2012-11-23 Falcone's War: Knife In The Dark

The way this wide space beneath the eaves of Gotham's oldest tree has been so elegantly decorated, one could forget that the organizers are criminals. Not criminals within the reach of the law, but rather the men who call the shots. They stand nearby the bandstand where a quartet plays a classy selection from Vivaldi, Puccini and a host of other Italian composers. In the center, holding court amongst the Falcone Family's lesser sons, stands the Roman himself - Carmine Falcone.

A large, crystal bowl sits in the center of the open parkland that has been set aside for the event. It is about half-full with a variety of bills, predominantly hundreds, fifties and folded checks given by the party's wealthy guests. A pair of men in suits and dark glasses stand on either side of it, staring impassively out at the milling crowd and only letting those with donations get close enough to toss their money in and leave.

A buffet tended by half a dozen men in immaculately white chef's uniforms sits to one side. A large tent takes up the space not far from it, waiters and waitresses bustling to and from it – clearly the temporary kitchen set up for the event.

Alan doesn't make a habit of trafficing with gangsters. Neither does GBC. But given that this is a charity benefit and one for a very good cause that he supports, he's decided to make an exception. Besides, if something bad happens, he'll be here for it. Dressed appropriately for the occasion and time of day, he sips from a glass and looks around to see who else has chose to attend the dubious event.

Alan doesn't make a habit of trafficing with gangsters. Neither does GBC. But given that this is a charity benefit and one for a very good cause that he supports, he's decided to make an exception. Besides, if something bad happens, he'll be here for it. Dressed appropriately for the occasion and time of day, he sips from a glass and looks around to see who else has chose to attend the dubious event.

Who would have thought an invitation would spark the nightmares? Wesley Dodds tosses and turns through the night as the dreams haunt him. Everything starts with the image of the invitation on his nightstand. Faces flash across his vision followed by screams of pain and torture. Blood runs over the images of the faces he sees. Then several figures are seen standing in a field of grassy greens, white lilacs and doves. Every person is wearing a white suit, matching button up shirt, with a blood red tie and vest. Seconds later the field transforms into corpses. Bodies of men, women, different sizes, colors, shapes, lay beneath their feat. Flesh barely hangs onto the bones of some, others look like they just passed yesterday, and the bottom of the pile is nearly skeletons. Vultures circle looking for carron, the figure in the suits, which are now black, are smiling as vision after vision hit Dodds. Gunshot to the temple along with feeling the fear and anxiety of knowing this is the end as the barrel presses against you, the feeling of metal being inserted into your body again and again and again with every knife wound, and the list goes on. When Dodds wakes up he practically runs to the bathroom trying his best not to stumble. If he wasn't going to the party before, he is now.?

Making his way into the lush greenery Dodds gives a polite smile to people that know him. A few are shocked he's there because Dodds is pretty against the whole ceremony thing. Someone asks why he's here, Dodds says with a smile, "I wouldn't miss this for the world," before he tosses a fifty into the crystal bowl. Dressed in a black tux along with his trusty long coat, brown leather gloves and fedora, he greets various people about for the sake of kindness and nothing more, "Wesley Dodds, how-do-you-do? Wesley Dodds. Hi there, Wesley Dodds. Doctor Dodds, how do?" Little does anyone know about the mask tucked away inside his coat and the gas gun in his tux.

Helena Bertinelli arrives by hired car -- simply a nicer version of a taxi -- and introduces herself at the door as Helena Bertranesca, borrowing the last name of one of her Sicilian relatives and hoping that they don't have proper mafia ties here in Gotham. She doesn't /think/ they do, or at least she's never seen mention of them in her surveillance of the local mafiosos.?

After making it through to the party itself, she pulls her black silk shawl closer around her shoulders to ward off the November evening chill and skirts the thickest of the crowds of patrons to get the lay of the land. With any luck, she'll finally be able to lay eyes on Carmine Falcone or one of his top lieutenants and maybe get a chance at finding out where Mandragora has disappeared to. The past month plus of complete and utter crap has put a major crimp on her quest to find the man, and she's determined to get back on track.

Once upon a time, Gotham's mob ruled the entire city. Top to bottom; or perhaps more appropriately, bottom to top. Their corrupt stranglehood over the city's infrastructure has been diligently rooted out due to a wide counter-insurgency effort headed intitially by two men-- Jim Gordon and the Batman. That crusade has cost the mafia limbs, but the Families that survive? Have been quick to adapt, to consolidate, to evolve their nefarious foundations; far from an extinct beast. Bruce arrives with a touch of flair, in a dark blue McLaren MP4-12c.?

He has an insider of his own on his arm, in Selina Kyle, and when he drops his own (sizable) check into the charity pot, the rapidly disintegrating packet palmed into the folded paper swiftly dissipates its (harmless!) radioactive payload into the gift basket. As their methods evolve, so do Wayne's; he's curious where mob charity really goes, and which banks process his own donation-- the Oracle's in place to watch that angle for him.?

Getting eyes on the mob's current operations and upper echelons of membership is a priority mission that shifts him from pleasantry to pleasantry upon arrival, sparing little time for any one person.. as a hidden camera in his tie pin captures images of a majority of the guests in short order; a sort of high-tech, wider variant of the net cast by the incognito Huntress.

