Owner Pose
Roy Harper The past several weeks have been...very hard on Roy. There are so many reasons why but none of them worth detailing here, Dear Reader, in this venue. And so our young hero has been keeping himself busy because when you're an alcoholic and a drug addict idle hours are not your worst enemy. They are your only enemy. There are countless refugee camps in Gotham and Metropolis and points in NYC far from Manhattan and many, many other regions. Sleeping maybe five or six hours a day, Roy has spent all his time patrolling these camps. The displaced and the downtrodden are particularly vulnerable, and where the vulnerable gather the predators gather too. It's like that on the Serengeti and it's like that here in Metropolis as well.

Worked past exhaustion and still unable to sleep, Roy went for a walk. That was four hours ago. There is number that represents how many bars Roy stopped in front of and wanted to enter so badly, but he lost track of it hours ago. Sure, he's 19 and looks 16, but he has plenty of cash on him tonight and even in the hometown of the Justice League cash still gets you want you want.

But for now he is keeping his demons in check. He ducked into this museum because it was well-lit and full of people. He's only peripherally aware of even where he is. He paid the entrance fee and started to walk around.
Iason Being adrift is something that Iason has become familiar with, by now. After being literally adrift and shipwrecked for a thousand or so years, he woke up in a world that no longer was his own. After a year, it is still wild an unfamiliar. That was something he had endeavored to remedy- through study.

Books can only get you so far, though, and Diana had encouraged him to go visit museums, since he was discovered in one (by Diana, long story), and he decided that's what he would do, as long as he was in this strange, very beautiful city.

He had money. Diana had made sure to pay him for his work at the Arts Center, and he spent very little. So he could afford the entrance fee without much trouble.

He seems to be completely oblivious to the looks people are giving him- not because he is handsome, which he is- in that Classical Greek way of his- but because he is not properly clothed for the cold. The white linen, sleeveless chiton with the belt cinched around his waist, and the sandals. He looks like a cosplayer who got lost, or a frat boy who decided to get that extra hour of study before heading to the toga party.

In any case, he walks in silence, absorbing everything he can about the strange visitors that have come to the planet. "Wonderful..." he exclaims. He knew that one of Diana's friends, Superman, was from another world. He had never met him- he had yet to meet any aliens firsthand- but he was looking forward to it.
Roy Harper It's probably when he sees Iason that Roy first actually pulls out of his own head to assess where he ended up. He glances around the place "...the fuck am I?..." he murmurs quietly to himself. He's had drug and alcohol-related blackouts before but this is his first exhaustion-related blackout. The Jules Verne Museum. He was never really a sci-fi fan, but Roy's surprisingly well-read.

As someone who does the kind of work he does, he knows strange when he sees it. And he sees it right now. He also knows danger when he sees it, and he does /not/ see that right now. But Iason is very odd-looking and very handsome, and Roy is more than a little lonely tonight. So fuck it, he walks over to the oddly dressed man. "You, uh, you just come from a costume party or heading to one when you're done here?" he asks. There's no hostility in his voice, just an approximately even mix of curiosity, loneliness, and exhaustion.
Iason The youth blinks when he is addressed, and turns his dark eyes on Roy. "Oh. No, I am not in costume." He knows that expression from hearing Diana and her sister. He is aware that some people wear them to do good. It never occurs to him that his manner of dress is so antiquated that it comes off as a costume. "These are my own clothes. This is how I dress, usually." He glances down, olive skin showing past the hem of his chiton. Then at the other people here, who are bundled up for the cold in one way or another, and then back to the redhead addressing him.

"It isn't very appropriate for the season, I suppose..." he muses.
Roy Harper Roy leans sideways on the railing in front of whatever display Iason was looking at. Appearing nonchalant when he doesn't at all feel that way inside is very much his jam. He'd probably be good at poker. He's never tried it. "You do you, man, but if you want a buck's worth of free advice, when you walk around in minus five windchill dressed like that you definitely draw attention to the fact that you aren't exactly a normal type person, if you know what I mean."

Then a small, mirthless laugh escape his lips. "Holy shit, I'm turning into my father." He stands up straight again as though preparing to head off. "I'm sorry. I should have minded my own business. No offense intended, my dude."
Iason "I do not mind," Iason says with a smile, "It was a good observation. One I hadn't considered. I have so little need of concealing who I am." A glance at his hand, "I am very much not 'normal', if you were to consider that I have more in common with..." he gestures to a nearby statue, an artist's recreation of a 'Martian' based on J'onn J'onnzz, "that than I do with those walking around me. It is the reason for which I am not bothered by the cold. But I am normal in other ways. I do enjoy conversation and company."
Roy Harper The young archer is not a dumb man, but this is outside of his wheelhouse for sure. He listens closely to Iason's words. His gaze shifts to the Martian statue then back to Iason. He was definitely in the process of excusing himself and leaving the dude alone but now...

