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It's time to pay the Piper.
KF / Anna
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Post by Hartley Rathaway on Apr 14, 2021 14:31:46 GMT -5
Participants: Hartley Rathaway + James Jesse Open/Closed: Closed Location(s): Hartley Rathaway's apartment, Central City Time of Day: Roughly 3:00am Weather: Clear night sky Summary: A ghost from the past pays a visit.
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Getting attacked by Evan in his own home had only strengthened his resolve. As much as this costume was a reminder of everything he'd lost, every mistake he'd made, cruelty he'd committed, if it meant stopping the Rogues and putting an end to another death before it even started, well, then he'd endure it. Trying to stop the Rogues hadn't gone well in the past - It hadn't even gone close to well. He'd only had encounters with Axel and Evan so far. He didn't know how many had returned to the team. But surely if the Rogues wanted him out of the way, Snart would have paid him a personal visit like Evan had?
So where was Snart?
Something wasn't right with the Rogues. Something was different with the Rogues - Something dangerous.
He'd been on patrol since much earlier in the day, when the sun had still been out and bright. It was far too late, far too dark by the time he'd decided to go home. He needed to call Wally, to give him a heads up about the Rogues, but... That was easier said than done. Okay technically it was pretty easy. He still had Wally's number and even if that had somehow changed, he knew where the Justice League was and as a former Rogue, he knew how to avoid a Flash's attention, thus it wasn't hard to figure out how to get a Flash's attention.
But he hadn't contacted Wally, or anyone for that matter, since he'd been let out of prison. The only people he'd come into contact with were Axel and Evan - and it hadn't been entirely by choice. He'd just... He'd turned himself in after aiding in the death of some kid. He felt like he'd crossed a line Wally wouldn't have been able to forgive, especially since he'd also had a hand in Bart Allen's murder prior to that. He knew there was a chance - a good chance - that his worry was for nothing, but the chance that he was correct, that Wally would look at him and just see a criminal, regardless of whether he was in this costume or not... It was too much to take. So he never dialed the hero and if Wally tried to call him, he let it go to voicemail and then never checked his messages.
He felt like a coward but despite having willingly turned himself over to the authorities, he didn't feel brave enough to face all of the potential consequences of his past actions. However those consequences didn't seem likely to give him a choice.
He knew the second he slipped in through a window, back to the room. He had three rats that roamed the apartment and none were in the living room, as if something had spooked them and they'd scurried off to another room. He knew because at least one would usually be there, right at his feet to greet him no matter what time it was. He reached for his flute. Had Evan sent another Rogue after him? Just who all were on the team? Or had Snart finally decided to pay him a visit? With one hand, he slid the window close and locked it. Cautiously, he started to turn around to see if he could catch the intruder, even if just a silhouette in the dark, just as a light was flicked on.
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567 words James Jesse
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Post by James Jesse on Apr 14, 2021 15:49:31 GMT -5
Flipping on the light stung his eyes, and he'd been prepared for it. Still, he didn't blink or move his attention from where it bore into the redhead that'd just crawled in through the window. James sat at the edge of a chair, leaning on his knees with his forearms, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, rather than a suit or his suit. "Please tell me this isn't what it looks like, Hartley."
Probably not the best way to let the person whose arms you'd died in know that you were back in the land of the living. But any thought of what else to say had fallen right out of his head when he saw the green cloak and black bodysuit. The only thing left in his skull was worry and a hope that Piper would say something like "this isn't what it looks like," even if he wouldn't believe that.
Popping out of your grave had involved a lot more work on James's part than he'd expected... Though, he'd not expected to be not dead (or dead in the first place). So it was a little early in the morning to start listing the things he hadn't expected, he guessed. Fortunately - and bizarrely - the Justice League had a lot of experience helping heroes reintegrate into society after coming back to life. That was nice.
Flash helping him get the all-clear was even more nice. The League was still looking into the why's and how's of James's return, but for the moment he was in good health with no strings attached. With all said and done, James had asked Flash about the one person that he'd been stopping himself mentioning until that point. And when he heard what had happened to Hartley after that night on the train; that he was out of jail; that he'd turned himself in in the first place; that he was ghosting Flash...
