[There's no reluctance when he step in front of Rupert.
He opens the door--except, he doesn't really open the door himself once he puts his hand on the knob. And it startles him. Reflexively, his arm raises, fist balled. But the defensiveness melts immediately away when he sees the person standing on the other side of the door.
His feet take half a step back from the woman lurking in the darkness on the opposite side; movement practiced but a lot more scared than it probably normally would be. Somewhere beneath the despondent, murky weight on her, she's still a pretty woman. Her hair is long, the color of a raven's wing, and her eyes are the familiar blue of a spring's sky. No one would be able to say Jason Todd did not look like her. Her skin is porcelain white, too white that it's sick, and pocked in a few places with sores and the dark gloom of someone vampiric for a high.]
--Mom?
[The disappointment in her gaze is worse than being sharp; it's dull and unsurprised, resigned in a bit of bitterness. Jason had seen that look plenty of times when he would come back with scraps of food, or slivers of clothes, or even worse things taken for granted. Toothpaste, toilet paper, a soda. He starts reaching out for her, but she closes the door with such a slow and gentle, resounding click that it's almost painful.
His hand comes to rest on the outside of the door, and he's stunned for a long moment, his heart racing. Then it all boils up out of him, as usual: the anger, the fear, the resentment, the longing.
He grabs the handle of the door and rattles it so hard it would likely break if it wasn't a part of some fantastically made hotel. His other hand slams against the door.]
[he glances at the woman this place has conjured up, and he doesn't recognize her, but he can still see the resemblance and make a guess. she must be some kind of family, even though she looks ill in a way he can't quite place.
there's a glance towards him, concerned, before the outburst - and then he blinks, even more worry coming to his expression as he tentatively reaches out to him.]
[He jerks away from Rupert like he's electrocuted until he refocuses and realizes where he's at and who he's with. The tension doesn't exactly leave his shoulders even then. He glances from Rupert to the door, back to Rupert, and he turns away to pace a little down the hall.
One hand smooths over the bottom of his face while his heart hammers in his chest. It's just a door in a hall. It's just a door in a hall. It's just a door.]
[he keeps silent for now, not wanting to rush him if he needs a moment, but... there's definitely concern in his expression as he looks his way, watching him pace.]
[It takes him a few moments to decompress, so while he may die before ever saying it, Rupert's patience is appreciated. Finally, he sort of half turns around to shoot a glare at the door.
He glances at Rupert, but almost immediately shifts his eyes away because it's too awkward looking Rupert directly in the face after that. The hairs on his arms are still standing under his jacket.]
[he isn't sure whether he'll be treading too far with this, but after a moment, he asks:]
...Who is she?
[there's a light shrug in response to the next part.]
I know I don't have to, and it's not the kind of apology where I'm saying I've done something wrong. Just - it seems like it must have hurt, whatever it was.
[He doesn't answer immediately, but that's not much of a surprise. It takes him some time to get it out, but it doesn't seem... like it's from anger. More from hurt, yes. It's something defensive. Like an animal in the corner of a cage.]
Was. [The distinction is a bit terse, though not bitter really.] My mom.
[it's tempting to say he's sorry again, after all that, but... he's made it clear that isn't what he wants to hear. after another moment of hesitation, concern still evident in his voice and expression:]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Okay... If you want to.
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He opens the door--except, he doesn't really open the door himself once he puts his hand on the knob. And it startles him. Reflexively, his arm raises, fist balled. But the defensiveness melts immediately away when he sees the person standing on the other side of the door.
His feet take half a step back from the woman lurking in the darkness on the opposite side; movement practiced but a lot more scared than it probably normally would be. Somewhere beneath the despondent, murky weight on her, she's still a pretty woman. Her hair is long, the color of a raven's wing, and her eyes are the familiar blue of a spring's sky. No one would be able to say Jason Todd did not look like her. Her skin is porcelain white, too white that it's sick, and pocked in a few places with sores and the dark gloom of someone vampiric for a high.]
--Mom?
[The disappointment in her gaze is worse than being sharp; it's dull and unsurprised, resigned in a bit of bitterness. Jason had seen that look plenty of times when he would come back with scraps of food, or slivers of clothes, or even worse things taken for granted. Toothpaste, toilet paper, a soda. He starts reaching out for her, but she closes the door with such a slow and gentle, resounding click that it's almost painful.
His hand comes to rest on the outside of the door, and he's stunned for a long moment, his heart racing. Then it all boils up out of him, as usual: the anger, the fear, the resentment, the longing.
He grabs the handle of the door and rattles it so hard it would likely break if it wasn't a part of some fantastically made hotel. His other hand slams against the door.]
I never signed up for this!
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there's a glance towards him, concerned, before the outburst - and then he blinks, even more worry coming to his expression as he tentatively reaches out to him.]
Jason—
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One hand smooths over the bottom of his face while his heart hammers in his chest. It's just a door in a hall. It's just a door in a hall. It's just a door.]
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He glances at Rupert, but almost immediately shifts his eyes away because it's too awkward looking Rupert directly in the face after that. The hairs on his arms are still standing under his jacket.]
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...Do you want to get out of here?
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[He's already moving, though, out of the hallway. His voice is like the very fragile ice over a lake that looks sturdy but it isn't.]
Permanently.
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It'd be nice if we could, huh?
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Would be, yeah.
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...Do you want to talk about it?
[he's fairly sure the answer will be no, but it feels wrong to not at least ask.]
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Not sure what there is to talk about. None of it is sunshine and rainbows, as you could tell.
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[but upon hearing that:]
I'm sorry.
[the story there must be painful.]
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[When he looks back at Rupert, his face is hardened and intense, but it softens slightly at the brows for a second or two before he looks away again.]
You don't have to apologize.
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...Who is she?
[there's a light shrug in response to the next part.]
I know I don't have to, and it's not the kind of apology where I'm saying I've done something wrong. Just - it seems like it must have hurt, whatever it was.
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Was. [The distinction is a bit terse, though not bitter really.] My mom.
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...This place is pretty cruel.
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[He doesn't turn his head, but he does cut his eyes back at Rupert for a second before looking ahead again.]
I can feel you feeling sorry for me from here. You don't have to. She's better off actually.
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[he's definitely concerned, but - he doubts jason wants to hear that, either.]
Better off?
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Yeah. She was sick.
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[after another few moments:]
That doesn't necessarily make it easier for you, though, does it?
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[He could literally be a little more sympathetic, but no he must Conceal, Don’t Feel. And doing it this way helps.]
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I meant losing her.
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It's complicated. But she was still my mom.