Passengers: Jason & Bucky; Lucifer; Grace + maybe more later. Location: here and there Date: March 10. Summary: Bird arrives, does warden tour. Warnings: Panic attack, alcoholism, talk about death, will add as things come up
This had become far more interesting than he'd expected. His brows ebb inward as thoughts flood to the forefront but Jason's also not sure how much he wants to give away. It's safer to pretend he's still just a snot-nosed street kid.
"Need more coffee," he says abruptly, slowly getting up to his feet. "We're not all bad," comes as a passing comment when his feet shuffle past Grace, a nod of his head inviting her to walk with him.
The question of what redemption means still remains because if she's really from a place similar to him then she knows more than likely anyone else here that this place, far as he can tell, is still upholding the same oppressive systems of control.
Grace uncurls, placing her feet back on the floor and walking off after Jason, as though she hadn't just been sitting in midair. She doesn't need to walk, and in fact shouldn't, given what it does to her back, but not everybody gets to know she can fly. Which, she supposes, makes Jason special, somehow.
How she knew that, or more accurately, why she knew that, is another thing. She just... recognized something in this boy that felt familiar, something that felt like her friends back home. She thought about Ruby, bruised and black-eyed, stitching herself up again and again, not because she didn't trust anyone else, but because she didn't want anyone else to feel imposed on by her own weakness. She thought about Ava, hiding her real feelings under layers of masks-- physical strength, confidence, charisma, beauty-- all a performance so that no one would guess at the turmoil inside and dismiss her capabilities out of hand. Toughness comes in so many shapes, and it is almost always a misdirection, developed to protect an innate vulnerability underneath, one that runs deep and vital, one that can never be cut out, only covered up.
The world is cold, and harsh, and so Grace has always felt that there's a certain bravery in weakness. Maybe Jason has it in him.
"That's true," she agrees, finally. "Many of the inmates here seem to be at least decent people. Just ones who made choices... well, that landed them here."
Those were exactly his type of people. They were. Before Bruce, and he'd left the majority of them thinking he could make a bigger impact. Thinking he mattered to someone in a way they couldn't fulfill, or maybe he was just a fucking idiot. There are a lot of thoughts, actually, that really rush in after death. You know, the should haves. The could haves. Things you'd do if you had a second chance.
Pale blues look over to Grace as they walk down the hall toward the kitchens. He's slow, he's dragging along. Looks about the same as he feels. "People say that like some of us had a choice." Sure, there was technically always a choice, but humans want to servive. They want to thrive. "That's the problem with places like this; its always been the problem with jail back home."
"...After a while you might find there's some ways this place is different than jails back home. That's if your home is anything like mine, and it kind of sounds like it might be."
Her dark, wide stare slides over to meet his-- her eyes are enormous in her stark face, her irises so dark it's hard to tell their actual color, sometimes-- they seem to be in perpetual shadow, less reflective than they ought to be somehow. And it seems like she doesn't blink nearly as much as she should.
She says that like its a comfort, but the truth was even if Gotham was a shitty place it was the devil he knew. He'd operated outside of Gotham before but it just never took for more reasons than one.
"Maybe that's the problem," Jay flicked his gaze up to her, slowly becoming less and less unnerved by the... herness. Honestly, she'd fit in well back home and he thought for a moment to tell Grace a little about it but. There was time for that. "I know those systems," Jason stepped into the mess hall, trudging his way toward the end goal, "but a place pretending it's not like that? Can't help looking for holes, you know?"
"It's understandable. Nobody else trusts anything here either. Probably a good instinct to have. But it's hard to live without trusting something outside of yourself. People go crazy for less!"
She says that like it's a comfort, which. Says a lot about Grace, really. She just follows him into the mess hall, trying not to make direct eye contact with anyone who might be milling about within, but taking note of who else is there. Perceiving, but not being perceived. It's a difficult line to walk. Grace is used to floating above it. That isn't always an option here.
Makes him think of Bruce. A person who trusts nothing and no one. He thought otherwise for a long time. On the surface, it looked like the guy trusted a number of people but he learned. He learned, eventually. If Grayson was right about anything, and Jason really didn't wanna give him any fucking credit for anything, he was right about Bruce. To an extent, at least.
"Hard for other people around you," he corrected but didn't choose to say anything more as he grabbed some coffee and nodded back toward the door. Like her, Jason also did his own sweep of the area. Hold on, he's gonna get a second coffee just in case. "you want one?"
"I'll have one, if you're having another," Grace accepts. The weirdly bitter, unsweetened space-coffee here is barely drinkable to a palette like hers, so used to caramel syrups and whipped cream and other insane additives that make it barely coffee at all. She'd always had a sweet tooth, hence all the baking, but she'd been forced to readjust, here.