Well, James didn't really care about boundaries or the "right thing to do" like the Flash did. Which is why he'd gone almost straight to Piper's apartment when his feet were on the ground in Central City. When no one was there, he let himself in and waited... Which brought them to the present. "Tell me you're not with the Rogues again. Because it went so damn well last time."
Hartley Rathaway
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It's time to pay the Piper.
KF / Anna
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Post by Hartley Rathaway on Apr 14, 2021 17:18:01 GMT -5
He'd been expecting Snart. Evan was far too dramatic - as evidence by the damage to his shower curtain he still needed to replace. Wally wouldn't break in, if anything he'd wait on his porch until the former Rogue gave in and opened the door. So it made sense that it had to be Snart. Leonard probably wanted to try a more cold calm way to convince him to back off the Rogues. He wasn't expecting... That.
Hartley froze in place, eyes wide behind his visor. Seeing James there, alive, in his apartment, the light shining just right to make him look alive. It was enough to make his body freeze, his heart stutter, his breath hitch. Hearing his voice, so lifelike, so authentic, so James, made his flute feel far too heavy in his hand. His words didn't fully register in Hartley's mind, his thoughts not going past seeing him, hearing his voice. James was here. He was alive.
He slowly shook his head and moved to take a step back only to find the closed window there. No, no. He... James was dead. He'd finally accepted it. It had taken him far too long and caused him so much pain but he had accepted it. He... He hadn't been staying up too late, getting this little sleep. His body was getting used to the hours of patrol and yes there were sleepless nights, haunted by memories and guilt. But he shouldn't have been so tired that he'd started hallucinating.
He remembered that train, James protecting him, he remembered his own denial. Breathing felt harder. He wasn't going to let himself slip into that again. He was supposed to have been doing better. He didn't need this - He didn't need his mind to finally snap now.
"You're dead," he said, voice small, shaking. He closed his eyes tightly, knuckles whitening around the flute. "James is dead." He just needed to remind himself. Once he opened his eyes, the hallucination would be gone. He'd be alone again... But that was better than living in denial, letting his mind crack. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up only to find James - no that hallucination - still there. His flute, such a prized possession of his, slipped from his fingers and clattered noisily to the ground, making him flinch at the sudden sound.
No. No. No. "Not again," he breathed out, the words stressed as his legs felt shaky, weak. He reached out as if for James only to grimace and recoil, pulling his arm back. No, this wasn't James. This wasn't his-- James was dead.
He moved quickly, suddenly into the kitchen, pushing his hood off and practically ripping the visor off and setting it down harshly, causing it to skid across the counter. He turned the sink on with a shaking hand, splashing water onto his face. He turned the water off and gripped the edge of the sink, trying to slow his breathing, trying to get his heart to stop running a mile a minute in his chest. He visibly grimaced again, almost afraid to turn around and see if the hallucination was still there.
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525 words James Jesse
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Post by James Jesse on Apr 14, 2021 18:26:53 GMT -5
Historically, James had never been that good at empathizing with someone else. In that moment, though, seeing the look on Pied Piper's face and the blood drain from it... Yeah, even James could see how maybe he'd not picked the best opening line or attitude. He opened his mouth to try to break through Piper's shock and say something... He didn't know... Encouraging? But Hartley cut him off, murmuring like he saw a gho-
Ah. Yeah. Right.
Before James really knew what to say or do, Piper's flute clattered to the ground and he had run into the next room. Please tell me he's not going for a knife, James said, pushing off of the chair and following after. The last thing either of them needed was to inadvertently stab the other. Though, it was just a weird enough turn to make sense given everything else.
James bit the inside of his cheek and stopped in the threshold to the kitchen. He didn't want to startle or panic Hartley anymore than he already had. "Um... Sorry for spooking you. In hindsight? Fair." He tapped his thigh with one hand awkwardly, watching the rigid set of Piper's shoulders under the emerald cloak that fell from them.
