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July 26, 2015:

Hawkgirl meets up with a returned Hal Jordan in orbit.

In Orbit


NPCs: Watchtower Crew



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

'This is Watchtower coming in; Watchtower access 3-0-9-9-7-4-6. How is the Valmorra doing, Hawkgirl?'
'So far so good, Haus.'
'Three clicks to your left, Hawkgirl. We're picking up a heat signature bearing to the right of you.'
'On my way to it.'

Having missed the battle last night in Brooklyn, Shayera had the idea to scout space. She's known what had happened before, and how everything was slowly coming to a head. Eventually, there would be a final battle, for they have more information than possible. Yet hearing that something was out there, right above earth, she took up the mantle to check it out herself. Everyone else was busy recovering, needing downtime and assessing situations, and the Valmorra needed to have it's day in the park. Everyone has quinjets. She has her own.

Her toys, no one touches it.

The warp ripples for only a moment before it begins glowing green, radiating light in an aperture about thirty feet across until suddenly, from the center of it, erupts Hal Jordan, the Green Lantern, fist outthrust, energy pouring from his ring as he's shielded in power.

The warp snaps shut behind him, the world wobbling for a moment as it recenters and the ring very quickly informs Hal that he's not alone, tilting his head towards Shayera's approaching ship and scanning it. Recognizing the readings as familiar (he thought it looked like her ship, but, frankly, he sees a lot of ships, they all start looking alike after a while), he hails her on the usual JLA frequency.

"Awwwwwwwwwww, you missed me, didn't you? C'mon, admit it, you missed me, just a little bit. If you brought me a steak and a beer, I pledge you my eternal devotion or, at the very least, a serious footrub. Wait, do you have, like, feet? Talons?"

'Look alive, Hawkgirl! Whatever it is, it's coming in hot!'
'Arming weapons systems now.' She fires back, flipping the switches upon the dash, drawing down the seatbelts to prepare to fire at whatever decides to pop out of that..

"Call it off, Haus. It's a friendly."

And once the comms were interrupted, most of the men mutter underneath their breaths in full blast while another slams his headphones down upon his console.

Shayera's helmet liquifies into nothing, drawing on the auto-pilot as she unbuckles herself, her head shaking as she leaves the ship in stasis for now to ready the ship to be boarded. "I did not miss you. It was rather quiet and pleasant without your excessive nagging around." Yeah, and she fixed the ship without him too. Thanks for that. The handheld console was picked up from it's perch within the back of the ship, the buttons tapped ever so slightly as she speaks into the comms. "Locking onto your position, Green Lantern. Hold very still."


Hal Jordan crosses his arms over his chest, his expressions lightly put-upon as he allows himself to be tractored into the loading dock, drawn in until he's set down, "You could've just opened the doors, y'know, it's not like I can't maneuver in space on my own. I'm not Sputnik," he says. "Do you know what Sputnik is? Is that part of the Hawk integration program Wonder Woman's got you on? Ooo, hey, that tickles, watch it…" he says, finally being settled into the airlock. Of course, given he can broadcast on his own, none of that stops his voice in Hawkgirl's ear.

"I still haven't heard anything about that steak. I'm beginning to think it's not here. That makes me sad. And I don't nag you - I tease you. It's entirely different."

"If I opened the doors then I'd be at risk of shooting myself out into space." Of course, she wouldn't. She just wanted to test the tractor beam to make sure that everything was working. "I do not know what Sputnik is." Yet. But she remains silent, waiting until he docks upon the ship as the console was tossed into an errant seat to make her way back to the cockpit. The Valmorra was spacious, but not bigger than a helicarrier, but it could at least seat five people at the maximum.

"Of course there is no steak. I do not cook for people who tend to disappear without saying a word to his comrades." She flops down into the pilots chair, drawing the buckles down yet again, flipping switches here and there to unarm the ship. She didn't hold a grudge, it was all said matter of factly, even as she tilts her head to glare daggers in his direction. "I do not like teasing."

Hal Jordan finally lets his shield down once he's inside the ship proper, grinning across at her as he runs a hand back through his hair, his mask doing nothing to disguise the gleam in his blue eyes, "Ah, it's okay, I'm damn glad to see you. I'm damn glad to see Earth. Earth, baby!" he laughs and actually does a spin. "God, it's been months," he sighs.

"And I admit, I left rather abruptly. Deep space wars with the Controllers will do that sort of thing. Don't worry, they didn't conquer the galaxy, everything's fine, thanks to me and the Corps," he grins. "Just doing our usual totally thankless job in complete anonymity. Without pay I might add. Seriously, I need to talk to those little blue bastards about a salary," he sighs.

