Summary:Blackbird gives Hawkeye an assist. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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Rain cascades down in a steady gentle drum beat upon the metal rooftop, its patter echoing off the high walls of the old apartment buildings on either side of what had been a textile mill at one point only now seems like it's mostly vacant. Vacant, at least, save for the two men on the roof.
"C'mon, Manny." Clint Barton's voice is curiously warm even though he holds a metal bow sideways aiming at a man, hunting arrow nocked and drawn. "Fingers are getting slippery here, it's dark and wet and humid and frankly gross out here."
"Fuck you Hawkeye, you fuckin' has been!" Manny Gutierrez growls even as raindrops and a faint stream of blood roll down his face, his red ADIDAS jump suit entirely soaked through. "I got protection! You can't do this shit to me!"
"That's why I'm here, Manny." Rain keeps falling around the dark clad figure in the black combat suit. His red shades faintly glowing just a bit. "Word is you don't fetch and carry anymore, you've moved up. Figure you're the guy I wanna talk to. But better hurry, man it's hard to hold onto this bowstring with the rain and… OOPS."
/PFFT-TWANG-THWOK!/ as the arrow imbeds right into the wall clipping Manny's ear just a smidge. Bound at the wrists and the ankles, his back is against the brick wall of that taller building, held there by some sort of mesh attached to the wall.
"See what I'm saying?"
"AAAAH, ohmigod fuck you fuck you fuck you!"
Helena is out on patrol, though after the previous night's run-in on Staten Island with the ninjas, she's decided a solo patrol is probably better…well, elsewhere. The thing is, the sounds of threatening and assault sound the same if the person doing the threatening is the 'good guy' as they do when a criminal is beating someone up.
Manny's cries have drawn the attention of the youngest of the bats, as Blackbird vaults from one rooftop to the edge of Hawkeye's roof of choice, picking out a vantage point where she can see just what's going on. Her hood pulled up, a mask across the lower part of her face, and cloaked in a dark cape, there's little to see of her save the gold light of her contacts, and even less to hear.
"Sorry about that, Manny." Clint's blonde hair is slicked back by the rain but he doesn't seem to mind too much even as he draws and nocks another arrow. Not quite Robin Hood, Ollie has him beat there with the hat and the green. But he does cut a curious silhouette with the quiver and longbow. "So let me ask you again, Advanced Idea Mechanics." He rolls a shoulder and winces a little, "Figure with your elevation to Assistant Head Flunky you might've heard something."
"I don't know anything about that shit!" Manny howls angrily, though his words don't carry as far as he'd like considering the weather. "Wait, wait a sec…"
Manny seems to start to come to his senses, even as Helena might well see a group of dark silhouettes climbing slooowly up the fire escape behind the archer. So he lifts his voice to try and keep the man's attention to the front, "You talkin' about those guys… some science guys were… were tryin' ta buy some protection so we wouldn't hassle their people."
"Yeah, is that so? Got any names?"
"Yeah maybe…" Several firearms are brandished as the heavy-set looking men start to fan out. "There was this one guy…" Manny tries to act like he's seeking the name in the depths of his memory.
"Oh yeah, he was called 'Go fuck yourself!' Get 'im guys!"
Keep to the shadows as long as possible. Anyone who's going after AIM is probably the good guy here, but calling out to warn the man with the bow would just give her away. Instead, Blackbird flings a batarang at the nearest of the armed men, then fires her grappling gun at the side of a building across from them, shooting across the space in a shadowed blurr.
As she passes, she drops a few smoke pellets among the shooters, sowing confusion even more.
This Hawkeye apparently isn't a total slouch as he moves a split second before Manny's shout. It's as that batarang flicks across the distance and catches one of the men in the wrist that Barton drops to the side, rolling and coming up with an arrow firing into the metal pipe of a downspout, ricocheting the arrow with a /KTANG!/ off and through the knee of one of the men.
Howls of pain are heard in the night as the man with the batarang connects with his wrist, sending the 9mm flying, while the other man goes down on his uninjured leg, crying out as they grab at their injuries…
Only for the entire tableau to suddenly be obscured by those smoke bombs, the smoke cloud illuminating as each of the men fire their pistols wildly.
Once the smoke is there to obscure vision, Blackbird runs her thumb along the outside of her index finger on her gauntlet, switching the vision in her hood to infrared. Now she can see, and they can't. Which is good, because they have guns, and she's learned that getting shot is not a good time.
