2012-09-17 Poison Bat

The buildings of downtown Gotham form an eclectic outline in the west, silhouetted against the often cloudy western sky. The stars are seldom seen above, but the view is dazzling on a clear night. Things often clear up in the daytime, but somehow everything looks just a bit flat, as though the life had retreated from Gotham -- without the benefit of dramatic lighting and perspective, it seems drab and sullen. Here the city has fallen into the decay of organized crime.

---

The Batcycle has been left in the shadowy cover of an alleyway several blocks north, its rider opting to proceed on foot. He should not be patrolling by himself but his confidence in his own abilities is supreme and warnings to the contrary fall on remarkably deaf ears. For now he flits from rooftop to rooftop in the manner the Bat-Family is accustomed to, profile low and eyes peeled for anything he may decide is a crime to be fought.

He pauses at the edge of a seven-storey block of apartments, crouching low and peering into the warmly-lit windows of a known Mob haven – a cosy little ristorante by the name of La Dolce Vita. Inside, a number of mobsters chat with each other over booze and a hearty, Italian feast. Damian's knuckles pop as his fists clench on the edge of the buildings and, under his breath, he growls:

“Parasites.”

Huntress watches similarly, though from a closer and shorter rooftop. She grimaces, disgusted at the fact that she's just added ANOTHER Italian restaurant to the list of places she won't ever eat at again. Damnit. The mob bosses inside look to be near the end of their meal, and about at their most careless. She gets her crossbow ready, but then out of growing habit scans the adjacent rooftops to see if the Bat or any of his ilk are lurking about.

Darkwing is lurking nearby, though his talents for stealth keep him pressed close to the rooftop in case one of the mobsters inside catches sight of him by chance. It is when he lifts his eyes momentarily to scan the rooftops for support they might have that he spots Huntress and her crossbow. He frowns, baring gritted teeth. He speaks to himself, mostly for the benefit of the recording device built into his uniform and the voice-activated settings in his mask.

“Guard on the rooftop. Enhance vision, low-light mode.”

Immediately the pupil-less eyepieces of his mask glow green, magnifying his view of Huntress and amplifying the available light. He quirks an eyebrow.

“The guards wearing some kind of costume. Hnh, must think they can fight fire with fire. Moving to neutralize.”

He flings himself bodily over the edge of the building, landing with scarcely a clatter on the fire escape as he descends towards Huntress' level.

Huntress doesn't see anyone at rooftop level so she goes back to studying the mobsters inside the restaurant. Again remembering (and hating) Oracle's directive to avoid causing bodily harm, she plots the best ways to stop/subdue/detain the men inside. There's a chandelier that might do nicely to knock a few of them out... a table over there that seems wobbly and might fall over with a bit of prompting from a bolt... she grimaces and takes a moment to swap out the wooden bolts in her crossbow for the heavier and more dangerous steel quarrels.

Darkwing has had similar directives, though his black and white view of things draws the line at 'do not kill' – it says nothing about do not harm. All the same, perhaps he can get some information from this bizarrely-clothed guard before he knocks her out. He lands on Huntress' rooftop, charging swiftly at her as she begins to load her crossbow with a different style of ammunition.

He moves fast, not moving to harm so much as to subdue as quickly as possible. The last couple footsteps are audible, one cannot run without their feet falling a little heavily and their breath huffing a little loudly. He attempts to counter this with speed, foot darting out before him in an effort to sweep Huntress' legs out from under her even as a hand reaches out to try and snatch her weapon from her.

Huntress hears those last couple of steps and spins to throw herself clear of the attacker and the edge of the rooftop. "Shit!" She gets herself clear of the roof's edge, but not quickly enough to completely avoid the kick or the hand snagging at her crossbow. The kick is certainly enough to knock her off-balance, but if you want the crossbow, you'll have to pry it from her cold, dead hands. Trying to give herself a second to recover, she yanks back harshly on her crossbow to try and get the other to let go, and she finally gets a glimpse of the man.

“Nice try with the costume,” Darkwing growls, a nasty grin on his face, “But it doesn't scare me. D minus.”

He lunges to take advantage of her lack of balance, a fist snapping out before him to strike at her midsection to finish what he began. He lets go of the crossbow when she yanks at it, hoping to make the sudden lack of resistance tip her more off-kilter.

To look at him, he is young. Not a child but he definitely has the build off a teenager not quite done growing just yet. It doesn't deter him, however, and he moves like an angry viper.