"Wait, are you saying you're from another planet?" He gestures toward the Martian statue with a flick of his chin. "Like green boi over here?"
Iason After a moment of confusion, Iason understands the misunderstanding and lets out a little chuckle. "Oh. I see- no. I am not from there. What I meant is that I was born as a statue. Although I have flesh now, I am hardier than most, and stronger than most."

He glances at the statue, and raises his eyebrows, "I have met a few people who are green. But are all green people out of this world?"
Roy Harper Roy snorts a little bit. "Well probably most, I'm no expert. I mean, the Hulk. He's green as fuck and he's from Earth. But I suspect that mo...wait, did you just say you were born as a /statue/? Like a stone statue? Like David or something like that?"

He's a lot of things, but gullible isn't one of them. Some high frat boy showing up at a museum wearing a toga and making outrageous claims is not enough to get Roy to take the bait. He narrows his gaze and studies Iason's facial and verbal cues carefully.
Iason "Stone? No, it was a bronze statue." The young man looks slightly wistful, seemingly ignorant of Roy's skepticism, "The goddess of Justice breathed life into my form to bring to justice the men who slew my sister. After I was done with the dark deed, I went into slumber again. I did not awake until a year ago, when Princess Diana happened to mention my sister's name in my presence, and I awoke." He glances back at Roy.

"She was gentle hearted and kind, and brought me into her home, as I have none."
Roy Harper Roy is...he's just so tired. He's sleep deprived. He hasn't had a proper night's rest in who even knows how long. The earnestness of the beautiful man standing before him and the sorrowful nature of his tale might not normally be enough to get past Roy's natural distrust of people but tonight, tired as he is, it's enough.

Although Iason doesn't seem adept at reading human non-verbal cues, if he were he would see someone exhausted, unable to sleep, and desperate for conversation. So Roy stays. "So wait, you were born as a statue but had a sister who was not a statue? How does that work?"
Iason Iason doesn't experience fatigue as quickly as others, but it has come to a point that even he is picking up on the young man's body language. He glances at a bench, and nods in its direction before walking there and sitting on it, an invitation for the other to join him.

"I was stillborn. It was my father who commissioned an artist to create a statue in the likeness of whom I would have been, had I lived. When my sister was in peril of death, she elevated a prayer- and it would seem that the goddess of Justice, Dike herself, agreed with Hades himself to bring my soul from his realm, that the likeness of myself be imbued with my soul and receive the gift of life. So, as you see, I am statue-born, but also born of woman, brother to Hypatia, though I was never born."

He smiles broadly, "As you said... I am not normal. And I am Iason. You have not yet told me your name."
Roy Harper For the briefest of moments there is indecision. Moving from standing here in front of the display to sitting on the bench is, in itself, so trivial a thing but in Roy's too-tired mind it represents some kind of brink, some sort of verge, though what kind exactly he does not know. And if Campbell has taught us anything it is that we never can come back from the thresholds we cross.

But Roy does move to sit on the bench. One who is versed in body cues would note he has his focus on Iason: sitting sideways facing him, same-sided arm up across the back of the bench, opposite-sided leg crossed over the other toward him. And he goes utterly still as he listens to the rest of the account. "Jesus," he says as one tear leaks down his face. With irritation he swipes it away with the back of his hand. Roy Harper does not cry, and certainly not in public! "That's...that's...some shit right there." A second tear, from the other eye breaks free and makes a run for it. He quickly swipes it away too.

He takes a deep breath to compose himself. Perhaps he does some mental exercise, recalls some brutal memory from some patrol over some neighborhood on some past night, to banish the tears and pull his shit together. These are the kinds of tools that physical vigilantes carry in their emotional tool belts to get them through the nights. "I'm...uh...Roy," he says, swallowing heavily. "Roy Harper." He lifts the hand from his lap -- the one not across the back of the bench -- and moves to extend it for a shake. But he's awkward right now and he balks. The hand seems to nervously go a little forward and a little back a few times before he finally extends it fully.
Iason "Chaire, Roy." He pronounces it 'Haire', and both hands reach to take Roy's in them: one poised above, and one below. It is a gentle, reassuring touch. "Thank you for your compassion. I am sure her shade is grateful for you honoring her memory with your tears, as do I."