Affairs like tonight's are Selina's second home, the Gotham socialite as comfortable at parties like this as she is in her own home. And she most definitely does not turn down the opportunity to be seen on Bruce Wayne's arm. Dressed to the nines in an all black ensemble - strapless gown that looks like it was made with her in mind for how perfectly it's tailored has been paired with matching opera-length gloves and heels - she looks very much like she is in her element.

When Bruce puts his 'gift' into the bowl she slides her arm out of his and leans in, using a kiss on his cheek as an excuse to lean in close to whisper in his ear. "I am going to wander the party a bit, see what I can hear." That said, she leans back and says a bit more loudly, "I am going to mingle a bit, darling. Don't run off with a blonde while I do so, hmmm?" A playful wink is given to the billionaire before she turns, her expression held in check. She personally has no love for the Mafia but her own dislike for them is a lot less obvious, her hate for organized crime manifesting in more subtle ways than the violence some visit upon their numbers. It also manifests in her willingness to drift past groups of men, taking an inward interest in what might be heard by those not expecting for one of Gotham's ladies to be eavesdropping while assuming a slightly vapid expression complete with the wide-eyed gaze and dreamy smile to finish it off. This is Selina Kyle at her finest.

“Alright, alright,” Falcone says from his place surrounded by cronies, immediately bringing them to silence, “I've got to go and do some glad-handing. Don't bore each other to death.”

An obedient chuckle rises from the group as the Roman steps out and over towards the money bowl. There are enough people around for him to make a show of it, slipping several crisp hundred dollar bills from his wallet and tossing them in. That done, he turns in time to grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's silver tray. He pauses a moment to exchange hushed words with a weedy looking man who tries to discretely hurry to reach him.

Out in the darkened areas of the Gardens, the ones not lit up for the party or cordoned off to be used behind the scenes, is Robin. He sits on the bough of one of the trees, back against the trunk as he lazily offers into his radio: “All quiet here.”

Alan's been keeping an eye on the donation bowl so when Selina arrives and then splits off from Bruce, he walks over towards her. "Selina." he says quietly. "How nice to see you again. I was wondering if you'd be attending." He casts a glance among those who did decide to show up. "An interesting event, don't you think? An attempt to gain some air of legitimacy?"

Helena Bertinelli makes her slow circuit around the well-lit part of the gardens, her own deep midnight blue gown not as well fitted as Selina's but of a style that doesn't suffer too much from being a bit loose. As it is, she was lucky she had something in her closet that would suffice for this evening, and she will NOT apologize for letting the floor length skirt conceal that she chose tall-heeled black boots instead of the usual useless heeled sandal type things that people are usually expected to wear. She's tried to not make it look like she's suffering a bit from the chill, and hopefully she's succeeded.?

With a faint and somewhat distant smile she steps past Selina and Alan to drop a few bills into the donation bowl from the black drawstring pouch at her wrist and take the moment to scan the gathered people again for any familiar faces. Wayne, given. Several members of the mafia that she only knows from her 'investigations', and ... Dodds. The heck is he doing here? She tries to not frown visibly, and accepts a champagne flute from a passing caterer to hide behind.

After slipping aside to put the mask inside his suit while looking decent Dodds puts the fedora, glove and coat aside. He's dressed warm but if a costume is going to be slipped on then there would be time to separate himself from his masked self. Establish an alibi of sorts. Going back to the crowd Dodds gives a smile to people before seeing a familiar face. He moves toward the familiar figure, "And what brings you here Miss?" Dodds asks Helena with an offered hand, "Dance?" An orchestra is playing various composers and what is music without dancing??

After some relunctance he pulls the woman close and moves with her. Dodds actually knows how to dance. When the woman is close he whispers, "You shouldn't be here. Trust me," despite their cat and mouse game he gives the woman a serious and sincere look. "Very bad people are here and something will happen," again the words are a whisper that only she can hear.

Bruce lingers close to his donation-- and Falcone's approach-- long enough to eavesdrop on the man's arrangements as much as possible, whilst scarcely distracting him from his (apparent) course, around the security to intercept that tray of champagne moments after the crimelord acquires his own drink. Wayne sips appreciatively, or at least appears to, as he turns a half-interested gaze across a wide arc of milling socialites.?

By all appearances, the scion of the Wayne line doesn't even properly recognize Carmine Falcone, the much-maligned host of the event, himself. Whether it looks it or not, though, the Dark Knight recognizes many of the faces here; even catches a passing glimpse of another, rather unexpected, vigilante(s?!?). It's not hard for Bruce to hide that surprise, however.?

For the moment, Wayne visits the buffet, keeps a vantage point for footage of Falcone's men, and uses passing greetings and introductions to hide his ever-shifting vantage point; Bruce may not have had a prophetic dream, but he's sure this isn't all on the level for numerous reasons, himself. A hidden device in his pocket identifies mobile devices in use by various attendees, transmitting that information in real time to Robin and Oracle for later listening device fabrication or wireless hacking needs.

As Falcone heads in the opposite direction of Alan and Selina she can't help but to turn her head, trying to keep him in her sight while the act is dropped for the moment. Alan knows she's a smart cookie and he might come to suspect something is up if she keeps trying to play dumb. "I don't think they are," she murmurs to her friend while looking for Bruce once she loses sight of their host for the evening.

A hand comes out and reaches for Alan's hand once she realizes neigther man she should be keeping a look out for are in line of sight. "I trust them about as far as I can throw them and I need to figure out if this is on the up-and-up or if they've got something planned.

