The summers in Gotham weren't the hottest around, considering the fact that it's always either cloudy or raining in the city, but a blizzard in the middle of June wasn't exactly the standard.

Following an attack from Mr. Freeze, the weather was completely shot. Flurries of snow whipped through the air, eventually finding purchase wherever they sank. They melted wherever heat would seep into the cold, leaving puddles of cold, wet, in their wake. It wasn't even the nice kind of snow, either. It was the kind that had streaks of brown dirt in it, too powdery to make into a snowball, too slippery for one to get their footing.

But of course, in this misery, while sinking into his jacket and trying to ignore the nip of the cold, Jason got an alert from one of the emergency buttons he sent out. He tried to ignore it, but knowing who sent it, he couldn't just put it aside. As much as he didn't want to, he donned his Red Hood helmet, and started his way out to the location it was beeping from.

The tail light of his motorcycle weaved from side to side, like the wings of a butterfly flapping desperately against the wind. Snow kicked up from the roads, the slush splattering against the sidewalks as he ignored red lights and speed limit signs.

Eventually, he came to a skidding halt, snow kicking up and nearly covering the one who had pressed the alert.

"So," He says, swinging one leg off the motorcycle, "You called?"