Lots of Shots

February 08, 2017:

Nightwing and Ravager meet during a shoot out. More shots are exchanged and ordered and a brief few words are exchanged.

Burnley - Gotham

Burnley was once a gleaming gem that signified change and growth of
industry; the origin point for Gotham's Uptown Jazz scene back in the 1930s
when it was covered in theaters, restaurants and jazz clubs. A place people
used to go to escape and get a taste of something new and progressive.

Now Burnley and most of it's connected neighborhoods are horrible poverty
stricken slums covered in housing projects and an overshadowing sense of
dread and desparation. The Burnley of the 21st Century is comparible to
Harlem during it's worst days.

Closer towards Bay Side the separation line of Grand Avenue divides the
African American populace from the Hispanic (before the '09 quake there was
also a strong Irish population that has since relocated to south Chelsea).
This general area, with it's massive amounts of housing complexes is called
the Hill. It's a constant source of gang related violence and trouble for
the GCPD and just about anyone else.

A noteable landmark here is the small neighborhood of Toxic Acres named as
such due to the Kane Chemical Plant meltdown that made the neighborhood
uninhabitable. That facility still stands to this day but is now Ace
Chemicals.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Gotham is not as bad as it was a decade ago, but it remains still one of the most crime-ridden cities of the East coast, particularly in some of the poorer neighborhoods. But in truth the violence occasionally spreads everywhere. Gothamites get used to it, many just not going out after sunset, but most just toughen up.

And learn to run when two gangs start a shootout in the middle of the street. A drug deal gone wrong, it seems. A dozen thugs on each side, and they don't come with switchblades and cheap guns no. In Gotham they use shotguns and submachine guns. Arms trafficking is one of the dark city main business, after all.

Ravager had been practicing again, fixing that light *rattle* on the sheathes that held those ancient swords strapped across her back. Flashes of barrels barking in rapid succession only seems to go with the reflection along the scale maille that rides along sides, arms, thighs. Vitals reinforced. Despite Deathstroke's chiding of her choice in colors, she did not change them, not yet. Family colors are worn by family. And he has yet to treat her as such - until then…

Half mask frames and protects the side of her face with the white bionic eye inset among the black, infrared changed to night view as the streets went from a tense silence to a war-zone. Does she move though?

Nope.

The overloaded beef sandwich in her hands laden with mozerella and peppers, dripping with the au jus is being relished while feet dangle lightly over the edge of the building. Dinner is the only meal of the day she tends to eat… If she remembers, and that smell reminded her of her hunger.

"I love the smell of gunsmoke in the evening." A mutter as her thumb is sucked dry while she eats and watches.

The sun just set, and the cops are probably doing the same Rose is doing. Only with more bbq sauce. And doughnuts. It is easier to pick up the corpses later.

But not all Gothamites agree. Case to point, someone just raced past Rose and jumped to the street below, slowing down the fall by bouncing on a firescape, a street lap and the back of a 300 lbs. tough that is going to spend two weeks in the hospital. A blur of dark blue and grey and two of his friends go flying to the corners of the alleyway. Then a few of the thugs see him and start shooting.

Nightwing drives behind the already bullet-ridden van that was used by one of the gangs, and looks up at the dangling feet several floors up. "Hey, you!" He shouts. "Come down here to help and I'll buy you a coffee," because she is a merc, right?

A batrang is tossed as side, and it describes a nice arc away, away… and back, back. It explodes over the gang thugs shooting at the van, releasing a cloud of tear gas that hides everyone for a few seconds.

*Bbbrrrr—-Appp!*

The blur has Ravager moving to the side a bit as the strands of white hair hanging over shouders shift lightly, the thumb-in-mouth paused at the tip upon teeth. "Tha fuck?"

Eyes rise and the scenario is seen in a glowing green, yellow, and black anew with the player of Blue and Grey attire in view. His weapon thrown also setting eyes to a narrow. She has heard of these 'Bats' and it makes her uneased, tense, but not in fear….

They are not the only denizens here now fighting for 'something'.

His offer of coffee on him brings pause to the final bite of her sandwich, then it is taken and her hands sweep over the brickwork of her ledge-perch. "Any coffee of my choosing?" Ravager has expensive taste.