He frowns a little, "But you seem to be very tired, Roy. Are you aware of this?" The frown deepens a little, "Have you nourished yourself properly?"
Roy Harper Roy gives the hand a squeeze before releasing the shake. He blurts out a small laugh. "Yeah, I'm pretty tired. I tried to sleep two night ago. Couldn't manage it. I tried to sleep last night, couldn't manage it." He shrugs a bit. "And now I'm sitting here on a bench in a...in a..." He glances around the place like someone who just awoke from a coma in an unknown whereabouts. "...a Jules Verne Museum, babbling my personal bullshit to a total stranger who apparently is a statue." He shakes his head. The expression is bewildered but the smile is genuine. "I did not see this one coming."
Iason "You are not a minotaur nor a kithotaur, so I do not see how you could be babbling bull to me," Iason says with a gentle smile. His manner is so soft that it is uncertain whether he is joking or is speaking in earnest, "But people confide in statues all the time. I remember things that were said to me when I stood mute at the Museion. My sister telling me about how bald our father was getting, and the means by which he tried to hide it. A young woman once, when she came cleaning, spoke to me of her unrequited love. Statues are great listeners and, usually, do not talk back."

An eyebrow raises, and his hand rests on Roy's shoulder, gripping it gently, "Although I may talk, anything shared with me is not unlike that which is shared with my less talkative kinsmen. You appear burdened by something. My shoulders are strong, perhaps you would like to unburden yourself." He glances at the entrance to the museum. "We can walk outside if you would prefer it. There are not as many people."
Roy Harper The young man blinks a few times peer at Iason. "What the hell? All those years you couldn't move or speak but you were aware of your surroundings and could hear things? You were /conscious/? I can't...I can't imagine what a hell that would have been like."

Roy's eyes are bloodshot from a combination of the exhausted insomnia and the crying. His voice is raw, like one who has been yelling too much for too long. "I can't believe I'm asking a total stranger this, but would you mind...mind hanging out with me a bit longer? I'm afraid that I am alone tonight I'm going to do something really stupid that I'll regret."
Iason Iason shakes his head, with a soft smile, "I was not conscious. But when Dike breathed life into me, I was given the memory of the bronze. I remember how I was poured, red-hot and molten, into the mold, and the sounds I made as I cooled. And the long years hearing whispers and secrets. So, you see, I did not live through that. I merely recall it."

"I do not mind 'hanging' with you, Roy. If you are imperiled, then it is my duty to see to it that you are safe." He extends his hand, "I will not leave your side until you are safe. Is that satisfactory, Roy?"
Roy Harper He's just tired enough that this strikes him as funny. He starts to chuckle a bit, a light rolling laugh. "It all sounds a bit formal. A bit contractual," he responds. He reaches out and grips the offered hand, squeezing. And he just sit there quietly holding it. Our guy doesn't really want to be alone tonight, and just being able to touch someone...human?...is nice.
Iason "Only because I take it seriously." Iason says, holding on to Roy's hand. He may not be perceptive of people's body language, but he is receptive to their pain. "The Princess has furnished me with an apartment not too far from my own, for as long as we are displaced from New York. Would you like to come with me? We can 'hang' there and it is quiet. You may sleep, if sleep finds you, and you can eat. And I will sit by your side until you feel safe."

And then, for the first time, a slightly mischievous smile, "And if I speak so much as to annoy you, you need but say it, and I will do what statues do best."
Roy Harper Jesus, Roy, you're walking the streets of Metropolis exhausted and lonely and a hot guy just invited you up to his apartment. If this isn't the best case scenario, then there aren't any such things as best case scenarios. But he seems so naive. Is it even right to go with him?

"Are you...are you sure? I mean, are you fully, like..." If he wasn't so tired he would be able to figure out the right words, but how do you ask someone if they are mentally competent enough to invite a stranger up to their apartment without sounding like an asshole?

Roy collapses his face into his palms and laughs into them. How does he keep getting himself into such weird situations.
Iason An eyebrow raises, "If you are about to express concern that I would readily invite a stranger to my dwelling without vetting them - you would not be the first to admonish me for being trusting. What is unknown to you- and them- is that I am far more capable of defending myself from one who has a hostile intention towards me. I have, after all, trained with the Amazons during my year at the Embassy."

And then, a slight smirk, "And if you are the one who is in danger from some assailant, you could do worse than to be under my roof. I am far stronger than I look."
Roy Harper Statue boi's candor and the matter-of-fact way he has of laying the situation out is at once charming and disarming. "Well if a cute guy who is stronger than he looks and a trained warrior wants to invite me to his place to protect me, then what kind of lunatic would I have to be to say no to that? So sure, let's do it. Maybe we can pick up some take-out on the way because I'm frickin' starving right now."