Hank Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sociallychallenged) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dualisnet2019-06-21 02:08 pm
sociallychallenged) wrote in dualisnet2019-06-21 02:08 pm
TEXT: Day after the Festivities
The police are conducting an official investigation but I want to conduct my own independent investigation. In my experience that usually solves cases a little more quickly. [That's how he and Connor made it as far as they did, superseding what was technically required of them. The end result was also the better result for the world, not the preferred result for the powers that be, too.]
I know some of you were close to the bombing. If you're interested and able to give me some information I'll be in the kitchen on floor six for the rest of the evening.
[Anyone that comes to find him will be lucky. For the moment he'll be listening to some jazz he loaded onto a music player and speaker he found in a thrift shop rather than metal. But you better believe when it's necessary he'll switch to metal if he has to. In the meantime he's also reading an actual paper book, a softcover novel that he was lucky enough to find.]
no subject
Sure ... I guess I could eat.
[without a fight is definitely not how jason expected to be met. but with a fight is usually how he expects to be met. he takes a deep breath and makes an effort to sound less gruff.]
Wasn’t Bosnia that brought me back. Where I’m from, there’s something called a Lazarus Pit. It’s a literal pool of youth, owned by this international terrorist type, my former partner’s great nemesis. [here jason pauses to roll his eyes.] He’s been around for centuries - just takes a nice dip whenever he starts getting old and creaky, comes back out good as new. He got his hands on what was left of me, dropped me in the Lazarus Pit, and out I came. [he spreads his hands out in front himself, a silent ta-da.] Fixed a lot of me, but not everything.
[definitely not his mental state, nor the simmering rage that has lived inside of him for as long as he can remember. even a mystical pool has its limits.
jason hesitates for a moment, then settles on his decision to show hank solid proof. he steps closer and pulls the hem of his shirt up to show the scars scattered across the skin of his torso. some are clearly newer and much more visible, but underneath those are older scars, healed in an accelerated manner by the lazarus pit: faded remnants of flash burns, a gunshot, too many cuts to count, some stitched, some not.]
Some of this is stuff that happened after I came back, but the older stuff’s from before.
no subject
You know, as far as head-fucking resurrections go. [Because he is aware that judging the similarities on brain-numbed resurrections is kind of hard to evaluate when you come back after some violent beaten to death or stabbed bullshit.]
[He arranges his half of the pizza.]
Low-level personal question. What do I call you and what do you want on your half of the pizza?
['What do I call you' rather than asking for a name. Sometimes he's had to adjust to that system of remembering people, especially in places like this and in situations where someone's already been pissed off over being arrested.]
no subject
[that sounds right up ra’s’ alley, from what jason knows of him. the question about comparing his resurrections makes jason go quiet as he mulls it over - not a topic he likes to dwell on, but at this point, he may as well give it his full effort. in for a penny, etc. he rubs a hand over his mouth - knuckles bandaged from where he’d split them punching the temple walls - then shrugs.]
Well, I didn’t wake up underwater this time, so that’s a slight improvement. And I guess it wasn’t as much of a surprise, since it happened before. But I didn’t expect to come back a second time. I was OK with the idea of being done, y’know? So it was still kinda unexpected.
[jason goes quiet, chews on his bottom lip. why is he telling all of this to a complete stranger - a cop, no less? maybe it’s just because hank’s listening - really listening, not angrily chastising him for the pain his death caused, like nida, not full of guilt, like cissie and tim. jason actually finds that he appreciates the detachment vibe he gets from hank.]
Jason. My name’s Jason. [he realizes a moment after that he’s missed a prime opening for a call me ishmael joke. oh well.] Is hamburger and onion an option?
no subject
[He'll be happy to see Cole on the other side.]
[Hank grunts softly at the comment, though, rather than saying too much. Maybe the moment of commiseration strikes his face, but it doesn't come out his mouth because like fuck would he understand coming back from that.]
[He looks at the ingredients thoroughly.]
They at least have what they call beef and onions. Might be some alien three-headed fish that tastes like beef but that's close enough to me. I'll trust that a human agreed on the flavor.
[He starts putting in the order.]
Whoever committed the bombing was at the scene when it went off. Had to have some sort of detonator on them. That's why the winter coat thing made me curious. It bothers the hell out of me that the robots just fuckin' tranqued you instead of talking to you at the scene and getting you a medic. I just got over hating androids, I don't wanna go right back to being pissed off about it. [He sounds pretty irritable about that, but he might have to.]
What sort of business were you into that terrorists were bringing you back to life and assassins were slitting your throat in a span of a couple of different universes?
no subject
hank seems to know what he's talking about with the bomb and the detonator - jason has plenty of experience with explosives, too - and it seems like there's a story there with the androids, but jason files that question for now in favor of answering hank's.]
Guess you could say I'm in the vigilante business? Since cops and laws don't seem to be getting the job done, where I'm from. First time I died was more of a general sense of duty, going after a criminal who's responsible for the deaths and suffering of hundreds if not thousands of people. I made some stupid mistakes and he got the upper hand. Second time ... the guy came after my friends. I couldn't let that happen. Better me than them, y'know? Old habits die hard.
[ha. his mouth twists into not quite a smile and his gaze drops while he thinks about that, about things cissie said to him when they'd reunited here. about how long they've known each other, through now three weird side trips through the multiverse, how she was immediately kind to him when he showed up in wonderland, bruised and bloody and angry and hurt in more than just the physical sense. something about hank reminds him of how that all went down, and he glances up at him again.]
Why're you being so nice to me right now? You typically play the good cop?
no subject
[He scratches the back of his head. Alright. Vigilantism. He's not really a fan of it, but then again sometimes it has is place. Wierd thing to think, but what the fuck is a private investigator or a bail bondsman if not minor brands of vigilante? Just with a permission slip.]
[So he doesn't really scold. Not when apparently the robots will arrest the guy for existing immediately.]
Some laws are bullshit time-wasters. They just sort of get made to band-aid up a bigger wound that needs stitching and they just get left. It's a problem in any universe. I guess I got lucky in mine. Detroit still has problems but not at the level we used to.
[But he does see why the guy is messed up. But thousands of people? Really? Sounds like a corporate guy to him.]