But before he even responds she looks at her little paper boat of fries smothered and covered and sighs. Hands push-off and she is descending the flights of the building to land with a loud *THUNG*
*THUNK*
And then silence as she hits the concrete and moves into the fray in a similar blur of red, titanium, and black, but what she draws is her swords.

Silently.

… And into the tear gas.

But within that cloud a patch is slid over her "good" eye, a bandanna brought to cover nose and mouth bearing a lower skull facade inset of white on black with red….

The sound of metal sliding, yells, groans, and impact is heard.

The attack on one of the gangs has emboldened the other group, and they come running, guns blazing. Straight into another tear gas bomb Nightwing tosses in their path. They are not very smart, but if they were smart they wouldn't be here.

The tear gas breaks the charge, and coughs and curses replace the gunshots. And then Nightwing falls on them. Kicking the first thug into the second, striking the third on the head with an escrima stick while jumping on the fourth, who gets a knee on his face. There are ten of them, but before any can get out of the cloud they all are unconscious or groaning on the floor, chocking and retching. It didn't take him six seconds and he turns to see what Ravager is doing.

Ravager moves quickly, one is hamstrung, the next slices with a swing of sword across his achilles, dropping him as he screams and the gunfire of his semi-auto goes to the skies, the next bears a shotgun that becomes abruptly 'sawed-off' by her sword sweep, and then is kicked to rebound off his jaw by the and of boot. Don't shoot! Unless you want to make it look like suicide…

Blood from the achilles is a Rorschach over the pavement at her feet while one screams, another groans and holds his shattered mandible, the other is dazed and silent…

A final gets approached through the smoke and his weapon is aimed for Ravager's chest, to which she grips the barrel and holds it there, pressing in and holding him there with the wrap of other hand despite struggles. It almost looked like a dare for him to pull the trigger she held his wrist to while he writhed and just wanted to be let go!

But in a flash the rifle is gripped, spun like a baton for a marching pace and in the spin a couple shots fire off and end in the slam of the butt against temple of the 'gangster'.

A quick jerk of her hand and the rifle is disengaged, safety clicked…. And pieces fall to the ground while it is dismantled over the unconscious body.

"Cafe Mocha. Xtra Grande, 4 shots of espresso, 6 shots of Whipped Vodka."

Nightwing does not respond to that to avoid breathing the gas, but he smiles at seeing all the thugs incapacitated but alive. The he raises a hand, shoots a grapple line and climbs up the wall of the building, back to the rooftop, gesturing the young woman to follow. If Rose is listening, he can hear him subvocalizing as he is speaking with someone.

"I'll call for a delivery… thing," sounds more like vodka with coffee than a coffee mug, but he said he would pay for it, so not going to complain.

Alive is relative. Ravager spared no expense in brute force save landing a killing blow unless absolutely necessary. They were not worth the price, and a 'Bat' could not afford the cost of a death blow.

Vigilante's. Tch.

When Nightwing rises, Ravager watches, following the motions with a narrowed gaze that shows nothing, aside from a predatorial assessment.

But when he affirms ordering her Alcohol latte she is just behind him. Her own grappling enabled, quick motions from one place to the next until she is back beside her (cold) fries and him. A lift of a fry with the cheese sauce 'glopping' off the end and a frown.

"This is normal here. Why do we care, exactly? My food went cold too." Dropping back down, Ravager adjusts seating to allow for the sheaths criss-crossed along her back.
Nightwing sits down at her side, although not too close, and pulls out a cellphone, clicking for Rose's request while he replies. "Because they could have hit an innocent in that shoot out. Because some of those gang members deserve a second chance and may still come out right. And because although it is not uncommon in Gotham, it shouldn't be, and it should be stopped whenever possible. And why is the fearsome Ravager in Gotham?"

Ravager is dragging her fries through the harder versions of cheese 'gloop' with dismay while Nightwing speaks. The frown is evident as a fry breaks and she dangles the part in front of herself and glares at it.

"No… It is how they are raised and no matter… It is what they are drawn to…" A shake of finger and fist at Nightwing while she eats her 'basket' despite the bad'ness??

A blink at Nightwing and Ravager eats more, bu not much, just a bite while her mismatched gaze roves down the smoke and body laden street. "Fearsome? Heh."

