2013.04.19 - The Amazing Flying Harleys!

Its a dark night in Gotham City, but are there any other kinds?

In the back of a juggernaut driving down Gotham's Main Street, Harley Quinn looks over her motley gang. Okay, so the jailbreak hadn't gone exactly as planned, but she's not going to back down now. She's still got enough people to pull this off! A half dozen guys straddle garishly painted motorcycles, all Harley Davidsons of course.

Harley herself has a brilliantly gleaming red and black one, with a stylized picture of The Joker hugging a squealing Harley around the middle. She's wearing her classic uniform, too. Red and black bodysuit hugging her tight and showing off her curves. It isn't a look any of these guys have seen before, but oddly enough, they aren't complaining. Maybe because the heavily made up woman has demanded that they, too, make themselves up... and she's got a huge pistol.

"Now remembah fellas, don't shoot nobody 'less ya have to. We ain't th' main act yet, we're the openin' gambit. Get the crowd woiked up but don't knock 'em dead just yet!"

The juggernaut itself looked relatively normal at first... but then the cloth covering the side falls away. This hits the windshield of a sedan, and already there's a desperate squealing of rubber. And panic, for those who can see it, as the real side of the juggernaut is revealed:

Brilliant red letters declaring in ragged font: GOTHAM'S NUMBER ONE MOTORCYCLE ACT...

THE FLYING HARLEYS!

With a stylized Harley Quinn sprouting devil's wings and popping a totally sweet wheelie. Most people have been keeping up with the news enough to realize that whatever this thing is going to be doing... it ain't gonna be good!

For Domino it's just another night of running errands and taking care of business. As long as she's back in the area and not holed up in Madripoor, why not cover as much ground as possible? The flying's enough to wear down anyone, the fewer trans-global hops she has to make the better.

The piercing pale blue glow of the silver 911 Turbo's halogen lights slice through the shadows as it hums along down the decaying Gotham streets. It's flasher than she would have liked but after some less than excellent recent events, and her strict criteria on what she's left to drive, it had been the last one available. One thing she couldn't fault in its design, it's awfully quick. The sunroof helps some, too.

A pale, half-gloved hand switches gears without any real thought put toward the motion, a faint blue light glowing against her right ear as she has another conversation while on the move. It's business as usual, make a few calls, kill a little more time, find and pick up Roy, insult him for half an hour, then crash at one of the local dives and drink enough to forget what city she's in. Pretty normal night, all told.

But soft, through what window do yon Jersey accent break? In all honesty, Dragnet probably can't hear the inside of the juggernaut. In fact, he's still a fair distance away even though he can see the vehicle roll up and unleash its burlap assault upon sedan. He's never encountered either the Clown Prince or his Desdemona, but somehow if one lives and...works in Gotham one supposes it would be inevitable. Telescopic sight has an advantage on nights like these, to say nothing of the clarity. Add that to a highly tuned auditory interface and you have an AV junky's dream. There is an audible sigh as the armored figure activates the stealth mode function on his armor and goes a roof top jumping towards the oncoming chaos. He probably has a set of wheels around there, somewhere, for just situations like that. All else fails, the AIDOS supplements all that nifty sensory enhancement with an utterly killer targeting package.

Still, tech or no, all this roof running and jumping and climbing wouldn't be possible if he hadn't been training so hard...when he actually meets his caloric needs for the day. "Well, hope the Bat is getting a good night sleep at least." The voice modulator is aping Teddy Roosevelt tonight. Or at the very least the sort lampooned and memed on the Internet. He had been going terribly posh and British, but decided perhaps it was time to keep people guessing again. His normal voice...well, aside from giving some indication of who he really was, it just wasn't that intimidating. Gauntlets are checked, his heads up display confirming all weapons and equipment are at their proper levels and fully stocked, the opaque form trying to confirm for the thousandth time he is not running in half cocked or going in totally unprepared. Which he is, by the way. He just tries to put himself forward as someone who 'meant to do it'. Most of the time.

