced numerically. In fact, this isn't physically possible. How many get out of death free cards does Jason get to have? Because there is no denying who he is, well before Jason leans back. The hair, the posture, the size, the dogtags. But the rest just underlines it. The color, the stain of blood that Nida knew should be there.

When he looks away from the window he's pale, almost sickly pale. Like he's about to pass out.

"He's dead," Nida hisses at Seifer. "He has been for months. That asshole died and I should have been out there to watch his damn back!"

It's a rehashing of old grief, an argument he'd made more than once to Seifer in the days after. But he'd been so broken, so depressed when he'd come back as he was now, older and utterly shattered by loss. Jason had been too much. And his death was what had made Nida take up arms again. His attention turns back to the woman at last, tears stinging at his eyes.

"Let him go. He isn't involved with what happened today."

[firacrux]

If she thinks this is disappointing she should be glad she was never responsible for trying to teach Seifer anything. Guy has a serious issue with authority, especially authority he doesn't feel he's seen enough evidence as to why he should be compliant. Nida's right, this is reasonably good behavior on his part.

While Nida was busy being smug Seifer's attention had snapped to that evidence bag, a hand lashing out to snatch it up for closer inspection lightning fast. "Where did you-," He began, cut off when she presented the answer to that unfinished question. Alarmed, he moved to his feet nearly toppling his chair over in the process. "Jason!?" Unconsciously his hand went to his own dog tags tucked under his shirt, just to make sure they were where he left them last.

They both looked like they were looking at a ghost, Seifer definitely challenging one for paleness at the moment. At Nida's insistence Seifer gestured at the mirror. "He sure doesn't look dead anymore." There were a lot of should haves and could haves they could hash over at the moment but Seifer was more concerned with why he was here and alive.

Finally Seifer also shook himself from staring at the specter before them. "I dunno how the hell he ended up here but he doesn't have anything to do with this." Hell by the looks of it he'd say Jason had just drug himself out of his own grave only very recently.

[scathefires]

"He ended up here the same way you did, Mr. Almasy," the policewoman replies, coolly. "The same way everyone who lives here ends up here." Nida and Seifer's claims that the man in the other room was previously dead don't seem to faze her at all.

"And we know he wasn't involved in the attack on the mayor." Finally, she pulls the chair out from the table and takes a seat on the other side, hands folded on the table in front of her. "Surveillance registered Mr. Todd throwing a tantrum at the Temple at the same time as the bombing. But you have to admit," she says, hooking her thumb backwards over her shoulder at the window, "he looks rather suspect. Bloodstained clothes and a heavy winter coat, and when he was asked to come to the station for a brief interview to rule out his involvement, he resisted - rather violently, I might add. So it was necessary to sedate and restrain him until we could sort all of this out."

She leans forward and taps a finger on the table near the bag containing the dog tags. "Now, before I can release him to you, I need a few questions answered. Namely, what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Todd, and why was he wearing this for identification?"

[ichoosefight]

Steph has definitely seen better days. Finding a good vantage point meant that while she hadn't been too close to the stage when the bomb went off there wasn't anything between her and what shrapnel made it that far. Quick thinking made her throw an arm up in front of her face and twist out of the way, but her shirt is covered in holes and the rest of her is speckled with blood.

She's definitely seen much worse days too, and moves through the crowd with the quick, efficient urgency of experience. She has a dazed man on his feet and pointed towards the small group that's been handling first aid when she spots another with what looks like fatal hemorrhaging wandering aimlessly through the crowd.

"Hold still" is out of her mouth and her hand on his arm before she even registers the face.

"Wait, Jason? Shit." He barely knows her, she knows - she hadn't put forth much effort after returning to Gotham to meet a stranger instead of a friend - but the panic is still very real.

[scathefires]

The sound of his own name called in a familiar voice pulls Jason’s attention, and recognition of the person attached to it widens his eyes in shock tinged with terror. “Steph,” he gasps, voice hoarse from screaming, and takes a step back, shaking his head.

He died, sacrificed himself to the doppelgänger to keep Steph and Tim and Cissie from meeting a similar fate. But if this is hell and Steph is here, that means Jason failed, that all of his effort was in vain.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, expression pinched with pain. “Why are you here?”

[ichoosefight]

It's really not the reaction she's expecting, but there are too many overlapping instincts for her to figure out what exactly is wrong here. She scans his shirt and what she can see of his skin. The weird thing is that the shirt seems dry. In fact, some of the blood looks like it's crumbling off. The explosion was way too recent for that.

"I was hoping the mayor might say something useful. So much for that. Why are you-"

Oh, there's the thought. She blinks up at him.

"Wait, since when do you care where I go?"

[scathefires]

Jason rubs a hand over his mouth; the blood on his split knuckles is much more fresh than the blood on his shirt. "No," he mumbles through his hand, still shaking his head. He can't believe he fucked up so badly. Getting himself killed is one thing, but getting Steph killed, too? He can't live with that. Maybe it's a good thing Jason thinks he's still dead.

"You were s'posed to get back to the village," he says, dropping his hand back to his side. "You were s'posed to - "

Be safe, but they're never truly safe anywhere, are they - Jason and Steph know that better than anyone else, both of them Robins who died, Steph killed because Batman failed her. And didn't Jason promise himself that he wouldn't fail her? And yet.

"You were s'posed to survive, Steph." He swallows hard against the heavy, sick feeling in the back of his throat. "What happened to you?"

[ichoosefight]

"Back to the-" Did he just say village? Can she be that lucky? Is that allowed?

