2013.04.15 - Debriefed by the Bat

It wasn't too long after the incident at the Penitentiary that Bruce Wayne, busy at some social black-tie affair hosted by names bigger than recognition could allow, excused himself on auspices of being violently ill. Of course, given that he left with a former supermodel he'd met there, rumors buzzed that the old buzzards merely chafed at his sensibilities. She would later be driven home by herself, sound asleep and without a clue as to what happened to Bruce.

As the Huntress rides along the road, she'll find her way suddenly blocked by a felled tree in the road. It would have been enough to back up traffic for miles, but not at this time of night. If she looks a little higher, and a little harder, she'll see the reason why her way is blocked. A shadow dripping off of a nearby utility post. Staring long enough gives it--him, really--definition and form. The Batman. He's irritating like that.

He's clearly unhappy. As always. "It's going to be a long night."

Huntress mutters a curse as she has to brake abruptly to keep her Ducati from eating tree. She looks at the tree for a moment then over and up, and squints for a few seconds before huffing out an aggravated sigh and cutting the bike's engine. In a tone of voice that's rather reminiscent of a teenager, she asks of the shadow nearby, "What did I do wrong THIS time?"

The truth was, Batman's blockading of Huntress' sweet ride is almost coincidental. At a second look, there was enough room in the road for a car to just about get by if it cut speed and maneuvered cautiously. This was just one of several choke points he'd devised to monitor traffic going through some of the major likely escape routes for the escapees. He had several others underneath remote surveillance. Had Huntress not been who she was, she would never had seen him, and he never would have given her a second look. She just got lucky enough to pick the right road. Again, coincidental. Almost.

The Dark Knight is currently suffering from a dearth of compassion for Huntress' Ducati, though his line of questioning is mercifully indirect. "Rough evening at the penitentiary?" he asks, his voice anything but smooth. Mercifully indirect being the key operating term. He's much less kind when he starts asking direct questions.

"Oh, no. It was just LOVELY." Sarcasm alert! Huntress stays with her bike, but crosses her arms in annoyance. "And I didn't so much as aim my crossbow at anyONE, since that's usually what you want to bitch at me about." To be truly honest, she's pretty sure Q did far more damage than she did, but she's not gonna throw one of the few friends she's got under the bus.

Batman gives Huntress a long, hard, level stare. He leans over, and his cape curtains ahead of him in the wind. Silence grates across the ground like a closing vault door, making the seconds seem like minutes. Sarcasm has about as much effect on the Batman as a garage sale butterfly knife. Everything seems heavier when he stares like that, like he's weighing her words for every possible mistruth she could have ever told.

In her entire life.

For some reason, he doesn't seem too intent on pursuing the matter as he usually does, and if Huntress can hold out for as long as it takes for his patience to chamber another round, he will inexorably move on. "Start at the beginning," he advises. "Where's Quinn."

It's a question, but the way he puts it, it really doesn't sound like one..

Huntress somehow manages to just stand there with her arms crossed long enough for Batman to finally move on. "Starting at the beginning, so don't get huffy if I don't tell you where Quinn is straight off." She takes a breath then starts explaining.

"I was working with Q... I mean the Question, on getting some intel about that new drug ring near the docks when HAL told me to get to the State Pen. We got there as quick as we could and Nightwing was already there. The two of them started beating up Quinn's lackeys and I took out their getaway van by shooting out the radiator and a couple of tires.

"Then I heard nightwing saying he was going in so I got Q and we followed him. I didn't catch up with him before a bomb of some sort went off, though. Q and I took cover, and I guess Nightwing kept going after Quinn. That's the last I saw, and Q and I got back out the way we went in 'cause the hallway was a mess after the explosion."

