Hot Pursuit

April 25, 2017:

Spoiler gets a bead on Ravager and Lady Mastermind, but find herself in an odd exchange of many proportions and vulgarities! (SEMI NSFW-LANGUAGE (R))

//Red Hook- Gotham //

Between residential and the Gotham River's warehouse activity Red
Hook is a squalid smear of homes, low brick-like structures and storage
facilities. The location is surprisingly stable despite the rundown, crime
ready look of the landscape. With a steady influx of harbor work, the
Warehouse District is predominately controlled by the Irish Mob of Gotham,
this whole area is sometimes referred to as "The Cauldron" almost every
business and residential complexes in the Cauldron are owned by some
criminal element or another that has ties directly to the Irish crimelords
of Gotham. The Warehouse district is busy, productive and secure, keeping
work in and out of Gotham's western shores very active.
Renfield Heights is a giant tenement complex here that sprawls out
along the short stacked buildings, warehouses and structures. The Gotham
Central Terminal is also situated here. If you wanted to get to any location
in Gotham along the monorail the best starting point is Red Hook.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: The Flash, Deathstroke, Alex Danvers, Harley Quinn,Taskmaster

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Ravager had done what she did… Some things are done to prove, and some things fell in line..

A line delineated by mercenary hirees that know too much. And know how to play with loose cannons and fractured triggers that are seconds away from being considered broken. Or hair-triggered.

But in Colgate a hotel has been put under a rule by the chaos that took it over alone, perhaps whispers let others know of the sudden pulse the large hotel is under. Reservations being cancelled, recalled…

No refunds!

No take-backsies!

But from the parking garage of the hotel a beastial ROAR omits, the weather permitting now in Gotham for the Tomahawk to be brought out and Ravager is bursting from the lower deck of the VIP part of the garage with a passenger clad akin to her, but different all the same…

Blonde and platinum fly is separate lengths while a bee-line cuts across Colgate towards Red Hook…

Rose has a few things to gather from her apartment and to make the hotel room her home her things need gathered.

Yes, apologies need made, as even the uzzle that had her cross Spoiler's path was put fully together, but knowing the other woman survived! Was enough for Ravager right now as she barrels down Gotham by-ways with Regan riding…

Bitch!

Fitting.

Five feet, nine inches of blonde in five feet of leather. Now, the girl with the normal-colored blonde hair, the more yellow of the two, isn't adverse to crazy vehicle antics. This Ravager knows, but the bubble of laughter that escapes her at the hellish speed they escape the VIP garage is something new altogether. Long, straight strands of blonde hair and the faintest hint of script tattooed beneath a ribcage pressed hard to Ravager's back…Regan Wyngarde hangs on for the ride.

Riding bitch indeed. The svelte blonde is doing her best to hold on, but she's not above twisting around and lifting an unladylike finger at a car that Ravager's motorcycle had to weave around to get from point A to point B. Making all kinds of noise and rude gestures, the tinier blonde rolls her eyes and reaffirms her grip on the international assassin.

Because when international assassins hang out with international thieves, internationally, bad things happen.

Stephanie was losing her mind. She knew she was. Her leg was healed up. Only twinged now and then. But school. School was eating her face and she couldn't get away. Of course, suiting up used to bring a sense of driven freedom. Lately though… She was torn.

It had been weeks since Spoiler was spotted. And yet, here she was tonight, on her skycycle, patrolling slowly, thoughts else where when… that engine. She knows the sound of that engine! Looking down, the aubergine batling frowns, plum colored lines pressing into an unpleasant line.

Ravager.

Nudging her bike forward, Spoiler follows… a hundred yards up.

The loud HONK of horn is ignored as they literally skid from the garage and the night causes the Tomahawk to cast a light glow of red along the 'crete of the street beneath. Tanker boots trapped and modified to heels crank a gear shift her hands defy with the throttle of the handles, cutting off one to intercept two and cause a ruckus!

But this is normal now-a-days and the shifted grip from Regan has Ravager laughing, a bark eaten in the wind but cast skyward…

Spoiler above is not noted for the moment but as a radar in the bionic left-eye unladen by a patch flickers, there is a sudden down-shift in gears…

Ice-cream truck chimes in head….

"We have a tail…" Of course Spoiler knows the sound… It was the 'cycle that reversed and tried to drag her skycycle our of the sky by grappling hook back when..

Gears shift, something clicks and a booted foot drops, sparks flying from heel as a blade reticulates and pivots from embedding suddenly bucking the twin-blondes into an alley.