"But- Don't stab me or something, okay?" he said, cautiously stepping nearer, like he was worried he'd startle a scared animal. James reached out and slowly closed the fingers of one hand on Piper's shoulder. When the musician didn't fight him off or whip out a lemon-baller, James gave a firm squeeze. "Surprise?" he added, lamely, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand.
Hartley Rathaway
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It's time to pay the Piper.
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Post by Hartley Rathaway on Apr 14, 2021 19:13:58 GMT -5
His augmented hearing had caught the footsteps following him. A part of him almost hoped it was Evan again. Somehow that would've been easier to handle, easier to accept. He flinched at the sound of James' voice, gritting his teeth. He wanted to demand this hallucination stop being so lifelike, that he stop acting alive. But yelling at the hallucination, acknowledging him - no, it - anymore than he already had wasn't going to make it stop. He needed to ignore it entirely. Perhaps if he went to bed, it'd be gone by the time he woke up?
Maybe it wasn't a hallucination? Maybe he was being haunted? Ghosts had been proven real, right? James' spirit was mad at him for not saving him, for not avenging him or whatever so it had decided to come back and haunt him, to torture him with the very image of something - someone - he so desperately wanted back in his life that he could never have.
He let out a humorless laugh, eyes still on the sink as the last drops of water fell down the drain. Spooking him sounded like an understatement. "Rather a ghost than handcuffed to a corpse," he couldn't help muttering, truly feeling like he was losing his mind. Maybe now was finally the time to call Wally? He'd finally snapped and needed outside help if his denial was coming back to haunt him all over again.
Despite the constriction he felt in his chest, the way his throat felt like it was closing up, struggling to get air to his lungs the longer this hallucination - ghost? - remained, he managed to snort and roll his eyes at the request not to stab him. Attacking hadn't been an option in his mind before that moment but it wasn't as if his mind had formed the most coherent thoughts since returning to the apartment. He knew where all the knives in the kitchen were... But what would be the point in attacking? Any weapon would simply go through him - it - because no one was really there. It was empty air.
Hartley flinched at the sudden sensation of a hand on his shoulder. He needed to swat it away, needed to-- A hallucination wouldn't have been able to touch him? He turned his head just enough to stare at James, eyes wide once again. Only a real person could touch him, right? The supernatural wasn't even close to his realm of expertise but ghosts couldn't touch people, right?
His shoulder was squeezed and his heart leapt. The words left unsaid, feelings left unrealized, at the time of James' death came rushing back. He moved out of instinct, throwing his arms around James' shoulders and burying his face against his neck because he was real. He was real and alive and back. He didn't know how or why. He didn't know if it was only temporary. He had so many questions that got caught in his throat as he choked out tears, breathing the only words he could against James' neck, "I missed you."
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509 words James Jesse
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Post by James Jesse on Apr 14, 2021 21:04:17 GMT -5
James winced again. He'd thought about that. How he'd been handcuffed to Hartley when... It happened. He wondered what happened from there. Ignorance was bliss, yeah, but a part of him felt like he owed it to Hartley to know what had gone on next. None of that mattered right then, though. His first goal was convincing Piper that he was actually there and not figment or ghoul out of a nightmare.
Which happened pretty quick after he'd grabbed Hartley's shoulder. Actually, he'd spun and grabbed onto James quicker than the blond knew what was happening. He tensed on instinct, not sure what to do with his arms. Piper's breath was hot on his neck and- wet? No, wait. That was... James felt more guilt rattle through his heart, and found it really easy to know what to do with his arms next.
A little awkwardly, probably, but James returned the embrace, patting Hartley's back, not shrinking away or wiggling free, for his merit. He had no idea what Hartley was going through in that moment, or what he'd gone through since James... Left. It was hard enough, weird enough, being on his side of the whole thing. The words mumbled against his tear-slicked neck stunned him more than anything up until that point.
They'd gone through a lot together, specifically right there near the end. But they'd not exactly been close. James thought to the handcuffs and suppressed another wince. Not close in the ways that mattered. That his death had rattled Hartley so much... Surprised him? And made something strange flutter in his chest, to be honest.
"I'm sure you don't really mean that. You've just forgotten how much of a d*ck I am. You'll change your mind soon enough, watch."
Hartley Rathaway
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It's time to pay the Piper.