Dark night in Gotham? Meet the Dark Knight's sidekick. The Redbird is in stealth mode, hardly making a purr of a sound as it dips through traffic like it's driving on air. That's what a cool half a million dollars in custom modifications does for ya. Though it's currently jet black instead of its normal hot rod red, the billowing black and yellow cape of its single rider is hard to miss as it zips past the sedan, banking as the car swerves, and quick as a flash (not THE Flash) Robin rips the tarp off and chucks it over the side of the conveniently placed bridge they're currently crossing over. "R to Oracle, have a possible sighting of Harley Quinn. Tagging now." One gauntleted hand lifts from the bike's handle just long enough to retrieve something from his belt, and then he tosses the bat-tracer at the back of the big truck.

The tracking device clicks home onto the juggernaut, and the back of the vehicle suddenly crashes down into the road. The noise is indescribably horrible, sparks and screeching ensues, but it doesn't seem to bother Harley much. She's posing! Both arms above her head, straddling her bike, and illuminated by the six headlights behind her. A loudspeaker in one hand, that large gun in the other.

"LAYDIES AND GEEEEEEENTLEMEN!" She declares, "Congrachulations on your FINE choice to be here tonight, front row seats for the first evah live performance of the MAGNIFICENT, FLYIN', HARLAAAAYS! Give it up for 'em right now!!"

The six goons do seem to have some modicum of talent, because they manage to gun their engines and come flying out of the back of the juggernaut, and only /one/ of them immediately wipes out when he comes flying headlong into oncoming traffic. Harley looks pretty pleased with herself - she couldn't have asked for much more than that now, really, could she?

There seems to be some debris flying around in the wind ahead. Domino readjusts her one-handed hold on the wheel, ready to dodge around anything that might happen to get in her lane when she hesitates, head slowly turning to follow the rain of sparks now shooting off the back of that juggernaut as it comes flying past her. "Hey, uh. I'll call you back."

Movement in the rearview mirror shows a handful of people on motorcycles. Then some guy in a cape goes flying past, prompting a sudden and decisive yell of a curse as she twists the wheel and steps on the brakes, the German sports coupe dipping and sliding across the pavement. "The hell is this?! No one told me the circus was in town tonight!"

Pause. Sigh.

"..Goddamnit. You're really starting to get that 'good guy' crap all into my business, Harper," she grumbles to herself while shifting gears and dropping the accelerator to the floor. With a howl of tires that echoes off of the city buildings the Porsche fights for traction, launching back into motion after the others.

"Yeah, this is a stupid idea, I -know- that. Try to come up with something a little more constructive to the situation, Domino."

Dragnet doesn't have half a million to spend in modifications. He is however becoming increasingly proficient at jury-rigging on modifications of increasing complexity provided the AIDOS is there to do some of the grunt work for him. Unfortunately, it doesn't produce motorcycles out of thin air. Which is why of course, he has something stashed in the next alley, which he drops into...as delicately as he can. Its a lot easier than it looks, but it still requires some acrobatic shenanigans. The old bike is started, creaks and roars to life and rides out onto the street, and there might be the slightly surreal sight of, not an invisible plane, but a bike with an invisible, or highly stealthed, rider. "Alright. Calibrating targeting sensors to match speed..." He says, meanwhile trying to keep control of the motorcycle. Note to self: improve defensive and combat driving at earliest opportunity. Or create the Dragbike....jet....mobile....something.

Inside his helmet, Robin sighs. "Yeah, it's Harley. I'm on it." The HUD in his domino mask targets the six- no, make that five- bikers who come screeching off the back of the juggernaut. Hopefully that sixth guy is a general testament to the rest of their abilities on two wheels. He can only hope, right? Back to driving one-handed, Robin pulls his bo from his belt and with a flick of his wrist, it telescopes out, crackling with electricity. "What do you want, Quinn?" he shouts as he pulls up towards the big truck. If she even wants /anything/ at all.

"Aw, phooey!" Harley grouses, stamping her foot as she eyes Robin. "Can't I get one night without you caped crusaders crampin' my style?"

Its amazing what adrenalin can do for a guy. With one motorcycle down on the highway, chaos is starting to ripple backwards, but so far at least, the others have been able to keep their balance. "Ah well." Harley sighs, "I guess it can't be helped. Here, catch!"

She hucks the megaphone at Robin as hard as she can, and guns her own engine. Needless to say, her balance is infinitely better than her unfortunate allies, and her bike is much faster too! She's really hoping the distraction will buy her a few moments head start - she's under no illusions that she can outrun whatever cool toys the Bat Brat has access to... but maybe she can come up with a plan. So far it looks like its JUST him, after all. Blissfully unaware of Dragnet and the random factor waiting to happen in the traffic...

