2012-09-22 Bad Neighborhood

Another long day of meetings. Made longer by having to fly from Manhattan to Gotham for said meetings. And since there WAS a flight involved, Pepper Potts does not have her accustomed driver taking her back to the airport. And, because she doesn't have her accustomed driver with her, she looks up from her tablet and frowns when she realizes that they're NOWHERE near the airport. "Um... Richard? Where are we?"

The driver, clearly not a Gotham native, replies a bit uneasily. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm trying to find a way back to the interstate." The towncar is a HUGE, BLACK, SHINY sore thumb driving too slowly through one of the worst parts of Gotham.

Darkwing has been practicing patience lately. Rather than jumping down the throat of the first criminal (or suspected criminal) that he encountered, he lies in wait. This area of Old Gotham is a haven for a low-level drug ring, the kind that has fallen under the radar of the Bat and therefore been left wide open for Darkwing to bust. He lies flat on his stomach on a rooftop, binoculars drawn up to his eyes, and watches through the window of a tenement house across the way. Nothing all that interesting, just a few goons watching a flickery old television set.

It's been like this for hours, unfortunately, and Darkwing's patience is wearing thin. He grunts angrily, turning his attention to the street below in time to see the town car rolling ponderously down the street. He shakes his head and mutters underneath his breath.

“Idiot.”

Pepper Potts looks out of the car's windows at the very not pleasant area they're passing through. "I don't care if you run every traffic light between here and the highway. Do not st..." And it's right then that Gotham's unsavory elements make themselves shown. It starts with a jerry-rigged spike strip that causes one of the towncar's tires to blow out loudly.

The sound of tires bursting gets Darkwing's attention and he draws himself away from the window, climbing to his feet and keeping a low profile as he moves along the rooftop. Part of him is glad for the chance to solve some problems with his fists but, on another level, he swears to give these Okies the fright of their life if his drug-dealing quarry get away because of it.

He sees the makeshift spike trap on the road, quirking an eyebrow behind his mouth, “Hnh. Clever.”

The towncar of course swerves to an abrupt stop, and Pepper already has her cellphone in hand. "Richard? Wha.. no, stay in the car!" She's too late, though, the driver having stepped out to check the damage to the vehicle. He's now a perfect target for anyone with a gun and a halfway decent aim.

“Get back in the car,” Darkwing echoes Pepper's words through his teeth, crouching on the edge of the building, “Idiots going to get himself killed.”

The eyepieces of his mask begin to glow, low-light vision activated so he can survey those that might be hiding in the shadows. Nevertheless, the range is limited and there are still a few places a particularly craft criminal could hide. He draws a batarang from his belt and clasps it between his fingers, scanning for those responsible for the trap.

Richard finally gets a clue and turns to get back into the car, but just a moment too late. A shot rings out, and the driver is clipped as he scrambles back into the car. Pepper lets out a little yelp of shock, then goes back to hastily dialing on her phone. 911! Mayday!

Darkwing's head turns quickly when the gunshot rings out, the batarang flung at speed towards the hand of the trigger-man. He doesn't spare much time for the driver, assuming he's injured judging by the way he scrambled into the car. He doesn't much care about the car and it's passengers so much as he cares about showing the criminal element what a mistake they've made acting up on his watch.

He flings himself from the top of the building, cape fluttering out at his sides before going rigid and allowing him to glide. He lands noisily on the roof of the car, leaving a little bit of a dent as he squares his shoulders and looks to see where the next attack is coming from.

Several unsavory types started converging on the car the moment the shot was fired, mostly from an alleyway ahead of the car and to the left, though a few approach from across the street. The shooter cries out in surprise when he gets a batarang to the hand, and turns to flee. He's not the bravest sort.

Pepper drops her phone on the seat next to her and scrambles to dig a cloth handkerchief from her bag. She's leaning forward with the fabric in hand (high end wet-spun Irish linen if one can identify such things) to try and help the driver. When something lands on the roof of the car she startles and gasps, then looks up at the roof and can't help but wonder if Tony's been shadowing her. Though, if he was, why didn't he notify her earlier that the driver was lost?

