14271/A Game of Cat and Bat - Round Two

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A Game of Cat and Bat - Round Two
Date of Scene: 27 February 2023
Location: Fangtasia
Synopsis: Victor finds Kate on his turf and unprepared, and leaves her with a message.
Cast of Characters: Kate Kane, Victor Creed




Kate Kane has posed:
    Sometimes Kate just needs to get away. Fade into a crowd and just be an anonymous face amongst many. This is difficult. Charity galas? Oh, they're boring, dreadful things with the anonymity of fading into other ultra wealthy socialites. But it's work. She's got to keep up The Act. Patrol? It's literally what she sees as her job. It's not relaxing, being on the hunt, keeping that radar up constantly, to say nothing of managing any actual radar from drones and tech. But where's a pale redhead to go to blend in?

Kate figured that out awhile back. Fangtasia. Is it a cheesy bar? Yes. Does she actually enjoy playing up the ridiculous gothic vampire aesthetic? No. Fortunately, black leather works well enough with pale skin and crimson red hair, so Kate's choice of casual wear just needs some tweaking. The jacket's black leather with a gleam to it, her shirt underneath has more ruffles than she'd normally enjoy, which is to say, it has any ruffles. The sleek leather pants aren't actually that different than her usual attire though. A little tighter, laced instead of a typical zipper and snap, but tight fabric is tight fabric, and the batsuit's kind of... you get used to it.

And so Kate's taken a roadtrip to NYC, ditched the batsuit, her cell phone, hell she hasn't even got her ID. She's got Stacy Ellis's ID. But it' okay. Stacy's not real, so she won't mind.

And Kate's been letting a little loose. Not the kind of loose that makes her friends worry. A couple of drinks at single strength, bracketed by plenty of soda with grenadine. It's 'blood' for the vampire bar, you see. It doesn't taste good, but hey, it's for the aesthetic.

And now, as she leaves the bar, she finds herself strolling down unfamiliar streets. focused on finding her way... sure, NYC's just a big grid, but if you don't remember the address of the hotel, that's only so goddamn helpful. And focusing on it is enough to dull the senses. But hey, no one's got a bone to pick with Stacy Ellis. She didn't even hit on anyone tonight. Just vibed to the music.

Victor Creed has posed:
    It had been a while since Victor Creed had caught that scent. But not long enough that the memories had faded. Fond memories, in as much as he has any. Unfinished business, and the delightful taste of something vital. A good healthy mix of determination and stubbornness. He liked that. And a lack of fear. Which meant that the taste of fear, once earned, would be all the sweeter.

    He had caught a whiff of it on the air, and by the time he tracked it down he found the vampire bar. It amused him, to think of that. The smells that emanated from that place. He had half a thought to go in after her, but he was not convinced that he could make it in and find her amongst all of the other blood and other odors that he could tell hid behind there. And so instead, he did what most of those that he had in common did - he found a spot to lie in wait. He had a certain amount of patience, when he was on the hunt. And tonight, it was definitely a hunt.

    When the bat emerges from the vampire club, a certain irony in that making Victor grin, he waits to see where she goes. As perfect as it could possibly be, she seems unfamiliar with the streets. He suspected her home was Gotham, so seeing her here might be to his benefit. He leaps up to the fire escape, and moves along, keeping his eyes focused on her. Will she deviate from the street on her own? Or will he need to find a way to draw her to an alley? He can think of a few things that might get the 'hero' to go charging off into unknown dangers. She seems to type to need little provocation for that.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate's muttering under her breath, breathing a little heavy, her steps are short, snappy, sharp... she's not hiding her body language right now, because she's not Kate Kane, or Batwoman, she's just Some Woman walking down the street at night, who's getting turned around in the unfamiliar city. And being cut off at a couple of crosswalks by taxi cabs in classic New York fashion? Her bellowed 'Hey! I'm Walkin' here!!' when she slams her hand down on the cab doesn't read like amused movie reference.