Huntress's eyes widen. ANOTHER freaking BAT. And yes, his ploy works. She's set off balance again when he abruptly lets go of her crossbow, and that along with the punch to her midsection lands her roughly on the gravel rooftop. But instead of scrambling back to her feet, she stays there, coughing once briefly before glaring up at the young man. "What the FUCK is your problem? Haven't I followed the Bat's and that computer asshole's orders closely enough? I've shot up nothing but stupid /car tires/ and light fixtures for weeks now!"

“Shut up,” Damian commands, immediately planting himself on Huntress' chest to pin her in place. He moves to rest a knee on her crossbow hand's wrist, not out to do harm but definitely wanting to keep her in place, “How many more of you are there? Are there any more inside? Tell me now.”

The proclamations about following the Bat's orders seem to fall on deaf ears, but it gets through at least partially. His fist is cocked threateningly though he does not strike, eying her carefully.

“Run facial recognition.”

The eyepieces glow once again. Miniscule circuitry within the mask clicks and whirs almost soundlessly.

Huntress oofs as the kid lands on her sternum to hold her still, and doesn't struggle, even though she REALLY wants slam a knee into his back, bash his face with her forehead, THEN put a quarrel in his leg for being even MORE of an ass than the Bat. "God. You're even worse than Nightwing." She shifts uncomfortably, then snaps at the kid. "Look, you want dirt on me, talk to Oracle. I'm not telling you shit." She hears something faintly from the ground level and curses again faintly. "And if those assholes down there /get away/ because you're treating ME like the villain here, I'll kick your ass all the way back to the Bowery." The last part of her tirade is hisses lowly, to hopefully keep it from carrying down to the mobsters below.

“Huntress,” Darkwing says suddenly, reading from the heads-up display in his mask, “Hnh.”

He gets to his feet, stepping away from the woman and crouching at the edge of the building to once again take cover. He makes no attempt to help her to her feet or apologize for the misunderstanding. Down in the street, a car rolls around the corner to pick up a pair of mobsters who are enjoying a cigar down on the corner.

“Hold your tongue,” he whispers viciously over his shoulder, “I can handle this without your fumbling attempts at helping.”

Then, without any warning, he flings himself over the edge of the building and towards the goons – alarmed cries immediately ringing out through the quiet night.

Huntress huffs when the young man finally backs off, but then when he disappears over the side of the building and voices start raising the alarm, she cusses and looks over the side of the roof and takes a hasty shot at the approaching car, one heavy quarrel aiming for a tire, the second aiming to shatter the windshield to disorient the driver. Oh, and if she hits the driver? OOPS.

The criminals of Gotham have long since learned their lesson and when costume vigilantes come out of the shadows the smart ones know to run away. As Darkwing swings low across the street, the mobsters attempt to pile into the car only for the tire to burst when Huntress' quarrel strikes it. All the same, the mobsters look as though they're going to try and take off on three tires.

“No,” Darkwing growls as he lands on the hood, fist crashing noisily through the tempered glass of the windshield and clasping the driver by the collar, “You're mine.”

The man is burly but the teen is deceptively strong, yanking the drive over the steering column and out onto the hood. Darkwing rolls left with him, disappearing onto the other side of the car. Gunshots begin to ring out from inside the vehicle, hissing hotly through the air that the young vigilante and his quarry occupied only moments ago.

Huntress looks for the people shooting that the Poison Bat (hey, his outfit is GREEN) while hastily switching out to the lighter and faster wooden bolts, firing at where she thinks the gunfire is originating. At best she'll either knock weapons out of hands or just scare some hoodlums, at worst she'll perforate a few people. Oh, damn. That just makes her really sad. NOT.

Darkwing's fist raises into the air behind the car and is brought down hard over and over again, the dark wetness of blood visible on his gloves. The driver, it seems, is not subjected to a mere slap on the wrist.

The crossbow bolts hiss through the side windows of the car, a pained shout erupting from within. A moment later, one of the mobsters – Gus – flings open the door of the car and staggers out onto the street. He's not badly wounded but there is definitely a quarrel sticking out of his wrist and his nice, white suit is covered in blood.

Gus wheels about to flee down the street, barely getting a step when the figure of Darkwing appears on the roof of the car. The kid is on a rampage to be certain, diving at the mobster and bringing him to the ground with a pained 'oof!' He doesn't seem to be pulling any punches and one would be forgiven for wondering if he really is one of the Bat's soldiers.

He's so engrossed with pummeling Gus about the face that he doesn't seem to notice his uninjured ally in the back seat, Ralph, creeping out behind him. Darkwing is still raining blows down upon his victim as Ralph lifts his gun to point it at the back of his head.

