#for context using him as a collective pronoun for ease of conversation
Text
every time i think of system jason i think about. well first i think about how jason todd is a separate alter but jason todd is also the person because thats the name they own but the main host for like 20 years goes by jason and thats his name and. anyways. next i think about the ways he dissociates. but THEN i think about the littles/teens/even some adults that will only respond to robin or their name, and if they dont have a name, just robin, and maybe jason
sometimes its just a game of firing off names. some of them only respond to red hood, some of them respond to jason todd in full specifically, some of them respond to peter. theyre bad at names and in the early days its hard to figure out whos who (both in the system and out), too, so sometimes theyll just stare at whoevers talking to them with squinted eyes until they say a name they recognize as their own. some of them only respond to Specific Nicknames, some of them love people besides dick and bruce and alfred (and sometimes damian and tim and steph, but not duke, or...you get the picture) because they all love their family, even if they dont know them, but they dont Know Them. and some of them only respond to jaylad or jaybird or little bird, some of the older ones only respond to damian. its definitely a trial and error kind of thing. usually they can interact with everyone just fine, but some days they find jason in the kitchen and when tim tries to talk to him he looks away and creeps into a corner of the kitchen and they have to find dick and then bruce (bad choice) and then damian. its the trauma conversation but its also the memory conversation and the 'who are you to yourself and who do people know you as' conversation. i have a lot of thoughts abt jason w osdd/did (preferably did that sounds more like him) it does things to my brain. this post was supposed to be abt alters that respond to robin and then i just. kept talking. oops
oh my god the thought i just had. some of the littles dont know any of them and just hole themselves away in the library and everyones like 'ok has anyone seen jason he skittered off earlier and he looked fucking Scared we are Worried' but they learned early on that looking for him is a Bad Idea because hell get scared. so they just have to wait until jason texts one of them or smth like 'bad news weve got a new kid and they dont know any of you. good news we know what they respond to. bad news its a nickname from our mom most of us cant bear to hear. good news were getting them a name. bad news we cant leave the library yet. were alive though' and thats all they have to go off until he trudges out of the library three hours later asking what the hell happened because the little and a protector had a whole Convo then threw jason back in front to fend for himself
ok thats it this time i think. for real this time. anyways i have thoughts abt system jason if you have any queries please ask them i would love to talk abt him
#for context using him as a collective pronoun for ease of conversation#which is what the others do when talking about jason as a whole as well#it serves the same purpose as they/them (plural)#dont tell anyone (joking i made it obvious i just keep it on the downlow. we have a sideblog) but im also a system#and we do the same thing. she is a collective pronoun until a guy shows up that fuckin hates it#and its the bodys gender so using it as a collective pronoun is easier#plus i think jason (the alter) and jason (the system) both do not care on the whole#there are some girls who are finicky abt it but not too much#what was i doing. right ending the post. its 4 am sorry#lunas lies#dc#batman#jason todd#red hood#begging this reaches the wider community. talk to me abt system jason please please please please ple#you know what. for these posts#system jason#yahoo
23 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Congratulations, CLAIRE! You have been accepted as your original character, KITTY OSWALD. Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the NEW MEMBER CHECKLIST and send in your account within the next 24 hours.
Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?
OOC INFORMATION
Name: Claire
Age: REDACTED
Pronouns: she/her
Time zone: cst
Activity Level: 8 (I will endeavor to be on at least once every day.)
Tumblr account (for contact purposes): REDACTED
How did you find us?: search through the tumblr rp tags
Triggers: none
Anything Else?:
IC Information:
Name: Kitty Oswald
FC: Chloe Bennet or Phoebe Tonkin
Date of Birth: September 5th
Age: 24
Character Quote: “She was like the moon – Part of her was always hidden away.”
