Jaybird and Itsy Bitsy

[unrecked]

The shot isn't for Natasha, but it comes close anyway. Jason figures, by the skill which Natasha fights, she'll be able to let it roll off her shoulders. Right? No biggie. Not when the head of the guy running for a good ol' Nat attack blows apart in every direction.

Carefully, Jason pulls the lever back and expels the shell, loading another one into place as he releases it. The stock goes back up on his shoulder, and he peers through the scope. After their buddy's noggin got minced, the rest of the guys aren't too keen on rushing out after Natasha into the open.

The branded crosshair swivels up and swallows a sneaker on the top level of the closest warehouse. Jason's shot splits the guy through the chest, and he flops over only to tumble and skid down the metal roof and off to the ground.

Another shell leaps out of the rifle, and a third bullet eases into place.

How many bad guys does it take to kill a spider? comes through Natasha's frequency in her ear. Another man lets loose a twisted yelp as the bullet flips him around and takes him out. More than this because they don't have bug spray.

Comments

[unrecked]

"Just the ones I'm planning to murder after." Teasing. Of course. There's a smile that's lit up by the flame of the lantern when he finally gets it ignited. The thing doesn't provide nearly as much light as it should, but the smog of Gotham ends up being a nice source of light pollution.

Using his boot, Jason turns his chair out so he can sit down, sliding the zippo into an inner jacket pocket. "Don't worry, if you were supposed to be dead on my terms, you would have been already. I don't really wine and dine the prey.

"I might be an asshole, but I at least don't do things in bad taste." He picks up a forgotten, discarded oyster shell left on the other edge of the table. Tosses it over the railing of the balcony and listens for the plop of it into the water.

[redrooms]

"I'll be grateful you don't want me dead, then," she replies, leaning forward to prop her chin up on her hand. "Is that what you're doing? Wining and dining me?" And this is what she's doing: flirting by aggressively teasing him.

[unrecked]

GOD DAMMIT. He's so--stupid embarrassed, but plays it off by pretending to be suave. It's just, he's the one that's supposed to be doing all the teasing. When people tease him back, it pulls the rug out from under him a little. "What?" He sounds startled. "What, no. I said--You said you wanted a good place to eat. I said I would take you to a good place to eat." Where... did she... get wining and dining. (Screaming internally.)

He tries really hard to make eye contact with her, only for it to fail. He ends up crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair, eyes rolled over to the canal.

"It's okay if one of your fantasies is--" he starts, but the door swings open, and he jerks his head around about the time the big man from before comes out, arms loaded.

The hole in the middle of the table was implemented for a reason apparently. The man settles a traditional, black stove pot in it, filled to the brim with good ol' Creole shrimp boil. The hot steam is spicy enough to tingle the eyes. It gets a smile out of Jason. The man drops a bucket on the ground beside the table between them before offering each a large, thick cotton napkin. The only utensils are two long-handled buffet forks.

"Damn," Jason says, "this smells delicious, Pops."

"It'll put some hair on your chest," the man says, then sneaks Natasha a wink. "Hopefully. Drink?"

Jason lifts his eyes to Natasha. "Mike's Hard Lemonade for me."

[redrooms]

Natasha watches this with interest, taking the napkin and fork delicately. This is not at all what she had in mind, but she's not complaining. "An IPA, please. Whatever you have," she replies, then turns her attention back to Jason when the man leaves. Where does she start? Whatever terrible fantasy joke he was going to make, or his drink?

"Do those even have any alcohol in them?"

She doesn't want to make him squirm too much.

[unrecked]

Luckily, he's use to being the butt of jokes and taunts and teasing within the family. Some give him shit for being shit and some give him shit just for the hell of it. He'll deal.

The older man laughs.

Dramatically, Jason rolls his eyes, flapping the napkin open and shoving it across his thigh for safe keeping. "Very funny." Cutting his eyes at the other guy. "Don't knock them until you try them, Miss IPA." The old man has his hands up in surrender. "The watermelon ones are amazing. Hey," before the other man can get back in through the door. "Bring me a Root Beer, too, while you're at it." The man continues in, shaking his head, and Jason eyes Natasha for a second or two, ready for the jokes.

Instead of using a fork like a polite boy, he reaches into the pot to pluck up a poor, boiled shrimp with his fingers. It's hot as fuck.

He drops it lightly down onto the table in front of him, hissing.

[redrooms]

"Oh, I've tried them. I wasn't impressed."

He picks up the shrimp with his fingers and Natasha laughs as he drops it, then reaches out with her fork to spear it for herself.

"Manners, Jason. I thought you wanted this to be a date."

[unrecked]

"Hey!" he yips gently as she helps herself to his cooling shrimp. "Please. Mike's Hard is delicious, and if you don't think so, you can go to hell." Before she can get away with the catch, he pulls it off the end of her fork and drops it back down on the table in front of himself.

"Manners smanners. Don't be a prude," he says, swishing a hand at her in case she tries to sneak back in for another go at his shrimp. "This is a Southern boil. You're supposed to eat it with your fingers. That's the best part." Hot or not, Jason starts peeling the poor shell off the shrimp, combing it free of its legs and chunking the hull into the bucket at their feet. He grins.

"You can't enjoy the food if you don't enjoy the kill," he says, biting off half of it. HOT, hot hot hot. Lowkey blowing in his mouth.

[redrooms]

"A prude," she repeats, watching him struggle with his shrimp. She's never been called that before, but okay. Natasha picks up one of the shrimp, still with her fork, and sets it down on the table in front of her, waiting for it to cool down. "If you get third degree burns, I'm not taking you to the hospital."