agoodyarn | for timetopaythepiper: New York New York

Hartley was silent as Sanderson explained why he invited him there. Sandy sounded sincere, like he meant every word, and Hartley wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Because Hartley has been dealing with it all alone. He dealt with his sudden loss of employment alone. He dealt with his injury and those months of agonizing pain alone. And when he finally confronted Harrison as the Pied Piper, he'd done that alone too. He was accustomed dealing with everything alone, and it worked for him, because it wasn't like there was anyone out there he could trust.

But Sandy, someone he met accidentally through text, was reaching out to him and offering him help, and it seemed he was doing it out of kindness rather than some sort of shady ulterior motive. Hartley wasn't sure how to respond to that. This was all very new territory for him.

Eventually, he decided to settle on, "You know, if you were a couple decades older, you'd make a pretty fantastic mentor," he said, giving him what felt like the most sincere smile he's been capable of in years.

"I don't know what's going to come out of all of this and I can't make any promises. Asshole seems to be my permanent default setting, so chances are, you'll realize how difficult I can be within an hour and regret the entire idea. But I do appreciate this. Kindness isn't something I've experienced in a while and I'm not entirely sure what to do with it, to be perfectly honest."

"What're you talking about?" he asked, keeping his tone light and even a little playful. He turned his head back and forth, tapping his chin. "I might be baby-faced, but I'll be turning 90 next year."

But to Hartley's honesty, he gave a simple nod and leaned back into the car seat.

"No promises asked for," he made a point of saying. "But you're not chafing me too badly so far. And I've got a pretty thick skin."

He'd removed his gloves at some point, probably when he'd opened his coat, and he let one turn to stone before knocking it with the other.

"See?"

Hartley laughed. "Sorry, I but think most people prefer for their father figures to look the part."

Hartley was feeling unexpectedly, and cautiously hopeful at the moment. Sandy didn't appear to hate his guts yet, he easily accepted the fact that Hartley couldn't make any promises, and he seemed to have a sense of humor. Maybe this wouldn't turn out to be a complete disaster after all.

"You'd need thick skin when you're hanging around me," he said, trailing off as he watched Sandy do something that should have been impossible (though he knew nothing was impossible at this point).

"That's... actually really cool. How did you do that?"

He looked over at Hartley, turned his hand, and it turned into sand that dropped into his lap. The sand disappeared into his coat and slowly rebuilt itself into a hand that appeared to be flesh and blood a moment later.

"Like I said: I'm a sand man."

He glanced up at the driver, then out the window to see how far they were from the brownstone. Not too far, honestly.

"I've had some time to learn a few tricks with what I can do. And I've had a few experiences that have expanded my abilities."

He flexed his fingers and showed off that yes, it was indeed a hand. Then , like the hand had been constructed out of sand, more sand enveloped his fingers and turned into one of his gloves.

"I'd show you the lava stuff, but I think we might lose car priveledges next time if I did."

Edited 2015-09-25 22:40 (UTC)

"God, that's impressive," Hartley said, watching in utter fascination as the sand disappeared into Sandy's coat and rebuilt into a hand. Hartley's never seen anything like this before. It was amazing. Apparently Sand was an appropriate alias for Sandy, even if it was a bit obvious.

When Sandy glanced at the driver, Hartley did as well, wondering if perhaps this wasn't an appropriate conversation to have when there was someone else there. Or perhaps it was. Maybe the driver already knew. He supposed there was no reason for him to worry if Sandy wasn't going to.

He turned back to Sandy, unable to tear his attention away again. "What does it feel like when you do something like that," he asked. "And will you show me the lava stuff later?" Because he was dying to see more of what Sandy could do.

"That's hard to describe, exactly," he admitted as his other hand regloved. "Kind of like spreading your fingers only more."

And he'd spread himself much farther than between his wrist and his lap. But that was a tale for another day.

"And yes, I'll show you the lava when we're at the brownstone." He thought of Ma Hunkle. "Maybe right outside the brownstone."

That wasn't exactly the most satisfying explanation Hartley's ever heard, but he could see how something like that might be hard to describe.

"So it's not painful or anything like that?" he asked. It didn't look like it had been, and he's yet to meet a metahuman whose powers went hand in hand with pain (he didn't count, because he wasn't a metahuman and he had no powers), but he curious nonetheless.

"How far away are we from the brownstone?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager to see Sandy using his abilities again.

He shook his head.

"It's not painful by itself. I've done some things with it that do hurt." He scratched his ear a bit. "And getting blown up is not my favorite thing in the world. But forming and reforming?"

He shook his head. Then he peeked out the window.

"Not anymore. We'll practically be there as soon as we're through the tunnel. Which we're in line for right now. Give it ten minutes or so?"

Hartley frowned. "You've been blown up?" Now that sounded rather disturbing. He hoped he wouldn't be witnessing anything like that anytime soon. Or ever.

