#hate that i can't read the word floss without going “oh like in fortnite?”

[corpserites]

⠀⠀⠀HE'S ABOUT TO SHUT HER DOWN AS SOON AS HE HEARS THE WORDS 'HELPING' AND 'HAND' IN A SENTENCE TOGETHER, but the change in her tone quiets his protests before they can start, believe it or not. normally he'd have gotten up and left already, so this is all very, very strange anyway. namely his willingness to entertain whatever this conversation is about to be, but jason's sort of dying to know where this is all going. he flicks a pink hunk of meat from his fingernail down to the floor and folds his arm back over his chest.

⠀⠀⠀"you're bein' real vague, julia. explain to me what you mean by a helping hand. and why you think i need one, while we're at it,"

⠀⠀⠀despite the dismissive tone, he likes the sound of not fucking with authority. most people in this city don't, so it's not a quality that particularly stands out to him, he'd give her a solid fist bump for it any other time — motivation to hurt people, though? he can work with that. he has a lot of it, himself. he's basically an expert, if you ask him, and—

⠀⠀⠀...oh, no fucking way, dude. he's realizing maybe a little too late that this is a job interview of sorts and he's the big red boss sat across from a prospective vigilante newbie. so she's insane, he decides. does she know anything about the red hood, like at all? his public image is the worst out of every vigilante in this city, and she's coming to him? he laughs, and it sounds kind of unhinged. this has to be a joke, right?

⠀⠀⠀"...are you trying to be my fucking sidekick or something?"

PERMISSION GRANTED. Julia—with some amount of grace, despite the general stickiness of everything at the diner, especially at this late-to-the-point-of-nonsensical hour—slides into the booth. She sits with her back straight, her hands folded in front of her. She looks disgustingly serious; he, of course, does not.

So it's a little humiliating, her all-business attitude, how much she cares about this when his interest is barely hanging on by a single thread. She tries not to let it get to her head, make her all twitchy and nervous. She can fucking do this. She's survived much, much worse.

"No, I know you don't do interviews, don't do press at all. Nobody's been able to pin you down—if they even got here fir—"

Disgusted by his renegade flossing, she pauses to purse her lips. Meanwhile, he goes on.

"Unfortunately," she sighs, "I don't have any leads on bar mitzvahs coming up. — but I do know somebody who'd be willing to lend a helping hand. Somebody else who doesn't fuck with authority, and who is very, very fucking motivated to hurt who they're trying to hurt."

She speaks quietly, urgently.