The conversation between Falcone and his underling seems to get suddenly quite heated. Their volume never raises above a whisper, their words lost in the din, but the way the Roman hisses through his teeth makes it clear he isn't pleased. Then, as quickly as it started, the conversation is ended and the underling hurries off towards the catering tent. Falcone himself turns towards the stage that houses the quartet. As he approaches, they seamlessly lapse into a rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'.

The private radio frequency being used by Falcone's guards is alive with chatter, not panicked but certainly suspicious and concerned. One of the guards hasn't reported in and a pair have been dispatched to go and investigate. Out by the catering tent, a pair of guards wearing flak jackets jog off into the darkness of the rest of the Gardens. They go unnoticed for the most part, but there are certain pairs of keen eyes amongst the guests that may see them.

Alan takes Selina's hand and lifts it to kiss the back, using the time to assess the lady. "You need to figure it out?" he murmurs then shifts his gaze back to their hosts. "Of course they're up to something. Even if it's just to look respectable. The question is, is it going to be dangerous. In which case, you shouldn't be here, Selina."

Not surprised that Dodds recognized her the moment she recognized him, Helena nods to the man, but then gets reluctantly pulled to dance with him. She's not an accomplished dancer, but she can at least muddle through without stepping on toes. Her as yet untouched glass of champagne is perilously closer to the man's shoulder as he quietly scolds her for being here and warns her that it's dangerous. "Why shouldn't I be here?" she asks him nearly as quietly, her indignation hopefully easy to misinterpret. "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself." And the knives she's got concealed in each boot and strapped to the inside of one leg under her skirt. She wasn't about to risk sticking a pistol in her little drawstring purse, even if she could have managed to get her hands on a Derringer small enough to suffice. "And speaking of, why are you here? Looking for someone else to randomly invite for coffee?"

'Get eyes on those guards.' Bruce pauses in picking out his appetizers to tap out a quick text to his own operative on-site. If Falcone's men are missing-- or dropping-- they need to know how, why, and who. Fast. It's not as if several of the men on tonight's guest list don't have rather expansive rosters of enemies. Non-chalantly eating a rather exceptional deviled egg, Bruce slips deftly back through the gathering towards Selina and Alan, slipping an arm lightly around the former's waist as he arrives.?

"Mr. Scott." Wayne offers simply, "Nice to see you here. Hopefully this one won't turn out like Luthor's, hmm?" Apparently, totally oblivious to the irony of his words and arrival... and the emerging crisis in Falcone's night. Just the slightest bit of tension in the physical gesture would draw Selina to observe what Bruce does, as those guards slip off and Falcone's demeanor turns tenser.

Staring at Helena Dodds looks at her then replies with the same indignation, "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself." His eyes glance about before he confesses, "Something better than gut instinct. Trust me," he says with the same urgency. After a few moments he gives up, "We're both looking for trouble. We both know we're in the lion's den. What are you planning?" he asks with some curiousity. Tonight the woman is the one with an agenda. This little factoid amuses and intrigues Dodds. Dodds didn't pack his gun in a purse, it's in his suit along with the mask. "For whatever it's worth, you're the prettiest one here tonight. You clean up well," a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. The last time they spoke, the woman wore unseasonable clothes and they looked like they could use a wash, today she is quite nice looking.

A few of those guards are seen by Selina who freezes, her expression marginally worried. "You just might be correct," she mouths before she pivots, her eyes sweeping as much of the party venue as she can while trying to continue feigning the aire of casualness she isn't exactly feeling. "I am getting the urge to make my way out of h..."

The thought is not finished being put to words as Bruce joins them, distracting her from the welling of discomfort. Encouraged to observe, Sel forces a tight smile to form on her lips at the same time she attempts to count just how many of those goons are here. "I have a feeling this party will be one to remember," she mutters, the levity she tries to put in her tone falling flat.

There is no response from the Bat's operative on the ground. Neither over the radio nor in text. Just a long, uncharacteristic silence from the Boy Wonder.

Nearby, Falcone steps up onto the platform in front of the quartet and a chorus of chimes fill the night air as people tap cutlery lightly against champagne glasses. The man of the hour reaches out to accept a microphone handed up towards him, tapping it once as the speakers wired up in the trees project his voice out over the party.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the Roman begins, “It's good to so many of you out here giving for a good cause. Mercy Hospital is in good hands as long as this City has people who care about it's future and the future of our children. Charity begins at home, they say, and Gotham City is ours.”

"Mr. Wayne." Alan returns. "So nice to see you again. Yes, something more uneventful than that evening would be nice." He's about to say more when Falcone steps up and signals his intention to talk. Turning, he listens to the opening remarks, a brow quirking as the Roman mentions the city is 'ours'. "For certain definitions of 'ours' perhaps." he murmurs to Selina and Bruce.

Helena Bertinelli somehow manages to both keep a seemingly calm expression on her face while at the same time GLARING at Dodds, his attempt at flattery not sitting well with her current on-the-job state of mind. And thus, her words back to him are the level of biting snark that others might be accustomed to hearing from her. "Amazing what a difference my own clothes make."