She smiles…

"Yes, very," replies Nightwing, although maybe not managing to sound very serious. "We bat-folks track costumed mercenaries and adventurer and you are in the list. You have had an… interesting career. So seeing you in Gotham is going to raise some questions. I thought I would ask friendly-like, over coffee." Before Batman visits and starts growling and threatening. But that is something Rose doesn't need to know.

A frown and with a /snap/ of wrist the fry coated in cold/plastic seeming cheese is *slapped* back into the paper basket.

"So, you have no lives. What of it?" Ravager murmurs grumpily as that gloppy cheese fingered grip is scraped along the wall of thee building, her seat reclaimed with a huff.

"Ask over the coffee you owe me. I don't mind, but your assumptions are likely half-assed." Though through the conversation she does not bother looking at him and his distance. she has other things to sulk over inwardly.
"Well, we have to wait 15 minutes," replies Nightwing, pocketing the cellphone and stand up. "I don't want to be annoying, but it is better if you tell me. I could help. Or maybe I would try to stop you. If it is the second, we should do so no. Come," he gestures her to stand up. "Spar with me, those fries are cold, anyway. Never leave your fries in a Gotham rooftop in winter, not even for a minute. I learned that when I was thirteen."

Ravager just shifts her eyes sidelong to watch him as he stands and offers sparring to her. A /tch/ passes her lips that move into a slight disbelieving smile. "I only talk to people I am comfortable with, but fight you? Seems a little soon to flirt."

His mention of lessons learned at thirteen get him a longer regard, feet tucking up from their dangle with a spin on ass to kick them around to the rooftop itself. Planting heavy boots and rising she smiles now. "Only 15 minutes? Better be good."

"I'll try my best to make it interesting," replies Nightwing with a grin. He turns around and jumps to his feet, pulling off the escrima sticks from the back sheaths. He gives Ravaged a few seconds to draw her swords before jumping forward, feinting a kick to her leg and sweeping with the left stick towards her torso. Whatever happens, he jumps back. "So. Do you believe those thugs folks are irredeemable? Doomed to be lowlifes forever because how they are now?"

Ravager is already ready, but her swords are not drawn even as he pulls his escrima sticks free. His swings are parried, the leg kick forcing her to jump, the sweep to her torso pushed from with an attempted land of booted foot to his chest as a kick-off with his jump back, flipping her back and away, landing back upon feet with a distance bridged between them.

"Redemption is up to them. They fucked up right now, that's what mattered to me. Handled what they do with themselves is up to them. Not worth my effort." Uncaring, just as non-chalant in words as she is when she goes back for him, feinting one way just before she drops and sweeps at his feet in a spinning kick that rakes across the ground and kicks up the gravelling along the roof, but her fist also gathered full of those tiny stones and dust, tossed up into his face like a shrapnel smoke-screen.

Nightwing avoids the kick, as he was already retreating, and falls into a fighting stance waiting for counter-attack. He jumps over the sweep, and takes a fistful of gravel and sand, but his eyes are covered by lenses and it doesn't bother him much. "Well, you did 'help' them," he observes.

Landing on a crouch, he lounges again, aiming a series of short, very fast strikes to her torso using the end of his sticks. "No one died. They will cool down in the precinct. Maybe a serve some time in jail." He pulls back again. tsking. "Hmm, I think you are going easy on me."

"One will forever walk with a hobble and need physical therapy to gimp it like a pro. I taught him to not 'walk into a sword'?" A blink and Ravager just exhales a short disbelieving laugh, cut off by his lunge that has her moving back, pivoting to one side then the next before those swords are silently and suddenly in her hands, a spin that seeks to slap the flat ends of the blades at his spine. A warning shot perhaps?

Going easy on him? Well yes, she doesn't want to kill him or cripple him. Not yet. But then again… He is a Bat.

So the playtime is done, that bionic eye narrows, the white flickering to dim and pale in its inset only allowing pure vision. Reaching back the sheath for her swords at her back is gripped at the bases, cuffed to her wrists and swung out like a brace along her arms that bears a revealed mechanism, also showing the hidden sheath at the small of her back bearing to downward thrust Glocks, and two horizontally placed large knives. A 'cross' of weapon hilts.

"Make that eight shots of vodka." And the swords spin in her grip as she steps back with the motion, finally then moving forward in ablur of speed that kicks up that gravel beneath boot treads, her sweeps with those honed blades twist one lower, along his thigh, the other higher to slide just along his shoulder and likely leave a nice opening at his neck. But as she is moving in her body rotates in its own dance to spin her around and throw her hip into his stomach with impact.

