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thejusticelounge2014-03-29 04:00 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-03-29 04:00 pm
Entry tags:
try again tomorrow
He finds them in Coast City, which is a far off place from Gotham, right now. At least, it feels that way.
Roy’s skin is still sore from the chemical wash he’d taken—twice, he’d taken it, twice; whose genius idea had that been?—but had still suited up afterwards. It was quiet, most nights in Coast, and when it wasn’t, it wasn’t the sort of party that Roy liked to go to on his own.
So, he was pretty grateful when the night was turning out to be an easy sort of patrol, letting him text Mar’i here and there, as he worked his way over the low edges of apartment complexes in Chinatown. The weather was good, too, he decides, itching at a dry patch of skin over his wrist. It hadn’t been too bad, when he’d still been under the effects of whatever the spider thing had spit at him; he hadn’t really noticed how much it itched, then.
Now, Roy winced as he dipped his fingers in the cool rainwater collected in a bird feeder, pushing it over the chapped flesh where his wrist bracer was too-snug, and that was when he spotted them.
They did a great job hiding what they were doing, bringing the drugs out inside of the carry-out packages to the curb, where their clients waited. It wouldn’t have been obvious, if Roy hadn’t caught a look at one of the guys waiting by the door, poking and twitching like.. like a man on a fuzzy tree.
Uh huh.
He didn’t know what they were selling, but the operation looked smooth, so Roy made sure to keep himself low and discreet as he followed one of the customers out, running along the rooftops until he was sweating again, the itch of his skin starting up all over.
He makes the drop on them when they are far enough from the restaurant, the food unattended in the back seat, and he feels a bit raccoonish as he scurries back up the fire escape.
The little blue pills—Mr. Freeze? Or was this a new one— are wrapped inside of the fortune cookies, he discovered when he cracks open one of the two crackling little desserts, and Roy groans a bit, because it’s a little bit too cliché and Michael Bay-drug movie for him. Still, he knows that it might be a good development in the case Green Arrow and Manhunter had been working, and he rocks his head back and forth, cracking the vertebrae in his neck as he thinks.
Pulling out his comm, he steels himself for the message he needs to send their way, knowing that it might not begin that well—Roy had a letter, sitting on his kitchen island from Ollie; he hadn’t read it—and, really, might not end that well, because all of the past few days’ irritation—getting into a long, drawn out conversation with Kyle about the state of their friendship, still trying to make sure he didn’t fuck up again with Mar’i, watching her get injured over at Queen Tower while he stood by, high as a kite and just.. watched—was leaving him wanting to fight.
The itching was back.
Without warning, Roy cussed, and pulled off his wrist bracer, his entire body suddenly feeling like it was covered in hives and sucked his teeth—teeth not head—as he picked up the chinese food and chucked it in the garbage can, five stories down, ten feet away. He missed and that was it, that was it, he was going home, and taking another oatmeal bath, fuck this.
Picking up his bow, Roy looked down at the cellophane wrapped, single-serve pills, eight in all, that had come from the first fortune cookie, then at the second in his hand. He’d drop them off with Ollie in Gotham tomorrow, so all the tests could be run, the Bat analysis could commence. He’d show them how they came inside the little cookies, and then he could—
Pausing at the edge of the building, Roy pauses. Two cookies. Two sets of pills, along with the lo mein and special pork fried rice. Two guys in the car. He cracks open the second cookie, then, no fortune inside, and slides the second pack of pills inside one of the pockets of his suit.
His teeth crackle against the cookie as he grunts on the descent down: they’re stale, but Roy doesn’t find himself caring too much.
Roy’s skin is still sore from the chemical wash he’d taken—twice, he’d taken it, twice; whose genius idea had that been?—but had still suited up afterwards. It was quiet, most nights in Coast, and when it wasn’t, it wasn’t the sort of party that Roy liked to go to on his own.
So, he was pretty grateful when the night was turning out to be an easy sort of patrol, letting him text Mar’i here and there, as he worked his way over the low edges of apartment complexes in Chinatown. The weather was good, too, he decides, itching at a dry patch of skin over his wrist. It hadn’t been too bad, when he’d still been under the effects of whatever the spider thing had spit at him; he hadn’t really noticed how much it itched, then.
Now, Roy winced as he dipped his fingers in the cool rainwater collected in a bird feeder, pushing it over the chapped flesh where his wrist bracer was too-snug, and that was when he spotted them.
They did a great job hiding what they were doing, bringing the drugs out inside of the carry-out packages to the curb, where their clients waited. It wouldn’t have been obvious, if Roy hadn’t caught a look at one of the guys waiting by the door, poking and twitching like.. like a man on a fuzzy tree.
Uh huh.
He didn’t know what they were selling, but the operation looked smooth, so Roy made sure to keep himself low and discreet as he followed one of the customers out, running along the rooftops until he was sweating again, the itch of his skin starting up all over.
He makes the drop on them when they are far enough from the restaurant, the food unattended in the back seat, and he feels a bit raccoonish as he scurries back up the fire escape.
The little blue pills—Mr. Freeze? Or was this a new one— are wrapped inside of the fortune cookies, he discovered when he cracks open one of the two crackling little desserts, and Roy groans a bit, because it’s a little bit too cliché and Michael Bay-drug movie for him. Still, he knows that it might be a good development in the case Green Arrow and Manhunter had been working, and he rocks his head back and forth, cracking the vertebrae in his neck as he thinks.
Pulling out his comm, he steels himself for the message he needs to send their way, knowing that it might not begin that well—Roy had a letter, sitting on his kitchen island from Ollie; he hadn’t read it—and, really, might not end that well, because all of the past few days’ irritation—getting into a long, drawn out conversation with Kyle about the state of their friendship, still trying to make sure he didn’t fuck up again with Mar’i, watching her get injured over at Queen Tower while he stood by, high as a kite and just.. watched—was leaving him wanting to fight.
The itching was back.
Without warning, Roy cussed, and pulled off his wrist bracer, his entire body suddenly feeling like it was covered in hives and sucked his teeth—teeth not head—as he picked up the chinese food and chucked it in the garbage can, five stories down, ten feet away. He missed and that was it, that was it, he was going home, and taking another oatmeal bath, fuck this.
Picking up his bow, Roy looked down at the cellophane wrapped, single-serve pills, eight in all, that had come from the first fortune cookie, then at the second in his hand. He’d drop them off with Ollie in Gotham tomorrow, so all the tests could be run, the Bat analysis could commence. He’d show them how they came inside the little cookies, and then he could—
Pausing at the edge of the building, Roy pauses. Two cookies. Two sets of pills, along with the lo mein and special pork fried rice. Two guys in the car. He cracks open the second cookie, then, no fortune inside, and slides the second pack of pills inside one of the pockets of his suit.
His teeth crackle against the cookie as he grunts on the descent down: they’re stale, but Roy doesn’t find himself caring too much.