    And while she's not hiding her motions, there are definite readable ones. Those dark alleys do draw her attention, a few times she slows, like she's rummaging in a pocket. But each time it's at the sight of figures down an alley, a pause before they're revealed as restaurant workers spilling out of a hot kitchen for the end of the night. A couple drunks who are clearly known to each other. Each is appraised, confirmed to not be a problem, and on she goes.

    Eventually she hits a sidewalk and street blocked off by barricades... as though the gushing geyser of water from a broken main wouldn't do that. Kate's not feeling like wading through knee-deep icy water, and that's it. She spins around and ducks into an alley between two apartment buildings that could have been erected any time in the last centure, either as 1910s modern, or 1990s or 2000s retro.

    They're faithful reproductions though, the alley's a block long with all of three barely glowing light bulbs above fire exits, spaced out along the length. Great.

    This goddamn city.

Victor Creed has posed:
    Always looking for trouble. That is one thing Victor can count on with the heroes. As he keeps moving silently at the rooftops above where Kate is walking, watching her for signs of anything he can use - she does not appear to be inebriated, which is all for the better - he eyes those alleyways. Up ahead, he takes note of a few that may be better than most. Does he have the time to find someone and drag them off ahead, and create a situation that she will have to chase? Maybe.

    And then she does him a favor all her own. Water, usually an enemy of his, or at least, his likeness. Serving him well today. He bounds across to the building as she moves to take down the alleyway, and sniffs the air. Not another soul anywhere near by that he can tell. The lights are dim, the alley is long. The situation is perfect.

    He crouches down, waiting for just the right moment. She approaches the halfway mark, and his body tenses. Right as she passes the middle light, he drops down from above, claws scraping on the bricks as he lands just two steps behind her, a quick slash exploding that light bulb to plunge the alleyway into further darkness.

    "Hey darling. You still owe me a dance."

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate hears motion above her, something falling. No. Claws. Bricks. Something... shit. Someone.
    She spins around, white skin and shirt practically glowing in the dark between her dark jacket and pants, and the alley itself. "Hey pal! I don't know-" The words aren't her voice. They're... higher pitched, accent more west coast valley girl than Batwoman's cold, commanding and dispassionate tones. But they cut off as her eyes widen as that claw swins for the light. Shit.

    Before the bulb even showers her with glass, the glow practically still fading, she's executing a smooth backflip, her right leg extended and snapping up. It's half a move to buy space, and half designed to drive the toe of her boot into his jaw. The benefits of modern vampire chic. Everyone expects the muscular redhead to have heavy boots.

    She just regrets that, you know, the boots don't really make the batsuit. It's all in the belt.

    Jason might make some crack to Creed about blah blah, I was /born/ in the dark. Kate's not really in the mood for that. Kate's not at home, hasn't got that dizzying array of gadgets and tech. It's no time for the witty banter and measuring strikes.

    So Kate gives him the dance he wants, after that backflip, she surges in, crouched low, left hand leading, right hand following in a jab-right cross combo.

    There's not going to be any banter, not while she's running through her past several days. She knows who he is now. Victor Creed. Sabretooth. Not exactly hard to pick out of a database of photos. But why is he here? She's here on a night out, and they crossed paths? What're the odds?

Victor Creed has posed:
    Was Victor expecting a quick attack instead of a witty retort? Probably not. He has been tangling with the cape and tight set long enough that he just expects a lot of back and forth. He was never much one for it, so he appreciates the down to business attitude that Kate has. Even as he feels her boot sock him in the jaw, his fangs puncturing his lips.

    That surprise leads to him absorbing both the left and the right, which in combination with his own fang causes quite the explosion of blood from his mouth. Probably enough to even let the girl think that she has some kind of chance against him. He decides to add some theatrics, and staggers back a bit.

