Bludhaven's Own

December 19, 2018:

While making his rounds in Bludhaven, Nightwing crosses paths with a cool customer.



NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


Bludhaven. Gotham's uglier, bastard stepbrother. As bad as the other city can be, Bludhaven usually finds a way to do things worse. Sure, it doesn't have the sheer number of psychopaths that big brother has running around it's streets, but it makes up for it with an even high proponderance of crime. Like Gotham a decade a go, the crime families pretty much own the city, right down to the police. And unlike Gotham that at least has Bruce Wayne and the Wayne Foundation to provide some sort of bright light at the heart of things, no such glow exists in this forgotten city.

He doesn't get down this way as often as he once did. His job, his roving assignment for the charitable arm of Wayne Industries has made Dick Grayson something of a nomad as of late, going where the work is. And this week at least it has taken him back to one of his old stomping grounds. Hard as it is to imagine, he even somewhat misses this place. Not the sheer volume of corruption of course, nor the bleak hopelessness that seems to fill the very air. But Bludhaven was still a bit of a proving ground for him, a place to make a difference. A place that still needs that from time to time.

Which is why he has donned his masked and uniform, why he is out on the rooftops of the dilapidated city in the cold evening breeze, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in his patrol, a ready eye out for trouble…


The Bat gave her 24 hours to leave Gotham. She used those 24 hours, and as she promised, left. Lena was many things, but she always kept her word. Now it was time to find another playground. Her wanderings brought her here and in a way, it was a very welcomed sight. This was crime and villainy in a classical sense - it was glorious. She didn't know the names of the families here, nor who ran what on what street. To her, it didn't matter anyway.

Dressed in her wintry attire, she walks the sidewalks and darker alleys, smiling and embracing the cold chill of the season. Her boots thunk against puddles and slush alike as an oddly shaped gun rests against her shoulder. She glances in storefronts, window shopping to see if anything catches her eye. After passing a barred up jewelry shop, she backsteps and looks back between its security to what's inside.

Huffing a chuckle, she licks her dark lips and steps back, leveling the gun and firing off a brilliant blast of white-blue light. The metal cracks and pops as it freezes and rusts through. Finishing, she taps the bars with her finger, sending them shattering down to the ground. "Cool." She smirks.


It is the flash of light offered up by the hi-tech gun that attracts his attention as much as anything. Even in this, an only semi-rundown section of town it feels like half the street lights are burned out — or shot out — going unreplaced for long stretched of time as the bankrupt city government spends their limited funds on much less worth endeavors. So a sudden flare of light? Yeah, that's somewhat interesting. It could easily be nothing, but in all honesty it is a cool enough evening that Nightwing is just glad to have the excuse to keep in motion, to keep warm.

His progress across the rooftops is nothing less than uncanny, and seemingly impossible for a non-enhanced human being. But he has always been good with heights, as sure footed and confident as anyone and despite the cold weather the city remains untouched by the snow. So far. Which is probably for the best. It would seem like a blanket of white might improve the appearance of a city like Bludhaven. And indeed it does — for a few hours. Then it is reduced to a grey, slushy mess that somehow managed to make the city both uglier and more unpleasant.


Bars down, a window to go. Before this happens, however, she leans closer and looks into the storefront, dragging a gloved hand against the frost left behind to offer her a better view. She counts corners, darker places, any lights that might mark her arrival or trip some alarm. Humming, she turns away from the front and then heads down an ally, keeping her visored vision keen for some type of fuse box. She usually didn't hit up a place without doing her homework. Even when attempting to be spontanious, she couldn't kick some drilled in habits.

After circling, she catches a wire line, tracing it up and toward the building's roof. Sighing, she mutters a curse under her breath before clipping her gun against her thigh and starting to climb a thin, metal ladder up and toward the home power port for the building. "This is becoming more work than it's worth. I should pull a rookie and just go in, running like mad…" she considers, speaking to herself in a somewhat monotone voice.


