WHO: Tommy Elliot aka Jason Todd and Donna Troy aka Princess Sparklepants :3
WHAT: Jason just wants to talk and catch up on what's going on in the real world, honest.
WHERE: That pizza place in the market.
WHEN: After Donna's
journal entry.
(
Jason is not an ex :| )
And yet, Jason Todd was always sort of an enigma to her. She'd known him for so long, and yet she didn't know him at all. A part of her had always wanted to change that, but being around him sometimes served as a reminder, or even a reflection, of some of the more complicated and undefinable feelings she had about cheating death, and about the woman she used to be.
The outfit she had arrived in was ... not entirely appropriate, as warm as the Island was. Could you even call your nightwear an outfit? Either way, she'd been muddy, and her hair had an extra wave in it from the previous night of rain. She probably didn't smell like roses, either, as she hadn't showered since her arrival, and was mostly concerned with finding answers and a possible way out.
However, if Jason was here, then others could be, too? Roy filled her in on this whole mistaken identity murder thing going on, but...
Never mind that. She poked her head from around the corner and spotted Jason, quickly pressing herself against the wall of the pizzeria, right outside of the door.
"Don't hit him for any comments he makes," Donna coached herself under her breath. "He's still Jason Todd, no matter what he's convinced himself of."
And she was off! Off meaning in, of course, as she entered as confidently as she could, giving him a somewhat stiff wave and trying not to mind the fact that she looked like hell.
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But the snarkiness was in full force. He notices her enter, of course, and spends an exaggeratedly long moment very obviously taking in her outfit. Or lack of one. The mud and general untidiness really didn't do anything to detract from things, in his view, as made evident when he lets out a low whistle.
"Why, Donna. You should have said you were dressed for more private affairs, I would've invited you back to my place." He smirks lightly.
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Still, it was irksome. After her disapproving look at Jason, she exaggerated some fake and saccharine laughter at him, pulling out the chair across from his at the table Jason had been seated at, and tried to run her hand through her hair coolly. Instead, it ended up getting caught in the tangled mess of what it was -- and she began trying to yank her fingers free, before noting that it would take too much effort.
So she just... kept them there. In her hair. For now.
"You're so funny, Jason!" Her grin faded into an annoyed look, hand still just awkwardly positioned and entangled into her clumped locks. "I had a wild night. Before I got here, too."
She added, before he could quip: "Alone. By myself, I mean. Not with someone else."
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He watched her get her hand stuck and keep trying to keep up the conversation as if nothing was wrong, and just couldn't keep his sharply amused grin in check. Donna was hardly coming across as the perfect princess she so often tried to be. He thought that act was kind of pointless, really - she was just fine being who she was.
He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Right, right, all by yourself. I couldn't possibly comment on what kind of wild things a girl could do all on her lonesome." Except that his wolfish expression was a comment all in itself. "It's Thomas Elliot as far as anyone not already in the know is concerned, okay? And Dickybird is calling himself Jimmy Olsen, although maybe jailbird would be more fitting right now."
Pause. Frown.
"And B is Clark Kent, but don't hold your horses for recognition there, he's not from our world. You know, we have brushes at our place, not to mention a free room. You really should consider coming back with me after dinner."
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"Jailbird?" Donna inquired lowly, glancing around, giving a hopeful tug at her hand but alas, it was still stuck. What the heck was in there!? A nest? "He's here? Don't tell me he's involved in whatever Roy got mixed up in." Her voice was losing its exasperation, and heading into den mother territorial protectiveness. All of these code names and false identities, and Donna had felt left out -- as she always was, in the codename department. Best just stick with Donna Troy, instead of adding on to another "phase" of whatever the heck she'd randomly decide to call herself.
"Or is this not the best place to explain things?"
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"No, he got himself into his own stupid jam. There was a fight with some guy who was trying to lobotomise," and there he paused for a moment, expression unreadable. "Impulse. The guy ended up dead, no loss to the world, but of course big bird handed himself in for it, even though it was accidental and all. So now he's sitting in a cell in the castle, waiting for things to get cleared up."
