[ Oh, he likes her moxie. Helps that as soon as she asks, he starts to pick up speed, weaving the two of them through yet more traffic. Narrowly, he dodges every approaching vehicle, leaving a long trail of drivers to eat their dust... honking distantly as they do from well behind Jason and Hana. Wherever traffic starts to congest along Jason's route, he always seems to have a solution for it, cheating by driving over empty sidewalks or - hell - getting some altitude by driving up loading ramps. It's from the adrenaline of sticking the landing after his umpteenth ramp that Jason even pops a wheelie, fully confident not only in his own control but in the security of Hana's embrace, her own ability to follow the ebbs and flows of the bike's momentum. Jason might be the one driving the thing, but Hana sure rides it like she's the pilot.
That impresses him. How many people has he had to rescue who've held on for dear life, not mindful of how unstable a bike can be? It's a refreshing change to up the ante a bit without hesitation. Without fear. That, after all, is the least he can expect from a peer. A fellow soldier, equally deemed "reckless." It's this frustration with pigeonholing, all the ways he's been pressured to limit himself and the ways he fights crime, that lead to outbursts such as this. Bursts, specifically, of speed. ]
That enough for you, Hana? There's still more where that came from.
[ It's one of the last things he says before, finally, they enter a tunnel, bike speeding them through it till they reach a sector of Gotham's slums. Till the surrounding architecture loses the opulent luster of the rest of the city, disparities of wealth making themselves known the further he and Hana venture down the same road. By necessity, Jason slows down, nearing their destination. Broader city streets narrow, the two of them soon surrounded by featureless industrial buildings. Warehouses, too. It's after passing enough such places - dark and derelict, if not abandoned - that they finally drive up to where other street racers have converged: a road filled from end to end with would-be competitors and their bikes. Each racer and their vehicles were decked out with glowing technological accoutrements-- not just cyberpunk fashion statements, but also cybernetic weapons. Alien tech from Apokolips, notorious home of Darkseid. The modifications to their own bodies to show they mean business... on and off the road. ]
Alright. We're here.
We just need to wait at the starting line. They know who I am.
[ Even if they don't know who she is. More accurately, they can't really tell. That doesn't stop some of them from jeering, from wondering why the notorious Red Hood's bothered to bring a new 'honey' to these parts. With no discernible expression from the surface of his helmet, he only glares back at his competitors in this race, offering them no word. Not even a quip. These are people whose operations he's going to disrupt very shortly. They're not even worth his time as an audience. ]
You guys got my text, right?
If I win, I get a piece of your territory. If you win, you get a piece of mine.
[ But... he's lying. Despite clearly having labored to establish enough good will with these people, such that they felt comfortable enough to tease him. Clearly, they sought an alliance with a big bike enthusiast. A crime lord who seemed to share their aesthetic sensibilities, given the ways his own costume glows.
no subject
That impresses him. How many people has he had to rescue who've held on for dear life, not mindful of how unstable a bike can be? It's a refreshing change to up the ante a bit without hesitation. Without fear. That, after all, is the least he can expect from a peer. A fellow soldier, equally deemed "reckless." It's this frustration with pigeonholing, all the ways he's been pressured to limit himself and the ways he fights crime, that lead to outbursts such as this. Bursts, specifically, of speed. ]
That enough for you, Hana? There's still more where that came from.
[ It's one of the last things he says before, finally, they enter a tunnel, bike speeding them through it till they reach a sector of Gotham's slums. Till the surrounding architecture loses the opulent luster of the rest of the city, disparities of wealth making themselves known the further he and Hana venture down the same road. By necessity, Jason slows down, nearing their destination. Broader city streets narrow, the two of them soon surrounded by featureless industrial buildings. Warehouses, too. It's after passing enough such places - dark and derelict, if not abandoned - that they finally drive up to where other street racers have converged: a road filled from end to end with would-be competitors and their bikes. Each racer and their vehicles were decked out with glowing technological accoutrements-- not just cyberpunk fashion statements, but also cybernetic weapons. Alien tech from Apokolips, notorious home of Darkseid. The modifications to their own bodies to show they mean business... on and off the road. ]
Alright. We're here.
We just need to wait at the starting line. They know who I am.
[ Even if they don't know who she is. More accurately, they can't really tell. That doesn't stop some of them from jeering, from wondering why the notorious Red Hood's bothered to bring a new 'honey' to these parts. With no discernible expression from the surface of his helmet, he only glares back at his competitors in this race, offering them no word. Not even a quip. These are people whose operations he's going to disrupt very shortly. They're not even worth his time as an audience. ]
You guys got my text, right?
If I win, I get a piece of your territory. If you win, you get a piece of mine.
[ But... he's lying. Despite clearly having labored to establish enough good will with these people, such that they felt comfortable enough to tease him. Clearly, they sought an alliance with a big bike enthusiast. A crime lord who seemed to share their aesthetic sensibilities, given the ways his own costume glows.
Because he's not here to win the competition.
He's here to eliminate it. ]