While the flash of light might have come from a couple of blocks away, crossing that distance isn't so bad when you can travel in a straight line, ignoring the usualy obstructions that the city throws up to delay or detour. Long, ground-eating strides quickly carry the darkly-clad vigilante across the rooftops, past air vents and along narrow ledges until his pace finally slows as he nears the object of his curiousity. It's a building he knows well enough — it seemed to get robbed about every other week when he was a regular inhabitant of the city. To the point that he had to start to wonder if the owner was in on it. Peering down over the ledge, he can see the ice, the frozen remains of shattered bars and a frozen slides over his face. Strange. So far as he is knows, Victor Fries is locked up in Arkham right now.

Slowly circling the building's rooftop, he peers down into the alley at the side, those starlite lense inserts in his mask cutting through the gloom, lighting the world up as if it were day though cast in a greenish glow. Which is when he spots her. Well, well. Isn't this lovely. He was ready for muggers, for arsonists, maybe even some of the made men of the Bludhaven families. This, this was not what he was expecting. "Maybe you should just skip to the running part? I have to say, this place is more trouble then it's worth. The stuff they sell is gaudy crap."


Lena had just set her hand on the door of the fuse box when the voice came out. Blinking behind her slim, silver visors, she turns her head and looks off in the direction of Nightwing. Smirking, the wind brushes against the fur of her parka's hood, tickling it against her pale cheeks and causing stray sweeps of jet hair to dance about. "Gaudy? It looked pretty to me. Maybe they got a new shipment in." Her gloved fingers tap against the box before she opens it and gives the circuits the once over. Humming, she steps back, leaving the door open as her other hand calmly settles down and toward the gun on her thigh.

"Let me guess, are you the wise-cracking vigilante of this city? If so, do all cities crawl with your kind? Do you get a discount at the local coffee shop?"


Perched up on the edge of the building Nightwing is a whole lot less gargoyle-esque then his mentor, cutting a much less intimidating figure all things considered. The sheer mass is not there, nor is that classic silhouette that has struck fear into man cowardly and superstitious criminals. Even the gravelly, threatening voice is forsaken for a lighter touch, something a little more him. "I like to think of myself more as a citizen of the world," he retorts cheerfully. "Whereas you've already been run out of Gotham. Unfortunately for you, Bludhaven isn't looking a whole lot friendlier, is it?" he adds with that almost irritating pleasantness. It would appear that he is not unaware of her encounter with Gotham's Dark Knight. The advantages of being part of a family no doubt.

For all the seeming irreverance, the lighthearted bantering he is still the first of Batman's partners, with all the training that that entails. He is a detective and more importantly he is an observer. He sees her fiddling with the fuse box, sees that hand go towards that unique weapon. "Let he who has superior taste in jewelery cast the first stone," he intones wisely, just an instant before there is a flash, moonlight glinting off of sharpened metal as a winged-shaped throwing knife embebs itself in the frame of the fusebox, just inches from her hand. "Fortunately for you, I'm not in the habit of carrying around stones. But I do have other toy-surprises."


"Run out? Oh, no. I left. Word of warning or not, the Bat of Gotham slipped. Dropped the ball, as it were. Who tells someone to walk and then allows them to rob a number of places blind?" Tsking, she shakes her head slowly, pressing her tongue against the back of her teeth. "And since you didn't answer my question, I'm going to take that as a 'yes'." When he moves she tenses, honestly not use to dealing with people of speed, regardless of being from Central City. The wings pierce the box, and with a crackle and pop of electricity, she snatches up her gun and levels it Nightwing's way. It hums and glows to life, the triangular shaped barrel burning bright.

"Well, I do so /love/ toys. And surprises."