"Still better than a bullet hole in the head," replies the young hero, smiling when she finally brings the swords to the game. Despite how quickly she moves, he still manages to draw his arms back and stop both blades with the escrima sticks protecting his forearms. And when she goes to slam at him, with her hip, he whirls to as side, pushing away the sword at her left as he slides lower, trying to sweep at her feet while she is unbalanced. "Eight? Where does that leave the coffee, you heretic?"

"Right where I want it…" Ravager states in answer to his question, but as he lowers to sweep at her feet and manages to dodge all of her blows that arm-rig takes her swords back to lay along her arms and with a flash of wrists the Glocks are in her hands and she is descending with one… two!

Shots fired and they hit and ricochet off the rooftop on either side of Nightwing, possibly even the pressure and breeze of their passing felt. But again warnings while she takes his kick to bring her down, instead buckling her legs back and landing in a hard kneel with the guns aimed point blank at him.

But he is not there, Nightwing never stopped moving even when his sweep fails to really bring the woman down. He rolls to a side, lightning quick, and if she turns and raises a gun at him, he bats it away with a escrima stick, cartwheeling on his other hand to position himself behind her. "Tsk. Guns. So noisy," he complains without any hint of seriousness.

When Nightwing goes to bat her gun aside her hand goes up, palm opens and the system along her arms that holds her swords back catches the butt of the pistol and sweeps it back, leaving her empty handed. The smile there, though is one bearing amusement at his words. "But effective enough. You wanted this."

And when he lands behind her her body folds over knees she rested upon, arms pushing back as if she sought to grab him but instead those swords pivot out in a sweep, the hilts in her hands where the guns were, and if the acrobat does not move quick they will take him out at the shins like she did the gangster's achilles.
Of course Nightwing moves quickly. He seems as fast as Ravager, or close enough, which is remarkable if he is just a normal human. "Nifty device," he comments, flipping over her while spinning his body around. He even tries to tap her brow with one of the sticks, although it is just a counting cop, with no force behind it. He lands on his feet, still smiling. "I did want it. Your fighting style is quite different to what I am used to. Peace now? Coffee will down there in a minute."

When Nightwing dodges by jumping his escrima tap air as she was rolling back to place herself where he had just stood before he leapt, rising. "And you still only got half. You'll see it all if you have a death wish and pay me more then a good drink."

The edge in her voice tells of just how hard it is for her to take that edge off since she was not satisfied quite yet. Some poor shmuck is going to get it later. But slowly the tension in her shoulders unwinds, the swords returning back into the mechanism as she reaches back and starts putting things back. Guns holstered at the small of her back, the arm braced pivot-sling system remaining. Easy on, not so easy off.

"My fighting style was there before I was thirteen letting my fries get cold." No instead she was cold. But somewhere along the line one corner of her lips curled into a smile.

"Peace, for now Bat." And walking to the ledge she steps up and then just drops down to land several stories down and wait.

"Really? Must have been an interesting child…" and she seems an impatient one, muses Nightwing, as she jumps down. A brief check to his cell to see where is the delivery person. Okay, close enough.

Because Nightwing shouldn't be seen on the streets, instead of above. But he makes an exception and swings down as a small electric car appears around the corner. He gives a fifty to the surprised driver, retrieving two large styrofoam mugs. "Keep the change."

Nothing to see here. Just the remnants of a shoot out next block over littered now with casings and cops. On this one, just some funny looking 'kids' in unitards ordering coffee, one more alcohol then espresso. It's cold!

"Interesting child or interesting childhood? Both are possible if you are only hearing about it, not living it." The cup is sipped from, tested for the heat and scalding possibilities before she nods, downs more.

"Thanks for more memories." And Ravager is turning to walk down the street and away.

Nightwing sips his latte. Hot! "Interesting childhood," he explains. "With the swords and the guns and martial arts. Leading to a mercenary life in tight chain mail armor. But hey, I can't say I don't understand, I am a costumed vigilante in blue Kevlar. My childhood was interesting too." But Rose is leaving, so he sneaks towards the closest alleyway before one of the cops hauling injured thugs into police cruises or ambulances looks their way. Smelly place, but the coffee scent is stronger.

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