The Least Awesome New Years Ever
Roleplaying Log: The Least Awesome New Years Ever
IC Details

Roy is tempted by a stash, but Eddie manages to convince him not to break into it.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: December 31, 2018
IC Location: New York City
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 03 Jan 2019 06:31
Rating & Warnings: R for language
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Not too far away, spotlights rake the skies and a big glowing ball is about to drop over Times Square. The music can be heard on this rooftop too, the base thumping clearly but the treble lost in the distance and the sound of the crowd. Roy Harper shouldn't be here. He should be down in Gotham, celebrating with friends and family. He still has some of that, or at least the friends part, since his only family is fast asleep (or at least she better be). Instead, he stands on a rooftop in New York City, staring down into a skylight with a scraped-up frame. His bow is on his back, his hood up, suit heaters going this time because he's here to get high, not die of hypothermia. He tries to look at the bright lights of the Rockin' New Year's Eve, but his eyes get inexorably drawn back to the skylight, lit by a light in another room.

"God damn it, Roy," he mutters to himself. "You're not going to do this." Despite his words, he collects a glass-cutter arrow (because that's a thing he invented) from his quiver, bouncing it in his hand as he studies the skylight. "You don't need to do this. You don't need it." He needs the easy hit so bad that he came up from Gotham just for this score.

Eddie's footsteps are softer tonight, clunky boots traded for traditional Kabi footwear that lets her maneuver more silently up the fire escape. Warm black leggings, a fitted leather jacket and a black woolen cap make her feel more like herself than she has in weeks. That, and the familiar weight of her sidearm resting against now unbandaged ribs give her added confidence as she vaults over the low retaining wall of the roof where she stays low in a crouch once she realizes she's not alone up here.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Tiger." Of course she recognizes Arsenal, his image has been plaguing her dreams. Little snippets of images that filtered in from touching him while they slept despite her best efforts. It must have been her cheek on his chest or a sliver of wrist that touched him. She won't be making that mistake again.

After the words are spoken, she remains low to the ground with her arms outspread in case he decides to loose one of those arrows in her direction so she can roll either way.

Turnabout is fair play, of course, and Roy whirls around, his arm cocking back the arrow to throw as his left hand reaches for one of the batons strapped to his lower leg. Who throws an arrow, really? In this case, not Roy. His lips tighten at how easily she caught him out, and he grimaces. It takes him a moment to dig through drunk and hung-over images to recognize her in her more chic attire, and then he pushes his grimace up into a cocky grin as he lowers his arm, "Training Wheels. You're looking better than last time." Was that a compliment? A neg? He's looking more sober, but also more like he doesn't want to be, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow over the domino mask despite the chill of the night. "And are you going to take me in for ogling?" Which is a half-admission of how covetously he was looking down into the skylight — and half flirting, complete with a waggle of his eyebrows (which looks distinctly odd as it moves his mask).

When the arrow is going to be thrown it wouldn't take much to dodge it, Eddie just shifts her weight from one leg to the other so if he had loosed it in that moment it would have just clattered to the bricks behind her. "Usually beer goggles don't work that way, Arse-nal. The more you drink the better I'm supposed to look. Not the other way around. Unless you're even more drunk than you were before?" Her head tilts quizzically as she takes a moment to study him, still wary of that reach to the baton should he follow through with it.

"I'll leave the vigilante bullshit to you. But you're not going to bust that apartment on my tip. Go bust up some other drug den." Because clearly that's what he's doing, right? He's going to raid the place for the dealers, not the drugs. Slowly she uncurls from her crouch to her full height, which is just a smidge below his. "Actually you're looking worse than I remember. Guess I was the one wearing the goggles."

Tucking the arrow into his quiver again, Roy shakes his head slightly, "You were a Mean Girl, weren't you?" That to 'Arse-nal.' He straightens up again, leaving the baton alone, "There's a curve of attractiveness when it comes to drunk women." Sketching an arc that goes up, peaks, and comes back down again, he narrates, "To a certain point, the drunker they get, the more attractive they are, with or without beer goggles, but then you hit a certain point," the high point, "and then you just get to sloppy drunk. Like cuddling up to strangers on a rooftop drunk." Glancing back to the skylight again, he brushes his fingertips over his thumbs, "Well, busting it does have a certain New Year's appeal, but I'm pretty sure they're out partying." He covers the fact that he wasn't planning on busting them pretty well, despite the needy little gesture of his fingers. "And I've been told that bourbon-goggles are a strong influence, but I've gotta say I'm disappointed. I take pride in looking even better the morning after." Or, you know, a week later.

