[ Jason's relieved to read such a concise reply, no questions asked. People like Bruce and Dick usually demand explanations from him. Justification. There's simply not enough trust despite the effectiveness of his methods, the certitude of his convictions. But he's aware, to some extent, of what he means to Hana. Sometimes, being around Jason equals being away from the pressures of Overwatch and MEKA-- from the pressures, that is, of the constant spotlight that hangs over Hana's every duty. She has a responsibility to her people, of course, and a responsibility to this imperiled world. But it's never D.Va that Jason asks for, that Jason goes out of his way to ever see.
It's Hana.
Maybe there's something to that, too. That any talk of games, or streaming, or epic pwnages go out the window around Jason, who's been far too dead to form new hobbies. There's no pretext of stardom, of a tenuous parasocial connection, that led to their current attachment. It was watching the other nearly die by the hands of a Talon operative, a rogue omnic, or some supervillain... and stopping it every time. Saving each other and learning to carve a space in the world for themselves.
And that, now, is where Hana returns. Not literally, though. His garage is not that place. ]
Figured this was better than public parking.
[ He doesn't make a big fuss about this fancy facility, already outfitted in his Red Hood gear, helmet and all. Beside him is his motorcycle, engine not yet started, but it's evidently one of many. In a vast parking structure to rival the Batcave's, Jason keeps a stable repertoire of vehicles at his disposal, far too many of which are fancy bikes. You never know when you might have to ram a motorcycle into a big strong supervillain and set it to self-destruct, after all.
Hopefully that doesn't become a worry tonight, considering Jason's quarry. ]
Here's the deal. Got a biker gang wreaking havoc on the city streets with alien tech. Apokoliptan tech. Worst of all, they're just tearing through the poorest areas. They know the cops don't care.
My sources claim these lowlifes have started organizing street races, and plan another tonight. In the next half hour.
No one needs to know you're D.Va. They just need to know the feeling of your light gun when you shoot them off their bikes.
[ As he speaks, he proffers an extra helmet in his hand. It sports a featureless black design, something to - once again - leave Hana nondescript. ]
no subject
It's Hana.
Maybe there's something to that, too. That any talk of games, or streaming, or epic pwnages go out the window around Jason, who's been far too dead to form new hobbies. There's no pretext of stardom, of a tenuous parasocial connection, that led to their current attachment. It was watching the other nearly die by the hands of a Talon operative, a rogue omnic, or some supervillain... and stopping it every time. Saving each other and learning to carve a space in the world for themselves.
And that, now, is where Hana returns. Not literally, though. His garage is not that place. ]
Figured this was better than public parking.
[ He doesn't make a big fuss about this fancy facility, already outfitted in his Red Hood gear, helmet and all. Beside him is his motorcycle, engine not yet started, but it's evidently one of many. In a vast parking structure to rival the Batcave's, Jason keeps a stable repertoire of vehicles at his disposal, far too many of which are fancy bikes. You never know when you might have to ram a motorcycle into a big strong supervillain and set it to self-destruct, after all.
Hopefully that doesn't become a worry tonight, considering Jason's quarry. ]
Here's the deal. Got a biker gang wreaking havoc on the city streets with alien tech. Apokoliptan tech. Worst of all, they're just tearing through the poorest areas. They know the cops don't care.
My sources claim these lowlifes have started organizing street races, and plan another tonight. In the next half hour.
No one needs to know you're D.Va. They just need to know the feeling of your light gun when you shoot them off their bikes.
[ As he speaks, he proffers an extra helmet in his hand. It sports a featureless black design, something to - once again - leave Hana nondescript. ]