"So… I fucked with a Batling and her man.." Ravager briefs Regan now as they fly down a path of shadows and trash-cans get kicked out of the way…

"You saw my dad? It was a trap, bait… Long story short… I aimed to (im)press the wrong people… We got said Bat!" And Ravager owes her an apology, but right now?

Jesus tits…

Timing is key!

"Hah, hah, hahhhhh…you shoulda seen the look on that guy's face." Regan yells out over Ravager's shoulder, her laughter every bit as condescending and sardonic as the blonde, herself is. Her ruby, painted lips snap open, about to say something loudly, but she squeaks instead as the word around her becomes sparks and the angry jolt of the bike changing course.

"…oh god I felt that." Regan murmurs, then glances back down the alleyway, trying to find this tail Ravager is talking about. "What? Where?!"

Twisting at the waist, Regan doesn't think to look up yet, face scrunching up in concentration on the shadows. That's where the bats come from, right? "Ohmmygod, you poked the Bats? I knew you were fucking fearless, but that's pretty fucking fearless and…" Regan leans in, whispering. "…I have a bomb somewhere in my arm, so if I throw myself off of the bike and leave you and the bats to play, nothing personal, alright?" Regan snorts. No. She's not throwing herself off at this speed. "Fuck it. What do I do? Shoot? Hold on? Call my lawyer?"

Down-shift. She's trying to shake me. Which means she's spotted me.

Spoiler frowns, giving chase as she keys her systems to trying to find whatever frequency Ravager is using… s she can hack it. Because dropping an EMT down on the two would be a death sentence at these speeds, but a twitter like hashtag filled text message at the frequency… Alright. That's hella stupid, Steph! You don't even know if she's using a HUD or if she's on the run from…

Spoiler hazards a glance where Ravager had turned from. Is there someone on her tail? Because some one making this sort of person bolt like this? Probably a much bigger fish than what Ravager is to Spoiler. Which would mean dealing with THAT before even attempting anything… Or tagging them both and alerting… someone.

Dammit, who's even in TOWN right now? Tim's off being… Tim. Not something Steph wanted to think about. Dick's a dick like always. Babs was god knows where and Batman… last resort.

Spoiler keeps pace, leaning into her bike, ready to dodge grapple hooks. Catch me once, shame on you. Catch me twice…

The bounce off the curb is felt by -both- of them! A jostle of bodies and cats howl, metal clatters, people yell!

But that does not stop the monstrous roar of the cycle going down alleyways! No one else on her tail, but she was not about to hang Regan out to dry for her past, so the blur of explanation has to do and Regan's response..?

The smile flashes teeth, but they grind down as they burst across a street and rebound off the bumper of a cab, sent into a direction that has them in an alley that has no exit, the pale bionic eye flashing white beneath the patch as she pivots and the roar becomes a waiting purr, pulsating.

"No lawyer, yet. I owe her. No one else. Her boyfriend however can eat a bag of…"
ROAR!

"Come on down….Parlay!" And with that the patch is snapped upward, the light green biotic pupil fading.

A whisper back to Regan. "If she plays hard… Use the bomb and call your lawyer…"

"Wait." Regan huffs as the cycle comes to a stop. Knees pinching together, because the purr beneath is like sitting on a washing machine filled with bricks, Regan tries to get her head about herself. "I knew I should have packed heat on the trip. Okay. Whatever." Huff. Regan leaves one arm wrapped about Ravager's hips while the other tries to work out a tangle in her hair. "There's more than one Bat? I heard he was a HE."

Bewildered, the international thief and blackmail specialist looks around the alley and pats the front of her corset, making sure her cell phone didn't fall out of it when they hit the curb.

"You owe me." Regan mutters under her breath, though she smiles with the tone in her voice. She's about to meet a BAT. "I might use the bomb, I might not, but if she plays hard and starts wigging out, you'll know when to drive." Regan pauses, a beat, laughing against Rose's shoulders. "Fuck you I'll try to catch a cab in this hood."

Parlay?

Really?

Spoiler hesitates, studying the scene. Her skycycle set to hover-wait, the aubergine batling slips a leg sidewise. She's got her full kit. She's tired but not fatigued. But she's out numbered. And if she drops down without her bike, she'll be out classed.

But Ravager said Parlay…

We are NOT pirates!

Aw hell.

Spoiler leaps from the bike, using grapple and fire escapes to get herself down to the second story. She lands a little heavier than a batling should, and that's all Ravager's fault!, but it's quiet enough. Her black and smoky purple cape settles about her, blonde hair bright against the dark colors of her suit.