"Wait." Eddie shoves her hands into her pockets, strolling forward. "If you thought they weren't going to be here anyway, then…you weren't here to bust them in the first place." Closer now, her eyes are working diligently over his face from his mouth to his shadowed eyes behind the mask to the sweat on his forehead. "You're jonesing aren't you?" This should be crowed with great amusement, but there is a note of honest sympathy coloring her voice instead. "And now you know there's a stash down there, so you thought it'd be an easy score. For shame, masked hero. For shame."

"Hey, I didn't know that they'd be gone," Roy has to protest at first, at least, although he subsides relatively quickly, grimacing and looking aside. The advance causes Roy to ball up a fist, then shakes out his arm to loose his fingers from the fist, and he shakes his head. "For shame, hell. I didn't do anything." Probably because Eddie showed up more than any inherent ability to resist the call of H. His lips press together as he continues to struggle against the urge to lash out, physically or verbally, "It's just a criminal. No shame in relieving a dealer of his stash." In keeping and using the stash, quite a lot of shame. "Then again, that's what you were here to do too. Hell, the stash is probably long gone." So he'd been telling himself repeatedly to try to avoid breaking in.

Morales ignores the rest. She doesn't give a shit if he had gotten the drugs out of there or not. Her concern was him busting one of the leads she has in the city to getting high herself. "How long's it been since you last used?" The question is asked more to the toes of his shoes than the man himself, a slash of dark hair sliding over in front of her eyes as she casts her face down, providing a convenient curtain to her humanity from the brim of her beanie.

Roy's fingers work again, trying to bleed off nervous energy, to bleed off the need to move. With his friends, with his allies, he would deny, deny, deny. He has to talk to Dick mere hours after he comes down from a dose, so the ace detective doesn't spot it. With a stranger on a rooftop, someone whose name he doesn't even know? His shoulders loose slightly, slumping as they do. "Four days." Which puts him at about peak symptoms for serious addiction, so maybe he's 'lightly' addicted, or maybe he's doing pretty well — or maybe he's just covering the depression, aches, chills, and other assorted bodily failures better than most.

"Mm." Comes the one note from Eddie, a hand emerging from the depths of her pocket only to unzip her jacket and reach inside. For both of their benefits, she should just pull her gun and put the poor sot out of his misery. Instead, she's coming up with a little baggie of white, round pills. "Hold out your hand." She says quietly, still keeping her face averted. It's easy to look head on at the world when you're hiding behind a layer of prickly sarcasm. It's harder to face when you're trying to be a decent human being. "Palm up, and no sudden movements, or I'll lay you out faster than you can draw your next breath." There. That's better.

To be honest, Roy is expecting the gun. He tightens up his stomach behind the protection of his Arsenal-suit, and his left hand slips behind his back, reaching for one of the blades stored there — but she doesn't draw a weapon, and so he doesn't draw a weapon. Instead, she offers out the white, round pills, "First rule of being an addict, Training Wheels, don't take pills from a stranger." Second rule of being an addict, yeah, take them anyhow. He holds out his hand in its fingerless glove, slowly as requested. "Why?"

"If I wanted to kill you, Asshole, I would chose something way more fun than doping you." Eddie withdraws one of the white pills from the package and drops it from an inch away into his palm. "It's methadone. It's not gonna last you long, but at least it'll take the worst of the edge off for a while. At least you won't be feeling much pain."

The why is a harder question to answer, and so she just gives the shrug of one shoulder like it's no big deal. She does this sort of thing all the time. Nothing to see here, move along. "Because you aren't much fun when you're off your game. Cheers." She pops one of the pills into her own mouth, dry swallowing the tablet down whether or not she's due for another dose.