That would explain why he hasn't found Nightwing yet. Patient only by the grace of the moon, Batman seems grudgingly satisfied by Huntress' explanation--or at least, as satisfied as he'll ever be with any explanation the somewhat rough and tumble heroine could provide. He shifts atop his perch, a single bladed gauntlet coming into view. A few muted clicks on what may or may not be a keypad the only tell that he was doing something nonhostile at all in that vast swath of black.

"They're still doing headcounts at the prison," Batman explains, never directly responding to her story. "The authorities are still confirming, but at least thirty are unaccounted for. Judging from the damaged region, it's likely that they weren't violent criminals, mostly white-collar. They're not the priority," he notes. "Quinn is."

At least he doesn't seem to know about the deaths yet. Batman has always had his eye on violent crime first and foremost, and it's likely that he could just be considering the escaped convicts easy pickings. But he doesn't explain any further, as if expecting Huntress to understand his train of thought implicitly--or maybe he simply doesn't care. Hard to tell.

"Still, I'll be reviewing the prisoner's manifest against the headcount for any discrepancies. She could be trying to conceal the real reason why she broke in," he states, a deadly suspicion suffusing the tone. "She's Joker's. If she doesn't have a plan, she thinks she does..."

If Huntress is following the Bat's train of thought she doesn't let on. More likely, she has NO clue what goes on behind that cowl, and maybe for the best. Another thing occurs to her, though, so she mentions it. "Wait, one other thing. Whatever was going on, it looked to me like Quinn's cronies were actually trying to put some of the escaped convicts into their van. Why, I don't know and I didn't bother taking the time to ask."

For all of the impression that Batman would sound like spilled wine when he hits the ground, it's not true. When Batman jumps down from his perch, he sounds like a falling hammer, hitting earth with a deep bone-jarring thud and the sound of his cape settling. His boots are soundless as he approaches Huntress on the road, his glower becoming more intense. It's hard to tell if it was always so, or if it's just because he's getting closer. "The only reason a criminal tries to break into a building is because there's something inside the criminal wants," he says, unsurprised. "And there's only one thing inside of a prison... How many went into the van? Who?"

After she just said she didn't ask, it seems somewhat unreasonable to expect that Huntress kept a diary on every convict that went into the van along with a full physical description, but sometimes, all you really need to do is jog someone's memory. After all, she is one of Gotham's protectors.

Huntress frowns as the Bat approaches, but to her credit she doesn't back off. Though perhaps that's partly because doing so would mean leaving her bike where HE could get at it. "I just said I /don't know/. I didn't really get a chance to do a headcount when Nightwing dropped his flashbangs and the van started trying to run me over. But I can say it was a normal van, like a Ford Econoline kind of thing. Only so many people that would fit in there anyway, even if they crammed in there like sardines."

The Batman wouldn't do anything untowards to Huntress' bike.

At least, not tonight.

He stares levelly through those soulless white optics as she complains, but the model, however vague, is information he can use to extrapolate some further data. He might have to tap into the security feeds from the prison at this rate... "You should pay more attention to the details," he says, a little more roughly than one might expect. "One day, it'll be the difference between life and death for you," he says. A moment passes.

"If you're lucky."

Batman walks past Huntress, every detail of his suit and movement of his body disappearing into the consuming black of his cape. He is much, much larger up close than one might expect. Or is it just the suit? "If you're not," he says, pointing something into the air, "It'll be the difference between life and death for someone else." A hiss of gas, and something extending far off into the distance. The sound of something latching. "I'm going to be looking into this closely. Keep your eyes open," he says.

"And," he mentions, "keep it up."

It's probably the closest you'll ever come to Batman congratulating you.

And then he's gone, a swiftly retreating shadow into the treeline.

Huntress is left standing there staring after where the Bat just disappeared, trying to decide if she was just patronized or complimented. Her kneejerk reaction would be to take it as patronizing insults, but there's that little niggling doubt in the back of her mind. She finally snaps out of it, restarts her bike, then carefully maneuvers around the tree to continue on her way. Damned Bat and his ilk, making her have to think about crap. It's just ... annoying.