    "Lucky shot," he says, licking the blood off with his tongue as he watches her. Yes, in the darkness he definitely has the advantage of vision, his feline-like eyes glowing slightly in the limited light refracted from the bulb in the distance behind her. "Care to push your luck?"

    He advances on her slowly, waiting to see what her next move is. He knows he is faster, stronger. And this time, she is not wearing that suit. Not that it stopped his claws from tasting her skin, but now there is so much less of her to unpeel.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Someone who knows Kate would probably be worried. On a couple of levels. Oh, sure, she's going up against a renowned mutant terrorist slash criminal slash kind of just general asshole. But she's also... off right now. There's not any personality there. It is, in fact, the absolute goal of hours of training, conditioning, lectures and lessons and physical torture. Kate is a weapon right now.

    Which is why there's no noise of taunting approval at the shower of blood, at the measured impact of fists and foot.

    She spins on her heel, swift, upper body dipping down like she's crouching into a sprint to run. But that spin continues as Victor strides in, momentum pushed to keep her swinging, as she rotates to her left her right leg extends to swing her heel around to aim a sharp kick at the side of Creed's knee. After all, he's faster. Stronger. She needs to slow him down. To run? Maybe. To win? Absolutely.

    Of course, the downside to Kate giving into nothing but conditioning and training is she's not thinking things through to their next logical conclusion. There's danger, Kate's trained to counter dangerous individuals. Therefore the training takes over. But Kate was trained to take out soldiers. Be they militarily trained, drug cartels, terrorists. But they weren't monsters. Not physically. They didn't have nightvision and heightened reflexes.

    Pressing her luck may have been a mistake, but Kate's not really thinking enough to grapple with the concept yet. Not while she's running on autopilot. It's going to take something to snap her out of it.

Victor Creed has posed:
    There is something about the silence that Victor appreciates as he watches the woman move. There is no glib banter like last time, no threats no posturing. She is taking his seriously. Focusing her attention. She takes him as the threat that he is. Good. That will make this all the more fun.

    He braces himself to take off after her as she turns around to run. The wise thing to do, of course. She was outmatched by him the first time, and she had all of her wonderful toys then. But then, no. It is a feint. A strike. He can respect that. A fighter to the end.

    Unfortunately for her, as well as she is trained, he has experience on his side. Lots of experience. Experience in more wars than any normal person could have possibly lived through. He reaches out to catch her leg as it swings at him, and with a slight step back he lets her leg clear his own, except he yanks it even further and completes the swing, lifting her from the ground and slamming the entirety of her body against the brick wall.

    He releases her leg, curious to see how much of an impact the wall has on her fighting style.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate's autopilot is thrown off by... well, something her training never covered. Hundreds of counter moves, dozens of martial arts. Her training never covered 'What if your opposition can swing you like a ragdoll?' Kate would, probably, think something about adding this to her training lectures. But she knows nows' not the time for witty inner monolog.

    No, now's the time for her back slamming into brick hard enough to crack mortar. She's pretty sure it didn't crack her ribs. Bruised? Oh. Definitely. Her head snaps forward, chin down, avoiding the back of her skull impacting the wall. She doesn't stick to it like a spider, she collapses onto cold pavement, hands getting under her, the leg that was just used as a lever drawing under her, the other being used to try and force herself up, as her right hand comes up, flinging a handful of melting slush at where she sees Victor's eyes.

    It might be the _wrong_ set of eyes, but she's pretty sure that set on the right looks less fuzzy, more real.

    She lets out a snarl, voice hoarse, breath rasping, "Not... a real good dancer, right? You don't have any style either."

    Yep, Kate's back in the pilot's seat. Apparently anger has taken over from training.

Victor Creed has posed:
    Victor admires the woman's form and composure. She knows how to protect herself from the wall, she pulls her leg back before he take another swing at it. She's good. For a human, she is damn impressive. Which just makes his all the more fun.