From her perch on the wall, she launches herself into the smoke behind the men, drawing out a pair of staves and starting with strikes to their wrists to take out the gun issue.
With one down and the other three off balance, the situation quickly devolves into a whorling swirl of chaos as not one but two vigilantes dive into that smoke bank. For the men within it's all coughing and darkness and staggering. Then abrupt impacts of pain.
Blackbird sees each of them perfectly, and with them staggering about they're lined up perfectly. And the one she doesn't catch with a thwok of her staff, Clint trips with his bow and then downs with a traditional punch to the jaw. It's barely eleven or twelve seconds before the men are down, unconscious save for one that's still groaning with the arrow wound. The smoke begins to drift away…
And it leaves Helena there face to face with Clint Barton as he sort of half-smirks and lightly taps a finger against his own shades, "Heh." As if sharing a secret.
"Aren't you a bit short to be a Bat?"
But behind them Manny is groaning and grousing, "Goddammit, can't throw a shoe in this damn place without hitting a freakin' cape."
"I'm not exactly a Bat," Blackbird replies, and even her voice is disguised with a modulator. One that seems to have a hint of something almost like a purr beneath it, conveying amusement as she slips the staves back into their sheathes at her side. "Too many Bats and Robins. It gets confusing, you know?"
She reaches into a pouch on her belt, producing a handful of zip ties, and starts to go from one person to another, restraining them. "It's Blackbird," she adds, looking over her shoulder at him.
"Ah, avian theme." Clint says as he turns back and gives a hand in securing the injured man. "Here man, put pressure on that." He tells the one gangster that's still groaning from the injury to his knee.
A bit of fabric is wrapped around the fellow's knee and then he lightly slaps his shoulder, "There ya go, good as new for when the cops come by." He pushes himself to his feet and then eyes his recent partner.
"Alright Blackbird," He gestures to himself, "Hawkeye."
But then Manny yells, "If you two are finished howzabout lettin' me DOWN FROM HERE!"
"Alright, alright, calm down, Manny." Clint starts to walk over and casually palms a six inch blade from its sheath on his left breast. He pulls Manny's head down sharply and then cuts at the cords of the mesh behind him, causing the man to drop dooooooown, into the alleyway some twelve feet below straight into a large garbage bin… the clangs as it closes over top of him. The sound of his cursing echoes inside the metal box even as Clint turns back towards her.
"I'll grab him later after he's had a chance to run around and scream at people, see who comes a calling."
"Sure, makes sense," Helena nods, pulling the zip ties on the last of the men before she goes to collect the guns. Or rather, to disassemble the guns. Rumor has it the Bats don't much care for them, but she seems to know them well enough to disassemble them quickly and efficiently.
"What're you going after AIM for?" she asks, curious. "No offense, but I wouldn't expect to find the bow and arrow guy going after the tech bad guys."
"Classified," He says that in a sing-song tone pronouncing it something like, 'class-ih-fi-yeed', for some reason. But he kneels besides some of the unconscious men she's already secured and starts going through their pockets, casually checking their IDs when he finds them, checking the money, doesn't take any so hey score a point for Hawkeye.
He looks up and at her from his kneeling crouch there next to one of the goons she clocked, "And hey, looks can be deceiving. I'm hip. I'm with it." He casually baps one of the unconscious guys with his own wallet, making sure he's unconscious. Satisfied he pushes himself to his feet.
"I'm on the Facebooks and the Tweets." He is on neither.
"This your usual stomping ground?"
Blackbird shrugs, collecting all the bullets and storing them away in one of her pouches. Even if they get out, no one's getting shot tonight. "For some reaason, I don't believe you," she chuckles. "I'm more familiar with Staten Island, but I get around most of New York, depending on what's going on around town."
"Who's classifying investigations into AIM?" She tilts her head to one side, working through it, then pauses, brows rising. "Are you with SHIELD?" Oddly, she sounds almost hopeful on that front.
"Yup," Clint says as he adjusts the hang of his quiver, pressing a series of buttons on the base of it and causing a faint whirring to sound. He then slings the bow over his other shoulder, the weapon compressing and folding on itself to fit against the padding on his back. He then turns to face her, "Suppose I should've said Agent Hawkeye. But it's been a while."
That said he moves over towards the fire escape. "If you're in the neighborhood in a few hours, I may be back around here." The ladder clangs as he starts his descent, but he pauses with just his hands and his head visible over the lip of the fire escape.
"And hey, kid." He winks at her, "Thanks for the save." That said he drops down the ladder and then onto the alleyway below.