Pronouns: she/her
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Biromantic
Occupation: waitress at Hungry’s Diner, mechanic, car thief
Affiliation: Civilian
Neighborhood: Downtown, apartments above Black Cat coffee
Personality: (charismatic, resourceful, pragmatic) (Stubborn, tempermental, vindictive)
Biography:
Kitty Oswald was born in the Hinterlands. A place which here is synonmous with prison, or with hell. There were three things she loved about her home. Her mother, her uncle, and a blue toolbox with chipped paint. The first of these boarded a train two week after her tenth birth. The second taught her work a car. The third she took with her when she left home at eighteen. The identity of her father was a mystery her mother never revealed and rarely spoke of. After her passing (as they would come to call it) she became the responsbility of her Uncle Otto.
She grew up with greasy hand, overalls, and a pragmatic head. Work came first, then homework, then dinner, and occasionally (on third sundays and fourth thursdays) there was ice cream. She tutored well under Otto’s instructions, leaning how to fix a car up like new and how to mess up the job just enough that the customer returned one month later. In that junkyard with her uncle, she blossomed. Blossomed is a word that here means grew into a headstrong, occasionally visious, and confident young woman. One that had outgrown the hinterlands. So on her eighteenth birthday she got carrot cake (courtesy of a neighbor), stamps, and a bus ticket to the city.
Ambition was for others. Kitty spent her years waitressing, occasionally searching for her parents, and avoiding drama. She took up rent in a one bedroom apartment, adopted herself a (vicious) cat, and spent her days in Hungry’s Diner. Her nights were spent in a much less noble profession of procuring stolen vehicles for her uncle to sell or breakdown into parts. And, in bed some nights, she could not shake the sensation that she was missing something, something obvious, and it was just out of reach.
Connections:
Daughter of Jefferson Oquassa
This is a fact that is unknown to both father and daughter. They had not even met until Kitty was nineteen and came in Kakao. As a chocolate fiend, she is always splurging at the restaurant and has made passing acquaintance with the owner. If anything his staff finds her a bit annyoing as she loves the food, but does not make enough to tip them well.
Acquaintaince of Farrah Abassi
A regular customer at Hungry’s Diner, Kitty enjoys bantering with the woman and can sense that she’s not your typical late night guest. She makes sure to keep the woman’s coffee topped off and finds time to sneak across the booth and snatch a few minutes of easy conversation with someone who wasn’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth.
Friend of Cassidy Cantrell
Originally a professional arrangement to garner insights into the families in the city and possibly her own heritage, Kitty has grown actually fond of Cassidy. They share a similar thirst and stubborness that endeared her to the woman. When she needs someone to bounce ideas off of, Cassidy is her go to gal.
Headcannons:
She is allergic to bees and once got rushed to the hospital after being stung. Doctors say if she is stung again she could die in less than a minute.
She doesn’t know how to swim. Growing up in the Hinterlands there was little options for swimming lessons. This is a fact she hides and is ashamed to admit.
She can do long division in her head and like her mother has a head for numbers. Multiplication, calculus, whatever it might be she can do without paper or pen. From the age of ten, she managed the books for Otto’s Auto Sales.
Plans: I’d love for Kitty to be recruited into the VFD and have her flirt with the ideals of the firestarters, even join their ranks. She is the daughter of two VFD volunteers, raised literally at their doorstep and I think it will take time for her to find her footing in that world. Eventually I’d like her to be swayed into the status of a volunteeer and to become Jefferson’s protege.
Roleplay: Kitty, despite her pragmatism, is a bit of a loose cannon. She’s smart talking, confident, and yet more vulnerable than most. She has built herself up on quicksand and when the time comes she will find out about her family and her history. I hope to bring someone that evolves over time, that grows and strengthens from being able to access her truths and flex her muscles.
Writing Sample
OO,
Midnight. Orion’s Observatory. Bring chocolate.
