| Who's The Fool Now? | |||||
| |||||
| What: Someone bearing a grudge upon Catwoman tries to fool her into thinking that a job is legit with ill intentions in mind. Little do they know that she doesn't just see through the attempted ruse but comes with backup. | |||||
{{{logtext}}}
There is a saying that goes 'it is too good to be true'. The kind of thing that is presented as being so wonderful that it can't be anything but a lie. As being hyped up to trick someone into believing that it's exactly what it is being made out to be.
To be blunt, a lie often told to fool someone.
Selina has been presented with such a thing several hours ago, an offer that'd be consider both a dream job and a cakewalk by lesser-practiced people in her line of work. Not Sel, however. "If it walks like a trap and quacks like a trap..." she can't help but to quip to herself after the job offer taken and the phone is hung up. But while the one who made the call is falsely under the assumption that she fell for it and is putting plans into action she's doing the same herself, her own plans involving a certain man she knows who has a 'thing' for taking care of problems for good.
'1 - Could use your expertise. Want to give one of those fancy toys of yours a workout? Meet me at....'
Five hours pass and Sel's waiting at the meeting place in an alley, dressed in costume and bearing her whip and nothing else, having decided to travel lightly tonight. Now it's just a matter of waiting for her co-star in this little play as well as those she is supposed to be seeing in regards to the 'job'.
When One got the call that Selina needed a little long-range support, it seemed like the perfect excuse to break out his new Tavor CTAR-21 battle rifle. It's a beauty, sleek and compact with a high-end holographic sight. He's got wind gauges set up, along with basic surveillance equipment to help him keep track of his partner in crime. The post he's chosen is the roof of a parking garage that's directly adjacent to Selina's final destination.
He taps the sub-vocal mic attached to his throat to activate it. "I'm in position," he says via radio. "Just say the word and I'll stitch 'em up."
"Just don't shoot the kitty," Sel teases, making light of the situation via her own com device. "As much as I love having your hands on my bare flesh I'd rather it not be because you're busy patching me up." One might have to anyhow, dependent on how things unfold.
Three more minutes pass before the group of men arrive, pulling up in black SUVs and on sleek, Japanese-manufactured motorcycles, the figures members of an Asian gang she pissed off several years ago. The leader of this group is a scrawny, brainy-looking man who is in his fifties but somehow manages to look like he's only in his late-twenties, the mousy male towered over by the majority of those brought with him. "Ah. Catwoman," he intones with a slight sneer to go with his heavy accent. "I see that you really are not as smart as your reputation makes you out to be. I am amused that you fell for this."
A throaty laugh is given by the woman as she approaches him, reaching out to cup his cheek. "Oh no, Jyutping," she murmurs. "I knew it was a setup but I had to see you..." Her other hand comes up, held out to still his companions. "Please, boys. I just want a kiss from your boss before you try to kill me or do whatever else that you have in mind." Her eyes close and she leans in, her lips halted a few inches from what she hopes will be an easy mark for One who gets the signal in a sub-vocalized whisper:
"Take the short one out first."
One already has his sights lined up on the group. He focuses on the indicated target, glances at his wind gauge, and then telescopes his sight in to a closer setting. A deep breath, halfway released, then a smooth pull of the trigger.
A three-round burst of 7.62mm rounds leave the chamber of the Israeli assault weapon, striking the short man in his throat, the bridge of his nose, and between the eyes. Death is instantaneous and very visually impressive.
One immediately switches targets, blasting off another burst, then another, and another. If there's one thing you can say about him, it's that he's not afraid to send a healthy number of rounds downrange.
Click. Click-click-click. Frustrated, One works the action on his weapon several times, but discards it when he's unable to clear the chamber. "I'm jammed," he radios to Selina. "Knew I should've bought German. Try and draw them closer to my position."
Not only are the resulting deaths impressive they're also messy and soon the Cat finds herself covered in blood splatter that would cause a lesser person to panic severely Not Sel, however, who is as calm as always even as the last of the remaining would-be assailants start to shout and scream, demanding answers from her in Chinese. "Now, now, boys. Your boss was trying to set me up and I decided to preemptively strike at you instead..."
The remainder of her words are cut short as she has to take to flight, the men chasing her shouting and screaming. A few pull out guns from inside trenchcoat pockets and other hidden places on their person, those same guns used to shoot at her. Thankfully she was anticipating that and is able to dodge, the small horde of gangbangers drawn steadily closer to One's location. "We're inbound."
"I'm ready," One replies. And by God, he is. He's standing on the very edge of the roof with a motorcycle held above his head in both hands. He narrows his eyes, focuses in on two of the enemy who've opted to travel fairly close together, and throws his vehicular projectile like a huge javelin. "Incoming!" he shouts, no longer bothering with the radio.