About that, and a lot of things. She tries to keep her eyes on Jason, attempting to ignore the feeling of other eyes in the cafeteria crawling on her spine, assessing the new kid, assessing her with him.
"There's always things you can trust about people, though. Personality traits you can identify, patterns of behavior people stick to. When you look close enough." Plenty of people looking closely at people, here.
Welcome to jail life, Grace. Though she's been here longer than he has, Jason had some experience with this kind of thing. It was different, Gotham didn't have Wardens but there were always those inmates who had it in good with some of the staff. It was the smart thing to do, but you don't do it too much-- want the advantages of being friendly but don't want to be a suck-up.
Problem was: he didn't fucking care, and on immediate inspection, even though this was a prison, he didn't... it wasn't like a normal prison. Though they hit that talking point before. He'd fight the whole system still, cause it was some real bullshit, but the cell life? Eh, Jason could afford to be a little more lax.
With coffee in hand, he's more than happy to head back down the hall and out of here. "Sure, it's easy to clock some people. But in places like this everyone has their own MO. Better not to forget that." A moment. "And besides, they bribe warden's to do this work, don't they?"
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"Need more coffee," he says abruptly, slowly getting up to his feet. "We're not all bad," comes as a passing comment when his feet shuffle past Grace, a nod of his head inviting her to walk with him.
The question of what redemption means still remains because if she's really from a place similar to him then she knows more than likely anyone else here that this place, far as he can tell, is still upholding the same oppressive systems of control.
no subject
How she knew that, or more accurately, why she knew that, is another thing. She just... recognized something in this boy that felt familiar, something that felt like her friends back home. She thought about Ruby, bruised and black-eyed, stitching herself up again and again, not because she didn't trust anyone else, but because she didn't want anyone else to feel imposed on by her own weakness. She thought about Ava, hiding her real feelings under layers of masks-- physical strength, confidence, charisma, beauty-- all a performance so that no one would guess at the turmoil inside and dismiss her capabilities out of hand. Toughness comes in so many shapes, and it is almost always a misdirection, developed to protect an innate vulnerability underneath, one that runs deep and vital, one that can never be cut out, only covered up.
The world is cold, and harsh, and so Grace has always felt that there's a certain bravery in weakness. Maybe Jason has it in him.
"That's true," she agrees, finally. "Many of the inmates here seem to be at least decent people. Just ones who made choices... well, that landed them here."
no subject
Pale blues look over to Grace as they walk down the hall toward the kitchens. He's slow, he's dragging along. Looks about the same as he feels. "People say that like some of us had a choice." Sure, there was technically always a choice, but humans want to servive. They want to thrive. "That's the problem with places like this; its always been the problem with jail back home."
no subject
Her dark, wide stare slides over to meet his-- her eyes are enormous in her stark face, her irises so dark it's hard to tell their actual color, sometimes-- they seem to be in perpetual shadow, less reflective than they ought to be somehow. And it seems like she doesn't blink nearly as much as she should.
no subject
"Maybe that's the problem," Jay flicked his gaze up to her, slowly becoming less and less unnerved by the... herness. Honestly, she'd fit in well back home and he thought for a moment to tell Grace a little about it but. There was time for that. "I know those systems," Jason stepped into the mess hall, trudging his way toward the end goal, "but a place pretending it's not like that? Can't help looking for holes, you know?"
no subject
She says that like it's a comfort, which. Says a lot about Grace, really. She just follows him into the mess hall, trying not to make direct eye contact with anyone who might be milling about within, but taking note of who else is there. Perceiving, but not being perceived. It's a difficult line to walk. Grace is used to floating above it. That isn't always an option here.
no subject
"Hard for other people around you," he corrected but didn't choose to say anything more as he grabbed some coffee and nodded back toward the door. Like her, Jason also did his own sweep of the area. Hold on, he's gonna get a second coffee just in case. "you want one?"
no subject
About that, and a lot of things. She tries to keep her eyes on Jason, attempting to ignore the feeling of other eyes in the cafeteria crawling on her spine, assessing the new kid, assessing her with him.
"There's always things you can trust about people, though. Personality traits you can identify, patterns of behavior people stick to. When you look close enough." Plenty of people looking closely at people, here.
no subject
Problem was: he didn't fucking care, and on immediate inspection, even though this was a prison, he didn't... it wasn't like a normal prison. Though they hit that talking point before. He'd fight the whole system still, cause it was some real bullshit, but the cell life? Eh, Jason could afford to be a little more lax.
With coffee in hand, he's more than happy to head back down the hall and out of here. "Sure, it's easy to clock some people. But in places like this everyone has their own MO. Better not to forget that." A moment. "And besides, they bribe warden's to do this work, don't they?"