Chapter Text
"Who's the new chick?" Slug predictably asks the moment they step into the room. Kori, for her part, just greets him with a cheerful wave. Also predictably.
It is not exactly unusual for the interests of his budding criminal empire to overlap with some of the Outlaws' seediest missions, but so far Jason's always made it a point to at the very least try to keep them both separate. Sadly, there's a first time for everything. Tonight Kori manages to look slightly less out of place than she normally would after ditching her usual lilac bodysuits for a more sensible all-black ensemble. Stealth is not really her style—what with being bioluminescent and all—but there’s always a degree of compromising to be made for the sake of dismantling a trafficking ring. That, however, is not happening until a few hours later. For now, Jason directs her to the far end of the conference table in the hopes of ironing out the last few details of their plan before deployment.
"She's with the Boss, and that's all you need to know," Ciszewski says without diverting his eyes from the myriad of papers he's currently organizing.
"Why's she glowin’?"
There's a short pause as the lieutenant struggles to come up with an answer. Truth is, Jason could sweep in with an explanation of his own—but, honestly? He derives a sick thrill from the sight of his second in command at a loss for words, for a change. "She's with the Boss," Ciszewski repeats, more to himself than the rest of them. "That's all you need to know."
Clearly Slug doesn’t agree with the sentiment. "Hey, miss," the goon calls after her, raising his voice a little so as to be heard across the conference room. "Why you glowin’?"
"I'm an alien!" Kori beams at him.
Slug politely smiles back. ”Heard that?” He turns to Ciszewski, whose eyes are now firmly pressed shut as he mutters some form of prayer. “She’s an alien.”
"Only in Gotham," Butcher mumbles. Then, at a higher volume: “Missed you at the debriefing, Boss. Ciszewski kept trying to get us to look at graphs—he had a laser pointer and everything.”
Jason shrugs. “We got tangled up in a mission. Very high stakes.”
"We went to a petting zoo," Kori explains, hovering slightly in his enthusiasm. Jason discreetly sets her back down with a gentle hand on her elbow. “I wanted to see the baby goats.”
“Princess here wanted to see the baby goats,” Jason echoes, not an ounce of regret in his voice. Because, look—there comes a point in the life of every crime lord in which you simply can't bring yourself to care about your reputation anymore. In Jason's case, it was probably a little after the time Cuddles attempted to teach him how to mend holes with embroidery flowers. There's just no coming back from that.
"Hey Boss, do you have a moment?" Skinny Joe loudly interrupts from where he leans his head out through the doorway.
"No,” Jason replies instinctively. Truth is, he could spare a minute or two—but it’s the principle of the thing, dammit. “Fuck off."
"He has several moments," Kori intervenes with a placid smile, having long grown indifferent to her teammate's habitual callousness. She's got months of cohabitation in a crammed spaceship to thank for that.
"Is this another one of those Batgirls?” Skinny Joe walks up to them, eyeing her up and down as he goes. “You a Batgirl, girlie?"
"I'm a Starfire."
"She's an alien!" Slug helpfully provides from across the room.
Kori holds out her hand for a handshake—as always, way too keen on observing what she considers the traditional Earthian greeting customs. “Nice to meet you!”
Skinny Joe obligingly slaps her hand then gives her a fist bump. “You a henchman, or what?”
“ Henchperson ,” Jason corrects pointedly. “Or do I have to make you take the seminar again?”
Skinny Joe’s eyes glaze over as he probably experiences vivid flashbacks of Crazy-Eyed Steve’s notoriously traumatic seminars. "Here." He quickly changes the subject. "Your first beer."
Jason quirks a single brow at the proffered bottle. "You have the short-term memory of a goldfish," he deadpans, because just the night prior Jason broodily downed half a six-pack in view of practically the whole warehouse. (Look, he was going through a moment , okay? No judging.) Still, he snatches it anyway, because he's not the one to turn down free drinks and he's about 95% sure his goons wouldn't poison him.
“What’s the significance of this beverage?” Kori asks curiously.
“It’s a coming of age thing.” Jason shrugs as he effortlessly pops the bottle open by hooking the edge of the cap onto the table and whacking on it.
Kori hums, her delicate features scrunching up in thought. “But I thought the majority of age on this planet was eighteen?”
“For some things. Depends on the country.” And the state, Jason doesn’t say—because after all this time helping Kori acclimate to human culture, he’s learnt that it’s always better to tackle the technicalities once she’s got a firm grasp on the more general aspects of whichever subject they're handling. “For alcohol it’s generally twenty-one,” he says before taking a long swig from his drink.
“Were you not already twenty-one?”
Jason makes a so-so gesture with his free hand, but doesn't elaborate. He's (somewhat) proud to say he's reached a point where he can be a lot more open with his goons—but even now, his short-lived tenure as a corpse is a subject he keeps very close to his chest. He'll probably never be entirely comfortable discussing the topic with anyone.
Thankfully, Kori knows better than to pry into his affairs—least of all in front of third parties—and so she points at the bottle instead. “Can I try it?”
“It’s bitter,” Jason warns, but passes it along all the same. “You won’t like it.”
“Still. I would like to participate in this Earthian coming of age ritual.”
“Now, that’s the spirit.” Skinny Joe claps a companionate hand on her shoulder but quickly pulls away when the touch singes his skin. "Welcome to Earth, girlie."