There was only one motorcycle on the roof and he picked the right time to use it. He's strong, but not strong enough to throw a car. He is, however, strong enough to pick one up and drop it over a roof and onto a bunch of thugs. That's exactly what he does, sending a shiny BMW over the edge at their foes. "Fire two!" he shouts, warning Selina.
The motorcycle's trajectory is perfect and misses Selina by a fairly large bit while taking out half of the guys who were in pursuit, the men hurt although that pales in comparison to what's about to be visited upon them when the car is lofted over the side of the garage soon after. Thankfully Selina wasn't shocked by the first dropped vehicle for reason she'll have to muse over late and she's on the ball and able to get out of the way of the much larger improvised weapon.
"Fu..." she hisses while rolling head over ass, the somersault coming to an end at about 3 yards away. A quick glance over her shoulder once her own forward momentum comes to a halt, giving a quick headcount. Two men got out of the way entirely while another has his legs crushed under the rubble, his shrieked pleas of mercy made in very broken English. "Care to join me down here," she asks her partner while a timely sweep of her foot knocks one of those left living on his ass.
The parking garage is five stories tall. That's around fifteen feet past the furthest One has ever dropped. Willingly, anyway. He takes three quick, deep breaths, digs a boxer's mouthguard out of his pocket, and fits it against his top teeth. "Hubba-hubba," he mumbles as he glances over the edge.
Then he leaps, aiming for anyone not wearing a catsuit. The impact is crunching, both for him and for his target. Especially the latter.
"Ugh," One grunts as he rolls to his feet. "Gross. I don't think I've ever actually *felt* someone's spine shatter before."
That is a bit frightening to watch and for a second Sel diverts her gaze, too scared to watch One in case he misses his mark and winds up a bloody puddle to go along with those already on the street. Color her thrilled to see he survives via breaking the spine of the man he landed upon. The question is whether the guy will survive to tell about that or if all the internal injuries being landed on from fifty feet above the ground will finish him off.
Selina gets onto her knees and reaches over, taking the foot-swept target's face in her hand so she can just about all but literally rip his face off. "I hope this serves as a reminder..." Her eyes narrow and she points, a finger on her other hand used to point at the man who is still trapped by his legs under the ruined Beamer. "Let him live."
One already has the barrel of his Webley wedged in the trapped man's mouth. He glances up with a chastised expression on his face, like a child caught stealing sweets. "Nnng. Okay," he concedes reluctantly.
"Bet you never thought the day your legs got crushed would be the luckiest day of your life, did you?" The doctor asks, giving the other man a pat on the cheek as he holsters his revolver. "Well. That'll do, then. Let me just nip back upstairs and grab my gear, then we can get out of here."
The fight has caught someone's attention - probably the sound of crunching metal and the screams among other telltale sounds - and sirens can be heard off in the distance. Thankfully this is Gotham and the police probably will take awhile. Doesn't mean Selina isn't hurrying, however. The sole survivor is looked at at first and then Selina crouches down, her fingers curled hard under his chin. "I am sure you'll live but you will not keep your legs," she laments, sounding almost sincerely distraught. "Let it serve as a reminder to you and any of your friends who might seek to doublecross me that no one fucks with Catwoman. And do not think for a moment that I will not seek have you killed if you mention what happened to the police. I will /not/ hesitate in having my friend finish you off if I so much as hear a whisper that you have."
With the warning given she's moving, finding a place to lay low while One's gathering his belongings. A basement is found and claimed for their use, the location of which is given to One.
It doesn't take long to make the trip when you can run faster than a dirtbike. In just a few minutes, One collects his kit and meets Selina in the basement of a TV repair shop, a suitable place for them to regroup and recoup while waiting for the heat to die down. Somewhat unfortunately, he's forced to strangle a police officer en route to keep their position secure. The body is dumped down a sewer drain, then One slips into the hideout.
"It's me," he announces himself as he enters. "Man. That was just *fun*. Can you get double-crossed more often?"
It's a good thing One's dispatching of the cop is unknown by Selina who'd definitely not approve. She's still not sure what to make of taking lives but is growing a bit more accustomed to killing men who deserve it but killing a police officer...? Bad karma.
By the time she's joined in the quiet, musky room she has her cowl and goggles in hand, her short dark hair damp with sweat and tussled, the blood dotting her face lending the impression of freckles. "I think I could," she utters while looking at herself. "But what's in it for me if I do... besides getting the honor of having you cover my ass, that is."
"Fair enough," One concedes, tossing his rifle on a table along with his wind gauge and the infrared camera he used to track Selina's movements. Then he shrugs out of his jacket and unstraps his armor, leaving him in slacks, polished boots, and his usual dress shirt and tie. He rolls his sleeves back as he eyes Selina critically. "None of that blood's yours, is it?"
