more leverage/tl thoughts. any time they need someone undercover in sports or labor, they send eliot. which of course makes sense. for eliot. and also probably au roy.
but consider: jamie is NO good at any of that stuff. he can do a lot of sports, especially anything where you have to be fast or agile, and he takes the boxing job - though he has to fight roy on it, but roy is on his last legs and they all know it. but when it comes to labor jamie doesn't know how to do shit, and he's prissy too. doesn't like getting his hands dirty. he's totally comfortable in his own sweat, sure, but he even gets a bit squeamish at blood he was the one to spill especially if it gets on him (this was never a reason roy cited for why he didn't think jamie should be their new hitter, but in hindsight it's Very Obvious lmao).
anyway, so the team is always like yeah you send in the hitter to fill an undercover role in labor, because his asset is his body, right? wrong. there's a gradient when jamie switches from hitting to hacking, a small transitional period of time where he's doing both, but roy always has to step in for any "hitter" job that isn't... well, hitting. he gives jamie all kinds of shit for being a gen z city boy who doesn't know how to change a tire or whatever, but tbf he's glad for the excuse to only be part time retired lol.
& then when they bring isaac(?) on to be roy's replacement since jamie didn't work out (and roy never stops saying he told everyone so about that), he doesn't know how to do a lot of labor stuff too, but he's happy to learn - unlike jamie, who would do the work of course but he'd whine about it and even when he shut up and bore it you could still tell he hated every second - but usually they don't have time for him to get fully trained in stuff so they have roy on comms talking him thru it and jamie always chimes in with totally wrong info just to be obnoxious aksjfks.
My hand didn't slip so much as it went ice skating, stayed out past curfew, and forgot why we were here in the first place:
"How are you so bad at this?” Roy asked over comms, and it took every bit of his restraint for Jamie not to throw the big-scissors right through the mark’s window.
Bad enough that he had to put up with the older man critiquing his fighting style on a daily basis, and the smugness when he pinned Jamie in a headlock, and the eyerolls when he thought Jamie was being purposely ignorant about some complicated maneuver.
(And he wasn't being deliberately obtuse. Roy just knew more obscure fighting techniques than God, and appeared to think that Jamie should have learned capoeira on the back streets of Manchester while reading a dictionary.)
That's what Jamie had to put up with if he wanted to get better. That was the price of having a stable gig, one that paid per diem even when they weren't on the con. Ted basically paid him to hone his craft, on the off-chance it'd be useful to him later. Jamie banked money, his bones didn't break, and the only note on his head these days were the sticky notes Roy left on his forehead when Jamie nodded off in the breakroom.
("I think it says 'Dante's Inferno,'" Keeley said as they shared a stolen sandwich; Roy really was a good cook. She squinted at the tiny, furious handwriting. "Do you think it's a clue?")
He understood the old man was frustrated; his grandad knee had the structural integrity of a broken bottle that'd been glued back together. He'd be stuck in Beard's weird, smelly little van for at least the duration of the job. But it didn't give him the right to be a dick to Jamie about yard work.
Where did Roy get off thinking Jamie had ever learned to prune a rose bush?
"You can't cut it down that low or you risk it having to grow up from the graft."
Jamie yanked the big-scissors back from a deadened stalk. “Then you should’ve swapped me with Keeley,” he hissed.
A while ago she'd been gagging over the comms. Her and Ted had a long debate--the kind Jamie could never get away with--about whether she actually had to clean the mark's bathroom as part of her reconnaissance. Yes, the tank was an excellent place to hide stolen jewels; no, she'd never found one there in her life.
Jamie wondered if the housekeepers wore maid outfits. Keeley would look dead fit in a maid outfit. He'd look dead fit in a maid outfit. Anything would look better on him than the gray, stiff-collared maintenance uniform Beard had presented him without comment.
The earbuds made it sound like Roy was right behind him, whispering disapprovingly, "Keeley's on the inside so she can crack the safe when she finds it. And you're supposed to be keeping a lookout on the armed guards. Focus."
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Focus, he said. Like Jamie had the luxury of forgetting that not ten metres away stood a burly man armed with an assault rifle and a blind spot in the cameras. All Jamie had was a pair of big-scissors and a prickly old bastard in his ear.
Honestly? He'd rather scrub the bathroom.
Jamie could scrub the hell out of a bathroom. Hell, he could scrub a carpet so well the landlord would never find the bloodstain. Roy might get high and mighty when Jamie admitted that he'd never used a drill or whatever, but Jamie knew the ins and outs of patching holes in the wall. He couldn’t change a tire, but he could steal a hubcap in under thirty seconds. He couldn’t slice an onion, but he could make twenty pounds at the grocers stretch for two weeks.