"I'm listening."

That voice is too young to be an adult batling. At only twenty, Steph nevertheless has a youthful sounding tone, even she she's trying ther best to growl. Like a tiny fluffy month old kitten trying to growl. This is why no one takes her seriously.

Ravager has the eyepatch!

…She wins that debate.

Regan's words and lean forward while Spoiler hovers just above them have the platinum blonde leaning back, a manner that presses leather clad shoulders into the woman's chest, but bows the small of her back forward just enough to slide her hand between them. Not Getting Fresh.

But the barrel of her Glock as it is drawn from the holster at her spine, bumps her thigh in the smooth press to settle it there between - may just feel like it! "Never leave home without some."

But when Spoiler does join them, Ravager leaves the mate to the glock in the holster, resting at an angle just over the hilts of two rather large knives tucked horizontally beneath along the small of her back like a deadly tramp-stamp. "Looks like the leg is getting better." A pause and Ravager rocks forward her eyes flicking to all vantages, she spun here because she had better scopes. Deathstroke's daughter indeed.

"I am not going to say sorry, not when you talk like that, but I am going to say misunderstandings won't happen again."

Beat.

"On one condition, Bitty Bat."

A glance back to Regan and Ravager smirks. "The cabs here even look sticky."

Regan finally catches the movement up above her. Her pointed chin cuts a line through Ravager's platinum hair. There's no second guessing it, the scent of whatever shampoo Rose Wilson used that day was ten times better than the beer-and-urine smell of the alleyway. It's like a gas mask. Regan breathes in slowly. So much better, there.

"I don't need bullets when you're around." Regan mutters to her partner in crime, eyes drifting closed and knees tightening under the rumble of the bike alone, but the drift of Ravager's hand and the drawing of a weapon brings a smile to the sociopathic mall-girl's lips. Her knee, opposite Rose's side, brushes the outside of Ravager's leg in a signal of understanding.

"Now that…" Regan speaks up to the Batling's landing. Smiling as sweet as pie, she tucks a strand of her straight, blonde hair back behind her ear. "…was really impressive. God, I wish I'd taken ballet or something, being around all of these acrobatic people, I totes feel like a weirdo."

Regan shuts up as the parlay begins. The mutant knows her role. Ravager and Spoiler having rough history, she's the third to the party, the wildcard, and she delves into the role of the unknown. Her spine bends in a backwards arch, bending the line of skin down the center of her corset into view. One hand on the back bar of the motorcycle, she settles into a reclined, uncaring posture.

The proverbial psychopathic assassin in the action film, looking pretty until the order is given to 'sick 'em'.

The press and then recline of Regan behind her gets the message across indeed. Regan already knows how things tend to go. Sideways, but Regan's comment has Ravager snorting derisively. "Did you just insult the height of your Prada?"

Though when Regan leans back, Ravager rocks forward, his adjusting accordingly to keep her lightly arched over the hot tank of her Tomahawk while arms fold across the gauges and span of handlebars for prop. A single finger rises, fingerless gloves stretching around the fold of palm with a further groan of leather. "First off. I will eventually ensure to find a way to break your boy-toys hand in a manner speed wont fix. That wont be a misunderstanding. Or I will just break it every time I see him for funsies."

"Second. I made a prior accord with Nightwing during a tete-a-tete with him. If I am doing no harm to innocents, you all leave me and mine alone." Pause, the hotel, Red Hook. "What's mine is mine. We stay out of eachother's way and off radars. I'll be sure to ignore any with your face on them next time."

Seems fair enough? Right. But out on a typical joyride she wants to enjoy it and not have to waste bullets or blow herself up again to save her own ass from a Flash.

"My Prada's height is limitless." Regan breathes out the response with a roll of her blue eyes. Doing so behind Rose's back, she tightens her shoulder and her thin, less-than-muscular arm forms a solid line from shoulder to the 'wimpy bar' at the back of the cycle. "I could shop on the open market for old Blackwater boys, but they don't have this beast of a bike." Regan slaps her free hand to find the side of the Tomahawk's flank, like slapping the thing's backside.

Instead, she finds a hot pipe. Regan jerks her gloved fingers back and whaps them in the air, rubbing at the tips to soothe the burn.

"Gotta say, from a third party perspective, them's are some really reasonable parlay requests," Regan tsks and floats out her hand, exploding her fingers like she's dropping a mic when Ravager mentions Nightwing. "I don't know who you are, but you're a fellow blonde so I feel this kinship thing?" Regan extends her finger to Spoiler, then to herself. "But stayin' out of each other's business and the occasional face-punch to a boyfriend here and there? Small price to pay for not having to work on weekends and holidays."

