For a moment, the boy bowed up like he was going to argue and the wolf in him stretched out it's muscles and bared it's fangs in anticipation of a fight. He was homicidal, not suicidal --mostly-- and even his more basic instincts knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that tangling with a mage that smelled of as much power as Tim did was a death wish. But the fight didn't come and Jason breathed out a small huff of relief as he sent the younger man back to his Nest to get the promised sleep and caloric intake.
He ran through the rest of his patrol on double time, letting his people know that he was going to be gone for the next night. Maybe two, if things went South. Honestly, it could be longer, but he wasn't going to plant that idea until he absolutely had to. Amanda cornered him and asked questions and he rolled his eyes and evaded and, eventually, she'd cussed him out in Spanish and told him to just keep his phone on him.
He made a mental note to build her a very nice gun.
The next evening, the sun was barely below the tops of Gotham's buildings before Tim's phone buzzed with a message.
'I'm waiting on the street. Hurry up, your security guards are looking like they want to piss on my tires.'
On the street, Jason stood out in his ripped jeans and leather jacket, his ass resting on the edge of the '64 Chrysler 300 that he'd taken the time to meticulously restore back to it's original beauty. A cigarette balanced precariously between his lips as he gave Tim a jaunty little salute.
no subject
He ran through the rest of his patrol on double time, letting his people know that he was going to be gone for the next night. Maybe two, if things went South. Honestly, it could be longer, but he wasn't going to plant that idea until he absolutely had to. Amanda cornered him and asked questions and he rolled his eyes and evaded and, eventually, she'd cussed him out in Spanish and told him to just keep his phone on him.
He made a mental note to build her a very nice gun.
The next evening, the sun was barely below the tops of Gotham's buildings before Tim's phone buzzed with a message.
'I'm waiting on the street. Hurry up, your security guards are looking like they want to piss on my tires.'
On the street, Jason stood out in his ripped jeans and leather jacket, his ass resting on the edge of the '64 Chrysler 300 that he'd taken the time to meticulously restore back to it's original beauty. A cigarette balanced precariously between his lips as he gave Tim a jaunty little salute.