Crouched eye-level with the rose bush and with a hidden spycam on his top button, him and Roy faced the same barren pot of twigs. Somehow Roy could see the instructions that would guide it to blooming, but Jamie couldn't. To him the rose bush was a dead thing, simple as that.
The big-scissors in his hand curved sharp and short with a thick handle for wielding. He was sure they had real a name for them, but he was also pretty sure his dad used to have something similar around for threatening the debtors who ran late on payments.
He could use a hammer. Roy never asked him if he knew how to use a hammer.
He made another go at the rose bush and got himself pricked for his trouble.
"Shit!" he swore, and over the comms Roy demanded to know, "Are you bleeding?"
"Don't leave DNA," Beard added. Jamie startled; he'd forgotten about the creepy weirdo entirely.
Danger shifted to his left. The guard rounded towards him, boots crunching in the gravel. "Hey! Is there a problem?"
Roy swore. Beard warned him not to engage.
Jamie rose to his feet with his best charming grin slapped on like a plaster over a nasty prick. He held his bleeding hand out like an offering, and with the other he slipped the big-scissors into the sleeve of his shirt.
One of Rebecca's first rules of the con: if you're uncomfortable, use it to make the mark uncomfortable.
He squeezed the big-scissors tight. "Yeah sorry, mate. Got a bit of a nasty cut--don't want it to infect. Could you point me somewhere I could clean up?"
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In Grant's earlier appearances, he's written with a tic of using "wuhl" in place of "well" as an interjection. This would seem to imply some sort of accent, and I was curious what the implication was, because by all accounts, he shouldn't have a strong regional accent, if any. When his solo begins, he has moved eight times in the last four years, and probably more times before that. That's not long enough to pick up anything consistent.
Bear with me, I'm going somewhere with this.
"Wuhl" is a pronunciation that (from what I understand) in the US is associated with the rural Midwest or the South. Grant has just moved to Marietta, Georgia (a suburb of Atlanta) when his solo begins, and before then, the Emersons lived in Dayton, Ohio. Which other states they've lived in is never mentioned.
So if he has any accent at all, it would most likely be from a place he lived in when he was still quite young. Which would rule out Dayton and Marietta. Not unlikely he might try to pick up on speech mannerisms in each new school to try to fit in, but the thing is...he doesn't use "wuhl" with Georgians. He doesn't always use it consistently; "well" appears in his vocabulary too.
In the instances of "wuhl" that I found, he is speaking to different people (his foster uncle Neal Emerson, someone connected with the lab that experimented on him, Ray Terrill, Kyle Rayner, and Roy Harper), who hail from a variety of locations. So what's the common thread?
These are all moments of vulnerability.
(Damage #9, 12, 14, and 16 / New Titans Annual #11)
In these panels, he is
Trying to get answers about his parentage from his foster uncle, who also happens to be a supervillain, and bringing up a potentially awkward theory of his that his uncle might be his real father.
Attempting to threaten a powerful woman who could give him answers about his past.
Pleading with a rather ticked-off Ray, whom he has met only once before, for his help with a dangerous venture.
About to admit to Kyle that he actually wants more danger on their mission in space because he's more comfortable in a war zone where "nobody's scared of me [...] they know a great weapon when they see one. And I don't have to worry all the time about hurting someone."
Trying to explain to his critical team leader why he was practicing using his powers (which inevitably got out of hand)--things got better later between him and Roy, but this harshness is typical of how Roy initially treated him.
With the possible exception of the panel from #12 (he's trying to bluster his way into getting information, so it's likely the seeming confidence is an act), he's feeling awkward about something in all of these cases. Note the body language--typically self-protective and/or compliant. And this is when "wuhl" slips out.
My guess is that it's a regionalism that he picked up when young (though there's a possibility it could be a Georgian thing he acquired more recently) and was educated out of using in general. He's usually quite strategic in how he interacts ("So if you cave, go all the way. Put on your best cheeser and be ready to beg!"), but reverting to sounding like a bit of a hick might be a sign of losing control over how he's coming across because of heightened anxiety.
"Wuhl" disappears from his speech entirely as of Titans 1999, in which he's (mostly) in a more stable environment, and continues to be absent through his time with the JSA as a young adult, when his speech gets a lot more profane rather than diffident and polite.
(Thank you to @brown-little-robin for her expertise on accents I'm not familiar with!)
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