The Things We Want

February 19, 2017:

Angel meets a denizen of Gotham, one he's met before wearing a different mask but doing the same things

The Cauldron - Gotham

Irish Mob ruled territory.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Selina got back to her 'abode' and researched Worthington deeper, the reflection and glow of the laptop screen something that almost made those emerald/blue eyes deeper.

"Oh, for fucks sake," An exhale and that hand smears over her face, pressing down as she reads what Warren the Third has done with his "inheritance". The very thing she sought to steal but from his new Gotham extension.

"Yep. Black Knights. White Knights." The laptop lid clips shut loudly and the upper level of the Club is yanked open while her suit zips up, the reflection of exposed moonlight on it almost metallic over sleek shadows and contours.

One glove is on, the other dangling from lips as clawed hand snaps out and the whip coils around the opposing post across the street from the Club and Catwoman is gone from the room with bass beneath her feet as performances commence.

No one knows how to say that they're sorry,
Don't worry, I'm not telling lies.

No regrets in the way she exits, though, swinging across East Ends high-rise-line, and when looked up to the people feel at ease. Here.

But when she reaches the edges, Catwoman looks out across the horizon, up towards the zeppelins, the unlit signals direction, and then towards the brighter lights that are her… opportunities.

No, Worthington Industries is now left alone until other measures are necessary. But for now there are seedy pockets lined for the taking. Looser.

An hour later, there is no alarm as the vent over an exhaust escape is kicked open and one booted leg extends, followed by the sleek flow of body in a motion that seems natural to an unnatural sight.
…But the minute that vent hit the ground a light flickers, flares, sparks and emits a large plume of gas that has her leaping back and off the roof of the building to evade!

A crack of whip and Catwoman is doing as she does with grip upon the bag of goods… Wing and prayer…
With 5 lives left… Or is it 4?

Warren needed to get out and into the skies. Little did he realize that the heavy parlor of pollution that hangs over like a depressive haze over the city would force him to higher flights of fancy. His wings kick as he moves through the air, riding the unnatural air currents and heat from below as he goes over one cityscraper, just as there's a loud hiss and Angel sees the figure leaping away from the building.

Cutting his wings, the avian mutant watches the figure for a moment before he swoops in to watch her a bit closer. He's tailing her for now, attempting not to cut her off. He'll follow her to the roost - obviously the figure is feminine, decidedly so - and once she's settled, that's when he'll pounce. It's a plan that has a lot of merit as he curves gracefully around a building to keep her in sight.

The whip catches, the Cat-woman in her fall from several stories suddenly goes from splayed to limp, her body snapping into a swing that has her going from a loss of gravity to a swing into a somersault, flipping into a land upon a lower rooftop. The crouch has the bag falling between planted boots, one hand over, the other upon knee as the whip recoils with a crack to loose and commence escape!

But now bullets kick up pock-marks in the sides of the building and across the roof as pursuit is had for the moment.

Gangsters bearing the colors of the Irish upon the ground and at her back. But this? Only causes Catwoman to smile as those goggles are brought down over her eyes and her run across the rooftop ends in yet another leap, scaffolding of a nearby half-built building catching the whips coil, easing her run along the side of the broken brick as if gravity was not a thing.

The Angel above was not yet noted, as adrenaline pumps and the race is on in a speed that easily brings her up in a jump - just in time to miss the semi-auto spray of bullets at her heels!

The gunfire changes things. Angel becomes more alert, and sharper on the turn. As the Irish men fan out, Warren waits. Though he does watch the woman on the run and the way she looks. Who wouldn't enjoy that? However, she's in trouble. Focus, Warren.

And that aforementioned one man that broke off to try to take a shortcut to try to cut off Catwoman's escape. As he comes into view, he swoops down at near 200 miles per hour as he slams into the man, knocking him to the ground and quickly takes him down, before pulling into the shadows as Catwoman comes by. Hopefully she doesn't notice his presence.

Though one of the human sized pinions of white that were left on the roof of the building may alert her to the presence of another.

The gunshots trail and Catwoman is about to lose them with the alacrity in which she moves from building to building, rooftop to rooftop…

But not without aid it seems… As gunfire leaves her heels and silences across the streets of the Cauldron as she skirts the precipice of territories to loop around her own.

