[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/baAgPvi.png[/img]
[sub][ [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5360930]Prev[/url] ] | [color=LightGreen]Issue 1.03[/color] | [ [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5364384]Next[/url] ]
[ [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3SZee4YZX8]build that wall[/url] ][/sub][/center]
[indent][color=FFFF00][i]The sound of a grown man backhanding a woman was unmistakable.

The arguing. The shouting. The immutable [b]clap-snap[/b]. Then the sobbing. More shouting. Sometimes pleading. 

Why did you make me do that?

When he’d been smaller, Jason would hide under the table when his old man and Catherine would argue. Then he’d hide in his room. Except sometimes his dad would stumble into his room, drunk and angry. 

Sometimes he knew why he was getting beat. Teacher sent a note home? That’s a beating. One of the guy’s in the bar said his son was acting like a sissy boy? You [b]better believe[/b] that’s a beating.

Other times, Jason had no idea. There probably was no reason. Willis Todd was just drunk and angry and wanted to take it out on someone. And that ‘someone’ was going to be either Catherine or Jason.

So Jason hid in the closet.

His dad would come up. Flip the bed mattress. Kick things around. But stumble out after awhile for a victim that would give him what he wanted. A reaction. Unless, that is, he was so drunk that when he’d tried to flip the matress, he’d just wind up on his ass and passed out.

That happened a few times.

So, Jason avoided being at home as much as he could. And, when he was home, closeted himself to just stay out of his dad’s way.

That’s what home was like.

Walking on eggshells, wondering what was going to set Willis Todd off. And then hiding in the closet, waiting for the drunken storm to blow over.[/i][/color][/indent]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Q7mw6r6.png[/img][/center]
[indent][color=silver]The photos lined the hallways.

Family portraits. Candid snaps that presented a foreign landscape. Smiling faces. People who seemed to genuinely be happy together. 

A large oil panting of a man and a woman, with a little kid that he guessed was Bruce at the man’s knee.

Jason looked at the faces of the woman and the kid. He didn’t see any fear. No bruises or marks that were explained away as having fallen down again.

[i]Man, what was that like?[/i]

[color=#ffffff]“Dinner is served.”[/color]

The announcement sent a shiver down the boy’s spine, which he masked by running a hand through his still damp hair. He’d taken a shower when they’d returned back to the mansion, changing into a pair of boxer shorts and a [i]Jurassic World[/i] t-shirt that was too large for him. 

It had belonged to Dick, along with the room that Jason now occupied.

Making his way down the hall, the boy passed by the vaulted dining room. Its massive table shrouded in silence and shadows. 

Did it ever even get used?

Jason and Alfred ate in one corner of the kitchen. A math textbook open, as the Boy Wonder propped an elbow against the table and scribbled away at his homework between bites of crusty bread and some kind of pale greenish-white soup.

It was a bit like eating a bowl of snot, but, [i]hey[/i], the bread by itself was better than just about anything Jason had ever put in his mouth.

Folding his newspaper down, the butler peered over at the boy. The elbow obviously caught the man’s ire, but the mouthful of soup the boy took seemed to make up for it. [color=#ffffff]“I must say, Master Jason, I’m impressed. The first time I served [i]vichyssois[/i] to Master Bruce, he spit it back out because it was cold.”[/color]

Blinking, the boy’s large blue eyes just stared back blankly at the butler. 

Really? He could think of [i]lots[/i] of reasons the soup wasn’t very appealing. But he’d learned the hard way that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, the flavor wasn’t all bad. It was more just how it looked.

He looked down at the soup. Stabbing the viscous contents with his spoon, the boy swirled it around as he said, [color=#ffff00]“Catherine would just open a can of [i]Spaghetti-Ohs[/i], drop a spoon into it, and hand it to me.” [/color]

Setting the spoon down, the boy reached over, tearing off another hunk of bread and popping that into his mouth – ignoring the mess of crumbs he was making – as he turned his attention back his math homework.

Alfred didn’t say anything after that.

The Wayne house was good for that. There was [b]a lot[/b] that was left unsaid in this home.

[i]“Tonight on WGCL News at Ten: The search for a lost boy in Gotham ends in tragedy tonight...”[/i]

There was a small television on in the background. 

Turning his head, Jason peered over to watch for a bit. So the kid that had been missing was dead? 

Did Bruce know?

Was that why they hadn’t heard from him? Was he on the trail of the kidnapper?

[i]“...now to weather...”[/i]

[color=#ffff00]“They didn’t say anything about the body outlines in Crime Alley,”[/color] the boy uttered.

Alfred’s newspaper rustled slightly, as he man’s voice uttered from behind the pages, [color=#ffffff]“Body outlines?”[/color]

[color=#ffff00]“Yeah, someone had drawn out the outline of two bodies, just like in those old crime movies,” [/color]the boy offered, pausing to tear off another piece of bread before he added, [color=#ffff00]“But there wasn’t any crime scene tape or nothin’!”[/color]

Alfred folded the paper down on the table. Mid-bite, Jason paused, the hair standing up on his neck.

He had the [i]distinct[/i] impression that he’d just said something wrong. Like with his old man, when there was that moment before he’d just go off.

[color=#ffffff]“I see,”[/color] Alfred remarked finally, giving the boy a smile that was utterly fake.

Yeah, he’d definitely said something wrong.

[color=#ffffff]“Well, tomorrow is a school day,”[/color] Alfred noted.

That was pretty much [i]Alfred[/i] for ‘go to your room.’

[color=#ffff00]“Can I wait up for Bruce?”[/color] the boy asked. Seriously, did Bruce Wayne even live here anymore? [color=#ffff00]“I haven’t seen him, like, all week I think.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]“Not tonight,”[/color] Alfred answered flatly, rising from the kitchen table and lifting the now-empty bowl away. [color=#ffffff]“To bed, Master Jason.”[/color]

With that, the butler gave a wave of the remote and clicked off the television.

Closing the textbook, the boy scooped up his homework and made his way out of the kitchen and into the labyrinthian abode. Up the winding stairs, down the hallway to the left. All the while, walking underneath the passage of the life of Bruce Wayne’s happy childhood.

He dropped the text and the loose papers down on top of the open backpack that was by the door to the room. 

Alfred had made the bed up again. 

He didn’t know why the butler bothered. Grabbing a few pillows, the boy tucked one under an arm as he peeled a bedsheet from off the bed, then turned and made his way to the closet.

It was bigger than the one he’d had back home.

Dropping the pillows and bed sheet onto the floor, the boy left to go brush his teeth. He returned a minute later, closing the door to the closet behind him as he curled up on the floor and wrapped himself in the bedsheet.

This felt almost like home.

There wasn’t enough noise. He used to fall asleep to the sound of Gotham traffic. Police sirens and gunshots.

Wayne Manor was quiet AF. Which was fitting in a lot of ways. It looked like a home. But it was really a tomb.[/color][/indent]