[So dying had fucking sucked, especially the way it had happened. After it'd been clear no one knew how to fix what was wrong with him and there was no hope for a cure, Roy had used his remaining strength, as well as a few favors, to drop off the grid. Die without everyone hovering over him, pitying him. No one went after him that time, or maybe they just didn't reach him in time. It doesn't matter.
So yeah. It had fucking sucked. And as far as afterlives go, this is seeming pretty shitty too. He had the tools and weapons he usually hid in his civilian clothes on him, but his prosthetic arm had been replaced with a far lower-tech version that was more looks than utility and didn't have any weaponry built in. He'd gotten the basic rundown, checked both the cell phone and the walkie for bugs (not that whoever's running the place can't just listen in without them, they're the ones handing the damn things out), and he doesn't trust a single goddamn thing about this place.]
settling in
[Roy quickly gets set up in the armory; his codename was Arsenal, and as one might expect from that, he knows a lot of things about a lot of different weapons, particularly firearms. It's been a learning curve, adjusting to a far less responsive prosthetic, but he's nothing if not stubborn.
He treats any attempt to get him to go to "classes" or really do any activities geared towards teens his age with contempt; he's not some stupid kid, after all. He's certainly skilled, but temperamental and impulsive. Like a bomb that could go off at any moment. If you catch him in a good mood, he's actually pretty fun to be around, but those moods seem to be few and far between.]
network
Not enough people around here can shoot a bow halfway decent, and that seems idiotic considering what we're up against. If you want to learn, come find me. I can't shoot the way I used to, for obvious reasons, but I can coach other people just fine. -Roy
Roy Harper (Arsenal) | Young Justice
[So dying had fucking sucked, especially the way it had happened. After it'd been clear no one knew how to fix what was wrong with him and there was no hope for a cure, Roy had used his remaining strength, as well as a few favors, to drop off the grid. Die without everyone hovering over him, pitying him. No one went after him that time, or maybe they just didn't reach him in time. It doesn't matter.
So yeah. It had fucking sucked. And as far as afterlives go, this is seeming pretty shitty too. He had the tools and weapons he usually hid in his civilian clothes on him, but his prosthetic arm had been replaced with a far lower-tech version that was more looks than utility and didn't have any weaponry built in. He'd gotten the basic rundown, checked both the cell phone and the walkie for bugs (not that whoever's running the place can't just listen in without them, they're the ones handing the damn things out), and he doesn't trust a single goddamn thing about this place.]
settling in
[Roy quickly gets set up in the armory; his codename was Arsenal, and as one might expect from that, he knows a lot of things about a lot of different weapons, particularly firearms. It's been a learning curve, adjusting to a far less responsive prosthetic, but he's nothing if not stubborn.
He treats any attempt to get him to go to "classes" or really do any activities geared towards teens his age with contempt; he's not some stupid kid, after all. He's certainly skilled, but temperamental and impulsive. Like a bomb that could go off at any moment. If you catch him in a good mood, he's actually pretty fun to be around, but those moods seem to be few and far between.]
network
Not enough people around here can shoot a bow halfway decent, and that seems idiotic considering what we're up against. If you want to learn, come find me. I can't shoot the way I used to, for obvious reasons, but I can coach other people just fine. -Roy