    He starts to lean down, prepared to grab at her. Maybe throw her around again, since that was fun the last time. And then she hurls slush into his face. It is not so much the pain as the sheer indignity of it that enrages him, even as the mix of snow and sediment from the ally gets into his eyes and causes a bit of a burning. It would have been a solid tactic, to be sure. But then she decides to drop her silent bit.

    Following the sound of her voice Victor lashes out with a taloned hand, not as much playing around anymore as now he is actually trying to injure, trying to slash at her torso just below the source of that comment as he answers her witty remark with a bestial snarl.

    If her goal was to make him angry, she was successful.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate's goal was, in fact, 100% to make him angry. It's only a split second before those claws catch her jacket and slice through it like butter that she realizes that might not be a good idea. And this jacket hasn't got a quick release, or hidden armored plating, or anything else.

    All it's got is Kate's reflexes, recoiling back, only to skid along the wall as she can't dodge as far as she'd like. Claws rend out of the remnants of her jacket, oh sure, the /other/ side is intact, but it's just making the tattered remnants hang around, and so she's shrugging it off, before the pain hits.

    Victor got a cut last time. He got three this time... and they're deeper. And her shirt's not exactly compressing ballistic fabric that slows blood flow, so in a few breaths that white blouse is showing pink along her side. If anything it makes it easier to contrast her pale skin to it. The skin's not soaking up blood.

    Now is the time for running. But not down the alley. Oh no, Kate's eyes snap up. Fire escape on the _other_ side of the alley. The ladder's up, but she's sprinting towards the wall, leaping to drive her sole against it. She doesn't need much... a few steps and she'll be able to grab the rungs. Impossible for most people. Merely unlikely for Kate. Plus, maybe she can yank the ladder down and brain this bastard with the bottom of the ladder. That usually messes up horror movie villains.

Victor Creed has posed:
    The scariest part of any horror movie villain is the calm relentlessness of their pursuit. Victor turns to watch Kate dash for the fireescape, content for the moment to feel the warmth of her blood trickle across his fingers. He glances briefly down at her jacket, to make sure that it is nothing worth paying attention to, and then he watches her ascent on the fire escape. He walks slowly over towards it, giving a few moments for the sting of the slush to fade from his eyes.

    He could chase her, beat her to the fire escape. Drag her back down. And maybe he risks her being faster than he expects, and taking a ladder to the head. That would do him no good. But he would rather her start to feel the success of escape. Let the adrenaline flow as her flight reflex kicks in, shifting gears from fight. Focus on ascending that fire escape as fast as she can, in the hopes that if she can get to the top, perhaps she might have position on him.

    Which will make it all the sweeter when he leaps from the ground to halfway up the side of the building, using his claws to scramble up alongside the brick surface faster than she can take the stairs. It will add a certain disappointment as her best efforts turn out to be too slow, and too short. And then the /real/ fun can begin.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate's grip on the fire escape is like iron, her shoulders burning... especially with her blood flowing, and her ribs stinging and... well, there's already a lot weakening her impressive strength. But not so much she can't get up the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time... and cursing as they're at just the most awkward fucking angle to have a steady, fast pace. People are supposed to use these things to outrun a goddamn fire?

    She's focused on mentally cursing out the fire escape, the building inspector, the person who invented fire escapes... when there's the sound of something moving in the air, and then that sound of claws gouging bricks again.

    Kate reacts on instinct, she grabs the railing of the fire escape and drives both legs into the wall... if she was at full strength, if she'd trained specifically for it... she might actually be able to kick the thing free of its bolts. Instead, all she gets is an ungodly metallic squeal, and a very dizzying sway of the metal.

    Her eyes dart to Creed, to the open air... back down a little over four floors to the ground.And it's about the same up to the roof.

    A rough cough racks her body, her eyes burning, lips twisting in a grimace, voice hoarse, raw. "So what, you want to fight on a fire escape? I'm not going to lie... that's... really not the kind of final showdown people talk about. Kinda... pedestrian, right?"