Which was perhaps a tad hypocritical of him considering the time he'd nearly blown Cisco up. But that was different. It wasn't like he'd expected that idiot to come running up to the door.

Hartley glanced out the window at the line. He still couldn't believe he was actually in New York. It felt like it's been decades since the last time he left Central City, rather than just a few short months. But he's always liked New York, so it was nice to have a reason to come back.

"I've had longer drives from the airport," he said. This one was going by pretty fast, actually. Their conversation probably helped with that.

"More 'blasted' than exploded," he admitted, "but same difference when it comes down to the brass tacks."

He had to agree with a nod about the drive, though. Because the city definitely had worse. Hartley hadn't come in during a rush hour so the traffic was actually reasonable.

"Let's just say I've lived through a lot."

"That won't be happening while I'm here, will it?" he asked. "I'm no stranger to 'blasting'or 'exploding' things, but I prefer not to watch it happen to a person." A person he didn't hate anyway.

Traffic had been hell the last few times he'd come to New York. This wasn't too bad at all in comparison.

"Well, you have lived a long time," he said before eyeing him. "You don't really look it though."

"I wasn't planning on it," he said with a rub to his chin, "but to be fair, I wasn't planning on it those times either. Though if something does come up, you should go with Ma Hunkle into one of the safe rooms. You didn't come here to fight our battles, after all."

He tried to think of some way to lighten the mood and decided to throw his personal dignity upon the fire. It wasn't as if he wouldn't do the same things he'd done again, if given half the chance. But--

"The problem with getting blasted is that I can survive it but my clothes can't. So then I'm running around post-battle, trying to make sure all my teammates are okay while trying to avoid a public indecency charge. It's about as ridiculous as it sounds, I'm sad to say."

Hartley shrugged. He didn't come there to fight their battles, but he did come there because he was curious about what they could do. "If something comes up, I don't mind helping. I might not be a metahuman, but I'm not fragile and I doubt anything I see will traumatize me for life."

But what Sandy said next did lighten the mood quite a bit, and it surprised a laugh out of Hartley.

"It sounds to me like you need a suit that can withstand blasts. Something similar to what the Flash has," he said, trying to push his amusement long enough to make some suggestions. "Or maybe you need to start bringing spare clothing with you. Or," he added, covering his mouth in attempt to hide his grin. "You can always embrace your inner nudist."

Edited 2015-09-27 02:36 (UTC)

"You're worse than Powergirl," he groused halfheartedly, shaking his head a little as they started into the tunnel.

The darkness covered the car, lit only by the orange emergency lights on either side.

"I don't think you're fragile, and we've got plenty of folks who are as human as anyone else on the street. I won't stop you from fighting. But given that just about anyone who'd be attacking the brownstone is probably someone we have experience with, I hope you'll have enough sense to listen if I tell you something about them."

Like 'don't look past Johnny Sorrow's mask, no really, don't'. Or 'that innocent kid is actually Kid Karnevil AVOID if you don't want to get stabbed'.

"I take it I'm not the first person who's teased you about this then," he said, snickering into his hand.

"I won't do anything unless I'm prepared and I won't try to fight anyone I don't know anything about. But it sounds like these are probably people I should know about while I'm here if there's a chance they show up. And even if they don't, given the crowd I occasionally hang around in Central City, there's a chance I could meet them eventually anyway and I'd prefer not to be caught off guard if that happens."

Because he truly was a planner. He was the kind of person who always liked to have the upper hand, who was always at least two moves ahead of his opponent. Well, except Harrison. But to be fair, no one could play the game quite like Harrison Wells. Not even super villains.

"Teasing is a foregone conclusion with this group," and that was both an answer to Hartley and a piece of information for him. Don't take things personally. Everyone joshes everyone. It was just the way of things.

"We'll go over some of those folks while we're walking through the museum," he told the other man, "after all, can't talk about things a masked hero's done without explaining who they beat."

"Teasing used be a foregone conclusion with my former coworkers at S.T.A.R. Labs too," Hartley said. Usually he responded with sarcasm, but he was willing to play nice with Sandy's friends for Sandy's sake.

"Who they beat? That's a pretty bold statement," he said, giving him a quick side eye. "Okay, so who do you beat? Do you have any archenemies of your own out there? Any thorns in your side? A Harrison Wells to your Hartley Rathaway? Or even a Cisco Ramon to your Hartley Rathaway?" he asked, because no enemy was too small.

He opened his mouth to say no, that he didn't really have a nemesis, but--

"I guess there's Mordru," and for the first time in the conversation, Sandy sounded... well, a little closed off. It was clear he wasn't hiding anything, per se, but he was shutting down something inside: the pain. "He murdered Wes in his attempt to stop the next Dr. Fate from being chosen. But he hasn't shown his face for a while, thankfully."

He was glad that they came out of the tunnel then and his voice evened out a little.

