welcome to the justice lounge

Tak wanders into Jason’s side of the Arrow Penthouse, finding some of the cats and deciding to play with them with a feather toy. He watches how they stalk and hunt the feathers, fascinated.

Jason is asleep in his room, waking from his dreamless slumber when he hears someone moving around in the next room. With a yawn, he gets up, stretches and wanders out of the bedroom, faint smile sliding onto his face when he spots Tak. “Hey squirt. What’cha up to?”

Tak doesn’t look over right away, frowning as he tries to twitch the feathers in just the right way to interest one of the cats who seems bored by it all. “I wanted to see them,” he explains. “Sometimes it’s nice to play with animals who aren’t as desperate for love as dogs are.”

Jason meanders over, scooping up a gray tabby on his way and tucking her in tight against him. “Gonna have a hard time getting that one to play,” he says, nodding at the disinterested cat, a regal, darkly colored creature. “She’s kind of a brat about stuff like that, doesn’t like to play much unless there’s food involved.”

Tak stops swishing the feathers at the cat, regarding her for a while before putting the toy down. “I can respect that,” he announces, slightly pompously. “I’m like that sometimes too.” He sits down on the arm of a sofa, idly petting one cat who jumps up onto the sofa seat. “Do you like living here? I don’t mean in this city, I mean in this house.” Tak adds hurriedly as if he’d just realized how the question could be taken, “That might have sounded rude, I don’t mean to be rude. I only want to know if you like it here.”

( drop a drop on you )

Tak digs through the sandwiches in the cafeteria cold case, reading the varieties and making faces, tossing some of them out on the floor. He puts some of them aside on a tray and drops others back into the cold case, but not on the shelves.

Damian Wayne waits in the archway that leads into the dining room, jaw set as he observes the boy from afar. It’s not difficult to conclude that he’s the one Queen spoke of last night: visitors to the Watchtower aren’t a common occurrence, not unescorted as this one seems to be. Damian strides toward him with his usual gait, prepared to interrogate, but some gear within him seems to click into a different notch halfway there. “Hello!” he says brightly— obnoxiously, by his estimation— when he’s closer. His teeth flash wide in a smile that’s stretched at the corners. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Tak doesn’t pause in his rooting among the sandwiches, coming out with one and waving it at Damian. “Is this something people eat here willingly?” he demands. “It sounds disgusting! It’s not even a food! I’ve never heard of a—” he consults the package, “fluffernutter. That’s not real.” He pushes aside a discarded egg salad sandwich with his foot. “Disgusting,” Tak repeats. “My name is Tak Tomonago. Who are you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before demanding, “Do you know Mia Dearden?”

Damian Wayne laughs, a noise that’s some hybrid of Bruce’s feigned chortle and Grayson’s genuine mirth. “It is disgusting,” he agrees, reaching around Tak to pluck a feta and roasted pepper wrap from the cold case before handing it to him. “And this one is only slightly less offensive. I’m Alexander— Rayner,” he falters before selecting a surname. “And yes, I know her. Are you here to train too, then? I haven’t seen you on the Tower before.”

( my mom could totally assassinate your mom )