"This better not be iocaine powder," Roy notes idly as he pops the pill, dry-swallowing it with a little grimace. At least he can even make jokes while jonesing. It's an important skill that works neatly with the ability to make jokes while in the midst of chaotic combat. The mystery woman swallowing one of the pills relaxes his shoulders a little, but really, just the promise of something to take the edge off would have been enough. As he focuses in on the heat and narcotics he imagines he can feel spreading out from his stomach, something she said catches on his brain the second time past. "Oh, so you did think that I was fun then. Good, I'd hate to get off my game of entertaining mystery women on cold rooftops, Training Wheels."

"That arrow through the bottle trick?" Eddie tucks the packet of pills back away into their safe compartment, "Nah, I still think that was lame." She still has a smile for him though, even though it's on the 'barely recognizable' side. It's just a tick up of both corners of her mouth that turns them into apostrophes instead of commas.

Morales stomps her feet in her soft shoes, keeping the warmth flowing. It seems a lot colder up here tonight when she doesn't have the benefit of booze warming her belly. "Let me know when you start to feel that kick in, yeah?" She glances over her shoulder, then past him, trying to get a better idea of the layout up here now that she's thinking more soberly.

"I guess it works better in crowds. Or when there's another bottle around. I just have to remember not to do it with glass bottles." Roy grins slowly at the tiny lift to the corners of her mouth, "I'll let you know when the fireworks start." Or, you know, the opposite of fireworks, the nice slow mellow rather than the rush of heroin. The glance aside — and the promise of a coming high — lets him focus in on her rather than his own cravings, "So we both know what I'm doing up here. What are you doing up here, unless you're just shitting me about how lame my tricks were, and you're looking for round two of snuggling."

Eddie flicks a lock of dark hair out of her eyes with a swipe of her gloved finger so she can give him a flat look that's unobstructed. "I was seeing if I could go two for oh on the shitty holiday thing. We keep up this streak, and we're destined to have a very not so awesome Valentines together too. Does that mean we're going steady?" Comes her sardonic response, because it's easier to ladle on the attitude than deal with any real emotions, like loneliness.

"You tripped my proximity alarms, dumbass." Is dumbass a step up from asshole or is it more of a lateral move? She thumbs over to a corner where there is a small black box hidden amongst some wiring conduits. "This is the part where I tell you that dealer's fox hole down there? I was hired a while back to help protect it. Those days are behind me now, but I never got around to removing the tech." Another shrug from muscles that start to feel as if they are going a little liquid.

"I don't know. Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, those are the easy ones." Roy understands defensive snark. Roy is fluent in defensive snark. "The real question is what happens on President's Day." He thinks for a moment, "If I was Bing Crosby or Fred Astaire, I'd say Lincoln's Birthday. But that'd just be old fashioned." The glance to the black box draws a grimace from the hooded vigilante, "God damn it." Because it means that he's getting sloppy. Of course, he knew that. And then the methadone starts to kick in, and his next laugh is easier, more relaxed, "So wait… you were breaking into the place you were hired to protect? Training Wheels, don't you know the inside job's the first suspect?" Beat pause, "Okay… third or fourth subject. Whoo… yeah, that's starting to kick in."

"We both know the stupid shit a person is capable of when they're not in their right mind." After all, he narrowly kept her from making the same mistake just a week ago. He's sloppy about proximity alarms, and she's dumb enough to hit her own ex-client. Maybe that's why she took pity on him with the methadone. "Now we're even." Because being in debt to someone is almost just as bad as having made the mistake in the first place.

Once Arsenal announces he's starting to feel the effects of the drugs, Eddie's foot stomping becomes a slight running in place. "Feeling better now? A little more loose? Less like your insides are clawing to become your outsides?" These questions all seem rhetorical, because she's just barreling right past them. "Because now we're going to work off the last of those sweats. Burn it right out of your system. Tell you what. If you catch me, I'll actually tell you my name so you can stop calling me fucking Training Wheels. Ready? Go."

That's all the warning she gives him, and whether or not old Roy is up to the game, Eddie is taking off at a sprint for the edge of the building. She plants a glove onto the low retaining wall, swinging her legs over and dropping suddenly into the ether, only to end up in a forward roll on the lower adjoining rooftop.

