maskormenacelogs | giving up on ghosts that haunt me still

WHO: Jason Todd & Ana Ramir
WHERE: Jason's new office
WHEN: A couple days pre-kidnapping.
WHAT: Oh, this is your office? That was your locked window? Anyone could make that mistake, really.
WARNINGS: probably not

[ Ramir tries, really tries, not to indulge in that much petty crime. She doesn't need it anymore, for one thing. She's got all the money here she could want. And it would look pretty bad for her reputation as a business owner and an imPort spokesperson if she was caught at it. She can't even indulge in her alternate ID, because Taranto is meant to be reserved for the shit that really matters.

But honestly, sometimes you just have to.

She'd been on a bench across the street about ten minutes ago, enjoying a cup of frozen yogurt and idly eying the windows of the building across from her. She'd started tracing the fire escape up the side of it, and from there just couldn't get the idea out of her mind. It looks like a rich building, full of people who don't schedule their own appointments. Who knows what you might find in an empty office like that, right?

So here she is. It's dusk, and her dark outfit blends pretty well to the dark front of the building, and she hadn't seen any lights on in the few floors she passed on her climb up here. So she'd picked her window, settled down, and pulled out her lock pick set. It's just like the old days, she won't even use her super strength cheat for this one. She smiles to herself as she works at the lock on the window (it's not the type that takes a key, so it's hardly a challenge), feeling a little nostalgic. ]

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[Jason hates the fog that clouds his senses, The mandatory treatment regime had eased the burning in his bones, even the broken ones, but left him in a daze that was far worse than gammut of symptoms before. Hearing some crap about the freaking USSR cemented his doubts regarding his whereabouts and, more importantly, whenabouts. Something about a war and some kidnapping sounded right out of an 80s movie featuring some b-list bad guys with vaguely eastern european accents. After dealing with some real Russian gangsters, he was unimpressed.

But the stuttering of a window against its frame was real. 100% real. He'd heard it so many times in his life, it stuck out in fog like a beacon. Hoisting himself from his chair in the break room, right arm bound to his chest, he waltzed back into his office. The silhouette by the window earned a grin from the former roughneck.

He rapped his knuckles against the pane.]

No one's home.

[ She'd just gotten the lock and was in the final stretch of wiggling the window open, so the rap on the glass catches her about as off-guard as anything can. Her answer is something Italian, colorful, and doubtlessly not meant for polite society, and she jerks back and out of sight like she'd been shocked.

She's back again a second later though, all smiles, leaning down to see just who the hell is in there. A fuck up this embarrassing demands a smooth, fast recovery. ]

Whoa, hey! You scared the shit outta me. I'm guessing this isn't Frank's office, right?

[Jason doesn't catch the expletives; he only knows enough Spanish to save his life if need be. Instead, he waits for the silhouette to return and return it does. He raises an eyebrow at the would-be burglar through the pane of glass.]

I'm guessing you weren't looking for Frank. [He raps again on the window separating them.] Or else you'd use the front door.

[He finds himself wondering, for a moment, if he's looking back at some younger version of himself, all "graduated" from Crime Alley's infamous lessons. Nothing some stuffy suit behind a desk ever changed dung heap he crawled out of. More than ever, his broken arm weighs him down. Usually, he'd tell his visitor to scram, but he can't fight off an intruder with one working arm.

Time to try on his newest mask.]

Who taught you how to jimmy windows anyway, kid? You're doing it all wrong.

[ Okay, well, she'd been ready to be charming and polite and all smiles with this guy, but insulting her breaking and entering technique? She won't stand for that. ]

The hell I was. [ She pulls the window fully open and leans in, one arm draped along the sill, like she's stopping in for a chat with an old friend with no invitation required. You don't usually scowl like this at an old friend, though. ] How long were you watching, huh? My work is en pointe.

[ and then after a quick beat and the sudden thought that she should probably be defending her reputation a little, she tacks on: ] And Frank lost his keys, asked me to get his office open. Not my fault he's shitty at describing which one's his office.

[Jason fights down the grin creeping up his lips; he tends to have this effect on people. That and no one ever wants to be told they're wrong right to their face. Russian gangsters even less than the average joe. ]

I'm guessing Frank forgot to mention he doesn't work here. [He raises an eyebrow and cants his head to the side. Honestly, he doesn't know if some guy named Frank freaking works here or not, but he's not sure this kid does either. She's got experience doing this kind of thing and that hints that maybe she's barked up the wrong tree before. He has once or twice.]

My 3 o'clock cancelled anyway. [Jason shrugs his good shoulder and purposely turns away from her toward his desk. His ears remain open for any potential indications of an attack.] C'mon in.

[ She could defend Frank's made-up honor, but honestly, she doesn't really give a shit. He's not offended and about to call the cops, he doesn't really seem to care. She's happy to follow suit. So she takes the invitation and crawls in through the window, stretching the limbs that had been cramped up in break-and-enter pose for a while.

She takes the chance to look around, while she's at it. Get a feel for what the place is, who this guy is, what kinda money he has on hand... not that she's scheming anymore but, you know, good information to have. ]

Your 3 o'clock. What the hell kinda office did I just [ attempt to rob? how does she diplomatically phrase this? ] ... find my way into, anyway?

giving up on ghosts that haunt me still

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sorry for my slow ;;

nah you're fine <3