Downed goon in the street! The 911 is there and gone in a flash, Domino frowning in her hunched posture behind the wheel. Of course -now- is when the alarm on her phone goes off. It's time to pick up Roy. She glances from the herd of bikes to the phone then back to the bikes, debating.

"Oh, screw it. You're the reason I'm even bothering with this, least you can do is be part of it."

Just as quickly she breaks pursuit, the coupe drifting across every lane as it slides down onto a side street, momentarily vanishing from sight. The sound of it howling like a banshee down through the valley of buildings can still be heard from some distance off, building a positively stupid amount of speed before losing -all- of it as it comes screeching nice and neat up to the curb with a bone-jarring halt.

The passenger window's already rolled down. "ROY! Look alive, ass in seat!"

Already she's mashing the dash controls for a GPS view, knowing where all of the side streets are ought to help out. Bikes can duck into narrower alleys than a car can, after all. "What--the -hell- do you mean can't find a satellite, it's -right freaking there!-" she yells at the display, jabbing a finger straight up into the air.

He had no idea why Domino was in such a hurry, considering that they didn't -have- to get their asses on the plane for a while yet, but Roy Harper reacts with alarcity, tossing his bag into the mat of the front seat and then diving in headfirst, knowing from prior experience that the mercenary wasn't even going to -wait- for him to get completely in the car before driving off, heedless of how undignified it looked... Hell, he suspected she did it precisely for that reason...

Once he's managed to get himself right side up, Roy eyes the GPS suspiciously, before reaching out and -smacking- it on the side.

The GPS's 'seeking' blinks, blinks... and then changes to a route.

"Okay, -now- are you satisfi---" Roy begins, before he jerks his eyes towards the road as Domino resumes her path... "Christ, we're not in -that- much of a hurry!"

The optics of the faceplate adjust to the with traffic speed, even if he at times slips onto pavement. "....yes Oracle, I see it." Apparently Robin is not the only one talking to a gigantic computerized head. "No Oracle, I do not intend to use concussive ammunition in a crowded...yes Oracle, I have eyes on the clown. You know, its a real shame she's utterly crazy and sounds like a diner waitress. She's kind of pretty." Assuming you have a thing for painted ladies. Dragnet's tone is respectful, deferential, almost positively Beta the way he gets told to go about his business. Maybe he just has this latent submissive streak when it comes to strong, authoritative gender-neutral voices that may or may not have a certain Bat Family member behind them. Well, lets review: Batman scares the crap out of him, the Boy Wonders have years of skill and training on him, is it any wonder he gravitated to the technical arm of the dark furry mammals of justice club?

Since Robin seems distracted battling megaphones, and Domino..well he doesn't know where or who Domino is. For now, he lifts the hand not devoted to driving, gauntlet put forward. He isn't shooting yet, but lining up angles for either the use of his laser dazzler or the shock system. It just seems like most of his other tools are ill-suited for high-speed chases, targeting adjustments or otherwise.

"Not tonight, Harley. Sorry." Strange how Robin doesn't sound sorry at all. He jerks his bike out of the way as the megaphone goes sailing /right/ through the air where his head was, and pulls another bat-tracer from his belt. Harder to throw it with his staff in hand already, but Harley's already gunning it, he has to take the chance. Whether or not it actually sticks, well, Robin's got her in his sights. Then Oracle is buzzing in his ear. "Who?" The helmet tilts, just long enough for him to see- well. A bike. With no rider on it, by the looks of it. "Right. Patch us in." There's a second of pause, static, and then Robin's voice across the comms: "I'll take the goons before they cause some serious damage. Keep your eyes on the clown princess for me." And then off he goes, revving his engine as he swings his bo towards the nearest aforementioned-goon, hopign to knock him off his bike.

Harley sticks her tongue out at Robin as he gives chase. The tracer has landed, and a truly sharp-eyed person might note that her eye flickers down to it... she knows she's been tagged, but, that doesn't worry her too badly. If he wants to chase her, she'll give him something to chase.