Then the 'host' of the event calls for attention and she stops the pretense of dancing with Dodds to turn and study the Roman. Her eyes flit quickly to the people in the fringes of the party, as she gets the impression that something's not right here despite the announcement. She can FEEL it. "By the way," she adds quietly, low enough that hopefully only Dodds can hear, "Ever get the feeling you've overdressed for something?" Glancing around, she tries to find a convenient place to ditch her beverage while her free hand toys seemingly idly with the silver cross-like brooch holding her shawl closed.

"You looked amazing then, I was just too busy trying to study you to say it," Dodds says ignoring the glare. Somehow that is expected. The dance comes to an end as The Roman speak. Everything with how "is ours," the way he poises himself above, the attire, everything makes the nightmare flash an image. He can see the Roman on the pile. Somehow this guy is bad news. He knows nothing about if he's the leader, just that this guy is connected to bad things.?

Seeing Helena fiddle with a broach Dodds helps her for a second saying quietly, "Never. It's just making sure I brought the right outfit."?

Slinking away Dodds tries to find the shadows of something to hide behind. The knowledge of how they work has played to Dodds advantage before. Once there he moves about going towards his jacket, hat and gloves. Deep down in his gut, he knows the Sandman will not be sleeping today.

Bruce pays a glance to his smartphone, then another as his own channels go mysteriously silent. He's about to spare a distant nod to Alan's optimistic wishes when Falcone's speech diverts the billionaire into dry words of his own, "Then again.." listening to the mafioso talk as planned might be a boring worse case .. almost. After a few moments of listening, waiting, Wayne instead nudges Selina towards the periphery of the crowd, mouthing a simple, "Excuse us." should Alan-- or whomever else-- take notice.?

Taking the opportunity to playfully (if somewhat deceptively) lean in close to Ms. Kyle, Bruce offers up a whisper for her ear, oblique despite the careful delivery. "The bird's not singing." Something's going wrong. While the darkened park grounds surrounding the gala might be the obvious destination, Bruce actually leads them towards a nearby maintenance building.

“We've got a lot of history in this city,” Falcone continues, taking a moment to look around with a faint smile, “A lot worth protecting. And a lot worth - “

Whatever the Roman is saying, his words are suddenly got off as the feed to his microphone is unceremoniously cut. He continues to speak for a moment before he realizes what is going, looking left and right before tapping the mic a couple times. He points at one of his underlings near the stage, demanding that he check the wiring. He is in mid-tirade when the speakers crackle to life.

“Sorry to interrupt you while you pat each other on the back for supporting Satan himself,” says a voice through the speaker, low and full of simmering rage, “But I can't listen to this anymore. Carmine Falcone, your time has come.”

The two guards closest to the stage reach surreptitiously into their coats as someone threatens their boss, looking around for the source of the voice.

Alan nods to Bruce, glancing over to watch him and Selina move away but still keeping most of his attention on Falcone. He can't help but smirk a bit as the microphone cuts out. Someone's going to pay for that, no doubt. But then the real reason is revealed and he turns to shoo those near him. "I think it's time to leave." he says firmly. "Before bullets start flying."

Seeing people are starting to become uneasy, Dodds grabs his coat, gloves and hat. He moves into a crowd just becoming incognito. Some nearby shadows thanks to a tree causes the stealth to kick in a little more. The waiting game is never fun but that's all he can do. Wait for whoever is on the microphone to emerge and mabe their move. Buttoning up his coat says two of the top buttons. He waits ueasily for the ball to drop.

Helena Bertinelli glances to where Dodds was standing a moment ago and huffs, muttering faintly to herself, "Figures." As Alan shoos people near her, she pretends to follow, planning on skirting back around to figure out who is behind ruining her chance at getting Mandragora's whereabouts.

Selina gives Alan a wave and a promise of a phone call just as she's drawn elsewhere, the smile sticking right up until the point that Bruce gives her the message and all hell breaks out shortly after. "Do you think he got caught," she whispers back, her eyes filled with worry. "Nothing ever happens in halves," Sel complains while stopping, grabbing onto Bruce's arm to steady herself while her heels are removed. Will help with moving faster as well as give her access to two weapons if it comes down to needing to defend herself.

"You really know how to show a girl a good time, Mister Wayne," she quips under her breath. "If I didn't know better, I swear you're in cahoots with the men who pull these stunts just so you won't have to be romantic with me." Now barefooted and armed, she lets her date lead her on to the other part of the area.

The door to the maintenance station was left open, a repository for tools and gear occupied largely by a bank of lockers and a large, humming transformer. It's the former that Bruce accesses, opening a false panel behind several to reveal a more advanced vault, which in turn conceals a compact set of bat-gear and Wayne's /other/ party suit. Several small pouches and a shoulder satchel that certainly resembles a purse in times like this are also present, these offered over for Selina to conceal, whilst his other hand tugs his tie free.?

Selina would find a rather thorough assortment of her usual tricks and tools present, right down to a properly weighted bullwhip-- of perfect length. Ra's al Ghul doesn't call the man Detective for kicks. "You might be right." the Dark Knight notes, drily, with the faintest of smiles. There's little time for one-liners about his capacity to plan, however. "We need to find him." Robin. Whatever's about to happen, Damian is sure to be atop- or in the middle of- it. "Get eyes on the perimeter." A compact pair of binoculars is tossed Selina's way, capable of frequency scanning not unlike the ultramodern imaging of his own cowl.?