“Say your prayers, kid,” the goon rumbles, a sadistic grin crossing his bloated face.

Huntress watches in growing trepidation as Poison Bat actually beats the ever living crap out of the car's driver, then goes after the white-suited man. "Shit." She snaps off a shot at the gun aimed at the young vigilante's head just as she's shouting down, "I am NOT taking the fall for your anger management problems, Brat!"

Darkwing spins when he hears the bolt whistle through the air nearby, catching sight of the gun pointed at his face. The quarrel hits home, however, and Ralph yowls in agony as the bolt goes straight through his palm and embeds itself in the car's door interior with a thud. Ralph looks at his hand and then at Darkwing, sputtering to get out some sort of plea.

“Puh-please – “

Darkwing will have none of it, however, and he rises swiftly with a foot that strikes Ralph squarely in the chin. The man goes tumbling backwards, barely conscious as his jaw hangs misshapen. Very much broken.

“You had your chance,” the masked man spits back at Ralph, standing over him with his fists balled at his sides, “Crime doesn't get you a second. But don't worry, you're never going to be in a position to profit from it again.”

He casts a glance up at Huntress, scowling at her as though she's inconvenienced him and not saved his life at all. He spares no words for her, however, instead rolling Ralph over with his foot and looking as though he is preparing to do some real damage.

Huntress sees that the Brat is actually aiming to KILL the pinned mobster. Oh HELL no. She DOES draw a line somewhere, and because of it, she aims at Poison Bat, specifically at the fleshy part of the punk's thigh where it won't kill him but it'll certainly hurt. She lets the bolt fly, then hastily snaps in a zipline bolt to get down to street level and stop this insanity from going any further. "Oracle," she speaks hastily into the little comlink in her ear, "Police and a bus to La Dolce Vita in Lyntown. ASAP."

Darkwing was expecting something like this. A bleeding heart just like all the other vigilantes in Gotham City. He manages to turn himself to one side, the bolt thankfully missing him, though he glares at it balefully and then back up at Huntress as she descends into the street. He's already drawing a katana from it's sheath at the small of his back, holding it out to his side.

“Following the Bat's orders indeed,” he mocks, planting a foot on the unconscious Ralph's back to give him leverage so he might swing the blade through the zip line, “So much so that you'd shoot one of his allies?” No point letting her in on the family secret.

Huntress sees a glint off of the blade and bites back a curse, letting go of the zipline earlier than she's accustomed to and having to use a parkour-ish tumble to not injure herself. She makes it back to her feet though with the crossbow aimed at Poison Bat. "Look, I don't know what your daddy issues are, and I honestly couldn't care less. But you are NOT killing these idiots and letting ME take the blame for it. Capice?"

“Killing?”

Darkwing rolls his eyes, although given the opaque lenses of his mask it doesn't quite have the effect that he wishes for it. He snorts a laugh, mocking without a hint of mirth to it.

“Idiot woman. You think I'd kill them? Hardly. I abide by the Code of Gotham.”

He looks at the crossbow, still smirking, “I hope you trust your aim. You will not get a second chance.”

Huntress completely trusts her aim, but she's not going to dignify the insane kid's comment. "Last I heard from the Bat himself, beating people until they look like street pizza /isn't/ part of this Code you seem to be making such a big fucking deal about." As the faint sounds of sirens start to approach in the distance, she watches him intently, waiting for the slightest twitch that will give her a clue as to when he's going to either attack or run.

“Hnh,” Damian snorts a laugh once again, sheathing the blade in its scabbard in a single, fluid motion, “Perhaps I should follow your method of using harsh words on them and we shall see in which case they get up and return to their life of crime?”

The sirens to cause a momentary twitch in him, chatter coming through his earpiece and causing him to frown. He looks at the unconscious mobsters, all of them thoroughly beaten about the head to the point where it looks like they may spend quite some time in traction. He smirks at his own handiwork.

“They're subdued.”

He reaches into his cape, brandishing the swingline launcher and firing it at the upper parapets of the nearest, tallest building. It seems as though he has no concern for Huntress and whether she is left to be blamed for the brutal beatings. He's out of here. There's no way he's going to explain to his father why he attacked police officers to evade pursuit.

Huntress watches Poison Bat leave, then curses and hastily pulls every bolt and quarrel she can easily spot, including the one in that one man's hand. "Sorry, sorry." Then she races to her zip line to get away before the police arrive. Hopefully they didn't see her. One thing is for DAMNED sure, she is telling Oracle about this violent new Bat. He's going to cause a LOT of problems.