ʜᴏᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴊᴜsᴛɪᴄᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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capeandcowllogs2013-08-15 05:07 pm
ropedin) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-08-15 05:07 pm
Entry tags:
They say good fences build good neighbors
WHO: HOODED JUSTICE and FRANK CASTLE
WHERE: On the way to the b a n k
WHEN: UH THURSDAY AFTERNOON
WARNINGS: It includes HJ, warnings are likely, I'll edit if necessary
SUMMARY: silent bros being maybe not so silent but we'll see
FORMAT: words
He'd intended, at first, to pull out all his money from that damnable machine what felt like ages ago. When he'd been on the streets, there was a harsh reality to how much it cost just to survive, and Hooded Justice, who wasn't used to even thinking about money, had been slapped in the face. He'd seen the balance on the screen, several thousand dollars. He'd intended to pull it out, and not have to go to that place again, find something to do with the cash, whether it was keep it somewhere in his room, or maybe even buried somewhere. At least until he needed it, which was looking sooner, rather than later. Although perhaps not for the same reason that he'd needed cash last month. He circled around the thought, of what he would do with it, if he wasn't going to hold onto it. Even so, having it out would be better than leaving it with the bank. He'd made a point to do some research, before deciding that he would keep his money to himself.
He still had a lot on his mind, thoughts still churning in a turmulous mess, day in and day out. Despite the way he'd desperately grasped for what made sense, when faced with a potential he'd never considered, it still wasn't settling well. Getting out of the house during the day only did so much. There was little to find in the City during that period, and only so many times could he work his fists into a punching bag before it got old. The first time he tried the bank was because he'd figured out the machine wouldn't give him all his money. He'd entered, stepping into the pristine, too-perfect lobby, and he'd been asked to leave by a guard with a hand on his belt, hands quivering, but standing steadfast, accusing him (him!) of being there to rob the bank. The insult, while something that made Hooded Justice's fists tighten, wasn't enough for him to push. He left with no words, only to return the next day.
The next day, though, he'd tried something new. Something he didn't want to do, but he did it anyway. Desperation, or rather, his mistrust of this place drove him to do it. He made sure to leave differently from the house, sneaking out the back, head down, watching carefully to make sure he wasn't seen, keeping to the shadows when he walked. He looked out of place, even so. His bulk made him look more like a caged animal, in one of the suits from Nelson. He even felt ridiculous in the dammed thing, but he wasn't willing to leave a trace of who he was when he went out. No sign that the man who'd been there before was the same. Even with his head down, his stride was silent, but not cautious. He wasn't watching the ground, but his eyes kept scouring left and right, and forward, darting perhaps just a touch too erratically, while he looked everywhere for a sign of trouble. He could've been anyone, on the street, with his cropped gray hair and carefully groomed facial hair, he didn't look like he were the sort to tug on a costume, at least from face alone, but that wasn't the only sign, not with the way his stride was too careful, too much like the person he was. Subtle, guarded cues that nobody should be able to pick up. Anxiety, of all things was high, when he closed in on the institution. He hated this, with everything he had. Taking off his hood for Nelson had been one thing, different but something he could excuse, this felt like he was giving in to this place. That he was accepting the fact that he was here, and some motivations were stronger than others. Yet the unsettling reality had already set in, that he didn't have anything left anywhere but the City.
In and out, he kept thinking. He would be back to normal soon enough. That kept his pace quicker than it perhaps should have been.
WHERE: On the way to the b a n k
WHEN: UH THURSDAY AFTERNOON
WARNINGS: It includes HJ, warnings are likely, I'll edit if necessary
SUMMARY: silent bros being maybe not so silent but we'll see
FORMAT: words
He'd intended, at first, to pull out all his money from that damnable machine what felt like ages ago. When he'd been on the streets, there was a harsh reality to how much it cost just to survive, and Hooded Justice, who wasn't used to even thinking about money, had been slapped in the face. He'd seen the balance on the screen, several thousand dollars. He'd intended to pull it out, and not have to go to that place again, find something to do with the cash, whether it was keep it somewhere in his room, or maybe even buried somewhere. At least until he needed it, which was looking sooner, rather than later. Although perhaps not for the same reason that he'd needed cash last month. He circled around the thought, of what he would do with it, if he wasn't going to hold onto it. Even so, having it out would be better than leaving it with the bank. He'd made a point to do some research, before deciding that he would keep his money to himself.
He still had a lot on his mind, thoughts still churning in a turmulous mess, day in and day out. Despite the way he'd desperately grasped for what made sense, when faced with a potential he'd never considered, it still wasn't settling well. Getting out of the house during the day only did so much. There was little to find in the City during that period, and only so many times could he work his fists into a punching bag before it got old. The first time he tried the bank was because he'd figured out the machine wouldn't give him all his money. He'd entered, stepping into the pristine, too-perfect lobby, and he'd been asked to leave by a guard with a hand on his belt, hands quivering, but standing steadfast, accusing him (him!) of being there to rob the bank. The insult, while something that made Hooded Justice's fists tighten, wasn't enough for him to push. He left with no words, only to return the next day.
The next day, though, he'd tried something new. Something he didn't want to do, but he did it anyway. Desperation, or rather, his mistrust of this place drove him to do it. He made sure to leave differently from the house, sneaking out the back, head down, watching carefully to make sure he wasn't seen, keeping to the shadows when he walked. He looked out of place, even so. His bulk made him look more like a caged animal, in one of the suits from Nelson. He even felt ridiculous in the dammed thing, but he wasn't willing to leave a trace of who he was when he went out. No sign that the man who'd been there before was the same. Even with his head down, his stride was silent, but not cautious. He wasn't watching the ground, but his eyes kept scouring left and right, and forward, darting perhaps just a touch too erratically, while he looked everywhere for a sign of trouble. He could've been anyone, on the street, with his cropped gray hair and carefully groomed facial hair, he didn't look like he were the sort to tug on a costume, at least from face alone, but that wasn't the only sign, not with the way his stride was too careful, too much like the person he was. Subtle, guarded cues that nobody should be able to pick up. Anxiety, of all things was high, when he closed in on the institution. He hated this, with everything he had. Taking off his hood for Nelson had been one thing, different but something he could excuse, this felt like he was giving in to this place. That he was accepting the fact that he was here, and some motivations were stronger than others. Yet the unsettling reality had already set in, that he didn't have anything left anywhere but the City.
In and out, he kept thinking. He would be back to normal soon enough. That kept his pace quicker than it perhaps should have been.