The press and then recline of Regan behind her gets the message across indeed. Regan already knows how things tend to go. Sideways, but Regan's comment has Ravager snorting derisively. "Did you just insult the height of your Prada?"

Though when Regan leans back, Ravager rocks forward, his adjusting accordingly to keep her lightly arched over the hot tank of her Tomahawk while arms fold across the gauges and span of handlebars for prop. A single finger rises, fingerless gloves stretching around the fold of palm with a further groan of leather. "First off. I will eventually ensure to find a way to break your boy-toys hand in a manner speed wont fix. That wont be a misunderstanding. Or I will just break it every time I see him for funsies."

"Second. I made a prior accord with Nightwing during a tete-a-tete with him. If I am doing no harm to innocents, you all leave me and mine alone." Pause, the hotel, Red Hook. "What's mine is mine. We stay out of eachother's way and off radars. I'll be sure to ignore any with your face on them next time."

Seems fair enough? Right. But out on a typical joyride she wants to enjoy it and not have to waste bullets or blow herself up again to save her own ass from a Flash.

"My Prada's height is limitless." Regan breathes out the response with a roll of her blue eyes. Doing so behind Rose's back, she tightens her shoulder and her thin, less-than-muscular arm forms a solid line from shoulder to the 'wimpy bar' at the back of the cycle. "I could shop on the open market for old Blackwater boys, but they don't have this beast of a bike." Regan slaps her free hand to find the side of the Tomahawk's flank, like slapping the thing's backside.

Instead, she finds a hot pipe. Regan jerks her gloved fingers back and whaps them in the air, rubbing at the tips to soothe the burn.

"Gotta say, from a third party perspective, them's are some really reasonable parlay requests," Regan tsks and floats out her hand, exploding her fingers like she's dropping a mic when Ravager mentions Nightwing. "I don't know who you are, but you're a fellow blonde so I feel this kinship thing?" Regan extends her finger to Spoiler, then to herself. "But stayin' out of each other's business and the occasional face-punch to a boyfriend here and there? Small price to pay for not having to work on weekends and holidays."

Spoiler watches the two from her vantage on the second floor fire escape railing. It takes a lot for her to keep her lips from betraying her. It takes more for her to try to let go of other things. Finally, plum colored lips press together faintly before Spoiler licks them lightly.

"I want to know why. Why was I targeted?"

No mention, no reaction about the breaking of boyfriend's hand. Spoiler's not going to react. Not right now. later, maybe. But in front of this adversary? No. Must not be emotional.

The two, seem split like a tin and yang peeled apart, one reposed over the bitch-handle like a diva for her shoot, the other arched over the tank like a bike-who-knows-better, all the while Regan is -high 9's-, Rose is planting a booted foot over the throttle, but the heel does not settle to rock back and launch an assault of her own 9's!

People like you,
you live in a dream world.
You despise the outside,
and you fear you're the next one!!

Ravager glances to her buzzing phone, behind her, Regan is lofting her unhidden, above her head, smiling as manicured thumbs fly!!

"You did not answer my… shu'up!…" *textback*
"Question…" The phone is tucked away now and Regan is glaring holes into the back of platinum cranium.

"I will answer, but you firt Mini-Bat!"
"Leave us, and we leave you."

Behind the cowl, those white-lavender AR lens, blue-green eyes narrow. Stephanie swallows harshly.

"Fine," Spoiler agrees finally, mind already vowing to find Dick and kick him in that perfect ass of his for this. Okay, she really doesn't have the skill for it, but she can bake, and she's learning Alfred's cookie recipe. Stephanie doesn't NEED to kick his ass when plying him with sugary baked goods does the job just as well.

// It's in your dream.
There's just one question..
Should I kill??
… Or should I be left behind?!//

The accord is struck, and that patch that has recorded everything, since day one (save some fuzz), is revealed in a pale glow, the smile flashes a match of ivory teeth in a row despite being beneath split lip.

Cloud Connected!

"You see this bitch? She's one. Harley Quinn. Next. You'll see me with who counts…." And that list can be… Disturbing…
But if they need handled, she will do it. Unspoken, but said in the narrow meet of gaze between them.

"Why?" A kick back of heel that nearly rocks her back into Regan upon her rightful seating, reaching back to take up her Glock and holster it with a slide of affection, but not one most would assume by gesture alone!