Selina smiles as she looks at One. She does often when they're together and now is no exception, her gaze almost hungry. "I didn't say you couldn't join me," she points out, her own gear left held. "I enjoy your company during times like this as well as when we're having downtime together, you know." Asked about if she's hurt, then, Selina looks up and then down, and then up and then down again, comically. "I don't think so. You're welcome to check me out, however."
One lets out a low, rich chuckle and picks back up his Tavor. The compact assault rifle's malfunction is what led to tonight's theatrics. With a grunt, he gives the bolt a quick jerk and flips a bent cartridge from where it had lodged itself in the chamber. "Israeli piece of shit," he mutters, tossing the weapon back down.
"What?" As usual, he's remarkably clueless for a guy who's mentally about a hundred and twenty years old. "As long as you're not bleeding, I suspect you'll survive. How long do you think it'll take GCPD to get bored and wander off? I give 'em an hour, tops."
"That's why you should buy American, One," comes a quip. Selina knows that when it comes to the kind of weapons One prefers that probably isn't an option but the joke is too good to pass up. The location within the room where One is is approached and her own belongings set down, finally, her eyes kept lowered. "Yeah, probably about an hour," she concludes lamely, her pride taking yet another hit thanks to the Doc's constant obliviousness which she takes as being his rejecting her.
Right now One is glancing through a long, narrow window that's set high in the wall, just above ground level. It's the perfect vantage point to check for signs of pursuit. Something in Selina's tone has him looking back at her over his shoulder, though. "Hmm?" he queries wordlessly. He studies her for a moment, tipping his head to the side. "Oh."
There's a clearing of his throat, then he turns back toward the window. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm a bit behind the times. Before Fern, the last time I... Well, let's just say 'deepthroat' was still a codename and not something guys asked about on a first date."
Selina darts a look into One's eyes, her own wide at first and then narrowed, her expression slightly amused. "Ah... thought you had said that you didn't do that kind of thing. Too... messy, I believe was the way you put it." She is referring to the night he had mentioned his beliefs on the subject of that kind of relations during the fall of last year, that being a response to her having offered to do anything to repay him for his kindness. And no, she didn't mean /that/ when she made the offer she did.
Her face warms, making her glad for the fact that it's almost completely dark, the shadows in the basement plus the red that covers her from cheeks down to chin sufficing in keeping her blush concealed, or so she hopes. "So you and Fern. You two are a couple, then," she asks curiously.
"Not anymore, no," One replies, shaking his head. "But we were. Short relationship, long story. And yes, you're correct. I generally consider sex to be... messy." He can't quite conceal a grimace, though there's a smile hiding behind it. "There's so much sweating and grunting and flailing."
This is when Sel really has to fight the urge to facepalm at herself, mostly because she asked a question which resulted in bringing up a subject which is probably still very much painful to One (breakups are very rarely done under nice circumstances, after all) and partially because she is finding herself still wondering if there's something wrong with her. "Well, if you ever want to make a mess sometime..." A shoulder lifts as she moves towards the entry point that leads in from the alleyway. If he can't figure that out then she's writing herself off as a lost cause and is going to join her sister at the nunnery.
One inclines his head, then tilts it to the side. Finally, he nods. "I'll let you know," he says, and he appears to mean it. "For the moment, I prefer to make my messes the old-fashioned way."
A long, nimble finger reaches out to trail lightly along the barrel of his rifle. "Ignatius was a fairly chaste individual, too. He did it because he never considered anyone his equal, though. Refused to copulate with a lesser being. Crazy fucker. Err... Not literally, I guess. But also literally. Heh."
At least he sounds sincere and not like he's just saying it to shut her up. That right there helps her to feel less awkward and horrible about the conversation that has transpired over the last couple of minutes. One's story about Ignatius has her looking at him from over her shoulder, expression held carefully in check. "But you don't feel that way about me, right? You don't consider me a lesser being?"
"Of course not." One shoots a curious look in Selina's direction. "I wouldn't work so closely with you if I did. You might not be able to pick up a car, but you can carry your own weight."
The doctor's crooked, familiar half-smile creeps across his face. "Hey. You know what I could go for after all that mayhem? Some Chinese food. I figure we can slip by Gotham's Finest without too much trouble."
That gets Selina to groan, One's pun, intentional or not, deserving of such a reaction. "We can order in from my place," she eventually says once she gets over the urge to go over there and elbow him in the side. "I can't be seen like this," she adds. A shower will definitely be needed before anything else happens. "So how about it? I'll buy, even."
"Sounds fun," One replies, scooping up his gear and strapping it back on. He's still grinning, shamelessly pleased with himself and his little jokes. "And who knows?" he continues as they head out of the building. "Maybe we'll end up making a mess after all."