dualislogs | Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

WHO: All residents of Dualis + special guest stars
WHAT: Strap in, kiddos, it’s a ~memshare~
WHERE: In your head. Or, you know. Everywhere you go to escape that.
WHEN: August 15-24
WARNINGS: Don’t forget these if they’re applicable!

It’s been a few months, Dualis, how are you settling in? New arrivals, we know it’s sudden, but we hope you’re making new friends already and settling in well! You’re all gonna fit in juuuust fine around here.

Things have calmed down after the supposed terrorist attacks during the Dualis Days celebration, and there’s still no news about that strange network broadcast. But maybe that’s for the best, right? See, the Head really does have everything under control.

But speaking of heads…

Over the course of these next few days, yours might be feeling a little funny. Maybe you just aren’t quite feeling like yourself. Or there’s an ache that just won’t quite go away. Or maybe you’re perfectly fine! Which is completely optimal, honestly.

Except--that memory you suddenly have. Is that really yours? And what about those fainting spells that seem to come with premonitions...or are you perhaps remembering something you repressed long ago? You’d probably remember something like this, though, wouldn’t you?

It’s perfectly natural to be concerned. However, if you approach your friendly neighborhood MedBot or clinician, they’re going to be pretty stumped. It appears there's nothing really wrong with you, but hey, here's some mild painkillers if you want them. And if you try and consult the Head, all it’ll be able to do is give you it’s most sincere condolences. It seems that there may have been some complications with the transfer process, but these should definitely wear off soon! In the meantime, why not visit your local clinic for a sedative and some painkillers?

Good luck, denizens. Looks like you’re in for a bumpy week or two...

[[As a reminder, these memory shares can happen at any point in time during the span of the event, not just when your characters are sleeping! You're also welcome to have them experience no side effects at all, all the way up to fainting spells and headaches a la Cordelia circa season 2 of Angel. Feel free to reach out to your friendly neighborhood mods if you have any questions!]]

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"Does it make it easier for you to think that my little dip in his fountain of youth turned me rabid? Or is this just the real me?"

"I'm not talking about killing Penguin, or Scarecrow, or Dent - I'm talking about him. Just him! And doing it because - because he took me away from you."

This isn't the first time Nida's had to experience Jason's memories. And of course, of course it would have to be with Joker again. It would have to be the man who killed Jason. And honestly? What tiny bit of respect he might have had for Batman? It's gone.

Because Nida? He would have shot the fucking Joker himself. And that was how he'd felt before. Now? Now he'd probably drag it out a bit more. Which isn't what he wants to say. What he wants to do is stop this stupidity. Nida's stupidity. He doesn't... He doesn't want to be another part of Jason's family who failed him.

So he waits. Even brought take-out so he has an excuse to be there. Waiting. Trying not to pace.

Nida doesn't have to wait long - Jason walks up the hallway to his door about ten minutes later. He's finished his shift at the library, reading stories to small children, and he figures maybe a nap, some food, and then he'll go run the rooftops, see if there's any trouble to be found. If not, at least some fresh air and exercise.

He's not expecting to find Nida on his doorstep, and he gives his brother a questioning look as he strolls up to the doorway. "Nida. What's up?"

Seifer doesn't cook every day, which means every now and then they have to fend for themselves. Not often, but sometimes.

He bites his lip before picking up the bag and holding it out.

"Rooftop dinner? I feel like I could use some height. And you're one of the people I know who can enjoy that with me. And... Well, I guess I wanted to talk some?"

Jason's well accustomed to surviving on cheap takeout, so he doesn't bat an eye at the proffered bag. Things still feel a little strained between him and Nida, but Jason can recognize an olive branch when he sees one. He just hopes this talking isn't more of the same awkward and uncomfortable sort that's passed between them since the police station. Mouth pursed tightly, he nods.

"Sure." He points to the doorway that grants rooftop access via a flight of stairs. "What did you wanna talk about?"

Nida isn't used to using the STAIRS up. It's a bit of a novel idea. He grins and nods and heads toward the doorway, shifting the bags to a comfortable position in his hands.

"First, I wanna apologize. I got reminded for how stupid I was to do what I did. You've been through too much shit. And I'm a miserable brother. But I'm going to be better. And that starts with promising that I'm here in your corner. If... that's okay?"