"With Cissie and Tim? No, Jason- we made it back fine. But you were-" He wasn't so lucky. She looks at his shirt again, stepping forward and reaching hesitantly out. She wants to touch him, make sure that he's real, but she's afraid that he isn't. It will all have been a wacky misunderstanding and she'll be left looking like a psycho.

"Christ, is it really you?"

[scathefires]

Cissie. Tim. She remembers, and they did survive? Then why is she here, in this place, with Jason, who didn't survive? All of this feels simultaneously unreal and too sharply real to deny.

"I don't know," he answers, feeling more lost and small than he has since he was a child, alone and fending for himself on the streets of Crime Alley. He takes a cautious step toward her to meet her reach with his own. "I can't tell if any of this is real. Are you?"

[ichoosefight]

That answer is enough for her. There's barely time for her cry "oh my god" before she throws her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I'm real," she assures him, her voice wavering. "It's okay. We're both real, and here, and alive, and if you ever even think about sacrificing yourself like that again I swear to God I'm going to kill you myself."

[scathefires]

Jason doesn’t hesitate to return Steph’s hug with his own, holding on just as tightly to her, like she’s the sole anchor in the sea of uncertainty in which he’s found himself adrift. She’s real, and she’s alive, and that must mean Jason is, too.

“‘Msorry,” he mumbles against her shoulder, voice quiet and trembling, eyes squeezed shut against the sting of gathering tears. “I had to. You know I had to.”

[ichoosefight]

"Ow," she notes flippantly as her wounds, small though they are, stretch with the force of her squeezing.

"Just don't do it again," she concedes. She knows why he did it, and she would have done the same if he hadn't been in a better position than she was.

"We only get so many get-out-of-jail-free cards, you know? I'm not waiting another 3 years for a miraculous reunion."

lazarus got no dirt on me. (open; central square park.)

[yondu]

Yondu is no hero by a long shot. Never has been. Never will be. In a way he's pretty proud of Peter for being everything he's not, and basically the exact polar opposite of his real father.

But sometimes strange quirks kick in. Maybe PTSD from seeing dazed and wounded soldiers wander onto the battlefield and having to drag them off. Maybe just a shred of that paternal worry he had for people like Peter. But he pushes into the crowd and over to the wandering guy.

"Hey! Hey, get your head into it." Yondu yells at him rather than touching him for attention. Guy with stained blood on him? Don't touch him unless he's on the ground. Then he's 30% less likely to try something.

"This way." Yeah, that sure is a blue man with a fanged mouth gesturing, like that sure will give a man a sense of reality in a surreal situation.

[scathefires]

Not touching Jason is a smart non-move; in his dazed state, with instinct taking over, he's more likely to attempt breaking bones than accepting a gesture of help. Yondu's appearance is a little jarring, but Jason doesn't recoil in fright or disgust - he's from Gotham, after all. But it doesn't help the feeling of doubt he has that anything he's seeing right now is real.

Jason finally manages to string a few words together: "What's going on here?" He heard the explanation back on the hill, but his traumatized mind is still struggling to accept this reality.

[yondu]

"Bomb went off. An' if ya don't get out of the way you're likely to get trampled by an idiot stampede. So come on. Get over here."

He motions again, hoping to at least get the hurt guy out of the crowd. He's not one to offer much medical help. He always had doctors that could do that and some very rough battlefield tactics.

Either way, he does his best to usher Jason towards the nearest currently abandoned fair set-up, which isn't exactly where the police would be wanting people to go but it is the part where someone dizzy headed and not fully aware could get their head together. Or die of a concussion. Who the hell knows what's wrong with him. It's just better than being bowled over by a herd, that's the point.

central square park

[merged]

It feels like a documentary, like one of the many she's witnessed in school during the anniversary of a tragedy. She knows it's real, her ears are still ringing, but she feels this distinct disconnect. The blood, the people, the mess. It's right there but she doesn't feel anything.

No sympathy. No fear. Just this ringing confusion and unease.

A breath in. A breath out. It's just like a documentary and she's just a witness to the aftermath.

Without much thought beyond a pang of guilt she quashes easily, Sharon makes to quickly leave the scene. She steps over debris. She deliberately doesn't think of the sound around her. This isn't her problem. Her eyes glance over Jason. She feels a pit in her stomach at the amount of dried blood covering his front.

Just leave him, she thinks but a twist of guilt forces her to reconsider.

"Should I get you some help?" She asks with a hint of trepidation and a small wave to catch his attention.

[scathefires]

Jason has the wide-eyed, semi-vacant look of a spooked animal, and honestly, that's not too far off from how he's feeling at the moment - like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, perhaps, wondering what the hell's happening in the seconds before it's struck. Confusion creases his brow as his mind struggles to process Sharon's words. He laughs - quiet, dry, sliding toward the side of hysteria - and shakes his head.

"I don't think there's any helping me," he says, hand going to his throat to remind him that there's no knife there and he's not still bleeding to death. I'm beyond help, he thinks, and shakes his head.

"Who're you?"

[merged]

While his appearance is enough to stoke concern, his reaction to her offer unsettles her. It's not like it's the strangest reaction, not given the circumstances they're currently in; he could be in shock. God, fuck, why didn't she pay more attention in her psych class. This isn't something she knows how to deal with.

She frowns, though not deeply. People react to trauma differently, at least that's what she's been told. Whatever it is, he needs help, though she doubts she'll be capable of doing anything.

At his question, she hesitates. Sharon, she almost wants to say, but then she can hear Christopher in her ears, urging caution, reminding her she can't ever be herself.

"It's Heather," She finally responds, the name still so new to her,"Who are you and why the hell can't anyone help you? You look really fucked up."

Harsh, maybe, but this dude seriously needs to get to the doctor. Psych. Medical. He might need both.