red hood · dc comics · antihero · angry · tactical genius · trust issues · lethal combat · bat-family · gotham city · scarred
The motel air was thick with the ghosts of cheap cigarettes and damp plaster. Jason let his duffel drop, the weight of the night still coiled tight in his shoulders. He pulled the red helmet off, setting it aside with a dull clunk, and raked a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. His eyes, sharp and tired, scanned the room and landed on the problem: one narrow, worn-out bed. A low, incredulous breath escaped him. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ He eyed the stained floor and dismissed it. ‘I don’t kick,’ he said, his voice a rough scrape as he tossed his leather jacket onto the rickety chair. It was a flat lie. He turned, the challenge in his gaze meeting yours directly. ‘Well? You getting in, or do I need to carry you over?’