 * "Oracle."| The proper communicator is in place long before the cowl, as black suit is rapidly replaced by its armored funhouse mirror. |"I need imaging on transmissions in the botanical gardens."| He doesn't need to add 'immediately'; with luck the data will be streaming in by the time he's finished diligently suiting up.

Even as the voice growls through the speakers, Falcone is stepping down off the stage to be immediately surrounded by his retinue of guards and lieutenants. Nobody is allowed near him and they quickly begin to move him away from the stage. The security personnel pay little attention to the rest of the party guests, more interested in getting their employer to safety than the rest of Gotham's elite.

“Gotham will be free of scum like Falcone,” the voice announces, “He will be the first brought to justice but not the last. Your crimes are known to me. There is nowhere left to hide.”

A figure suddenly drops from the trees to a small clearing of space in front of Falcone's group. A tall, well-built man dressed in black and gold with a mask drawn over his face and a cape fluttering out behind him. He wastes no time, immediately taking to Falcone's guards with skill. They move to shoot him but he closes the space too quickly, turning it into a fistfight.

The man in black and gold moves through Falcone's guards almost surgically, fighting his way towards the Roman himself. One of the lieutenants wastes no time in ducking down and pushing his boss in the opposite direction, trying to get him away while the mask is occupied.

Alan does't follow his own advice however, taking up a position near the exit but still inside so he can see what's happening. He feels no obligation to interfere; those who live by the sword and all that. He just wants to make sure no bystanders get hurt.

Helena Bertinelli tries her best to not look at Alan as she passes by him, then turns and hurries through a shadowed section of the gardens as soon as she can. She mentally curses the loss of her costume and crossbow, hoping the replacements arrive soon. But, in the meantime, she'll just have to hope the shadows and her dark clothing are enough.?

She makes it to the area behind the string ensemble in time to see the black and gold clad mask start taking down the Roman's men, and is torn between mentally cheering him on and throwing a knife at his head.

Hearing the commotion Dodds slips on his and pulls out the gas gun. Seeing the person with a gold mask of their own, "Crap," is all Dodds can mutter before heading toward the action. Sure the guy could move like a surgeon but there's another doctor in the house. Dodds points then fires the first prescription dose of sleeping sand. At least a few sleeping guards means a few jail cells get guests. Hopefully the return fire wouldn't be bad. Getting close to Falcone is Dodds goal, a jail cell over a body bag. Then fend off the other gold masked guy...somehow.

"At least you can say you get the famous Selina Kyle out of her clothes," comes the purred joke once they've arrived at their destination, everything handled to her by Bruce dealt with accordingly before she gets changed into the bodysuit Bruce brought for her to wear in lieu of her costume. Takes no time before Selina is 'gone', replaced by her alter ego. The gown and heels are stashed and she looks around, giving her date an iota of privacy before she exits the shed. "Here's for hoping we run into him first," she whispers, that in regards to the boy.

Heading out on her own, she skirts around the outer edge until she can find a shadowy recess to duck into, this being the first of what will probably be several times she'll stop to scan the perimeter in an attempt to find Robin. Hopefully he's alright and is only quiet out of an act of defiance or some other reason and nothing bad happened to the brat... er, to the kid.

The Dark Knight wastes no time suiting up. The utility belt buckles securely into place, the cowl locks in over his features, and blue eyes are replaced by blank white lenses. The final pieces to the stealth armor some in the media call the batsuit, feeding information to Batman's senses as chaos erupts at the banquet. |"Belay that."| Looks like the interloper isn't wasting any time-- threat and strike in one neat feint. The Dark Knight might be impressed, if he were less focused on dealing with it.?

"He's tracking at his last known position. May be incapacitated. Be careful." the words offered as Selina slips off seem to hang in the air after the Caped Crusader disappears into the trees, making his way back to the upended party swiftly and silently via the high road, his passage shared by little more than a shadowed rustle. If this intruder managed to take down Robin without raising the alarm, he's damned good; or not in the least bit alone. Possibly both.

The man single-handedly taking on Falcone's men is swift and practiced, diving over one of the guards as he knocks him unconscious and landing heavily on the next. As the gas knocks the men out he looks confused for the moment, looking up in the direction of the Sandman and just staring at him for a beat before he moves on.

“I don't need help,” he growls, turning to move towards Falcone when the few guards and the lieutenant with Falcone open fire. A hail of bullets that can be fired now that most of the party guests have taken off into the rest of the Gardens. Needless to say, the direct approach is now impossible and the man in black and gold begins to dart around. Let them shoot at Dodds instead.

Meanwhile, it doesn't take Selina long to find Robin as he's not actively hiding. In fact, he's sitting against a tree with his back against the trunk. When the light catches his face, he's grimacing. His hand clutches his side, his costume and gloves dark and wet. Blood. The dark handle of what looks like a knife sticks out through his fingers.

When Selina is close enough, however, he lifts his grappling launcher with a pained grunt and levels it at her. His teeth are gritted, “I'm not dead yet, you -” He sees who it is and lowers the launcher slightly, “What are you doing here? He's … ngh … probably already there by now.”

Alan digs around in his jacket pocket and pulls out his cellphone. Instead of dialing 911 - others have surely doen that by now - he starts recording the fight, focusing especially on the costumed vigilante. GBC will have exclusive coverage! Besides, he's still not really sure who he wants to win.

