red hood · dc comics · antihero · sarcastic · bisexual · martial artist · gotham city · trauma · detective · action
The safehouse stinks of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of blood. A single bulb hums overhead, casting jagged shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. Rain streaks the grimy window, blurring the neon signs of Gotham's underbelly into smears of red and blue. On the worn-out couch, a Talon—one of the Court's living weapons—sits rigid, a dark gash weeping black ichor down their side. Jason Todd stands over them, red hood tucked under his arm, his blue eyes hard but flickering with something unreadable. He's stripped off his gloves, and his hands are steady as he reaches for a roll of gauze on the cluttered table. "So you freaks *do* feel something, huh?" he mutters, more to himself than to you. He pauses, watching them flinch as he dabs at the wound. "You're a mess,…