Secretly,
JO
She’d found the note pressed between two random pages in Uncle Otto’s books. It was yellowed, worn at the edge, and still bore the marks of being folded twice. At twelve, only two years removed from her mother’s passing, she’d held the message reverently. She’d traced the long dried ink, and felt along the creases. The date on the bottom, written in the man’s spidery scrawl was exactly 365 days before she’d been born. As Oona Oswald had been fond of pointing out, there are no coincedences only people to blind to see the connections.
She’d slipped the note into the back pocket of her overalls and then into a drawer in her bedside table. Uncle Otto would be none the wiser. The books, the numbers, the mathematics of a business were beyond him. He lived for greasy hands, sticky fingers, and warm bathes in the evening. He was always saying his big sister Oona had passed, always collecting sympaty, and never explaining more. In this context, passed meant less death and more packed suitcase, train ticket, and no goodbyes. She’d stuck around long enough to fill Kitty’s head up with something other than gasoline and then made for the hills.
Never one for attachments that Oona Oswald. And yet she’d kept that message.
She rolls back into the Hinterlands that weekend with minestrone soup, oysters, truffles, and vehicle relieved of her plates. (and her previous owner) The shop looks empty, with crows perched on the rusted sign, and dirt encrusted on the front door. But she sees a pair of legs in jeans and mismatched boots poking out from under a car. As she idles to a stop in front of the garage, her Uncle slides out squints in the yellow evening sunlight. She slips out from behind the wheel, gifts in hand, and nods a greeting.
“Uncle.”
“Not much Hinter left in you is there?” He spits and stands. Six years since she left to go live in the city. They haven’t been kind years on him. He’s greyer, fatter, wrinklier. “You look like a posh city girl.”
She snorts. She doubts any of the uptown girls she sees could pop open a cars dashboard and jumpstart it in less than four minutes. “And you look like a rotting piece of fruit,” she bites back.
There’s a pause. She stares and him, he stares back and then …in a flash he tips his head back and laughs. The Oswald laugh. Head tipped skyward, neck bent back, hands on hips, one leg tilted forward. A family trait shared by them all, and offered only sparingly. “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.”
She steps forward, wraps and arm about his shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve brought you gifts you old bastard.”
“You got it all?” She nods. “Soup?” She nods. “Oysters?” She nods. “Chocolate.” Eye roll and a nod. When have I ever forgotten something. “And what about the wheels.”
She tilts her head back. “The owner won’t miss her. She’s got four others just like it.”
“What about her heart?”
She smiles. He means her engine. She took a look last night after stashing the car in an empty parking lot three blocks from her apartment. One hand on the warmth of the battery and she could tell just how young the model was. “Young,” she says. “Strong. Expensive.”
Maybe she should feel bad about stealing cars for her Uncle’s shop, but she doesn’t. Next month when she rolls in for her monthly visits he might have gutted the beauty and tossed her parts into many different cars scattered about the junkyard. He sees dollar signs in every part and she can rattle them off in her head with just as much ease. And yet, she’d much rather take her apart, get at her mechanics and then stich her back together. Uncle Otto would say that’s the city’s influence, making her soft. Or her father’s blood.
“Christmas in July.”
She nods, looking to her boots and the dirt below them. “I spoil you rotten.”
He guides her gaze back to him with a hand beneath the chin. “You ain’t still looking for him are you?”
“No.” But that’s a half-truth. The thing with having a mystery in the place of a parent is that you are always looking for them. Even when you’ve given up, even when you’ve put the puzzle pieces down they are still there. Here’s what she knows:
His initials are JO
He lives/lived in the city
He once snuck into Orion’s Observatory with her mother at midnight.
That’s not much to go on. When she first moved out and into the city she looked up every James O'Brien, Jeffrey Ocasto, and Joseph Owens in the phone books. Now the urge comes to her like a rising tide. She’ll look at some gentleman in uptown with a suit and top hat and think, is that him? It’s not. It never is. It never will be. But still …
“Or for her?”
She huffs under her breath. “She can be eaten by the Lachyrmose Leeches for all I care.”
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
