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[OOC Info]

Since I started strewing this guy around, instead of keeping him to himself, I feel the need to clarify a few details about him, so that people know what's going on and so that I don't get them mixed up. So!

( Things you need to know about Mitchell ''Mitch'' Malone (Please, please keep in mind that this is OOCly available information, to be -kept- OOC.) )

Entry tags:

travel,
two weeks

Escape Velocity

"We need to get out of here."

He's sitting on the edge of the hotel bed when he says it, sitting with his hands buried in his hair and the tv buzzing local news in the background. Says it to himself and to J, in the room with him. They need to get out of here. Away. The urge -- familiar, but no more pleasant for it -- becomes more and more insistent every day. How out of he doesn't know, where he doesn't know. But they've run up against a wall, and they need to break past it.

(Almost literally, it feels like -- they've run out of west to go toward, without hopping a boat and crossing the ocean, and now they're just floundering up and down the coast, bouncing against that sand-and-sea barrier.)

It's -- God, he can't even find the right words for it. But what J said, barely half a month ago, was right. Everything's changed. They can't do the same cons anymore -- they were getting old anyway, but now their biggest advantage, J's sweet face, has been taken out of the picture thanks to a six-inch hunting knife -- they aren't the same people anymore. They need to get out of here. Go somewhere new.

"To sleep is an act of faith."

Mitch could never hope to stay awake as long as J is able to. He tried a few times, back before they knew each other too well -- back when he still didn't trust the blond not to do something to him while he slept -- and failed.

Now, he's back to a similar level of wariness. But he doesn't try, these three months and a lifetime later, to stay up again. Instead, when sleep starts to tug at him, he gets off at the next exit, and checks them in at the cheapest nearby hotel. If J protests the pause in their journey, he promises that they'll get going again first thing in the morning. And he gets ready for bed, and he sleeps.

He told J, when they first met, that he was a light sleeper. Hopefully, he'll be light enough.

Travel Montage

It takes a while to get from Chicago to Las Vegas by train. A lot of stops in weird little towns, a lot of time to get to know your traveling partner, and his abilities and little quirks. Time enough for Mitch to learn that J is a hell of a lot sharper than he seems at first glance (though just as crazy), and has some kind of bizarre reverse-reaction to physical pain, and never goddamn sleeps. Time enough for J to see Mitch have nightmares (maybe even pry something out of him, before he wakes up completely, about how his parents died), and hear him wax poetic about Gotham City, and pick up a few more hints about just how high up on the social ladder he was before he left his former life behind.

(Time enough for the both of them to eat most of a stolen crate of snack cakes, and get really, really damn sick of them, and keep eating them anyway.)

Time and travel run out, though, and the train passes through the Vegas rail yard. And it's time to get the hell off of here.

(no subject)

He's a quick learner. He always has been, all his teachers (and of course, Alfred) told him so. He just never applied himself. Never had the motivation.

Now? Here? Since that night he left Gotham... almost half a year ago? He has that. If he wasn't motivated, he'd have starved by now, or been locked up, dragged back to Gotham, shot and left to bleed out in a dirty alleyway... He's learning the how, the ins and outs of the criminal trade, every day. The why still eludes him, understanding, but he's sure, in time...

...if he has time. If he survives the night, an arms transaction gone bad, ending with half the ragtag gang he'd been adopted into dead and the rest of them scattered, racing down dark Chicago streets, hearing bullets ping against brick too too too close behind him.

He dives left, prays they were expecting right.

(no subject)

Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him.