Summary:Nighting helps Ravager out of a jam - or so he thinks. There is much snarking. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The fact that the police are being pressured from within and without right now to hunt the Bat means that their usual forces are strained to do the more regular things - like patrol routes, respond to emergency calls efficiently, or even be a presence in the city.
Certain parties have noticed this, and have begun to take advantage.
Perhaps that's why law enforcement isn't responding to the gunfire going down in the darkened alley.
Ravager, dressed in her orange and blues, and armed to he hilt is presently telling a very scared woman, "Get /down/ I said, and /stay/ down," as the two are behind a brick wall that's currently being churned apart by bulletspray from several parties on the opposite side.
Between them, two men lay dead in the alley. One is a U.S. Marshall, the other a rather ugly fellow in a suit.
Ravager tells the woman, "You move from here, and /I/ will kill you. Got it?"
The terrified woman doesn't know who to be afraid of more, Ravager or the men who are clearly targetting her.
With the Bat being Public Enemy Number One, Dick Grayson has had his work cut out for him, but not in the way one might think. No. His nightly patrols as Nightwing have seen a drastic reduction in frequency. Instead, Detective Richard Grayson of the NYPD has been hitting the streets even harder, but more as a sort of rallying call, trying to subtly sway the opinions of his fellow officers back in favor of the big black Bat.
But it's exhausting work. It's more political than Dick could ever feel comfortable with. It makes him crave the simplicity of vigilantism. As if that could ever be called "simple".
So here he is, blowing off some steam. A few muggers here, a carjacking there. All foiled by the shadowy figure with the blue chevron on his chest. But the reports come through to his private ear on the police radio. The shootings are being called in, but police have no room to spare. Luckily, he's available. Within a matter of minutes, Nightwing crosses several city blocks, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in a dizzying acrobatic routine that is designed more for speed than flashiness. But it certainly IS flashy.
From overhead, glowering white eyes peer down into the shadows of a darkened alleyway, light up only by the strobing orange flare of muzzle flash, taking in the scene. Taking the numbers. Counting the odds. Local Maggia boys. Hammerhead's? Tombstone? Great White? Black Mask? It's hard to tell anymore. It doesn't really matter. They're all thugs. Nightwing's upper lip curls ever so lightly, as those dead white eyes narrow in a keen, soul piercing glare.
KRA-KOW!!!
A loud crack, amplified by the narrow, brick walls of the corridor, pops off with a flash of light and a rolling cloud of billowing smoke. This is soon punctuated with the iconic "Pafft!" of decompressed air, and the subsequent "Zwiiiiip" of steel cable. A bolt punctures on thugs shoulder, the grapple line biting in to the flesh and hooking him mercilessly
Nightwing leans forward, and freefalls from the roof with a languid and careless grace. The line, extending from a baton in hand and tethered to the hapless thug on the other, is draw taut as the shadowy figure falls. It is looped around the bars of a fire escape, creating a pulley system which wrenches the captive Maggia Enforcer up, into the air, where his skull meets the steel railing with a dull ringing sound. It also serves to help slow nightwings tumbling descent to the ground, amidst the smoke and chaos.
"Take the girl and run."
The voice is smooth, but deep, with a metallic flange underlain that makes it clear it is modulated. From within the cloud of smoke, Nightwing rolls his shoulders and prepares to leap into the fray.
Usually it's the arrogant criminals that laugh at Nightwing, or Batman, when they tell them to give up or stop before, ultimately, they get their asses handed to them by the Night, or Knight.
But, this time it's someone Nightwing is trying to help that laughs at him. It's short, but no less amused. "Nice entrance," she laugh-snorts. Then, sobers. "Didn't need your help, Fly-Boy, but, if you want to lend it, ain't going to squabble."
Several more rounds of gunfire go off, and then Ravager twists, unsheathing her pistols in a flurry of extremely fast movement, and suddenly two of the men are screaming in pain. One collapses and clenches his kneecap which has clearly been blown out.
The other fellow is gripping her shoulder. "Go ahead," Ravager warns them.
"Shoot at me again, if you want another ball joint shot out. Or maybe I'll just go for your temple. Be a pleasure to head-tap you assholes."
Nightwing resists the urge to roll his eyes at Ravager's declaration of not needing help. He knows the drill by now. Always some young hot head who thinks that they can take on the world by themselves. Think that being young, trained, and tough makes them invincible. "They all say that."
Nightwing's heel lashes out across the jaw of one of the downed men, smacking the side of his skull against the pavement and rendering him blissfully unconscious. The other, he follows with a straight jab to the temple. At least they won't feel the pain of what Ravager had done to them. For awhile.
"And then some madman with a crowbar gets the better of them. I'm not really ready to let that happen to anyone else."
Two left. The shock and awe factor has set in. There's no real rhyme or reason. They're just firing off shots in every which direction. It means that they're relatively easy picking. Grayson leaps forward, like a tenebrous wraith through the smoke, and hooks his arm around the neck of one of the men. He uses it as a fulcrum, spinning his entire lithesome form around the shoulders of the helpless gunman in a dizzying display one usually might find at a luchador show. Gathering enough momentum on two full rotations, he launches out into a sidelong kick to drop the other, as his first victim is slammed to the ground, Reverse DDT style.
Nightwing spares no time rolling onto his shoulders and spinning, legs akimbo, as he kips up to his feet, and then immediately springs into a rolling heel kick to make sure that the man he had kicked stays down for the count.
"Aaaaand we're clear."
