capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO:

superxgrlfriend
WHERE: Downtown somewhere?
WHEN: REAL TIME.
WARNINGS: Stalking and maybe a little violence, but you can't expect anything less from these two. Probably nothing major.
SUMMARY: Jason has been ~~stalking~~ keeping an eye on Monet for some time now. She finally catches him. Shenanigans ensue.
FORMAT: Prose, then whatever!

It was well after dark by the time Monet made her way out of the StarkTech building. She had six meetings in a row or something equally ridiculous, and by the end of the last, she could barely refrain from punching the head of the IT department in the face. How difficult was it to scan papers properly? Trained monkeys could do that job.

He had taken offense to the last statement but eventually agreed to her demands.

It was better this way, she reasoned, as the glass doors leading to the streets opened for her. She hadn't made any plans for the night, and her apartment was nothing but half-operational security equipment and emptiness anyway, so she might as well take her time.

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If Jason had a day planner, it would be a complex book, probably written in some kind of code, and with enough notes to choke a horse. He didn't, of course, as it was a huge security risk, but if he did, this time of the day would have the notation: M gets out of work.

And so it was he was waiting for her to pass his hidden station on the street. After a while he moved on after Monet, silent and efficient. She was late; work must have been difficult today.

Monet really should have been more vigilant. Later she would blame her inattentiveness on the constant, ruminating thoughts that plagued her, both her own and the alarming number of increasing stray thoughts of others that reached her, but she'd been trained better than this. She was better than this, than thinking about work and the City and the goddamn porter instead of paying attention to her surroundings.

Sean would be so disappointed.

It wasn't until Monet was nearly home that her train of thought was interrupted by a strange feeling that she was being watched. She resisted the urge to turn suddenly around (good girl, Sean would have said) and did nothing to betray to her shadow that she knew of his or her presence while she formulated a plan. If someone was attempting to rob her, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

He observed her posture, her stride, with clinical interest. If there was one thing he could do well, it was divorce himself from emotional thoughts, even as he noticed facts that could be termed irrelevant: that Monet's hair shone under the streetlights, for instance, was not strictly useful to know, nor did it provide any insight to her personality or mood at the moment. Jason rested his gloved hands inside his jacket pockets as he continued to follow her, ruminating on how collected she was, even when alone.

Monet had always preferred brawn over stealth, not always able to admit to the utility in the latter. Tiptoeing around seemed such a waste of time and resources when an opponent could be taken out immediately with her fists. She was, however, a strategist at heart, and knew that in certain situations, to ensure an optimal outcome (for example, victory), subtlety could be necessary.

Her mind moved quickly, assessing the situation, her surroundings and her possible tail. When she moved, it was swiftly, silently, and with grace; when she grabbed him from behind, there was nothing graceful about it. She locked his arms with hers. "You have five seconds tell me who you are and why you're following me."

There were ways out of a lock like that, but they would be far more painful than it was worth given Monet's strength. He forced himself to relax against her grip, tilting his head back and twisting his neck so she could catch a look at his face. Unmasked tonight, the rest of his attire was more or less the same as it had been when he'd come to join the group to fight against her brother; he wore a black button-up shirt instead of a white shirt, but there was still body armor beneath.

Answering in passable French, Jason said, "You should let go. You don't know where I've been."

Monet was so startled that she nearly lost her grip. Jason Todd was following her. She wouldn't have believed it herself -- in fact, the thought, like the situation, was almost laughable -- but there he was, looking at her. Speaking to her in terrible French. Looking at her.

It needed to be said twice because it was that unsettling.

"I'll let go when I very well please," she replied, teeth clenched. She was replying in French without realizing it, and, after catching herself, switched to English. "And that will be when you explain yourself. I suggest you start now."

"Suit yourself," he drawled a little in English, evidently in no hurry to explain. Idly contemplating a few moves to get out of her hold, Jason said, ever so reasonably, "You were walking somewhere after dark. I thought that was interesting. So I followed you."

As you do.

"You thought that was interesting." she echoed, her words forming a statement rather than a question. Despite herself, she was unable to keep at least a hint of surprise from breaking through. She thought, for a moment, that she should just kick him in the face (her good heels would make for an excellent weapon), but he hadn't really wronged her in any way. He was just stalking her.

How completely ridiculous.

Her grip loosened, then fell completely. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What exactly is so interesting about walking home from work? I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Edited 2010-05-29 01:48 (UTC)

Straightening up once Monet let him go, Jason laced his fingers together with his palms facing out, stretching a little pointedly.

"I guess I think you're interesting," he said casually, looking at her (looking at her) with mock solemnity. "You seemed tired," he continued in that same easy way, as if this wasn't totally about him stalking her, "I didn't think approaching you was a good idea."

"And stalking me was obviously a better one," Monet retorted, conveniently glossing over the fact that Jason had just admitted some sort of interest in her. She didn't quite know what to think that that. He was clearly unbalanced enough to manifest interest by skulking in the shadows and following her home from work, but, then again, he didn't seem the type to ask her out for coffee. "What exactly did you hope to accomplish?"

"It was really more following you for the sake of following you," he noted a bit lazily, letting his arms drop to his sides. "Since I already know where you live." Jason finished serenely, smiling at Monet like it's a private joke.

Monet's mouth dropped open just slightly, a subtle manifestation of her almost indignant shock. "So stalking me is your new hobby?" she asked, more forcefully than she would have liked. Jason was really beginning to damage her calm. "Is that it?"

"I was keeping tabs on you," he corrected, watching the change of her expression. Sincerely enraging her wasn't part of the plan; he was sure he'd be able to get away, but it just would've ruined the evening. "I don't have time to sit around and watch you do your nails, or whatever."

"I would ask why," Monet started, brushing off her skirt, "but I have a feeling this conversation will go around in circles if I let it." Jason was far too unpredictable to reliably analyze the situation, and Monet had a feeling that no matter what she did, what she said, or whatever threats and violence she could toss his way, he would go on doing whatever it is that he wanted to do. As unsettling as it was that follow Monet around the city was apparently on his creepy to-do list, she saw no other option than pretend as if it wasn't and go on with her life.

She turned away from him and walked by, brushing her shoulder against his as she did. "The next time you want to see me," she said, hair swinging behind her, "you could call first."