He leaned back a little and glanced around. "This is probably about as private as we can get without getting soaked or heading home, and I still owe you a pizza. What'll you be having?" Yes, he just included Donna in that home. What about it.
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It would be nice to have a break. In a nice bed. A bed, oh dear Hera she wasn't sure if she could be in one again without being encompassed with a sense of dread and paranoia and expectancy that a baby carriage would appear in her room again. She'd read enough books on coping with grief, on bereaved Mothers -- but she hadn't recalled hallucinations of animated corpses being in any of the pages.
"Veggie. Lots of black olives and mushrooms," Donna sighed, staring down at the glossy wood of the table. "I don't want to hear it if you're a mushroom-hater. I will defend them to the death."
The laugh she let out was tired. Very. Her eyes scanned for a restroom. Perhaps soaking her hair in the sink would help?
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"I think I can deal with mushrooms and olives for your sake." He waved one hand at her. "You go disentangle yourself from yourself, there, and I'll go get it. Just make sure you're back from the bathroom before the food is cold, I hear that's a problem girls have sometimes."
Still completely terrible, still seemingly unsympathetic, but definitely not smug about Dick's situation, oddly enough. A by-product of being stuck on this cut-off little piece of land with his dear brother was that, grudgingly or not, they were almost getting along. Sometimes, at least.
Jason got up to go place the order, planning to order - well, he'd like beers, but somehow he felt sure Donna would prefer fruit juice, of the drinks available here. So that's what he got, veggie pizza and fruit juice. Practically healthy.
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"I'll be quick, Tommy." She parted from her chair quickly, walking off to the little girl's room. A few minutes and quite the strenuous effort later, Donna Troy returned with her hair and shoulders soaked, victoriously waving her hand and its new-found freedom.
She made sure not to look in the mirror on her way back. The last thing she needed was to make ascertain that she looked as shitty as she had felt. As she passed Jason by, she trailed her finger against his chin lightly and affectionately, before settling down in her seat again. She flipped some of her hair over her shoulder, just to be annoying, and watched some of the water hit Jason in the face.
"Feels sooo much better!" Her tone was one of genuine delight.
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"Eugh, Donna - must you? Here I am without any towels. Leather is hardly the most absorbant material, you know." He nonetheless sets about rubbing his face... marginally drier with his sleeve. The waiter arrives with the pizza and drinks while Jason is busy with that, and he only spares a slight disparaging glance at the glorified rabbit food he's going to be sharing - the pizzas are really quite large, more than enough to split one, though obviously Donna will be taking the lion's share of this one.
"By the way, there's evidence to suggest I killed a hooker, but don't let that put you off your meal." ... Yes, that was perfect timing, Jason.
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Her eyes widened as she saw the pizza, fingers tensing before they found their way to the table, gripping. Most people would find this an overreaction to food.
Okay, it probably was, but that did not stop the woman from grabbing it, not minding how absolutely hot it was, and biting into a slice. A pleased noise elicited from her mouth, against the pizza, though soon she made a strangled one as she heard Jason speak again.
"You -- Hooker?!" She quickly covered her mouth as she gasped too hard, too fast, too soon, and inhaled a chunk of pizza. Let the coughing commence.
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"Tsk tsk, don't you know better than to speak with your mouth full? Such awful table manners." He leaned down to speak more quietly, close to her ear. "She turned up dead with a very distinctive stab wound, not long after I'd been talking to her. Now, if I say I didn't do it, you'll believe me, won't you?"
It was more of an honest question than he made it sound.
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She was quiet for a while, taken aback. Not by any details of the incident, of course. She brushed some dampened bangs out of her face, side sweeping them as she looked at Jason as if he'd grown another head.
"It's me, Jason." Donna's voice, though still a bit raspy from her choking fit, sounded completely aghast, as if he'd just said the most audacious thing she'd ever heard. "Of course I'd believe you."
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