Helena Bertinelli sees the GasMan (god, too many puns, must ignore) seemingly helping the black and gold mask and thinks this has gone on long enough. She pulls the smallest of her knives from one boot and takes a moment to aim carefully. Knife throwing is by no means her speciality, but she can hit targets well enough in a pinch. She throws the knife with as much force as she can muster, aiming for masked individual that's beating people into the ground instead of gassing them.

Seeing the gold masked man say he didn't need help made Dodds smirk, "They're just appetizers, you're the main dish," Dodds quips. Unfortunately too much time is spent exhanging verbal assaults, Dodds doesn't hear the physical one. Maybe it's the number of guns that are automatics or just bad luck. Three bullets clip Dodds in the left shoulder causing a scream of pain. Leather only protects against so much and there is nothing special about his tux.?

Scurrying away Dodds hides behind a tree. Slowly standing to his feet, Dodds winces as bullets bark into the air and bite into the wood. Shrugging off his coat then with the good hand tearing off the tux jacket, the red stained arm is visible.?

With the good arm Dodds just holds down on the gas gun. A diversion sets into the air as the sleeping gas creates a fog. When it clears the profile of the coat and hat can be seen. Bullets riddle the clothing and to the chagrin of the shooters, no one's inside. Against another tree Dodds tries to gain his bearings but is starting to feel a little woozy. He staggers before sliding against the tree holding it just incase the blood loss causes him to sway into gunfire.

"He's not going to be happy with you," Catwoman mentions lightly to Robin, knowing that her tone just might very well annoy Robin. And if he's alright enough to get annoyed he very well should be alright. "Okay. What happened," Selina asks the kid while looking at him, first assessing the wound as much as her very limited medical knowledge will allow her, and then his person as a whole as she tries to figure out just what he has for comms. "If you can, tell Batman you're injured. I'll make sure you're alright until he can come get us..." Here's for hoping she won't have to rush Robin to Leslie's clinic just yet.

With Selina moving in on Robin's location, it doesn't take Batman long to return to the party. It's arguably worse now than when Falcone was preaching brotherhood and charity and unity. Arguably. Amidst those fighting on the ground the Dark Knight seems to appear, as much as land, cape fluttering about him to shroud limbs and form as he comes down in a stable crouch, protected from errant rounds by the extra layer of resilient fabric-- as he centers his attention on the pursuing executioner. His own mouth obscured by a filter form-fitted to cowl, the Caped Crusader makes no initial comment, eyes narrowing in alert analysis; or challenge.?

A slowly drifting, heavy grey mist seems to rise from the Bat's feet, weaving tendrils as the shrouded figure rises, arms still lost to the shadows of his costume. He stays more on the flank than directly between Falcone's men and the interloper; partly for adaptability, partly for respect of the crossfire. Perhaps even partly to leave the concealed vigilante he knows with a clear angle of fire.?

When a pause in gunfire follows the Sandman's momentary escape, the Bat's attention is unwavering, but his deep, slightly distorted words are meant for the mobsters, "I'd focus on /running/." ... or maybe the assassin he's locked in on, as well. After all, when Batman erupts into motion, it's a violent lunge for the mystery combatant, a swift flurry of probing blows meant to test style; and skill.

The man in black and gold turns swiftly as the knife is thrown at him, gloved hand grabbing it from the air. Momentarily distracted, he glares off towards Helena and allows enough time for one of Falcone's lieutenants to get the drop on him. The click of the hammer being cocked as Falcone's man levels the gun on him grabs his attention, causing the masked man to turn around suddenly. The sick sound of tearing flesh fills the air through a momentary pause in the gunfire and the lieutenant slumps backwards, the knife jutting from his heart.

The masked man looks shocked. Just looking at him tells that he had not intended to stab the man, let alone kill him. As though everything suddenly weighs upon him quite heavily, the man in black and gold takes off. Falcone is forgotten and right now he's just making for the treeline, keeping his head down.

Meanwhile, Robin shakes his head quickly at Selina, "No. Doesn't need the distraction."

He keeps his hand pressed against the wound. Medical knowledge or not, it isn't a glancing blow or something that he can just shrug off. This is something potentially deadly. He refuses to show concern, however, simply nodding his head sharply in the direction of the gunfire.

"Go help."

Alan came his phone on the vigilante in gold and black for the most part. He's getting some good action. But he also pans around to get some coverage of goons firing guns and someone firing... gas canisters? He also looks around to try to see where the knife came from but is distracted by... BATMAN! If he didn't already own GBC, he'd give himself such a huge bonus for this footage. And a murder too now. The police are going to be wanting a copy of this, no doubt.

Helena Bertinelli is left staring in surprise as the vigilante in black and gold CATCHES her knife, and then when he uses it to kill Falcone's lieutenant she ducks back and away from the light sources with a faint curse, hoping no one saw her face. Her prints are on that knife. DAMN. IT.

Seeing a face peek out tossing a knife Dodds dahses toward the place they vanished too. Leaping by them for the same cover the gold mask stares at Helena after he lands, "Help beautiful," Dodds says. Somehow the girl is connected to this given the knife throw he saw. Sure the flowing hair behind her with the swirly colors may not have been real or maybe it was, the throw is certainly something real. "Nice throw," he says in a feint voice.

