2013-01-07 A Little Bird Told Me - Part One

A couple hours ago: Texting over cell phones, mysterious emails, or even a call from the 'Oracle' would leave a message. 'Trouble - right up your alley. A shipment of cargo - human cargo, is set to be smuggled into Gotham on semitrailers. I'd like for you to find out where it is going, so we can end this sort of thing in Gotham.'

Now: It was raining a bit, not quite the downpour one expects from a noir novel, but more the light drizzling promise of rainshowers to come. Black clouds overhead kinda accented this thought, as the day was starting to turn into afternoon. Call it a testament to the effectiveness of another that some (maybe even a lot) of the non-supervillainous crime was trying to take place during the day, to avoid... problems in shipment.

The address that Oracle would send would be of an old, abandoned cannery. There would be plenty of places to lurk about - empty rooms in the building across the street, good old reliable rooftops, but beyond a handful of men milling about on the ground - too well dressed for this part of town - nothing was suspicious.

"You know," Canary whispers while peering out over the scene, her expression held in a tight mask, "you'd think it'd stop raining here. I think Gotham is trying to compete with the Pacific Northwest for most rain in a year." Her eyes narrow while she leans over, something below catching her attention. "Suits. Nice ones too, from what I can tell. Not exactly what one would considered 'abandon building chic', wouldn't you agree?"

Huntress got the info all right. Her replacement crossbow STILL hasn't arrived yet so she's liklely to be just about useless, but hopefully better than nothing. After downing what was probably an overdose of Ibuprofen and an extra layer of padding over her still healing right collarbone, she donned her winter costume, shouldered the crossbow loaned to her by Robin (the snarky one), and took off for the indicated location.

Now, peering down from the best sniper-like position she could pick out in a hurry, she also watches the over-dressed people on the ground. "No kidding. Shame that rip-stop nylon does crap for stopping bullets. At least they look pretty damned miserable down there too."

Over the headsets, comes the computer-masked voice of Babs. "I think the suits prove we're on the right track. No one with that sort of outfit would be standing in this weather on purpose," says the monotone voice. Although one might pick up a hint of mischief in the words that follow, "All the rain is a mood thing, I think. And if it cheers you ladies up any, the forecast shows sunshine tomorrow?"

As for what was happening down below? A whole lot of nothing. At least so far. Beyond one of the men ducking beneath an outcropping for shelter, and removing a cell phone.

An indelicate snort sounds from Dinah but it's impossible to tell what it's in response to. It could be in agreement with Huntress as easily as it could be in reaction to Oracle's forecast. Hell. It could also be because of how the one mook can get where it's dry while they're made to suffer in the cold-wet. "Is there any idea when the shipment is supposed to be coming in?" With nothing to occupy her mind beyond having to observe and make note of what's going on, Dinah finds it impossible to keep it from wandering. "I wonder what the others are doing," she whispers to herself, not saying more than that once she speaks.

Huntress unwittingly offers almost the exact same indelicate snort as Dinah at almost the exact same moment. Curious, that. "Oh, that just makes my day so frigging fabulous I can't stand myself." Sarcasm much? And, "What others?" Yeah, she's been SERIOUSLY out of the loop of late.

Barbara Gordon looks up towards the ceiling. She was trying not to feel too privileged here - in a nice, heated room, staring out over Gotham as a whole through her viewpoint in the Clocktower. Before her were several dozen computer screens, information flashing across most of them, her fingers never ceasing in their tap across the keys.

She might just be in her pajamas, as well.

"I'm sure the women being smuggled in appreciate your sacrifice," Barbara says, in an attempt to... well, make the rainstorm a bit more bearable for the other women. Adjusting her headset, it was Dinah's questions that distract her the most, Oracle tapping keys to bring up traffic cameras. "There are a few possible trucks matching the description - we know they have to get /there/, though. Maybe if we could hear what that guy is talking about..." she wonders, letting her voice draw low. "Anywhere from... 10 minutes to a couple hours," she says, then. "If you mean Spoiler and the Batwoman, Canary? I haven't heard a whisper of what they've been up to the past couple weeks. I'll send 'em a text, make sure they're still around."