The other goons aren't having much more luck. Adrenalin only counts for so much, and although Harley had done her best to pick guys who know motorcycles... there's a limited amount of people willing to do what she wants, drive headlong into traffic, and actually be good at it. The cycles are dodging and weaving through the traffic, but another spills out, and an unfortunate soul is sent hurtling into a dumpster.

Harley, meanwhile, is steering with one hand, and trying to aim that hand-cannon of hers at Robin with the other. She's looking behind her, and yet somehow, miraculously, hasn't hit anything yet... but trying to get a clear shot is proving pretty much impossible. "Coooome on lil' birdie..." She croons-- and then, finally, spots Dragnet. Which makes her blink a couple of times. And apparently, she decides his wrist-pointing is... waving? So she waves right back, with the gun, "Try an' keep up!" She shouts, "I'll sign an autograph at the end if you ain't road pizza!!"

"You wouldn't be telling me that if you just saw the same clowned-up biker gang I did," Domino shoots back while Roy helps the GPS get its bearings. Normally she'd be kinda peeved that he's beating up her car, but hey, it works!

Sure enough, Roy doesn't have long to get situated when she's gunning it back onto the street, sliding the coupe through another intersection amidst a chorus of blaring horns and screeching tires.

"Don't ask me why this matters to me," she cuts in before he can ask the inevitable question. It's not her business. It's not her responsibility. It's not even her -city.- But, it -is- somewhat personal. That costumed woman on the bike looked an awful lot like the same one that flattened one of Dom's cars a few months back, while she was still sitting inside of it. Who's got the bigger vehicle now?

Black nails dart out to the shifter, kicking the Turbo into its next gear. "There's already one Cape on the scene, minimum," she explains while weaving around other cars, much to the complaint of their drivers. "Lost some time coming for you, approximately thirty-two seconds to visual. There's a .45 in the glovebox, fourteen rounds. Go nuts." She knows the guy can place his shots well.

"Fine, I won't ask," Roy says, as he reaches for the aforementioned .45. About five seconds to get the gun, and then it's just countdown from there...

And twenty-seven seconds after Roy readies the gun, visual contact is made, and Roy whistles. "I'm guessing they're not relatives of yours," he remarks before he sits out on the windowsill.

Right then. First shot - aimed at taking off the different cycles. Minimal injuries, meaning that as soon as one swerves closer to the sidewalk, -that- one will be getting a rear tire blown out...

Repeat second and third shot with others on a similar dodge... at least until they get wise to the approach.

Dragnet's communication system is a pain in the ass even for Oracle to get into. The AIDOS was built for secure communication, giving only the most cursory access and only after breaking through several communication walls. "Yeah. I get that a lot." Apparently his comm picked up that 'who' part. That certain confusion, yet a slight capacity to tag him to rumor or being an associate of a friend. Teddy Roosevelt voice on full, dynamic bass dropping throttle as he keeps pace with Harley. "Relax Robin, I got this.." 'I hope.' He thinks, but wisely does not communicate this. Fortunately the armor has built in dampeners that reduce the clarity and quality of vision and sound at several dozen miles per hour to a reasonable non vomit inducing crystal clear picture and sound. Shoulders roll forward as wrist is brought forward, a single gas canister fired. At first glance, it sails past Harley, but hopefully expels its content in a nice big cloud in front of her. Given the Jokers proclivities and her own...well...extracurricular activities he doubts the opiate will fully take effect, but maybe dull her reflexes? At the very least make her swerve? Heres hoping.

Robin gets shot at all the time. It ain't no big thing. ...which is sad, really, how true it is. Still, the "Relax" gets a snort that is definitely picked up by the comm system in his mask. Yeah. Robin doesn't relax. Ever. He takes after his mentor that way. At least one more goon is down, and Robin readies his staff for another swing- and that's about when he starts hearing gunshots that definitely aren't from the monster weapon in Harley's hand. "We've got someone else on scene, visual confirmation?" This is asked both to Dragnet and to Oracle, who has eyes all over the city.

The handgun downs a third of Harley's crew, reducing the 'Flying Harleys' to half of their number. The other three seem to be the strongest riders, the leaders of the pack, and they aren't going down quite so easily. One of them - a younger man - does panic, though. The first of Harley's team to break her orders and pull out a gun of his own, he starts firing largely blind at Domino's vehicle in retaliation for Roy taking out his buddy. The other two hoot and howl with wild abandon - but that one? He doesn't look like he's having such fun any more, but he's also going so fast now, he doesn't know that he trusts himself to get somewhere safe and stop without hitting something!

