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Ain't no Place for no Hero

Setting: Western AU (1860s Central-Western America) Characters: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd Plot: It's been many-a-long nights; but finally, the infamous bounty hunter "Nightwing" has captured the wanted "Red Hood" and intends to take him in to face trial and most certainly a hanging for his crimes. However, this is easier said than done: Red Hood is known for, among other things, an innate ability to escape the noose and his band of fellow Outlaws are still at large. But, then again, he's never met Nightwing before… has he?

It may have been a few good hours since he'd kissed his freedom goodbye (yet again), but the Red Hood looked anything but defeated by it. If anything, he was enjoying the change of company. Or at least, that was the show he was putting on. Not that he was smiling or anything, after all, he didn't need to with that trademark red cloth tied over the lower half of his face. Still, it was in his voice. His amused little tone. Just a ghost of it though. To the normal ear he just sounded bored. But to the trained ear, so much more. It was a tone meant to tease. To rile up. And he was just trying to see how far he could push his capture with it.

At first he started by simply offering a better search of himself. Red Hood's escaped capture time and time again. One could say he had a special talent from avoiding the law and slipping out of his shackles. Clearly he had to have something hidden on him to aid his escape. And oh, he did. But not just a needle up his sleeve (which he did have) But he had more pins stashed here and there into his belt, shirt, wherever just in case. Of course, he also had one he wasn't quite ready to part from under his tongue. The one he put there when he knew how the end would play out. This end.

He still remembered that moment he crashed to the dust when that black lasso hooked him and dragged him down, sending his mare free and mount-less into the wind. Then it was just another fight to ensure his plan worked, the same plan he's used before, and here he was. Saddled on a new horse, cuffed with just enough room to grasp the reins, and about eight different back up plans for his escape.

And while he could have done something hours ago, he was all for waiting. At least, since this was such a special occasion and all. And hey, maybe the horse-back ride under the moonlight was romantic (in the traditional sense) enough to keep him hesitant. Or maybe it was just the captor himself. "Guess you're not the kinda man to stop 'til the job's done?" He quipped once the last topic was quickly shot down. "It's gotta be another twenty hours at least to another town, you really want to be walking funny as you drag your new trophy in?" And what a trophy he was. Red Hood had a good fifty-five thousand on him, dead or alive. He's killed many of worth while men. Ex veterans from the civil war, on both sides of it. He's killed owners of mines and trains as well as his own type of lawbreakers. The weird part was the lack of motivation behind every killing. Sure he'd take whatever cash he found, but nothing was ever worth the trouble he's collected for himself. At least nothing any sane man could find.

"Then you can give me that body search you owe me." He leaned a bit in his saddle, knowing exactly why it was pertinent to move quickly. After all, if Arsenal or Starfire could easily be following, waiting for the moment to save their leader. No, the best idea was to make sure he lost any sort of pursuer before finally succumbing to rest.

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