2014.04.21 - Firefly

For all of the darkness, there was beauty in Gotham. Vorpal loved the sunny disposition of uptown Metropolis, its chrome and steel skylines and pristine parks, but there was the undertow of a romantic appeal in the elegant decay. The gargoyles and the statues, the gothic architecture, wrought iron tortured into expressive shapes that often ended in points.

The faded splendor of a city that might put some into the mindframe of quoting poetry, and speak of echoes of the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome. To Keith, it's home, of a sort. This part of Gotham is much more modern than the bespired, begargoyled areas he frequents, but it's a nice change of pace. Up on a high roof, the Cheshire Cat sits on the edge of a building and looks down upon the city.

Gotham is eerily peaceful. The distant whir that fills the air only just creeps onto the edge of hearing. In a matter of seconds it grows louder and louder, becoming a deafening roar all of a sudden as a bulky silouhette plummets through the low, grey cloud cover that seems to hang perpetually over the City. A gout of flame erupting from the shape lights it up with an eerie orange glow.

A suited figure, a pair of mechanical wings jutting from his back, grapples in mid-air with the larger figure of the Batman. In one hand the winged man holds a gun of some sort, gushing flame this way and that as the pair of them plummet through the sky. The Bat rears back, driving his fist into the impassive mask of the Firefly.

“You’ll burn, Bat! BURN!”

The Dark Knight doesn’t reply, instead grabbing the Firefly by the necks and bringing both his feet up to kick him squarely in the chest. He spins out of control, winged jetpack a sparking mess, before crash landing a mere handful of feet from Vorpal. He seems almost ready to climb to his feet before the Bat lands upon him once again, driving his fist over and over in the fractured and half-shattered mask that he wears.

Soon, he doesn’t make a move at all.

Vorpal nearly falls off the ledge in surprise (not that it would have been a big deal--) and stands up quickly once the Firefly and Bat crash on the roof.

He knows Batman has got this, but just in case he keeps an eye out on the Firefly unveiling any potential surprises before the Dark Knight has made firefly jam out of him.

"Goddamned pyromaniac," the Cheshire hisses as he catches up to Batman. "Are you alright? Did he manage to set anything on fire? or anyone?"

"Yes," Batman growls, roughly rolling Firefly onto his stomach and planting a boot in the midst of his back, "No fatalities."

He reaches down, grabbing the winged jetpack with both hands and driving his foot into the man's back. A low grown is heard from the hapless Lynns as he tears the wings free with a shower of hissing sparks, tossing it to the side and crouching down to bind the man's hands with a cable tie from his belt.

"Low-rent housing in Scituate. He's graduated to burning for the sake of burning."

"Jesus, as if they didn't have enough to deal with."

Vorpal stands there, not sure what to do, so he keeps an eye on the Firefly in case he comes to.

"Have you ever thought about... sub-dermal chip tagging for some of these cases? Just to know where they might be?"

He stops himself, seeing the flaw of his logic, "... but then you'd need someone to watch each one twenty four seven and determine whether they're just going to the toilet or they're going to burn down Aunt Martha's Tea Room. Nevermind, that was a stupid idea."

"Considered it," Batman adds flatly, turning Lynns over onto his back once more with a nudge of his foot, "Not effective. They spend enough time in Arkham they either pick them out or have someone cut them out for them. These people are insane."

"We're all mad here..." he mutters the quote. Then in a normal tone of voice, "I've thought a lot about what you said to me. About the world not being fair." He looks at Lynns fixedly, looking at where Batman hit him, what faults his gear had to the Dark Knight that he might be able to exploit the next time he got out of Arkham.

"It sure gets you thinkin'."

“Nothing to think about.”

Batman crouches by the unconscious Firefly, extending his arm to reveal the Batsuit has been seared away and left a vicious burn along his forearm. He seems unperturbed as he draws a small bottle from his belt and sprays the contents onto the wound, a thin, transparent and vaguely reflective sheet almost like a plastic bandage solidifying from the substance over the wound.

“Still moving to Metropolis?”

"No. I'm not a quitter, Batman. This is my home, as much as it... takes the air out of me sometimes. But I had to ask myself why do I do this? Why do anything if the world isn't fair." He frowns, looking at the wound, and observes how the substance works.

"I had to answer it for myself. Is that... huh, I've seen something like that before." He taps the Firefly, assuring himself of his unconsciousness "Not quite like that, but sometimes when I get burn injuries Patrick uses his webbing to tend to the wound until it can be treated."

He'd spoken with Patrick about the issue of Batman. Not revealing that he knew the Dark Knight's identity, but that he kept watch on him. Patrick had no issue in having Keith confirm he was the Iron Spider...

After all, Batman was one of the best detectives around. If he took an interest, it wouldn't be too hard for him to find out who was under the Iron Spider cowl. Of course, the tricky part would be to explain the fact that he doesn't really exist, legally.

"What is it, though?" he asks curiously about the solution.

"Anti-bacterial and liquid bandaging agent," Batman answers, putting the bottle back in its place on his belt, "For burns. Cuts. Grazes."

He rises to his feet once he's done, his mouth an implacable line.

"And you keep going because even if things aren't fair there is no one else to stand in the way of the people who would exploit that. You've been given a gift and, regardless of what you think of it, you're obligated to use it."