Victor Creed has posed:
    There is some form of appreciation for the moment as Victor brings his ascent to a halt as well, slashing his talons into a window sill above him to hang by one hand suspended above the alleyway. He can smell it on her. Determination, yes, but also the blood, so much blood, and sweat, and the very effort she has. She is no match for him.

    "Was planning to meet you on the roof, but you stopped," he says, grinning at her, blood dripping from his chin. His blood, most likely. But it does not seem to be deterring him. "You pick. You want to bleed out in an alley, or on a roof top." He just hangs there, watching her, every bit of attention focused on her next move. Clearly, he is filled with confidence that there are no more tricks for her to employ.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate swallows, throat clenching, lungs burning. There's no wry comment this time. No bravado. No self-assured certainty that she can pull out the unexpected win. Oh, the Bats are renowned for it. But they have time to prepare, or enemies they've run into so many times they've worked out their personality quirks to play them like puppets.

    Also, there's something more predictable about a giant luchador who runs on drugs and a very rigid code of honor to exploit.

    This isn't that, and so Kate groans, gripping the railings of the fire escape, one foot in front of the other, up the escape. "I'm not dying in an alley." Hey, maybe she'll get lucky and some brightly colored cape will fly by and interrupt it. Probably not. For one thing, it's dark out. Anyone who could see them on the roof could see them now, and sure isn't doing shit.

    So Kate hauls herself up the final steps onto the rooftop. She's got one plan. It's not really a plan. It's not even part of a plan. It's really just spite.

    But hey, if she can spitefully tackle this asshole off the roof, maybe it'll actually do the job.

    If not, it'll piss him off. Good enough. Fuck this guy.

Victor Creed has posed:
    "Good call, darling," replies Victor with a fanged smile. "You got class." As she moves to ascend the fire escape, he does the same. His momentum from the leap having faded by hanging, it is more a matter of slowly scaling now, and she may even have a bit of a shorter time of it than he does. But not enough to give her a good enough position to exploit.

    Compressing himself into a crouch as he nears the top, Victor leaps up to clear the last bit of a hurdle and brings himself up and onto the roof a few feet away from Kate. "It's almost a shame, I gotta tell you. You been fun to dance with." He turns to square off and face her.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate doesn't bother doing full on stretching on the roof. There's a brief look around and... nope, no convenient stash of weapons from some group of ninjas fighting the mafia or something. Not even a spare rocket launcher left behind by some loser costumed merc. Just... roof. Whole lotta roof.

    That's okay, Kate doesn't need a lot of roof. Actually, less roof works better.

    Creed lands, all confidence and menace and bad attitude. "Jeeze. It's like you didn't appreciate getting kicked in the face. Trust me, it didn't make you any uglier. I _can't kick that hard._"

    And Kate's rushing forward low, fast as she can manage. Which is to say 'Less fast than if her ribcage wasn't exposed to an alarming amount of open air from what look like three machete slashes, and her leg wasn't used to swing her into a wall like a bat'. But you work with what you've got.

    And what Kate's got is piss, vinegar, and a deep, consuming desire to throw this son of a bitch off a roof.

Victor Creed has posed:
    For a moment, Victor appears to be caught by surprise by Kate sudden charge at him. As if he did not expect her to come running at him, but instead that she would try to evade. But he does know better than that - he simply enjoys giving her some hope of success.

    As she comes in low, he slides to the side, crouching as well. His hand darts out for her throat, catching her by and despite all of her momentum he snatches her from the ground and lifts her up, slamming her into the brick chimney of the roof. Using the advantage of his height and his arm length, his one hand holds her up a few feet from the ground, denying her the leverage of the ground to try to get out of his grasp.

    His eyes continue to shimmer with the refracted street lights as he looks up into her eyes, seemingly to be holding her with no effort. "Now what?" he asks, licking his lips again in anticipation.

