Summary:Lena Snart shares information with Red Robin. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Lena Snart dropped Snowflake.
Some time ago, Red Robin — in full guise as 'Alvin Draper' — made contact with Lena Snart. After some clashes, and making clear that it's all for her own reasons, she agreed to provide what information she could glean on the movements of the Hand. Rather than provide a phone, she pledged that she would find him.
Since then, Red Robin has occasionally been seen standing on the corner of a locksmith's building in Staten Island. Sometimes he's there twice a week, sometimes it's a couple of weeks in between; sometimes there are crimes to stop, sometimes there aren't. Point is, it's a place to find him, and he thinks he's communicated it clearly enough.
Tonight is another of the nights he's up there. His grapnel pulls him up into position, he finds his 'usual spot' on the rooftop's corner, and he settles in for a good Brood. He's learned from the best.
Sure, it was for 'her own' reasons. Or something like that. EIther way, she was a girl of her word and at least that much was known. She had found him, and after allowing him to settle in, the girl opens the door to roof and shuts it behind herself. She wasn't dressed in her persona's garb tonight, but simply wearing denim, a jacket, and some boots.
Quirking a brow, she looks him over, rolls her shoulders, and slips her hands into her pockets. "You still want that information? It's old news but…still news."
"Yes." He hasn't turned around yet. Does that cowl include all-the-way-around cameras? How would he even handle looking at that — would the image have to be really shrunk down to fit in the lenses? "I'm interested in what you have to share." No statement on whether it'd be news to him, or just comparing with what he's already learned by other means. "And appreciate you coming out." Because hey, it hurts nothing to be polite.
Lena Snart shrugs and keeps her distance. "Your problem isn't a problem here anymore. At least not in Staten Island. The places I checked were cleared out and in a hurry. Found some odd things, though. Buildings ruined, doors ripped off hinges. Blood, guts, gore, awful…and viscera." Another shrug, her dark lips curl into a soft smile. "Anyway, some low thugs say your issue is hiding out, licking their wounds. Whatever hit them was a monster, or monsters. Garou, but brilliant. Oh and wings like moths. Punks are starting to work for these creatures…someone's pushing out your lil problem."
"And making a new one," Red Robin says. No, he can't leave well enough alone just because the original target is being pushed out; his whole group is less than happy about blood, guts, gore, and viscera. "Where did you check?" Even if they're cold by now, there are all manner of investigative wizardry he can do with a pattern of building locations.
Cold offers out the locations easily enough. Pivoting, she moves toward the side of the building and looks over its side. The wind kicks about, causing her jet hair to dance about until she tucks the thick chunks of soft dyed blue behind the shell of her ear. "That's all I got, Birdie. I'll leave you to your, well, whatever the hell you're doing up here."
Red Robin repeats the locations — checking he heard her right, and perhaps dictating them into his own systems to start the investigation. At the last comment, he finally turns to face her.
"Honestly?" Now there's a half-smile below the mask. "Just making myself easier to find. Having you on 'speed dial' wouldn't suit either of us, but this was easy enough to track down."
"Yeah…I'm not on anyone's 'speed-dial', especially for capes." Her fingers brush back more of her hair, letting it all land where it may. "Good luck out there, I guess. Don't get killed and what not." A wiggling of her fingers, the girl turns to head back for the door. She had to take the stairs.
"I'll try to avoid it," he says, his voice light with bantering tone. But as she turns to leave, his expression and voice turn more serious. "Lena. Thank you for this, for sharing information." That's all that really needs to be said, and so they part ways — her for the stairs, and he fires off his grapnel gun again.