**for redscales

[dontcallmejay]

Redscale.

What a fucking dumb name, Jason thought as he checked his holsters for the fourth time. Although he'd also admit that The Red Hood with a literal red helmet on his head had little room to talk about being a bit on the nose when picking an alter-ego. But hey, his name had a storied past, a fucking history behind it, not that anyone but Jason remembered. Anyway, that was beside the damn point that a name like Redscale was lame, and lamer still was how effortlessly the beast had fucked up Jason's month-long case on Liam Parsons, drug kingpin in the making but goddamn dumb enough to cross paths with a snake dude. The thing was, Liam was a worthless piece of shit, and Jason was glad he was dead, but he'd needed Liam for something much, much bigger, and now that end was loose again, and Christ he hated loose ends.

And nobody had ever accused Jason Todd of having a relaxed, easygoing personality or taking his time to think first, act second. His fuse was shorter than most, and when someone stepped on his turf, he tended to see red.

No pun intended.

Guns were locked and loaded, knives at the ready in case he could get close enough to swipe some scales off this asshole's fucking face (he wasn't actually sure if he had scales on his face or not, considering the video footage he'd pieced together from shitty surveillance cameras was pixelated at best). Bruce had always told him to bring backup even when he thought he didn't need it, but since when did Jason take anything Bruce said to heart? He'd do the opposite just out of spite.

So. Not his best plan to walk right into the snake pit (literally) with a gun out and at the ready, but fuck plans.

"Yo," he announced, his voice slightly altered behind the tech of the Red Hood's helmet and his entire body clad in leather and jeans, underneath of which was padding and bracers that put even more bulk on top of his muscles. He raised one gun and fired at the ceiling, loving the sound it made when it shattered wood and plaster came sprinkling down around him. "Red Hood here, looking for the big slimy thing that calls itself Redscale."

Comments

[dontcallmejay]

And this guy's got magic? That makes thing a little uneven on the playing field, but Jason was already out of his element fighting a half-snake, and it's not like magic is anything new to him. Plenty of that in Gotham, though this seems to be centralized around that staff, which Jason wants to rip out of the guy's hand and smash into his face.

The glass-sharp snow scrapes over the helmet hood, and Jason's glad for the protection of the leather jacket too, but it still gets ripped and the current of the shit is distracting enough that Redscale's tail whips straight into his shoulder and sends him flying. He's only human, after all.

Jason manages to catch himself, boots skidding on the concrete floor and the pads on the gloves of his hands helping to slow the momentum so he doesn't topple backwards into the wall. He ends in a crouch, helmet criss-crossed with magical scars, and laughs.

"And here I thought you'd be a pushover." The gun is back, aimed at the tail, because that seems to be his biggest problem at the moment.

[redscales]

Unfortunately, the snow is blinding both ways. Still, he smiles, tail curled closer to his body as the snow ebbs.

"I'm a veteran, actually. You're not a slouch, either. Having fun? I know I am."

His shoulder's pain is ebbing to a throb, but he patiently waits for Red Hood to get back up. He soon sees where he's aiming, but is unconcerned with moving too much right this moment. So long as that gun isn't aimed at a vital organ, well. He's been injured and healed up so much the pain is kind of thrilling.

"Provided I'm still alive after this, my folks will help you fix you back up, too. But be careful of Laken'mu. If you kill me, she'll probably put your head on her pike. She's stronger than I am."

[dontcallmejay]

"Hah, she can try."

Clearly, Red Hood isn't going down without a fight, and neither is Redscale, and it's a bit like having an opponent who can actually be considered an adversary. It's been a while since Jason's met someone he could actually call a fair matchup in a fight. And in fact, he thinks maybe Redscale is holding back a bit, which is annoying as fuck but it does give Jason pause to wonder why.

Not pause enough to stop shooting, the next few bullets going for his tail again as Jason charges in for close combat.

"If I didn't want to kill you so bad, yeah, this'd be a blast." But Jason's losing some of his own venom too, because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about Redscale's little proclamation: the one who is going to pull corruption and evil out of Gotham from its root, no matter the cost. That sounds an awful lot like what Red Hood is doing.

After a few more blows and swipes, the Red Hood takes a step back, head cocked to look Redscale over and see how big a dent he made. If any. Apparently, there are healers in this gang to patch him up, so Jason's not overly worried. About himself or Redscale. "I needed Parsons alive. If you're gonna be in Gotham to pull corruption out by the roots or whatever, you need to learn some fucking manners."

[redscales]

Okay, some of those bulletes hit their mark, and they really, really sting. He's grateful that his physiology blunts pain receptors to some extent, or else he'd really be, well, limping.