KF / Anna
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Post by Hartley Rathaway on Apr 14, 2021 23:35:06 GMT -5
He couldn't bring himself to let go, afraid that if he did, they'd be back on that train. Truth be told he hadn't thought the two of them were all that close, not personally at least. But hindsight and all that. Losing James had stirred things he hadn't realized until it was far too late. He'd have to keep them to himself - He'd just gotten James back, didn't want to risk losing him again, this time in a difference way - but... For now those same things kept his arms firmly around the other man.
James' arms were around him, far more awkward and far less desperate than Hartley's. He laughed through his tears at the blonde's comments. He didn't think he'd change his mind, even once James started being irritating again as was expected of a Trickster. Still it took him a moment to find his voice, managing just an, "I'm sorry." Another moment and he was able to pry himself off the blonde, quickly wiping his eyes, face flush with embarrassment. He stared at the sinking before adding, voice quiet but loud enough to be heard with how close they stood, "It... It should've been me."
His eyes moved to James, honest, open, vulnerable. It hadn't been hard to figure out James had been protecting him when he'd been shot. If James hadn't protected him, he could've lived. Sure Hartley would've been dead but considering what he'd aided in after, that might've been for the-- No, that wasn't a good train of thought to follow. Still... It should've been him.
"You protected me," he said, fiddling with his own hands, absentmindedly wondering where his flute had gone. A brown rat, Cocoa, scurried onto the counter, eyeing James but sitting close enough that Hartley focused on stroking the rat's fur. "I... I couldn't even help you. All I could do was-" He grimaced. All he could do was be stuck in denial, thinking James was still alive, talking to him as if he was still alive, handcuffed to his rotting corpse. He'd been weak, a coward. Why had it taken him so long to accept the reality of the situation? He knew why.
He scratched Cocoa behind her ears.
"A lot happened," was all he said regarding the train, not really wanting James to know he was so weak, so broken. He wondered what the other man would think if he knew? Would he call him demented? Would he laugh at him? He didn't want to find out. "And a lot happened after that." He looked at James as if silently asking what he knew already. Did he know Hartley had helped murder Thaddeus Thawne? Did he knew he'd turned himself in to the police, that he'd only recently gotten out of jail?
None of that mattered as much as the answers to his questions about James. He opened his mouth to ask - how, why - but closed it, afraid that the answers wouldn't be pleasant, afraid that asking would somehow mean this gift, James' return, would be yanked away from him. There was that saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth, after all. And this was quite the gift - more than he had the strength to admit right now.
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541 words James Jesse
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Post by James Jesse on Apr 15, 2021 0:09:52 GMT -5
He was conflicted, when Hartley let out a shaky laugh and drew away from him. James had never been super touch-feely or a sensitive type, by his own judgment, so the hug in and of itself kind of went against his grain. And yet, with Piper's arms sliding out of his, James felt like maybe he was okay if the had stayed like that a little longer. Physically touching him was validating for James, too. That he was there, and alive. That... James didn't know... That his sacrifice hadn't been in vain?
Speaking of...
James struggled to find words, but it was the most complicated and knotted situation he'd ever been in. Instead, he clutched his hands silently into fists at his sides, grabbing at strings of words in his head but hating how they fit together and trying again. Hartley wasn't looking at him anymore, which kind of helped. That meant that James could fester and think without the other man applying the expressions to himself.
"Yeah," James said, finally, and his voice sounded a little more stubborn and harder than was probably best, "it should've been you. But I couldn't let it be. You wanna know why?" James glared, indignant, defiant and more, at Hartley, and realized he was still avoiding eye contact. "Lookit me," he muttered, and waited for those cold, blue irises to flick up.
"You're one of the good ones, Hartley. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise. The world had-" he paused, cussed inwardly at how dying made tenses a mother, then kept going, "has enough garbage like me walking around. I wasn't gonna let them take-" James fumbled. He didn't know how to word it differently than he already had and was worried what might slip if he tried. "You," he finished, lamely.
Hartley Rathaway
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It's time to pay the Piper.