Roy snorts his amusement and agreement about what need does to people, but he nods sharply when she announces that they're even, agreeing, "Even." As she describes the effects of the drug, he shakes out his arms again, "yeeaah." His reactions are slowed, and he's still laughing at her offer when she's off and running. "Hey!" At the moment, he is definitely not a sprinter out of the blocks. Roy's boots scuff on the gravel, and he takes off after her. "If you want me to call you something else, that's on you." As he runs, he pulls the bow from alongside his quiver. As he leaps after her, he pinwheels his arms a little, extending the arms of the bow, glad that he doesn't have to try and fire an arrow-line right away. He hits the rooftop alongside her, rolling to his feet — just unsteady enough to bang his shoulder into an obstruction, but it doesn't cost him much distance. As he sprints after her across the rooftop, he draws an arrow from his quiver, grasping it against the grip of the bow to keep his right hand free. "Training Wheels are always gonna be slower than a hot rod." Not his best pick-up line.

Eddie takes a precious moment to spare a glance over her shoulder when Roy bounces off an obstruction, seeing that he's drawn his bow. "I think that's cheating!" She yelps back to him, bounding steps slowing so he gains a good bit on her. It's by design, because she launches herself at a flag pole, grabbing the vertical base of it with both hands to swing around and hopefully catch him with a pair of feet to knock his weapon off course if not out of his hands completely. A girl can hope.

"You use what you've got, I'll use what — " And then Eddie's feet hit his left hand, and Roy loses his bow, boots sliding as he aims to arrest his motion. He cuts loose after a heartbeat, planting both hands to Kong Vault over duct-work, put his foot on the edge of the next roof to stop himself, and reach out with his left hand. A tap of a control, and the bow comes whipping back at him, drawn by a pair of magnets, " — I've got." His grin flashes again, and he shrugs, "If I didn't want the fun of the chase, I would've just used a bolas arrow."

"And I could have shot you in the hand to even my odds!" But Eddie just runs and jumps to grab a ledge, and with a kick off the perpendicular wall, she hauls herself up and over the edge, sending a shower of asphalt gravel backwards with a swipe of her hand to slow him down. Guess it's time to play dirty.

Roy's bow slaps back into his hand, although the arrow has been lost to the chase. "Yeah, but then you wouldn't get chased." He takes off after her again, bounding between the perpendicular walls and slinging his bow on his back again. He catches at the edge, getting the gravel right in the face — thank goodness the domino mask protects his cheeks and his eyes. Still, the impacts cause him to flinch slightly, but then he's hauling himself up behind her, putting on a burst of speed to plant a boot on the side of an adjoining wall to boost himself up and grab a heavy aerial, using it like uneven bars to swing forward, aiming to get ahead of Eddie. The Flying Grayson special, taught to him by the last of the Graysons. As he grunts with the effort of the swing, he adds, "And I think you like that, Training Wheels."

"The point - shit!" Eddie's feet skid as Roy gets ahead of her and she has to put on the brakes in order to change directions. Her arms pinwheel for a moment so her momentum doesn't send her flat on her face. "Wasn't to get you to chase me." She feints left, then right, then takes off in her original choice. "It was to burn off your jones!"

Running towards the edge of roof, she's visually judging the distance to the next building. It's just a tad too far to jump with any reliability, so she's pulling out a wire from the sleeve of her jacket. Under normal circumstances, it'd be a garrote but she's throwing the handle over a steel cable that anchors a storey-tall neon sign against the wind and uses it as a make shift zip line until she can drop securely. All the while the impromptu chase brings them closer to Times Square and the giant ball waiting to drop.

Roy lands neatly ahead of her, with no momentum to kill after he sticks the landing. "Bullshit." He follows the headfakes, but just with a shifting of his weight, his feet remaining in place. "Lots of ways to do that." He follows her as she runs, and once more pulls out the bow. He could use it to zipline down behind her, but instead he draws out a line-arrow, aiming at the side of the building beyond her target, and fires. And then he's leaping off the edge of the building, and the arrow retracts with a soft whipping sound, cutting the arc of his swing to speed the motion. Despite the parties below, or perhaps because of them, he gives a little whoop as he flies, the slow relaxation of his muscles interacting most oddly — and most pleasantly — with the speed of his swing.