Jason stops dead in his tracks. Not this again.

“Nida ... “ He covers his face with both hands, muffling a frustrated groan. Why is this such an issue that they can’t move past it?

“I thought we already went over this,” he says, pulling his face out of his hands and folding his arms across his chest. God, is this what he sounds like when he goes off about how he died and no one cared? Maybe it’s time to quit bringing it up.

“You made a mistake. You were emotional - so was I. Shit happens. You find a way to get through it. You’re not a miserable brother, but - I’m sorry, I can’t keep talking you down from a ledge like this. Can you please just let it go? I’m over it.”

Nida sighs. Yeah, he knows. But there are other things too. Things he knows now.

"I saw another memory. Involving Batman, who I really want to punch in the dick. And that Joker asshole. I know in the grand scheme I am pretty good compared to other people in your life. And that is literally the last time I apologize for it. Next time, kick my ass? For now, I wanna have takeout with the one of my brothers not freaked out by eating while sitting on the edge of buildings."

He wants to catch up and get the powerful and too familiar taste of betrayal by those who matter most out of his mouth.

Jason has a lot of good people in his life now - people he's met on this rollercoaster ride through the multiverse. People from Wonderland, like Cissie and Tim and tiny Jonathan Kent. People from the Village, like Billy and Natasha. And he could argue this point, that yes, Nida and Seifer may've claimed him as a brother, but they're not the only ones Jason's made space in his heart for, but honestly? He's tired of arguing with Nida. Seems like that's all they've done since they ended up in this city, argue and avoid each other. So Jason takes a deep breath and just ... decides to let it go.

Besides, there's something more interesting in what Nida just said, about seeing a memory of Bruce and the Joker and Jason. His expression tightens, but he's intensely curious about what piece of his mind Nida's seen this time.

"OK." He nods, mouth pursed, and continues toward the door to the stairs up. "So Seifer's afraid of heights?"

"Afraid? Don't know. Maybe, maybe not. But I'm the one that loves heights. And it feels like you're the same," Nida offers, a smile on his lips. "I hope he's not. I'd love to take him up somewhere like this, the city is beautiful from above."

A lot better than the city from the streets. He moves all the way to the door and pushes it open for them. And he smiles, smiles the best he can. No more problems, he resolves. Just the connection between them.

"Hey, you know much about motorcycles?"

Jason spent much of his time as Robin perched or running across rooftops; heights feel as natural a habitat as on the ground. Maybe even more so. He nods to acknowledge Nida’s observation and heads through the door and up the stairs with murmured thanks.

“Yeah, I know a bit about motorcycles. Used to ride one, and I usually know how to take ‘em apart, too. Why?”

"Gonna get one," Nida explains, smirking as he takes the stairs two at a time. "Figured maybe you might want a ride. I would be willing to lend it to you sometimes, if you want a joy ride."

The thing is, Nida would never let anyone do that. Ever. His style was not the sort that let him just give up a motorcycle to another. He loved the things far too much. It was a statement of trust. Which Jason probably doesn't know, but it matters.

Jason has absolutely no idea what the offer means as far as Nida's trust, and he won't know unless Nida decides to clue him in. Some things he's able to intuit, but he's not a mind reader.

"Yeah?" he asks, following Nida's pace up the stairs. "You must be doing pretty good at your job, if you can throw down enough cash for a bike. But, uh ... thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it sometime."

"Yeah. As a note, Seifer can't touch it. I'm worried he'd scratch the thing. But really need to keep saving up for it. Not making great money, but I hate the lack of speed in my life. I love bikes."

And that's just the simple answer. Maybe he also wants and excuse to make Seifer flinch a how quick he goes, how close he cuts it. He would love to have Seifer be the one flinching for a change.

Jason can understand that, missing things from home. But he’s had two tours through the multiverse to get used to the lack of familiar things, and even though he wouldn’t admit to it, accepting that absence is easier with time.

“Did I ever tell you about how I met Batman?”

Perhaps Nida just hasn't had enough time yet, to adjust to losing things. To the absence. But he gets them up another flight of stairs and soon enough he's opening the door to the rooftop.