But he lets Red hood get close and personal, and Redscale tosses his weapon away in order to greet that hand-to-hand combat head on. His hands are easily twice the size of Red Hood's, and he meets him halfway, blow for blow, grinning and breathless.

He's definitely injured, but nowhere severely enough to make him flag. His blood is all over the place, one of the bullets having darted straight through his tail.

"Manners? I am... giving.. you manners by not just killing you outright. Lanine like me have...."

A beat, as his gaze widens in realization, and he inclines his head, lowering his hands entirely. If anything, he looks rather like a chastised puppy.

"...I was prideful. I am sorry. Educate me. You needed Parsons alive. But Parsons was about to give drugs to younglings to have them spread it further, and so I killed out of worry. You said Parsons had connections, deeper. Tell me? You are native to this place, yes? So you know intricacies better than I."

[dontcallmejay]

Beneath the hood, Jason is a sweaty, breathless mess. This guy means fucking business, and it's got Jason half-hard just from the adrenaline rush. He doesn't exactly have a death wish - been there, done that - but it's always arousing to toe the line between living and dying and feel like he's right there on that razor thin edge.

Also, Redscale may or may not have dislocated Jason's shoulder, and it hurts like a bitch to keep fighting. So sue him for taking a breather while Redscale lowers his hands. Big hands. Fully capable, Jason is sure, of twisting his head right off his neck like a lollipop if he wanted to.

"I sure fucking am," he snaps, massaging feeling back into his shoulder. It's going to need to be popped back into place, but he's fought through worse. And more to the point, Redscale mentioned kids, and fuck if that wasn't Jason's trigger. He finally lowers all weapons, holstering the smoking gun and the bloody knife. "Parsons was a little fish trying to play a shark. He's working for some organization that has its hands in more than just dealing smack to grade schoolers. I'd been watching him. He was about to lead me to those bigger fish when you killed him." He rolled his bad shoulder, trying to pop it but it wouldn't give. "I don't give a fuck that he's dead - I was planning to cut his dick off and feed it to him before I put a bullet in between his eyes - but I needed him alive a little longer."

[redscales]

Realizing that he'd fucked up worse than he thought, Redscale starts to lift a hand to rub the back of his head, except it's the one with the bullet lodged in it. He winces and switches so he doesn't upset his wound further. Furthermore, seeing Jason shifting his shoulder, it's easy to tell that it's dislocated. Moving very slowly to bridge the gap between them a bit, he keeps his hands lowered.

"Want assistance with your shoulder?

"Also, I hope you will accept my apologies one day. I did not have all the knowledge I needed, and I acted anyway, without thinking, and allowing my emotions to rule me. Since words can often ring hollow to most, allow me to prove my word by assisting you in retrieving this lost fishing line, so to speak. I have more than fifty people under my employ. We should be able to help locate the information I caused you to miss."

[dontcallmejay]

"That's a start," Jason says, but he doesn't let Redscale lay a hand on him. Not yet. Jason wasn't a very trusting individual to the people he called family; so a stranger got even more of a cold shoulder. "The shoulder's fine. If you're really keen on healing someone, you might wanna take a look at the bullets lodged in your ass." Or, well, tail. Whatever. "Which I'm not sorry about, because you deserved it fucking with months of hard work. It sounds like we're fighting towards the same things though, so maybe we call a truce and give each other a heads up if we find something the other might need."

[redscales]

The comment gets a laugh and he nods. Half-turning, he doesn't have to wait long for a few people to arrive from spectating, some offering some sort of tube-contained gel, which Redscale uses on the more superficial wounds.

"A truce sounds wonderful. I abide by those terms."

He winces as another companion starts to fuss over his bullet injuries. Yet another offers Red Hood a similar tube of that something.

"Here! It won't fix your shoulder, or your clothes, but it'll fix everything else."

Its label seems to have been written by hand and sealed on, somehow. Listing several foreign ingredients as well as their function (antibactial, cell-mending accelerator, etc.)

The room gradually gets even more lively, especially when a pale-haired, female snake-woman enters the room. She's even bigger than Redscale by several feet, and even more muscular, holding a spear that is at least triple Red Hood's height, adorned by colorful feathers and bone fragments. The bladed end on it is long and curved, too. Frowning, she slithers right up to Redscale, noticing his wounds, and pokes his chest with a scarred finger.

"Medbay. Now, idiot." Her voice is low and somewhat rough, but calm.

"I'm fine! It can wait a few minutes."

The large serpent starts to roughly lift up Redscale like he weighs nothing, up and atop her shoulder, and the latter squawks and squirms indignantly.

"I said I'm fine!!... I guess I'm going this way though. Be back in a jiffy. I guess. --I mean it, let go!"