"This is not time to be a stubborn little shi..." No, this is not time to hold a contest of wills with Robin. She needs to help Batman /and/ find someone who isn't cowering in fear who can help Robin and... ugh. Too many 'ands' in that. "Just let him know you are alive please," Catwoman says as she turns. She looks at him from over her shoulder, her own expression held blank, her emotions held in check. "He's worried about you."

The order given to the teen hero, she runs off, trying to get to where the source of the 'fun' is, that putting her past where Helena and the wounded Dobbs can be found. "Hey, we got a wounded teen back there," she huffs while chucking a thumb in the direction she just came from. "Can one of you stay with him until this is over, please?" As of yet, she doesn't know the man's hurt as well and she's not sticking around long enough to find out.

Admittedly, the Dark Knight had not expected the assailant to -heed- his words, much less intercept and repurpose the Huntress' knife. What -is- it about that woman and murder weapons? The sudden surprise and egress are all that keep Batman off his quarry at first, along with a quick, somewhat alarmed glance that confirms the mortal nature of that injury. Then? The Caped Crusader is in motion after the assassin, cape floating out behind him as he launches into an immediate sprint, intent on keeping the regret-laden killer in his vision as he gives chase. |"Robin."| Once more, he tries to raise his partner-in-crimefighting, tapping a remote on his belt to summon a different sort of help.

“I'm fine,” Robin replies into his radio, reluctantly taking Selina's advice even though he has trouble masking the pain in his voice. He doesn't offer anything else, instead he plants a hand against the tree and moves to stand up. An agonized shout of pain erupts from him, the knife twisting in his gut as he attempts to soldier on. That isn't going to happen and now he's gone and shouted over the comm.

The man in black and gold is fast, having given up his mission to bring in Falcone and instead trying to just get away. He's in a sprint as well, slinging himself over fences and through bushes as he crosses country to get out of the Gardens and into the prospective camouflage of the City.

In the party area the gunfire has died down with the would-be assassin gone and Batman on his tail. Falcone is being ushered away quickly in the opposite direction, bound for his car and a safe house uptown.

The majority of the action seeming to be over, Alan stops recording and then emails it to his assistant and both his personal and business email addresses. One copy on a phone can be confiscated by the police. Multiple copies are another matter. Now he calls 911 especially at hearing of 'a wounded teen'.

Helena Bertinelli startles and has to keep herself from pulling another knife as a different masked individual abruptly invades her hiding place. She thinks she recognizes the voice, though, and has to keep her next, more harsh curses internal. "Alright, fine." Then she pulls the knife and hastily hacks at the skirt of her dress to cut off a piece big enough to use on the GasMan's injuries. "But you owe me a new dre..."?

That's when Catwoman zooms by, dropping info about an injured teen as she goes. "You've /got/ got effing kidding me," she mutters. Wadding up the hacked-off section of her dress, she presses it to GasMan's injured shoulder then moves one of his hands to keep the impromptu bandage in place. "Stay here. Apparently I look like Nurse Chapel or something." She faintly hears a voice cry out in pain from further back in the trees and takes off immediately toward where Robin is. She has to stop abruptly when she nearly runs past the teen, slipping a bit on the grass before she recovers and approaches him while slicing at the remains of the bottom twelve inches of her dress to make another impromptu bit of bandaging. It's only when she kneels by Robin that she recognizes him -- she still associates this particular kid with a green and black costume, not Robin's red and yellow. "Holy shit, kid, stay still." She reaches to help him even though she knows he's as dangerous as mistreated pitbull.

Chuckle with deep breathes between laughs, "My favorite..nurse," he winces holding pressure to the injury. At least one good thing would happen if things tooka t urn for the worst, the dreams would stop. Smiling under the mask Dodds's eyes feel heavy as he stares up at the sky. An idea strikes him and Dodds holds picks himself upward, "Nurse Chapel," he says in a voice that he thinks is loud yet is far from. "Nurse Chapel," he says again, the curses of never giving someone your real name.

The sound of the cape as it moves behind the running Batman is what catches Catwoman's attention before she sees him, that being all it takes to get the sure-footed thief coming in from the side. Her whip has been held in her hand this entire time and it's a good thing as it only takes two seconds for the entire length to be shaken out and lashed out at the fleeing figure's ankles. This will only work if she is close enough and the person doesn't have any tricks up their sleeve, of course. So here's for hoping that she's in the right place at the right time and the man isn't.

While following his prey through the preserve is simple enough, instinct or skill are on the assassin's side tonight. In the instant before Selina catches up on his flank, as he escapes into the city proper, his feinting maneuvers put him out of the Dark Knight's line of sight just long enough for the trail to go abruptly cold. Losing sight of the man, the Bat balances on the outer fence, scanning for naught as Robin cries out into the comm. He doesn't bother asking if the teen is hurt; that much is obvious. "He had escape routes planned out." The Dark Knight observes towards Selina, dropping back off the outer perimeter fence and slipping through the shadows to start back towards Robin, swiftly. "We'll need to find him another way."

The man in black and gold is already disappearing into the city, rounding the corner into a cramped alleyway and dropping down into a manhole cover left open for him. Escape routes indeed. The whole thing was planned by the look of it, and he knew what to do if things didn't go as he'd hoped they would.

As Helena approaches Robin he glares at her, shaking his head and trying to push her away. He makes it quite clear that he doesn't trust her. He knows what people would do to you if they didn't like you and they had you at their mercy in the League of Assassins.

"No," he says through blood-stained, clenched teeth before flicking on his comm, "Might need evacuation."