Darkwing springs into action. Another, larger batarang is flung at the ankle of the fleeing gunman just to make sure he doesn't get away. But there are a lot of thugs and given that at least one was armed he's not about to take any chances. He reaches behind his back, drawing a katana which he holds out to one side.

“Big mistake,” he says with a grin, leaping off the roof of the car so that he might be momentarily glanced through the windows, and charging the nearest of the unsavory sorts. Non-lethal attacks, of course, but severed tendons are not likely to be forgotten any time soon.

Pepper Potts finishes leaning forward to press the handkerchief to the driver's gunshot wound, applying pressure like they always say in those medical TV shows. Her eyes widen and she can't help but stare. That's ... NOT Tony. It's Batman, or someone like him. And he's NOT as reassuring an image as Tony is. Though that is probably more because she knows Tony than because of any appearances. Though that sword...yikes.

The thugs around Darkwing fall into heaps, shouting and groaning in pain as they roll around on the ground. The wounds he inflicts are practiced and precise, shallow lacerations that still manage to sever tendons and make motion impossible. He leaves them where they fall, they won't be getting away anytime soon. He turns about swiftly, flicking the blood from the blade of his sword and looking for anyone else who might not have decided to flee yet.

Pepper Potts can't help but stare at the Bat who just SLICED UP a bunch of people, anyone he didn't get having turned and run away. She gets Richard to keep the handkerchief on his injury then scrambles out of the car herself, her business attire as out of place here as the car. "Excuse me?"

“Out of the way,” Darkwing growls, rushing towards the driver's side door so he can get a look at the wounded driver. When he sees the injury isn't all that life-threatening, he turns to look at Pepper.

“You shouldn't be driving out here,” he derides, annoyed that his stakeout will have to be abandoned for the night, “Don't you know to keep out of slums when you're driving a fancy car? These animals wouldn't think twice about killing your driver and doing worse to you.”

Pepper Potts startles when the green-accented Bat shoves past her to check on the driver, but then when he starts SCOLDING her... her chin lifts and her shoulders go back a bit as her expression darkens. "The police should be here any moment. Don't you think you should leave?" Sorry, she's not going to be baited into arguing even if she IS offended by the words and the tone.

“You think I don't know that?” Darkwing shakes his head, a derisive laugh escaping him as he plants his hands on his hips, “The only available car is in Midtown and they're not in any rush to respond to a call in Old Gotham. It's called a slum for a reason.”

Now its his turn to be offended, however, and he puffs his chest out a little, “You should be thanking me. You'd be dead right now if it weren't for me.”

Pepper Potts crosses her arms. "You know, it's attitudes like this that explain a lot about why this city is the way it is." Seemingly dismissing the bad-tempered vigilante, she steps back toward the car and pulls her phone off of the seat, hanging up the call it had been left on and placing another call. "Happy... yes, sorry for bothering you, but could you please have a car sent for me? The one I'm in seems to have suffered some dama.. no. God, no. Don't tell Tony."

“I haven't the first idea why he wants to save you people,” Darkwing says with a shake of his head, “Your life is saved and you turn your nose up at it because I didn't say please and leave a mint on your pillow.”

His fists clench at his side and he lifts a foot to give the car a solid kick, leaving a dent in the body. He opens his mouth as though he's going to say something further and then shuts it. He's already said too much vaguely referencing Batman. He turns to stalk away.

“Ingrates.”

Pepper Potts blinks and turns to look after the vigilante, her phone still against her ear. "He? He who?" What does he mean by that? "Oh, no, not you, Happy. Could you perhaps put a rush on the car? The police haven't arrived yet, the driver's hurt, and we're in a rather ... unsavory part of town."

"Get in your car and lock the doors," Darkwing calls back over his shoulder as he viciously boots one of the incapacitated thugs in the ribs on his way past, "If you think those are the only scumbags in the City you're sorely mistaken."

Pepper Potts watches the GreenBat for a moment, then makes sure the driver is suitably situated in the car before closing his door and getting back into the car herself. She keys the doors to lock as the vigilante suggested. Just because he's rude doesn't mean he was incorrect. She signs off of the call she'd made and looks around before checking on the driver again. What a rotten turn to this day.