Harley is surprised by the gascloud, but, it being drugged really doesn't seem to have much appreciable effect on her. She's coughing when she comes out of it, but she's kept her cool. The gun is tucked back away, and she tuts. "Y'know, I taught these guys all these cool tricks, and they haven't even tried one!" Her eyes are streaming, and now she can hear gunfire, she figures its now-or-never.

So she stops weaving, and instead aims the bike dead at an oncoming family car. There's wild panic in the father's eyes, and Harley's are streaming; Dragnet's smoke hasn't made her high, but it is imparing her visibility, but she seems determined to go through with this, rearing the bike up on its back wheel regardless...

"And this is how you make friends in Gotham," Domino mutters amidst the snapping of pistolfire right beside her. When the one rider starts to shoot back she curses under her breath and swerves into the oncoming lane, the windshield getting a nice, big hole right between the heads of the two occupants, continuing right through the rear window on its way through.

"That was a little close. Hey--there's a sunroof, you know."

That one bike is singled out, its rider losing his nerve. Perfect! Without any warning she drops a gear and stomps the accelerator loud enough to be heard, the Turbo merrily gathering speed in droves as the front bumper comes sailing toward the rear tire of his bike.

Guns are helpful, but not strictly necessary.

Pulling back as gunfire is returned, Roy stares at Domino, and then up at the... why hello, there -is- a sunroof. Not like their previous rides -had- sunroofs. "You do give a fella the nicest gifts," Roy practically purrs, as he opens the sunroof. Using his free hand to point at the hole left in the windshield, Roy comments, "Just don't let 'em shoot -there- again, or Lian's gonna be an only child," as he slides the .45 to Domino. 9 shots left, and she can probably shoot with one hand. Roy, on the other hand, was gonna make things a bit chillier, as he readies his bow and quiver, and stands up.

What -was- that crazy biker doing... oh hell, he doesn't really have time for that. Waiting for Domino to get right behind one of the bikers, Roy grabs for a fire extinguisher arrow, takes aim up in the sky, measures the velocity, and then fires, aiming to try and get the arrow to explode -in front- of the biker... just get him to swerve off the road and -stay- off!

Dragnet accelerates to keep pace with Harley, getting in as close as possible, trying to bring his bike clanking into hers, praying the thing holds up to the abuse he is putting it into by playing aggressive with the Clown Princess. "Negative, no visual. Trying to keep Quinn from playing bumpercars." He says as he attempts to ram her. To further deter her, once again he doth try to go for the eyes, this time with the laser dazzler, the multi-wavelength beam searching out vulnerable retinas as the ramshackle hog does battle with Quinzel Kenievel. "Not the only one with tricks, Clown. Make it easy on me and just surrender, Jersey Girl? I've done enough stupid things in one night. Trying not to add to the list." He groans audibly. He's no Batman, even with voice alteration and the confidence that only well-armed stealth armor can provide.

It's Oracle that comes through with a visual. Not enough to identify either occupants of the vehicle, but enough to tell him that they're on his side. Or at least, not shooting at /him/. Right now, Robin will take it. He swerves again, matching his speed with one of the remaining bikers, then pulls away... and suddenly brings the Redbird back to try and smash right into the other guy's bike. The Redbird is fast /and/ with enough armor plating to make a tank jealous, which is what he's betting on right now. "Take her down, Dragnet, before someone gets hurt!"

The bike that Roy shoots in front of is sent veering off the road partly by that, and partly by the ramming. The young man hits the ground, hard. Harder than any of the others so far, in fact, and he doesn't get back up again. Maybe with prompt medical attention he'd be okay... but it does not look good.

The guy Robin goes for suffers a similar problem. The Redbird is way better than his bike, and as the Boy Wonder smashes into him, he bets just the opposite. Which means that his bike practically disintegrates underneath him. He makes a desperate, clumsy grab to try and grapple onto the Redbird as it goes, but unless he's the luckiest mook alive, that just isn't going to end well for him.