"So, screw it, steak's on me, let's get atmospheric and hit a bar…"

There are a few things that could make Shayera smile. A well timed joke, a grand buffet from Hans. A prospective spar, an actual spar, a bar fight, things blowing up, polishing her weaponry..

And this dude. He's a right idiot. One of the many intergallactic gems along with a few of her own people whom she's considered family. And that smile was given so wide in fact that she breaks up into laughter. She was already set on the course for home, pushing in the coordinates to the watchtower, angling the ship so that the flight could be smooth as they begin to dock.

"We are still having issues with those Parademons that shot me back in Russia." Shay points out, keeping the promise of steak and beer on her thoughts. "And I received a call from London, we are due to pick up a package of something of great concern to them for disposal." She grinds her teeth a little, holding on to the armchair as the Valmorra shakes and rattles into it's docking position. The watchtower itself was vast, and had a crew of Shield agents and regular employees a lot to man the ship as she parks.

"Pick a city."

Hal Jordan shakes his head, "Seriously? Geez, I figured Wonder Woman would've had them rounded up and sewing girdles for the other Amazons by now. Oh, well, guess I can do a little ring slinging and help clean 'em up," he says. The ring will gather various news reports for him over the next day or two for his persual, but, much as it wants to pump the info right into his skull immediately, he keeps hitting the snooze button.

"London, huh? Well, let's hope it's not a blue police box. By the way, you never heard me say something that nerdy and, if you tell anyone I did, I'll friggin' deny it,' he says. He grabs a chir of his own, kicking up his feet, raising a hand in mock salute to the various people working around, "Geez, a lot of mundane types around. Guess someone's been at the staffing agency. I guess I'll remain the lone wolf who objects to having a bunch of secret agents literally hanging around all the time wwatching our every move? Am I the only one that bothers?" he says, looking over at a technician, "Yes, I'm talking about YOU.' he says, making the man look away.

Shayera shakes her head slightly, her teeth gritted as she finally draws herself upright from her seat. One hand reaches out to lightly pat him upon the shoulder, giving him a slight squeeze of the shoulder. "This is not a joke, Hal. None of this is." She releases him then, pressing a button to hit the hatch upon the door, descending down the stairs as a few of the crewmen begin to take stock of the ship to check for wear and strain.

"I completely understand that your job just may be a slight touch bigger than all of ours. Green Lantern. And I understand that you are who you are and that you will not change. But.." She watches the ship for a long moment, months ago.. she was nearly killed, ready to let herself be blown from the sky after it all. "Mmh. Nevermind. This emotional honesty talk is not my forte."

Hal Jordan sighs and shakes his head, "It's not mine either," he says. "Look, I get that things here are bad and dangerous. I'm not evne saying they're less bad or dangerous than the stuff I've been dealing with in the Corps," he says. "But we're tough. We'll get through it. I'm here to help. Whatever's going down, we'll take care of it. I'm not blase, I'm just confident. I've seen what you're capable of, what the League's capable of. If there's money to be put down, I'm putting it on us, simple as that," he says.

"I joke around because laughing makes you feel alive. Because it's worth it to be reminded that life isn't just constant conflict and death and war. The light stuff? That's what we're fighting to protect. If they take it from us, then we're just fighting to exist and I want more than that. Hell, I insist on it."

Shayera shakes her head as she continues down the pathways to the mess hall, where Hans was clearly making a ruckus, food prepared always buffet style but to his perfections. Once inside, she grips a tray, loading up with whatever she could find, anything that consisted of meat upon a tray, plates separated. There were some fancy doodads upon the plates, but surely enough, it'll be eaten. Food is food, and Hans is good.

"Laughing does indeed make you feel alive, but it's not always a good thing. Especially with broken ribs and a collapsed lung." She glances towards him, up and down, then settles into a chair. "But you are good with this talk, a bit preachy, but good." She curls her fingers into a fist and chucks it at the air as she had seen on television. "I suppose that you'd want to see Diana to alert her of your return to our ranks."

Hal Jordan takes some food and settles in across from Shayera, kicking up his feet, "Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm…yeah, I probably should. I was going to leave her a Post-It note but I get the feeling that might make her grumpy," he says with a sigh.

"But I'm glad my talk can help, even if it is a bit preachy. You can feel free to donate money to my collection plate…like I said, it's not like I'm getting paid for this…" he says, glancing over at one of the other men working, "Get your own plate, spyboy, stop lookin' at mine!"

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