Kate Kane has posed:
    As Kate barrels in, she feels impact, oh sure, it's on her throat, but if someone was trying to bullrush her off a roof, she'd go for the throat too. Her feet leave the roof, and... there's no moment of fleeting hope, no mistaken thought she _did_ it, no triumph turning to horror.

    There's just backwards momentum hitting her like a truck. Worse than a truck. Trucks are impersonal. Kate crashes into the chimney, and if nothing else, someone will remember this. Sure, it's going to be some mason who has to fix the bricks that just spilled over her. But hey, he's going to pause to consider how totally someone fucked this chimney up.

    Kate's right arm flashes up, slamming down onto that arm, but it's not enough. It might not even have broken the grip of a mere human. It's weaker than she's hit him before. And the one after that is worse. The kick to try and strike his legs? Well, it was hard enough seeing two Creeds. Three? She's way off.

    She manages a hoarse rasp, wordless, harsh. she can't muster the vulgar gesture it should go with. But she's got a feeling Victor's used to hearing wordless versions of vulgarity questioning the morals of his mother. He'll get it. It's all he'll get before Kate's vision goes black.

    She promises herself that. And hey... it's not like she didn't make a difference. Her luck just ran out. Happens every day.

Victor Creed has posed:
    Maybe the blackness will be welcome when it comes. But for now, Victor seems to have no interest in letting its embrace arrive for Kate. "Hey. Not yet." He shakes her a little bit in his grip, not /quite/ cutting off her air supply just yet. Mostly holding her aloft.
        A talon slips against her lips, and a taste of copper drifts into her mouth. "Fair's fair," he says, drawing it out and down from her mouth, the talon dragging a path along her chin before it drops past his other hand. He seems to he deposited a little of his own blood - the first blood drawn of this fight, of course - into her mouth.
        The talon lands at the hollow of her throat, and for a moment it runs along her carotid artery. Which could be it, but it is just a gracing touch. A display of what he can do. He is delighting in this now, the taunting. It dips down from the hollow of her throat, and then presses in, raising an angry line down as it scratches but does not fully puncture the flesh. Slow and steady. "So much easier to peel," he says before a vicious slash down rends the front of her shirt.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate's head throbs, her pulse fills her ear... and then it rushes away, to just a headache as her oxygen is restored, and she tastes copper. There's a wordless noise, harsh, primal, there's a jolt in her left shoulder that might be an attempt at a punch. It's not until that hand slashes and her shirt is wrecked that she snaps into motion.

    It's not coordinated, it's not thought out or anything. It's barely an attack, but she feels heat rake down her torso, a rush in her head... blood pressure was already liminal, and now she's got a _lot_ more leaking out of her.

    But she manages a flail of her arm, hand balled into a fist, though her elbow isn't locked, her shoulder's off line... and by the time her fist is swinging past Creed's face, Kate's out of it. She's not dead. She's bleeding. But someone will probably find her. She's a reserve JLA member, she's got a bunch of costumed friends...

    Someone's going to come check on the chimney if it's messing up heat and the apartment dwellers declare they aren't going to take it.

    But Kate? Kate's down for the count. Notch one up in the L column for this series

Victor Creed has posed:
    There is a slight bit of disappointment on Victor's face as his adversary finally fades out. He was hoping for just a bit more fight out of her. Truly, he is not yet satisfied. He starts to lower her down towards him, listening to see if she is just faking. Perhaps not. Her heart still beats, and her breathing is there. She lives still.
        He laughs quietly to himself as he considers the mark he has left on her. "You should have picked the alley," he murmurs, before tossing it casually to the side.

    Indeed, the broken chimney will alert someone soon enough to investigate. If they are fast enough, she will not suffer too much from exposure. He crouches down and pulls the wallet from her jeans. "Stacy Ellis. Hmmm." He drops the wallet in front of her face. He wants her to know that he knows.

    He can find her again. Whenever he wants.

    And he will.