"More broadly, there's probably the Injustice Society. It's right there in the name, after all. And the worst of that lot is Johnny Sorrow. You want to talk cultist? He's... about as close as you get. And on the dangerous side of things too."

Hartley wasn't sure how to respond to any of that. As much as he despised Harrison, he'd never murdered anyone Hartley cared about and he couldn't imagine what that must feel like. It was obviously something Sandy had difficulty talking about. He hoped this guy didn't turn up again any time soon. "He sounds like an ass," he said, which was obviously an understatement, but he wasn't going to make Sandy keep talking about it.

He glanced out the window as they came out of the tunnel before turning his attention back on Sandy again.

"Injustice Society? Seriously?" Some of these names were ridiculous. Who would choose to call themselves something like that? What did these people have against subtlety? "What can Johnny Sorrow do?"

Edited 2015-09-27 06:38 (UTC)

"'Ass' is an understatement," Sandy said with a low snort. But thankfully, they had Hector back in the helmet and things were well in hand.

He breathed in deep and considered going into the backstory of the silent film star turned criminal and perpetual thorn in the side of most of the JSA. Then he decided to cover the most important part first.

"If he starts to remove his mask, no matter how insane that sentence turns out to look? Turn the other way and run." He breathed in a bit of a sigh before shuddering just a touch. "He's had dealings with the kind of stuff that gave Lovecraft nightmares and it's made him more than a little dangerous. Not to mention deranged.'

"I assume something really bad happens when he takes off his mask?" he asked, noticing the way Sandy shuddered. "I think I'll try to avoid him altogether if I can. You know, your villains all sound like creep shows."

Not that the villains in Central City weren't dangerous, terrifying, and a bit obvious themselves... but it was a different sort of dangerous, terrifying and obvious. He supposed it was possible these villain was talking weren't the complete freak shows Sandy made them out to be. He was only getting Sandy's side of the story after all, and he shuddered to think of how the Flash would describe him to someone he thought needed to warned against him...

But he got the feeling these weren't people he'd want to acquaint himself with. "You don't have any a little more reasonable and sane and a little less like they hopped out a horror movie?"

"You die," was the short, if not sweet, answer to what happened when one saw Johnny Sorrow's true face. "You die and it doesn't look like it's pleasant. But yes, he's... about as creepy as they come."

Sandy was considering Hartley's other question (and about to answer it) when the car stopped. He held up a finger and looked out the window before tilting his head at the door to the car. Then he was hopping out and walking around to open the other side for Hartley to walk out.

"We're here."

"Well, he's one person I'll definitely try to avoid then. I'd prefer not to suffer an unpleasant death. Or any kind of death," he said, suddenly hoping none of these villains decided to visit Central City.

When the car stopped, he glanced at Sandy before peering out the window at the brownstone. So this was where Sandy and his team lived. He got out of the car, giving Sandy a nervous smile before looking up at the building again. God, just being there felt like an adventure and he hasn't even seen the inside yet.

"So... this is where you live."

It was, to be fair, a large building. Once the Dodds mansion, Sandy'd donated it when Wes and Dian had passed because if there was one thing a lonely insomniac didn't need, it was a giant empty house. A few people had made certain comments about him buying his way into the JSA (thanks, Al) but it'd been much more about his beliefs in the organization, his utter lack of a desire to own such a massive place, and the needs of the group at the time.

He walked up to the driver and offered a tip, that was politely refused, before the man drove off. Then he gestured for Hartley to follow him before pausing and holding up a finger.

"Okay, you wanted to see the lava stuff?" he offered as he pointed down to a spot hole in the asphalt of the street in front of the building.

Then, after making sure Hartley was far enough away, he leaned down and put his hands to the pavement. The area under his hands turned hot and started to smoke, his hands themselves looking like nothing so much as fresh lava as the pavement churned into place. He breathed in then and, just as quickly, the spot cooled down and set. Fixed. Done.

"I pay my taxes, but this is much quicker."

This building made his own apartment building in Central City look tiny. He could see how it could fit Sandy and so many of his friends. Going inside was bound to be interesting. He wondered how many of Sandy's friends/teammates were inside right now and how many he'd end up meeting. The concern about the risk he was taking by coming here was slowly beginning to flood back in.

Luckily, the reminder that Sandy offered to show him the thing with lava made a really good distraction. He found Sandy's abilities rather fascinating, and he was looking forward to getting to watch him use them again.

"I do believe I mentioned wanting to see the lava stuff, yes," he said, watching curiously as Sandy pointed down at the asphalt.

He looked on in utter amazement as Sandy put his hands to the pavement and the area started to smoke. Hartley had a feeling Heat Wave would have loved to have seen this. But Heat Wave wasn't there, Hartley was. For some reason Sandy was choosing to trust him enough to show him his powers, and it almost made him regret that he had no abilities of his own to show off.

"How long did it take for you to learn how to do that? Are you sure it didn't hurt?"

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