Harley's Harley is also rammed, and as she's already up on one wheel... the whole thing flips up into the air. As precarious as this is, spinning around like a top, it does make it practically impossible to get a good lock on with the lasers - which is good, because right now, Harley needs all the visuals she can get, "OHWOWOWOWOWOWOW!" She shrieks, and, LEAPS off the bike, uncoiling like a spring.

And by some miracle, she manages to stick her landing, directly on top of a car heading in the opposite direction. Both hands raise above her head, and she hahs! "Jersey? I'm a /Brooklynite/ buster! Like any Jersey gal could pull THAT off! Thank you, thank you."

WHUMP!

"Rally pass," Domino almost cheerfully announces as the rider (the one with the nerve to shoot at -her- car) goes flying off of his bike and off to the side. There's one less obstacle to get in her way!

With the road clear once more she pops back into a higher gear and hauls tail, rolling down her window with the .45 at the ready. Off-hand, blistering speeds, poor vision, lots of obstacles, unpredictable target movement. Pretty awful odds for her landing the right shot, but she's still going to chance it. Payback can be a real bit--

Clown Girl's suddenly in the air. Off of her bike. Landing on the--

"Crap!"

Dom quickly grips the wheel and lays on the clutch and brake as one, the coupe pitching forward at an angle with another ear-splitting shriek as the car that Harley lands on top of comes so -very- close to ramming into the Porsche. The other driver didn't expect to have a roof-side passenger, either!

As the two cars zip past one another she regains control before it can come to a complete stop, gripping the wheel around the pistol in one hand as she looks back with widened eyes. "That bitch is crazy!"

"Holy crap!" No, that insane stunt -didn't- make sense either, as Roy pulls back down through the sunroof. Jerking a thumb towards the one remaining biker -not- the insane clown girl, Roy comments. "Just get him off the road and then we'll go after that crazy girl, that one's gonna be a handful."

Dragnet isn't nearly so graceful, though by some miracle he does managed to avoid anything too extreme, the nanokevlar of his suit absorbing the injury to almost everything but his pride. He rolls out of the wreckage, gauntlet pointed as he runs...futilely it seems afterwards. There is a high pitched whine as he tries to get a bead on her, the car maybe...only to lower his gauntlet. "Damnit." He says, his head hanging a bit lower. The stealth system engages, leaving him...without wheels, more or less on foot again. Just as he's always been. He has no Batmobile or half million dollar car. Hell, most of the time he can barely keep the suit together. There is a palpable air of defeat around him. There is a reason, he supposes, why vigilantism is usually undertaken by the rich, their wards, or extremely local individuals. The gear, the vehicles, the training, the lifestyle...it needs money. Maybe, just maybe, Dragnet is coming to the end of his usefulness. Or at least that is how its feeling. Still, he sticks around even as his form becomes increasingly obscure. No heat, no light, no sound. Barely a hint that he's there, except for dampened breathing.

As Harley Goon #2's luck would have it, the Redbird can easily support the weight of two passengers, and with a little help from Boy Wonder, he manages not to slip off and get a nasty case of road rash. Just a mild one, because Robin briefly diverts onto an empty stretch of sidewalk, slowing down just enough to dump him safely there. The tires squeal as he whips the bike around into the opposite direction, and then he's on Harley's tail again, gunning it to close the distance. That's about when Oracle chimes in with some useful information. "Arsenal?" he repeats, and then she gives him another name, but all he cares about is that they're good guys. Or sort of good guys, in Domino's case.

Harley looks back over what she's done ... a fair amount of traffic disruption, a little wounded pride. The tricks weren't nearly as spectacular as she would have liked, and she's down another six people. To make matters worse, not even a little sign of what she was really looking for! The woman standing astride the car looks, genuinely upset. "Isn't it bliss?" She shouts, "Don't you approve? One who keeps teaaaaaaaaring around! One who, can't move."

There's a little more melody there, as her eyes flicker to the oncoming Robin. She's got no idea where that other guy with the bike has gone... maybe he died in the crash, but she doesn't want to stick around to find out. She pulls that gun out of her belt with a flourish, and fires it up into the air, where it - a grappling gun, it transpires - latches onto the rooftop and hauls Harley off her feet, and as she's propelled up into the rooftops, her voice carries for quite some distance.

"Where are the clowns?~ Send in the clowns!"

Where are they indeed?

To be continued!