But how do we find anything on a world where they won't invent Google for another century?! – Jason Todd (New Earth)
Jason waffled for a few hours on whether or not to go back to Singer's house to confirm that it was a hotspot of The Motherfucking Asshole, and then shrugged, deciding on going in a few hours. It would possibly freak out Singer, and let them know that he wasn't going away.
The phone blares out a tinny ring tone. Jason doesn't bother checking the caller ID, only answering with an annoyed "Todd."
"Jason, what's going on?" The Pretender demands. "I just got here from college, and Dick's missing?"
Jason honestly considers hanging up and ditching the phone. Then he realized that Tim would still find a way to be annoying, and that would only inspire him. So, he actually answers. "I'm busy, Replacement."
"Sure you are," Tim sounds annoyingly smug. Jason fondly recalls Damian tossing Tim off the Batcave's dinosaur and wishes he had been there to see it. "That's why you're talking to me right?"
"Look," Jason snaps, "I get it. We currently have a mutual benefit thing going, but I swear to God, Drake, if you don't leave me the hell alone, I will shove a Batarang so far your sorry ass that you'll be able to throw it from your fucking mouth."
Drake considers this, and then responds with a rather creative threat involving said batarang and hung up. Jason snickered.
On the other side of America (lies, she was actually a few hours away), Sasha Todd (Damn it Jason, why can't you ever see that somebody loves you? Well I do. Platonically) is about to open the door to her apartment when she hears a noise. She paused, keys jiggling in one hand, and pressed an ear to the door.
Someone is in her apartment. Sasha considers this fact, and draws a knife. She unlocks the door and lets it creak open, and her jaw drops at the scene inside.
A man, blonde and gaunt and wearing rather expensive clothes in unconscious on her rug. In one hand he's loosely clutching a stick, and broken pieces of it surround him. Sasha doesn't see how he got in, because her salt lines are unbroken and her fire escape window is locked. She grabs her baseball bat that's beside her open door- which she closes- and pokes him. He grunts, muttered something, and rolled over. Sasha sighed and gripped his armpits, whoa he was light, and hauled him onto the couch.
She'll give a couple of hours before dumping a bucket of cold water on him.
It's noon when Jason reappears at Singer's place. He's grinning- never a good sign to anyone who knows him- and he stops at the same place where he talked to Singer yesterday. He whistles, long and loud and smirked at the sudden dead silence where before there had been low conversation.
Another pause, and Singer comes rolling out the front door. "What d'ya want, now?" He demands, like he has the right.
He wants his big brother. So, he responds with a vague threat. "I heard that Dickie-boy came by last night. Do you know where he went?"
Singer glowered at him. "I had guests over. Why'd you even think that, anyhow?"
Jason smiled, sharp-toothed and deadly. "A little birdie told me." That has all kinds of implications. He considers Singer, thinking about how he could get him to let drop where The Motherfucking Asshole is. Contacts that he hasn't had to use in a while told him that Singer is one paranoid bastard and Jason doesn't feel like getting his face blasted with a shotgun. So breaking in is out.
Oh, hell. Singer's loading up the shotgun. It's buckshot, so it'd sting like a bitch, but still.
Jason's phone rings, breaking the tense silence. "Mind if I answer?" Singer shakes his head. Jason clicks the answer button and says "Jason speaking."
A beat goes by and then... "Sasha, slow down. What? You're fucking kidding me. No. No, don't shoot him. What have I told you about shooting people that try to have sex with you? No, don't shoot them unless they're really kinky. He's a what? Okay, Scar, be there in a few hours, and don't hit the fucker over the head again. Love you, bye." Jason hung up and raised an eyebrow. "So, are you gonna shoot me, 'cause I got someone keeping the bed warm."
"Get the fuck offa my property and maybe I'll consider it." Singer snaps.
Jason waves and ambled off.
"Seriously, luv? I thought we'd established that hitting me over the head with a baseball bat doesn't do a damn thing."
"Yes it does. It makes me feel better and you are seriously fucking annoying,"
"I feel the love."
"You'll feel a knife if don't shut up."