By and large, Jason considers himself pretty damn good at compartmentalization. It comes along with the notion (he'll hedge on the issue of belief, thank you very much) moksha, and definitely comes along with having lived and died and lived again (his own personal and highly undesirable samsara). So, when the birds start calling out to him using the voices of Roy, Koriand'r, Essence, and Ducra, he's annoyed more than disturbed. Or, more accurately, he's disturbed, but in a certain detached, compartmentalized way. He knows, generally, that Koriand'r isn't around, that Ducra is beyond dead, and that Essence and Roy (and Koriand'r, just for the sake of clarity) can defend themselves perfectly well, even if they somehow got dragged into an Arena.
Roy isn't as dumb as he looks, Essence has his same training, more or less, even without her abilities, Koriand'r is Koriand'r and never actually ceases to amaze him. They'd be fine. Fine.
Which is way easier to intellectualize than it is to like, actually force himself to believe.
It takes fifteen minutes (give or take) for the birds to get to him. He tries to catch one, but fails. Still, there's an absolutely overwhelming desire to rip every feather off its wings in impotent retaliation. Jason isn't a Buddhist, but there's something, he thinks, to at least one of those Four Noble Truths. The root of all suffering really is attachment. This is doubly true of other people's suffering.
The caves are probably foreboding for someone who didn't spend the best parts of their adolescence hanging around a dude who modeled himself after bats (not to mention the ninja cult). For Jason, they're mildly comforting. He can't really decide if that comfort intensifies or lessens based on the number of weapons he spots strewn periodically around.
"Hey— You Elsa?" He asks, not bothering to hide his impatience. It only takes death by suffocation once for him to know he isn't super keen on experiencing it again. It's sort of like death by smoke inhalation. Only different and equally fucked up. Ether way, he could not. He'd prefer to not.
Jason Todd; for Elsa and open!
Roy isn't as dumb as he looks, Essence has his same training, more or less, even without her abilities, Koriand'r is Koriand'r and never actually ceases to amaze him. They'd be fine. Fine.
Which is way easier to intellectualize than it is to like, actually force himself to believe.
It takes fifteen minutes (give or take) for the birds to get to him. He tries to catch one, but fails. Still, there's an absolutely overwhelming desire to rip every feather off its wings in impotent retaliation. Jason isn't a Buddhist, but there's something, he thinks, to at least one of those Four Noble Truths. The root of all suffering really is attachment. This is doubly true of other people's suffering.
The caves are probably foreboding for someone who didn't spend the best parts of their adolescence hanging around a dude who modeled himself after bats (not to mention the ninja cult). For Jason, they're mildly comforting. He can't really decide if that comfort intensifies or lessens based on the number of weapons he spots strewn periodically around.
"Hey— You Elsa?" He asks, not bothering to hide his impatience. It only takes death by suffocation once for him to know he isn't super keen on experiencing it again. It's sort of like death by smoke inhalation. Only different and equally fucked up. Ether way, he could not. He'd prefer to not.