Ravager's one singular eye exposed narrows at Nightwing after the men are dispatched. "Considering I helped decimate an entire inter-dimensional army, I really doubt some loser is going to take me out with a crowbar. Thanks." She slips her pistols back into their sheathes at her hip.
"You just make the job harder, is all," Ravager states, blandly. Then, she walks over to one of the corpses, and finds a cellphone. She begins to casually thumb through the contacts list, before she reaches a number. Dials it.
A few seconds later, a voice, male, comes through. "Is it done? She dead?"
Ravager responds, "No. All your men are, though. This is Ravager. Come after her again, and I will come after -you-. And just for kicks, I'll invite Deadpool. You heard about what we did to your competition?"
The man other end of the phone starts somewhere between cussing up an angry storm and stammering.
"I even get a whiff of your ass or any of your men near her, you'll be dreaming for your day in court."
She hangs up the phone, tosses it onto the body and then looks at the girl. "You'll be fine. Stop crying."
"Yeah, listen, that's great that you did that, Babystroke? But one thing does not correlate to another. Never underestimate a loser with a crowbar. That's exactly how they get you," Nightwing says, an edge of steely consternation in his voice making it clear that it is likely not a good idea to press the issue any further. This is only redoubled by the sudden stiffness of his body language, and the tensing of his fists.
"AND… Last I checked, you were pinned down, with diminishing cover and a civilian who was beside herself with fright. It looked to me like my timely arrival turned the entire tide of the battle. So… actually, who is making what job harder for who?"
His lips curl up at one corner into a lopsided, puckish smirk, and he shrugs his broad shoulders, before running his black and blue clad fingers back through glistening raven locks. As Rose takes up the phone, though, Nightwing approaches the crying girl and stands in front of her. A hand drops to her shoulder, his fingers lightly squeezing as he speaks in soft, warm and reassuring tones. She's done the right thing. No one can touch her anymore. He and the egotist will see to it that the one responsible never sees the light of day and has no power to order anyone or anything ever again. Not even a pizza.
And when Rose hangs up the phone, Dick straightens his posture and turns to face her.
"So. What do you plan on doing now, then?"
"Ravager." Her voice is suddenly cold as ice. Nightwing may have just hit a button that he doesn't want to press.
She answers him bluntly, "You're the one making things harder. Easier to make kill shots," she states, matter-of-factly. "And those pieces of shit couldn't aim." Daggers - or at least one out of her monocular vision are stared at NIghtwing. If Nightwing thinks he's going to get a thank you, or even a modicum of acknowledgement from Rose he's wrong.
"Finish the job. Precious here and I are going on a motorcycle ride to her hotel room, where the next Marshall is waiting to keep her safe. She won't have any problems from here."
She adds, as an afterthought, "Besides. Being pinned down makes it fun."
"Well, if making killshots harder is how I'm hindering, I think I'll make a point to help you out a lot more often," He says quietly, that rogue grin remaining firmly planted on his full lips. Somehow, even behind the glowing white lenses of his domino mask, the gleam can be felt from his eyes. "Killing doesn't solve anything. It just makes a cycle that spawns more violence. Escalation."
If that baleful stare seems to put Nightwing off, it doesn't show. He's as cool and calm as a Hindu cow.
"The police are on their way now that the shooting has stopped. Job's finished. I'll ride with you both. Make sure you get there safe. And no more people get killed along the way."
He takes a few steps closer to Rose, and she'll see the way one brow under the mask hikes upward. "Being pinned down has its moments, but it's not as fun as being the one who does the pinning. Maybe we should talk a bit more… about your ideas regarding tactics. Of course."
Rose snorts, once. "Whatever, Fly-Boy." Then, she gestures to the girl, "Let's go, move it, Precious." The girl, somewhat reluctantly follows Rose around the corner to where her motorcycle is. It's fast, it's expensive but there's nothing rigged out about it, it is no 'Bat Cycle'.
"We'll spar, first," she tells Nightwing. "See how good you really are. Then, maybe we'll talk."
She climbs up, sans helmet, and doesn't seem to have one to offer the girl either.
"Keep up if you can," she tells Nightwing.
Nightwing rolls one shoulder at the suggestion of a spar. The idea certainly doesn't seem to perturb him any. He does take a glance to the poor girl as she climbs on to the bike. He has half a mind to call her off, and invite her to ride with him. But if this Ravager was there from the start, he doesn't want to step on her toes. Too much.
"Nightwing," he remarks. "If we're demanding only our pretend names be used, respect given is respect earned."
Prompted to "keep up if he can" only makes Dick's boyishly handsome face light up with a bright grin. He doesn't say anything, but immediately starts hoofing it. Yes. Like on foot. As if he might be able to keep pace with Rose and Co. on her motorcycle. It's just that, after a moment, he draws one of his sticks from his back, launching a grapple line which helps him spring skyward nearly two full stories, just as he rounds the corner onto the main road. As he descends to the ground, a speeding, sleek black and blue superbike comes racing down the street, so that he lands squarely on the seat.
This isn't a Bat Cycle, but it's pretty close.
Ravager says nothing - which might be saying something afterall. But, as the two arrive to a posh hotel, Ravager parks just off the curb, but doesn't get off the bike. Instead, she points at the waiting U.S. Marshall on the stairs who, yet, doesn't know that his partner is dead.
Afer setting the girl off, Ravager promises Nightwing, "See you around, Fly-Boy Nightwing." Then, she's taking off into the night, with intent to get herself as far away from the scene, the police, and if only for the time being, Nightwing as well.