For all that he has been trained by Batman they have very different styles. Nightwing of course is much more chatty, more then happy to engage in chatter as he fights. And he's much more cheerful. Like, much, much more cheerful. Not that the Dark Knight particular sets a high bar on that score. But where Batman is strong and frequently brutally efficient, Nightwing is a cat — fast, graceful… and with the occasional tendancy to play with hius food. As that strange weapon comes up, he is already in motion, scamping across that rooftop ledge as if it is the middle of the street, not a footfall out of place despite the fact that the ledge is barely as wide as his feet. "Well then, I guess I'm just going to make your week," he notes cheerfully, a pair of his wingdings hurled as he moves. For a moment it seems like his aim is off, the oddly shaped throwing knives missing her entirely and slamming into the fusebox instead, cutting a pair of wires. Oooops, right? Or not so much as a moment later a loud alarm begins to blare, filling the street and alleyway with it's own particularly annoying brand of music.


Lena shifts, watching his movements with care. She was a smart one, calculating patterns as they were being formed. The ringing of the alarm doesn't seem to bother her much, in truth, cops were easier than guys in masks anyday of the month. Still smiling, still smirking, the girl aims the gun downward, firing off and starting to blanket the entire roof top with a sheet of ice. It crackles and spiders out from its base point, shifting and groaning as it continues to grow. "Ah, music for the dance. How romantic of you." A step off the concrete and she shifts to the frozen shelf, sliding around with her own grace and knowhow. Gliding, she shifts her sights, aiming now for the bird in black and blue.


While he is as sure footed as anyone and certainly not adverse to a risk or two, running across an ice-covered ledge does not really seem like a winning proposition, not if he doesn't have to. Besides, he thrives on unpredictability which is why as that ray of blue-white energy threatens to catch up to his perch, he simply leaps from it, hanging in mid-air for a moment, a trapeze artist without a trapeze. Fortunately he doesn't need one. Instead he stretches out, at the last minute grabbing hold of the fire escape railing across the alleyway, using it to slow his fall. Tucking, he drops in a somersault as plunges towards the ground. As he drops, a triop of gelatin capsules proceed him, smooshing against the pavement and unleashing a billowing patch of smokey vapor to fill the alley a moment before he lands beside an overflowing — and rather stinky — dumpster. As prone to chatting as he is, he offers no quip now. He's not dumb afterall. There's little point in concealing himself if he is simply going to give away his position.


Releasing the trigger, she slips across the roof before finding the upper round of the ladder that took her skyward in the first place. It was in these times that she missed Central City. It was also in these times that she loved her life. Giving the metal a fresh slick of frost, she glides down using her gloves and the sides of her boots, decending rapidly. Landing, her knees bending, she straightens up once more and eyes down her sights, sweeping in an attempt to find her hidden foe. He was right, this place wasn't worth it, especially now with it blaring out into the street.

A step back, and then another, the girl pivots and starts running down the narrow passage between buildings. This wasn't fast enough from what she'd seen of him already, so gun down, she takes to gliding with a trail instead of using rubber to concrete.


The mist does it's job, obscuring him from ready sight, blanketing the alleyway in wispy vapor that cuts down line of sight to almost nothing. At least it does for anyone who doesn't have starlite lense inserts in their mask. For him, she is still clearly outlined in that greenish glow — well, mostly. The sheer cold emitted by that unusual weapon definitely plays a little havok with those lenses. Still, it's enough. As she turns to takeoff, abandonning the, at best mildly impressive haul offered by the local jewelery shop, Nightwing steps out from behind the dumpster and reaches for one of the escrima sticks fastened to his back. She's quick, especially using that ice that way and he only has an instant. Which is exactly when the sound of several gunshots cuts through even the alarm blaring across the street. More follow, from several blocks away and Nightwing whirls, the moment lost. Track down a would-be thief — even one with a weapon like that? Or deal with whatever is causing that kind of gun violence? It's not even a question. Without so much as a backwards glance, the darkly-clad young man tears off in the opposite direction. Hopefully Bludhaven has seen the last of that particular thief. But if not, well, he's in town for a couple more days at least.

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