Regan rights as well, one arm propping fore-length across the leather clad shoulders of Rose, smiling far more 'peach-ily' then Rose ever would, but that woman knows well her own effects, accented by the low drum f fingertips along the shoulder of Rose's maille'd coat. "Almost like Christmas, but the snow doesn't go black when it lands here," a glance around with a wrinkle of pristine bridge, crinkling the inner corners of Regan's eyes.
".. For once.."

Ravager glances back, the smile slow, but sometimes what Regan says in non-plussed truth, stings.

"I was baited. I watched the reel of My… Deathstroke… Taking down Your… Flash.." A moan of leather and cigarettes withdraw, offered about to each, before zippo *clicks* and ignites…

"You came up. We all were supposed to hang under the same noose, winners or losers. But some were given a price while others paid it." In more ways then one.

"I am still paying…" A glance back to Regan.
MIDDLE FINGER!

-Eye-roll-

"Emotions are bullshit."

Was that… an apology?? Let's not put stock in it.

Spoiler watches at the patch is pulled away and the faintly glowing eye is revealed. It's mildly disturbing, but Spoiler forces herself not to react to it.

"So the person that set your father on the Flash somehow put it in your head that attacking me was a good idea," Spoiler says, letting Ravager in on the fact that the aborigine batling knows the family ties of the woman before her. Because that is easier to parse than that list of names. Spoiler hadn't caught if Ravager had jerked her head back at Regan, but in retrospect she had to have. Spoiler's over tired. Finals can't come soon enough. And then a three week break before the summer semester starts.

No rest for the weary.

"I won't actively hunt you. Nor will I detour if you're spotted again, unless it looks like you're about to run over a child, someone I know and don't want run over, or it looks like you might need some back up," Spoiler starts. The harsh cant of her shoulders softens a back, head half turning away.

I know what it's like to have a criminal father. I kno the burning feel of trying not to be like him…

Spoiler turns back to look at Ravager.

I such be grateful I've been successful… so far….

"I don't like leaving people out to dry if there's something I can do to help them, or spoil the plans of the people after them. If you know Nightwing, you know enough about how we work."

As for emotions. Spoiler's cold thin-lipped glare softens, lips actually turning up in a soft toothless rueful smile.

"Sometimes… I guess they are."

Spoiler's words bring one of Ravager's hands up, two fingers, a peace sign, a split 'tween as her other clutches the clutch of her Tomahawk and brings the lulling beast to a ROAR once more before it lowers to a rumbling and growling purr, causing a shift in her own booted and planted feet.

Regan is up, one arm looping around Rose's waist, a press of lips to a single (middle) fingertip, her phone is tucked away by other hand…

"You look like you need a night…" A scrawl of numbers is put upon a discarded receipt kicked up by the throttle of the motorcycle, caught in fingertips and used only to be left back into the flutter of trash for Spoiler.

"Catch us on the flip side, unBatty, though!" Bounce quarter of Nightwing's ass and come party just to do it to others again!
Because… #meangirlsrule!

"We all do what we have to. Or need to…" Just let's not cross paths in such instances again…

The smile is reciprocated to Spoiler, the lowered hand serving to tuck Regan in tighter, the zippo fluid spattered along the ground beside them as the lighter casts her cigarette into a glow and then dies as the fluid is wasted upon the alley floor (where that number and trashed receipt /flutters/).

"We don't see things as they are. We see them as *we* are." Bullshit. For now…

Ravager's answer is given as the patch *snaps* back over her eye. "Forgive me JLA, but I don't believe in your /heroes/, for they have sinned." That beast kicks back up in throttle and when the back tire measuring a massive width kicks up the trash, rubble, and 'crete behind her and Regan - who is lifting her phone for a #meangirls selfie (maybe Spoiler in the Backdrop??), a flame is sparked and follows where lighter fluid was spilt.
Distraction!

Spoiler watches the two other blondes go, hearing Ravager's words, seeing the bit of flotsam left for her, with contact information. The distraction has Spoiler sighing and moving before she wanted to. She leaps from the railing, gliding to lightly land on the ground. Near silent steps take her to the zippo and the bit of refuse. She doesn't touch it. Instead, spoiler reads the number, watching as the numbers blur slightly in the lighter fluid. Numbers memorized for fifteen minutes, Spoiler straightens and steps back. She takes out her own phone, keying in the number as she waits for the little flame to erase the contact information from everything but her phone and the wind. And when the number is gone, Spoiler puts out the small fire, and collects the zippo for her own forensic evidence. Because Batling.

And then she grapples to her skybike and away.

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