Alan doesn't bother staying on the line once he gives the 911 operator the details and puts the phone back in his pocket once he ends the conversation. "Anyone hurt?" he asks looking around and moving away from his spot by the outskirts now the gunfire is done.

Helena Bertinelli is likely going to regret giving her identity away like this, but if it gets the kid to let her try and help, she'll risk it. It's not like the Bat doesn't already know everything about her, including her bra size, most likely. "Look, I'm still pissed at you for kicking my ass then slicing up a bunch of mooks and leaving me to take the blame, but there's no way in hell I'd let you lie here and bleed just out of spite. So suck it up, creampuff, and you're gonna be evac'ed for sure." She blocks Robin's attempts to push her away with at least a moderate amount of skill and tries to put the sliced-off section of her dress around the knife. If there's one thing she learned early and well from her Sicilian cousins, it's that you never, ever remove the object impaling a person. That's a job for the medical professionals. God, now she REALLY wishes she still had Oracle's comlink.

Signalling to who he thinks is "Nurse Chapel," he waves the good hand. Waiting for a second for the blurry figure to come into view. Thinking it's Helena Dodds begins to speak, "Hold on to these..," he pulls off the mask weakly handing it to the real owner of the blury image, Alan Scott. Next is the gun and the reload cartridges, "Go. Hold on...next time. I'll...fend news. Good care," the words come out in heavy breathes. Sadly the breathes interrupt a word or two making it a little hard to understand what Dodds means entirely.

With nothing to wrap around the leather merely falls to the ground, it allowed to remain so while Catwoman tries to catch her breath. "Yes. /WE/..." with deliberate emphasis on the word 'we', "... will." The whip is eventually coiled, that being all the movement she makes, her mood stormy. "He was stabbed," she eventually relays to Batman, that said very carefully as if Catwoman's in fear of causing him to go off by mentioning Robin's wounds. "I am sure it's nothing that is beyond Leslie's..." Sighing, she turns and looks at the vigilante, watching him for clues as to just what he might be thinking or feeling now.

"By the attacker?" Relevent details, after all. The Dark Knight reveals little of his state of mind openly, instead hurrying back to the point in question, slipping around the perimeter swiftly and silently. "My car is inbound." Batman offers up rather suddenly from the shadows, overlooking Robin and Huntress' heartwarming moment in short order. "Can you move?" The obvious implication as he moves in is that the Bat intends to simply pick Robin up, unless he's suddenly much more ambulatory than it appears. A nod is the only acknowledgement readily offered to Helena, "We'll get you to medical attention." While Gordon's men secure the area.

“Three-edged blade,” Robin answers, looking down at the hilt sticking out of his gut, “The wound won't be clean.” Yes, it isn't going to be a simple matter of stitching him up by the sound of it.

Batman's request prompts him to try and climb to his feet, though the way he collapses and the color drains from his face makes it clear that he cannot. He grits his teeth, angry at himself, and finally concedes defeat by shaking his head.

“The man wearing black and gold,” Robin answers Batman's question, trying to be useful despite his injury, “He got the drop on me. I didn't even see him.”

Alan blinks as he's given not just a mask but a gun and ammo. A strange gun and ammo. Well, this does answer who the gas canister guy was. Is. Without a word, he just slips them into his pockets then digs out one of his business cards and slips it into Dodds'. "You'll be fine." he tells the man and slides a hand behind his back to steady him. There's a brief green glow from the ring on that hand as Alan supercharges the man's body, letting him heal much more quickly than he normally would, including replacing blood loss. "Just lie down and wait for the paramedics." he suggests and tries to help him down.

"Yes...Nurse," Dodds mutters before the dreamer is lost to the land of dreams. Everything in the blackness of slumber is peaceful. The chaos of the opening is gone. For the moment, life is good; at least until the pain of your wounds hit you upon waking up.

Helena Bertinelli looks up at Batman as he arrives, then stands and steps back away from Robin to let the Bat take over. She can't help but grimace at Robin's explanation that it's a stiletto dagger, and then remembers that she left GasMan over there by himself and turns to hurry back. She arrives in time to see ... well, she shouldn't be surprised, his voice WAS familiar ... to see Dodds standing by the guy that got all of the civilians moving and clear of the mess. Frowning as she's not sure what the guy just did to make Dodds crumple like that, she hurries over, totally heedless of how she must look now with messy hair, dress sloppily slashed to a bit below her knees revealing boots with one knife hilt almost hidden. And her silk shawl snagged in a few places from having dashed through the foliage multiple times. "What'd you do to him?" she asks Alan in a hopefully intimidating tone of voice.

At least Robin's able to provide the details Catwoman can't give. Might save her having to butt heads with Batman over this. Stepping past the group of injured, she leans in and whispers, "I'll get the stuff," before going past Alan and the injured Dobbs. Each man are looked at while the latter gets a sad little smile when she notices he's been hurt.

The party has been cleared. The injured are being tended to and the police have cordoned off the area and are already combing the surrounding blocks for signs of the man responsible. Falcone's lieutenant who was stabbed is dead, his body loaded into an ambulance that has been driven up onto the lawn under the tree. Some of the unconscious guards turn out to have warrants on them, meaning that a few more of Falcone's soldiers get carted off to prison.

But those are just ripples. There's something more boiling beneath it all.

A mystery to be solved.