Pausing on an eave Catwoman takes in a deep breath and shoulders the bag but a body goes skidding by beneath her roost. Bats or Birds? A perk of brow and that shouldered bag of stolen goods, stolen from stealers is set aside. "Damn it all…" The voice rolls forth in an irritated rumble before Catwoman comes to ground, meeting others that pace and circle, wary not only of who they encircle but who they don't.

"Alright boys… This is my doing. Reel it back." Her posture rights and is aristocratic in poise, but all the while the hand extended bears a flash of claws, the other a whip that cracks in multiple snaps across the ground to reign in focus and give her heroic 'Angel' a chane to flee! (If they -ever- do!)


A reel and one man opens fire on Catwoman while the other remaining two bum-rush her physically, her flip aside landing her with a loop of legs around ones shoulders, flinging him back and towards another…

Yet keeping him from being gunned down in friendly fire… Caution executed.

The guy goes skittering along the rooftop, as the other gangster moves out of the way. He screams as he goes over the edge, but after a moment, a pair of familiar white wings and lithe frame, swoop up, carrying the man by the back of his jacket. "You know that littering's against the law, right?" Warren asks as he holds the gangster and sets him aside, his wings surely a distraction, maybe.

(Probably not.)

With the other gangster's attention torn, Warren takes to the air again, moving quickly to avoid the gunfire as he gives Catwoman a chance to do her own fleeing - because cats are never loyal, are they?

Normally, a cat would flee when the visual is torn and two are on the ground with one beneath her boot, at least his jacket held there by the hell of her boot.

Behind goggles those eyes flash upward and recognize the spread of wings, her upper lip recoiling… A flash of teeth and she turns away, walking into the darkness of the alleys and the lighting crack of a whip heralds an exit….

Another CRACK! comes closer to home, the one man the 'Bird' has let suddenly bears a black leather-roped hide around his torso, a shocked yelp! and the gun fires in a spray untamed and more towards the ground/rooftop just before his body is up-ended and drug across the gravel and into the shadows.

"These are not your grounds!" The feminine voice ends on a hiss after a few blows, and peeling from the darkness that figure clad in the same darkness is revealed with a reflection of light against body-suit.

In one hand that whip coils around clawed and gloved fingers, in the other those goggles are adjusted over eyes.

"Litter, a frequent crime here and one of the lesser." An up-down scan of slow ascendance and Catwoman smiles, but keeps her distance - just out of arms reach.

"And yet you insist…." A pause and her chin up-tilts lightly as those hazel eyes watch him, narrowed behind goggles reflection.

"What do you want of Gotham, Angel?" Calling him by his name(?), without knowing such.

This Cat is a Cat of a different color.
She's still a black cat. Even with the show of white flesh she offers. Preparing to wheel on the remaining man, Catwoman's whip catches him off guard, even as it takes out the last one. Then she's storming at her, making her demands of him.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't try so hard to draw attention to yourself." he says as he looks down at her. "I was just out to stretch my wings when you decided to make the world light up." he says as he considers her. He knows her, from the news. The reports.

But not as the same woman that worked so hard on him at the office. "…and when did this become your ground, Catwoman?" he asks with a lift of a blonde brow. "Not that I think the 'Batman' would mind if you were helping him.." A glance towards where she stashed her bag was hidden. "…if you indeed were." he says as he folds his arms over his chest to watch her warily. "I'm figuring out what I want from Gotham, the question is.."

"…what do you want of yourself?"

"The world is my oyster," Catwoman states with a smile, a play upon lips that dimples at one corner while the empty hand rises and fingers curl inward, a flash of claws… A beckoning perhaps?

And she is gone! Snapping and ascending towards where he looked, towards her bag of loot she had worked this hard for, and for her own purpose. Her and the Irish have never gotten along. Ever. But then again, Cat!

"The Bats and the Cats, we have an alliance… Of sorts." Stated as she adjusts her gloves in a near preening manner that has her hand slowly descending along the length of gloved arm while lightly glancing back towards this Angel.

"Are you another seeking redemption in the dark that is Gotham and her people?" A brow rises over the goggles, a scar there, but this time along the up-lift of chin the pale glimpse of throat bears a contrast of past as well. A litany.

"I know what I want. Do you?"

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