"On the whole... I don't hold myself to unchosen obligations," Vorpal says slowly- "But when it comes to this, you are right. I thought about it and I realized I couldn't live with myself if I gave it up. I can't save everybody, but I -do- know that there are people who are alive because I was there. If I quit tonight, there'll be people who will die because I won't be there." He rises from his crouch as well.

"I'm both lucky and unlucky in that. I'm unlucky in that I was reborn as a freak and so my options are limited. But I am also lucky in that precisely because of that I can spend most of my 'working hours' doing this. That I get paid is good because I can do this without worrying about day jobs cutting into my patrolling."

Vorpal looks at the city, exhaling a little. "Life's short and then you die. That's what Constantine said to me at some point. And everything tends to be so grim... but I don't think it's always necessarily like that."

“If you’re concerned with your appearance,” Batman points out, “There are ways around that. No permanent changes but there is technology that can make your appearance seem outwardly human if that’s what you want.”

He pauses, glancing at Vorpal, “The tail would require a bit of creative engineering, though.”

"I was, for a while," The cat admits. "But then, when you can do this..."

And the purple cat is gone, replaced by a young man with red hair and freckles.

"It takes concentration to keep it up though, and after a few hours my head begins to hurt from keeping it up too long. Still..."

He crosses his arms as the illusion fades, "... when I went to LOOKER INC. looking for a job, Briggs asked me if I could look like anyone at all and if that was so, she'd hire me in a pinch."

He shrugs. "It would have been good money. But that's not who I am. And I figured that if someday, through some accident, I'm a household name... I can't tell mutants and others who look different to accept who they are if part of my career was spent lying and pretending to be other people because I was too ugly for public consumption... sorry. I'm babbling." Keith smirks.

"Makes sense," Batman offers, sounding about as full of praise as a rock when he does so, "the technology is still on the table if you get sick of the headaches." Where or how Vorpal would get a hold of it is left unexplained.

"Thanks, I'll keep it in mind, definitely." If anything, every now and again he did like some privacy. Being a 100% public hero tended to wear you down.

"I also... there's something I need to return to you." Vorpal says, making the finger-rubbing gesture for 'money'. "I didn't have a chance to tell you about it earlier."

What with Tim coming into his apartment drunk as a skunk and mask-less. He wondered if Tim had told him anything yet. Or if Batman had found out through his surveillance. The suspense was killing him.

"Keep it. That money is my own. I funnelled it through the charity to disguise the source but it wasn't theirs. If you feel guilty about keeping it then donate it to a worthy cause. I don't want it."

Batman sounds determined in that fact.

"If you insist- I'll figure out something to do with it. Maybe body armor," Keith smirks. He had gotten shot up by Harley, after all. "Speaking of unbearably lethal things entering my body- is there some way I can contact you or someone on your team in case... -they- crop up?" Vorpal runs a finger along a silver armband. "I'm not supposed to engage, I am aware of the rule. But if I see them ready to pull something, I'd like the idea of being able to raise the alert instead of doing nothing. I had a phone with Oracle's number on it, but it was wrecked when the Rhino tried to stomp on me." That had been a fun day. "I don't know how to get in touch with he--them, outside of hoping I run into Huntress."

"Here," Batman answers, producing a small earpiece from his belt which he tosses across the roof to Vorpal, "Communications device. Works both ways. We'll hear you. You'll hear us. Use it."

He doesn't add the myriad of other features the little piece of technology includes. Such as allowing him to turn off his own feed so as to not be heard unless he wishes to. Or the fact that it includes a small tracking beacon for emergencies.

Vorpal nods and catches it, sliding it into his band jacket inner pocket. "I'll be judicious in its use, promised." He wouldn't mind the tracking beacon. After all, Patrick's ring was tracking him constantly as well. Because nothing says romance like stalking.

"Can I ask you a question?I was going to ask Cardinal, but I forgot in the spur of the moment."

This would usually be the time Batman disappears. Most of the people he deals with get that treatment. Still, for whatever reason he doesn't leave. He pauses at the edge of the rooftop and turns his head slightly.

"What?"

"I know you're busy, I just wanted to know .... where's Nightwing?"

The question is an earnest one, which is followed up by an explanation. "I see him every time I end up in Bludhaven and for the past three times he's... just not there. I've looked. Is he out on assignment or something?"

He had tried not to let it worry him, but he couldn't just toss it aside. It wasn't like him to be incommunicado for so long, and he was worried about his friend.

After all, Nightwing did take him to one of his safe houses and took a bullet out of him himself instead of tossing him at the cubside of one of the local emergency rooms. He had corresponded the kindness by paying no attention whatsoever to any detail that might have told him where said safehouse was.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm nosy..."

"Out of commission," is all Batman offers, looking back out over the city. The exact nature of Nightwing's absence is not his to share. Not really. That said, his cape once more extends like a pair of bat wings and he plummets off the edge of the building without a word.

Keith comes up to the edge to see Batman off, and mutters a curse. Out of commission? That sounded bad.

"I guess I could ask Bird to drop off a get-well card for me or something. I hope he'll be alright."

He turns around to face the bound Firefly.

"... twisted little sicko." Keith mutters and reaches for his BSA earpiece. He lets the Bureau know where to pick him up, and that he'll be expecting them to fill out any paperwork, though he points out it was Batman's catch. He's just playing secretary.