On a table rests a bloody hoodie, a Glock, a cracked and ruined switchblade, and a dirty bandana with those crude hole cuts, the fabric poking out. Jackie was shirtless, soda in hand, being bandaged by Ashley. His formerly broken nose was patched up as well as it could. She was a practicing surgeon, which was why she even borrowed money from Rossi in the first place. She was tentatively checking the wound, disinfecting it, wrapping it up. "Well, the bullet went straight through," She commented. She was told everything, it would be better this way. Ashley could care less. She wanted Rossi dead more than anything. She was curious, however. "Jack, don't tell me you're gonna wear that again."
Jackie scoffed, wincing in pain as he got patched up. Now both shoulders felt the kiss of a bullet. How nice of the men to make sure one wasn't jealous of the other. "Why not? I'm not a fucking hero. I don't need a costume or anything."
"Well… Why not? I think you should be more than some masked manic in a fuck-ugly, dirty getup. You should be a symbol."
"Of what? Ash, I don't wanna be anything crazy."
Ashley sighed. "I'm not asking you to wear spandex. I'm asking you to think practically. How do you want the people to perceive you? How would Coleson twist the narrative if they see you in some manic outfit?"
"Fine," Jackie sighed as Ashley moved away. He tested his shoulder, rolling it a bit. He glanced at his outfit on the table. The memories of the bloodshed. Stabbings, shootings, the pain and pleasure. It felt evil. It felt amazing. He needed to look presentable. "I'll figure something out."
As the days droned on, Jackie got to work on his costume. He named himself Ultraviolence, how would this character dress? Firstly, he got an all black, new bandana. He carefully cut the eyeslits to allow intimidation and vision. After tying it up, it fit perfectly over his head, with a bit of hair sticking out. After thrifting, he bought an old black hoodie, and a black tech jacket that had seen better days. He pulled out his holster from the army closet he hides everything in. Finally, he needed protection from small arms. He went back to Roy's with Rose. As they conversed about the armor he needed, Dante saw it as another opportunity. He slid in that same pew she sat in the last time. She awkwardly looked at him, his presence not unwanted, but unneeded.
"So," Dante said, gameplan in mind. "I listened to The Smiths."
That, she wasn't expecting. "What?"
"Yeah! I went to the CD store a few days ago. Meat Is Murder I think the album was called?"
Rose had a confused face. She was trying to wrap her head around this dude. Maybe her bar is in hell, but no man could remember what she ate, let alone her favorite band. Alas, she doesn't like him, but he reached the tolerable stage. "Huh."
"Yeah, you looked surprised."
"It's just… You know, I hate to say it but… Guys like you don't usually remember stuff like that."
Dante put his hand up. "I played basketball my whole life. I know. Hell, I was one of them not too long ago. I had to sit in my room and think, man, I'm kinda shitty to girls. Just because I saved one from…" He looked back up at her. "I won't get deep on you. But, I like your vibe, girl."
"Woman," Rose corrected.
"Sorry–" Dante said laughing. "But for real, I think we should hang sometime."
Rose sighed. She hated this amount of attention. It's clear he wanted her for more than friendship. At least he wasn't weird about it. "I'll think about it. I'll come here later and tell you my answer, ok?"
"Ok."
Rose half nodded, then got up as Jackie returned with his body armor. She followed him out. "What's your vigilante name?" She asked Jackie as they walked out.
With a smile, Jackie looked at the armor. "Ultraviolence."
"Corny."
"Hey, fuck you panty buyer."