KF / Anna
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Post by Hartley Rathaway on Apr 21, 2021 17:07:19 GMT -5
He couldn't bring himself to look at James, guilt keeping his eyes anywhere except the other man. It was easier to focus on Cocoa, who scurried up his arm and perched herself on his shoulder. He admittedly flinched when James agreed with him, though he knew that agreement was for the best. James probably regretted protecting him, regretted dying for him. It wasn't as if they'd been so close that he'd expected the blonde to take a bullet, literally, for him. He hadn't thought James had cared enough until then.
Hartley blinked, trying hard to keep his eyes anywhere except the other man when James admitted he couldn't let him be the one who had died. As far as he could tell, there didn't seem to be any regret in his voice, plenty of stubbornness - more than enough for the both of them - but no regret. He heard the muttered request - demand? - and hesitated before he turned his attention from the floor, where his gaze had drifted to, to James, their eyes locking the the redhead finding it suddenly impossible to look away.
His heart did... something in his chest at the words that followed. Either he hadn't ever thought James had thought that highly of him or his own opinion of himself had been far too low for far too long that it had clouded how he thought other people viewed him. Possibly it was both. The words, the sincerity and even the awkwardness behind them stirred up something he didn't want to admit or address right then and there. It was the same something that made it so hard to break eye contact with this man. It was something he was afraid might just push James away.
He only managed to break eye contact when he moved so he could lean back against the counter, hands gripping the edges, needing something to steady his legs with. Cocoa managed to remain perched on his shoulder, sniffing his cheek as if she expected a treat.
"You were left with me," he explained, voice low, tired, after a pause of silence between them. He looked at James, eyes swirling with remorse, grief, regret. "We weren't uncuffed... No one bothered... Taking you." How long had they been trapped together? How much of that time had James been dead? He grimaced, pulling his gaze away. He didn't want to think about the details. "The cuffs were still on after - after you were gone." Words crawled up his throat, caught, and got swallowed back down. His grip on the counter's edge tightened. "I... I had a hard time accepting it, that they had taken you from-" He cut himself off, shaking his head and biting on his lower lip. No, he didn't think now was a good time to admit that.
"A lot happened," was what he said instead, repeating his words from earlier. He hung his head back, eyes on the ceiling, and let out a small, humorless chuckle. "I didn't want to believe you were - dead," he admitted. His eyes slowly found James again, head still hung back. "I talked to you," he said, preferring to leave the to your corpse, specifically part implied. Before he thought better of it, he found himself following that up with, "Are you sure I'm not garbage too?"
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552 words James Jesse
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Post by James Jesse on Apr 21, 2021 20:59:22 GMT -5
James had been struggling with a lot beyond the obvious, those last few weeks of his first life. Some really profound things finally fell into place, of course, those last heartbeats. Had spurred him to throw himself in front of Hartley. They hadn't faded, either, with his return. James felt just as sure of them in the present as he had then, and those revelations made his fingers twitch at his sides, trying to take control.
But it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair what Hartley had had to go through, after James died, sure, but before that, too. It wasn't fair that so much sh*t kept happening to such a good guy. And it wouldn't be fair of James to unload that baggage, because Hartley was at a different place than he'd been on that train. Getting it off James's chest sounded selfish, even to him, and so he tamped down the urge instead.
Piper backed away, carving space between them. James's hand twitched again, but he kept it in place. Then Hartley started to talk, and each syllable was another weight of guilt dropped on his chest. But Trickster bore it without flinching. It was literally the least he could do. He deserved to hear the hell Hartley had been left to in that freight car. So, yeah, he took each word as a blow. Didn't hesitate. Until the last part. The question.
Now his hand leaped before he could stop it. James reached out, snatching one of Hartley's wrists, maybe too firmly. His self-control caught up to him before he could pull the other man closer. Instead, he just stood there, glaring the redhead down, blue gaze steely but earnest. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he said lowly. He looked down at his hand on Hartley and slowly released his grip, letting their fingers slip over one another.
He swallowed past a lump of unspoken words and then cleared his throat. James looked down for a few seconds, then asked again, less accusatory and more tenderly this time, "Why are you in tights again?"
Hartley Rathaway
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