"That's the guy you met when stealing the tires off his car, right? I think you called him 'The Big Guy'. Are you saying that you'd steal the tires off my bike?"

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s bigger than I am, and I was twelve when we met - much smaller.” Jason pauses, remembering how terrifying it was to come face to face with the Bat back then. “My dad taught me how to steal tires off cars. One of the only decent things he ever did, ‘cause that’s how I took care of my mom after he was locked up for good - stole tires and sold ‘em for cash. And it was how I got by after my mom died, when I was living on the streets.”

So no, Jason isn’t likely to steal tires anymore. He’d only done it to survive.

Stealing tires off of cars. An intriguing thought in Nida's book. They're something that you can move quickly, they're not too hard to take off, and they're worth good money even used. In fact, he definitely applauds the initiative, and almost appreciates Jason's dad for teaching him it. Especially since he could support his family.

But the guy definitely needed something more than that back then. A better option. And Nida definitely doesn't like his dad for that.

"So you were both unlucky for not knowing that the vehicle you were stealing the tires from was this Batman guy," Nida really had NO concept of the Batmobile so he was just imagining a non-descript black car, "and lucky because he gave you a home."

And then betrayed Jason. If Nida ever met Bruce Wayne, he's punch the guy in the nose. Or try to. And probably fail.

It had taken Mira a while to find a gym that isn't trying to sell her dance classes or saddle her with small pink hand weights that "won't bulk her up." Why multiple gyms are teaching dance and a bizarre toddler's version of weight training instead of something useful, she has no idea and has chosen to chalk up as another mystery of life in a city outside the Emperor's protection.

The need to stay sharp had kept her searching despite her disgust, and she'd wandered into seedier parts of town where the inhabitants seem to place less emphasis on appearance, eventually finding a place with a sparring ring and more than one heavy bag. This lot still wouldn't know a fistfight if they woke up face-down and bleeding on the pavement--apparently refusing to use those ridiculous over-padded gloves makes her "hardcore"--but at least they're not afraid of a few bruises.

After so many nights of sleeping terribly in the grip of some new Warpcraft, Mira feels off her game in a way she hasn't in years, not even on Graia. Graia had been a disaster, but a knowable one, the sort of disaster she'd been capable of understanding, of reacting to in a fashion befitting an Imperial Guard officer. Nothing in Dualis makes sense. Xenos and psykers and people who don't even know enough of the Imperial Creed to count as heretics, and an AI sitting atop the entire wretched heap. At least exercise is something familiar and comforting.

"Damn, Nero, what'd the bag ever do to you?" another gym members asks, snapping her out of her reverie. "Might want to lay off until someone can tighten that down." He nods at the beam above the training bag, where one of the bolts securing it has started to come loose, and Mira realizes she may have been working out her frustrations a little too literally.

"Right." She smooths back the hair that escaped her ponytail. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"Remind me not to piss you off." He laughs. "I'll put up a note. You should get a drink and chill. You know how to chill, right?"

Not really, but Mira takes the teasing in stride. "I'm sure I can find instructions somewhere." She retrieves her water bottle and swigs from it, the room temperature liquid tasting faintly of plastic, which is still better than the iodine tablets they'd been using on Graia. Her knuckles smart despite the wraps, and she can feel the exertion in her arms and her core. A break might not be the worst idea, and she drifts towards the sparring ring, where a man about her age who strikes her as familiar is winning a bout.

He's actually fought before, the real thing, not sport combat with those idiotic gloves. She sees it less in the blows he lands than in the ones he skips, ignored openings where boxing rules would raise his score but place him in a vulnerable position if his opponent weren't to follow those rules.

The sense of familiarity nags at her. Certainly she might just be recognizing him from around the gym or perhaps the dorms if he's one of her unfortunate peers, but she doesn't think that's it.

When it hits her, it's almost literal. She knows his fighting style. She knows it because she remembers it, not from ever squaring off against him. From being him, at least for a few minutes, courtesy of whatever damned sorcery has them all in its grip.

"Oh, damn. It's you," Mira says, not noticing she's spoken until the words are out of her mouth.

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Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

i come with knives, with agony, to love you } cw mildly suicidal behavior.

Waiting Outside of Jason's Room

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