"This is the only one I could think of that didn't end up with one of us na-" The words are clipped off as he comes zipping over onto the next rooftop with her, Eddie distracted for enough of a split second that she loses her footing and has to quickly side step a series of pipes that pose tripping hazards. Normally it'd just be a little bump against a wall but when her check hits the brick, Morales leaps back from it like she's just been shocked.

" — ked." Roy lands with a couple of running steps, loosing the line to let it dangle (poor NYC city maintenance workers, always having to pick up spider goop and grapnels, and now arrows). "Sounds like more fun, but also a lot colder. Not that shrinkage is a problem." He's stuck that landing enough times that he can do it even high, and so he turns around neatly, only to watch her bump into the wall and leap back. Despite the slow welling of confused curiosity, he reaches out to try and tap her on the back. Before he even makes contact, he claims, "Tag, you're it, Training Wheels."

Something shook her, enough so that when he's coming in to 'tag' her, Eddie spins only out of instinct and with a blind look to her eyes. He might not tap her back, but he'd certainly get her bicep or shoulder as she twists to face him. His tap will be answered with a full fledged punch that utilizes both the power of her spin and the muscle in her arm aimed right for his pretty jaw line.

Roy grazes her shoulder, looking triumphant for about half a second. And then he's getting punched in the jaw, and he staggers back, his head snapping over to the side. Thank god there are already painkillers flooding his system, but it still hurts. Grabbing hold of a DISH Network dish (and probably disrupting the reception of a very unhappy partier inside the building), Roy recovers a little slowly, blinking and rubbing at his jaw, "Ow. What the hell, I wasn't going to grab your boob or anything. I'm all about hashtag metoo."

A moment too late, Eddie realizes what she's done. Some where around the time her gloved knuckles make contact with his face. Her eyes go wide for just a tick, before she reins it in under the umbrella of snark and sarcasm that serves so well as her armor. "Didn't realize you were such a softie. And by that I mean your glass jaw." Her form has taken on a defensive stance, as if expecting retaliation either physically or verbally. She's steeled for both.

Roy works his jaw, stretching it and testing it, "You know me," she doesn't, "just a little teddy bear." He keeps blinking and rubbing at the impact point, "Easy there, Punchy. I'm not gonna hit you back unless you come at me again." There's a pause, and then he gestures toward the wall, "What happened over there?" Look, not even any teasing nickname this time, "Something totally freaked you out, didn't it?"

Eddie presses her lips together so firmly they whiten around the edges and there is a new sheen to her eyes that she's blinking away. "I fucking hate people." That might be an indication as to what freaked her out, or just a general statement. In truth it's a lot easier when there isn't an audience for her freak outs that are coming closer and closer together. Thankfully this was a minor shock, and one she's just playing off.

"This was a monumentally stupid idea." She's relaxing out of her fighter stance, if only to tug her hat down closer around her ears. "We're even, so don't go sniffing around there again or next time I'm not going to be so nice."

That certainly wasn't what Roy was expecting. He holds his hands up at her curse, "Well fine then." Evidently, he took that a little personally. He's still floating on the methadone, so it doesn't dig in too deep, and he shakes his head, "Yeah well. Yeah, we're even. We've each stopped the other from fucking up once." There's a pause, and then Roy demonstrates that in many ways, he's irrepressible, "I don't know, dosing me up and giving me a little chase seems pretty nice to me. Happy New Year's, Training Wheels."

"Yeah." Eddie shoves her hands back deep in the pockets of her jacket, like she's admonishing herself for ever removing them in the first place. The split toe of her shoe kicks at someone's discarded beer can, the residential roof they ended up on must be a secret hiding place for someone in the building and not just a haunt for wayward drug-addled vigilantes and whatever the hell she qualifies as. "Happy New Year." She mutters, turning away to try the normal way off the building, which is the door to the inner stairwell access. Trying the doorknob she finds it unlocked and as she slips through, fair is fair. "Eddie, by the way."

Roy steps over to the edge of the roof, turning back to her at the final offer. He nods slightly, considering it, and then responds, "Okay Ninja Boots." Nope, she's not getting off that easily. He claps the grapnel end of another line to the retaining wall, then gives a little salute and drops off the side of the building. Of course, there's the hiss of the delay on the grapnel, lowering him quickly and easily down to the alley below.

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