Black Canary shakes her head, frowning. "So, in other words, we have no idea what's going on. And in the meantime the woman can be hurt and in need of serious help." This is not settling well with her and it shows in how her words are clipped. It isn't Oracle's fault, of course, but between the lack of an exact arrival time and the rain her patience is stipped thin. Bracing herself with a hip planted against a wall, she continues to watch the movement from under them. "Hmmm? Oh, yes. Them. And heck, the people I run with in the JLA." Dinah's presence within the Justice League is no secret, hence her openess when speaking about the other team.

You want eavesdropping? Fine. "I can try to get closer," Huntress only half-seriously offers. "Or maybe see if any of these crazy little gadgets the Bat foisted off on me might be useful. Your call, HAL. I'm NOT jumping off of this building unless I have to."

The expression of Barbara sobers when Canary says what she does, the tip-tapping at the keyboard pausing. "Sadly, no. But this is the best lead we have, and the best way to stop this shipment, and any others that might come through this organization. We don't even know who is behind it at this point," says Oracle, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. Flicking her gaze up towards the sixth screen, she had a list of possible villains/groups. It was nearly a page. Jaw tightening, she turns her expression back unto the traffic camera monitors.

"Only if you can do it without being seen, Huntress. We don't want them to panic, and bolt," says Barbara, frowning. "As for the JLA? I don't have any information on them right now - how is life with the bigwigs, anyways, Canary?" she says. And another pause. "How are you and the Bat doing these days, anyways, Huntress?"

There's the instinct to tell Huntress to stay put but Canary stops herself from doing so, reminding herself that Oracle's in charge here. "Just be careful if you do," is what she allows herself to say, trying to give her an ecouraging smile when she does. It's strained and doesn't get anywhere near to reaching her eyes but she tries. "How is it," she then asks their leader from over the comms. "It's nice. But it's different. While we're all a close-knit team it feels like there's a lack of a... family-feel sometimes."

Huntress scoffs again, more obviously this time, at HAL's question about the Bat. "How the hell should I know?" She studies the area where the man is on his cellphone, and decides the pile of cardboard boxes just around the corner and behind him might be the best place to plant a bug. She digs the little transmitter out of her belt, then takes a laborious moment to pull back the bowstring on the borrowed crossbow before loading a small, plain wooden bolt and attaching the transmitter to it. If she plans it right, the mook will think the noise is just a stray cat or a rodent rummaging around inside the boxes. "I haven't seen or talked to him since that damned mess at Arkham." Oh yeah, even if she tried, which she didn't, there's a definite hint of bitterness there.

The snerk that Barbara puts over the comms was evident at Huntress' first reply. "Point," she says then, her eyes flicking back towards her traffic cameras. Interlacing her fingers together, and resting her elbows on the computer table before her, she says, "I haven't spoken to him in a bit either. But that's just... Batman," she says then. As Huntress works, Barbara turns her attention back towards Canary. "You feel close to them, but it is a professional sort of close?" she asks then, flicking her attention back to the monitors as the shot fires - and ends up in those cardboard boxes, the man glancing up a moment at the sound, his eyes narrowing.

"Nice shot, Huntress - I'm getting something - let me patch you both in," she says, inputting a few more commands.

In a few moments, both the Birds can hear the man's voice. It's hollow, and punctuated with the tinny sound of rain striking the boxes and the transmitter proper. "...nothing, babe, it was nothing. Listen. That girl means nothing to me... no, I'm not out with her right now. As I told you before, I'm out with the boys! I'm workin'! ... ... Look, okay? Just hang on for a little while longer, and I'll be right back. ... No, I can't leave now! No! Don't even try to fight me on this, I /can't/ leave now, baby. Come on! I love you! ... ... just give me another hour? Okay? Just another hour to make sure this shipment gets in fine, and then we can talk."

"Pretty much, Oracle. We're friends and close in the way people who rely on each other are but outside of that, I have yet to build that same kind of rapport with them that I have with the Birds and you." As Huntress' efforts pay off she listens only to have to cover her mouth to silence a laugh that threatens to erupt from her. "Oh God, that's priceless," she says, speaking against her palm. Cough. "Alright. Sounds like we got an hour to wait..."

Huntress lowers the crossbow again and stows it back under her cape, not sure how well it'll tolerate the rain. She is STILL determined to return the thing to snarkyRobin in as good of condition as it was when he loaned it to her. "Great. An hour I think I can handle." If the ibuprofen doesn't wear off before then. She unconsciously puts her hand against the still-persistent ache, looking around and mentally marking the locations of the others.