17632/Rooftop Patroling

Rooftop Patroling
Date of Scene:	12 April 2024
Location:	Rooftops
Synopsis:	Blue Marvel meets Bluebird on patrol. She's bratty.
Cast of Characters:	Harper Row, Adam Brashear

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Harper Row has posed:
It's Harper's turn to do her patrol, and she has dutifully donned her unique Bluebird persona to do it. There's a certain kind of excitement in scuffing up a new pair of boots, coat and accoutrements that are a part of her Birds of Prey uniform. The old had suffered some wardrobe malfunctions by way of claws and street tussling and general conflict.

The sound of her grapple hooking onto rooftop masonry is the first thing to betray her incoming presence. Bluebird follows, retracting along the filament cable, yanking herself up on a arc so she can clear the lip and come down and test how much her coat will help slow her descent. The mechanism of the grapnel is sticky, and the coat does not deploy the air breaks quite as much as she'd like, but this is stress testing. Ironing out bugs is part of new tech and replacement bits.

Her boots connect with the rooftop and she comes down into a crouch, skidding to the edge but managing not to go over. "Bad. Ass." she toots her own horn while behind her, her grapple line slooooooowly retracts, slickly starting to pull back into the spool near her wrist. Too slowly, so it's like a 10 meter thin snek is slithering up towards her gargoyle posture as she peers down at the streets below. "...I am the Law and-uh...I won...you fought the law and-uh, Uh-I one...Nuhnuhnuuuuuuuh..." she bastardizes a popular song to herself, stretching her back until the new fabric makes that nice creaking sound. Gotta stretch those stitches.

Adam Brashear has posed:
Adam actually doesn't go on patrol often. Or leave his underwater lab much, for that matter. Sixty years of habit are hard to kick. But since he has become semi-active again, now and then he gets the urge to head out and see what's happening. He rises from the sea, an aura of anti-matter energy around him keeping away the water until he's clear. Then he sets off towards New York.

     His cape flutters as he cuts through the air, moving in a blur for most people down below. He scans the streets as he goes, keeping an eye out for the usual trouble. It seems like a quiet night so far though, at least where he's passing over. As he zips over Gotham, he's just in time to see a certain blue bird grappling onto a rooftop, stopping in his flight. He's high enough up to be easy to miss at first, silent as he lowers down further. Low enough to hear her talking, and then singing, to herself. The much older heroes lips twitch a little. He lets her settle in, and then clears his throat about six feet above and a bit further in front of her. The chances of her recognizing him are.... depending on how much she knows of past generations of heroes. Again, mostly inactive for sixty years. He doesn't say anything to begin with, just looks down at her with a faint smile on his face.

Harper Row has posed:
Bluebird wasn't expecting Brashear. What's worse, she didn't hear him coming. So when she's whipping her head about and setting her HUD-capable lenses on his levitating form, it's a double-whammy it isn't grim and grumpy as the source. It's not just her equipment that's glitching, it's the flow in her thinking and reaction time. "Hey what!"

Her recognition skills fail, her biological search engine sputtering, and that means having to rely on a good scan from her partial mask while she comes to grips with this stranger having the drop on her. This ~floating~ individual in Gotham, which goes against some agreements. Her voice croaks with a bit of vocal fry due to a dry throat. "Didn't know no Capes were visiting sunny Gotham this week. Or ~any~ week." Her chin juts below her mask, hoping for a pretty heroic profile as she lets her database do some digging. What starts to flood over one eye makes it widen and her mouth to part. "Well, this can't be right, but then maybe I just swung into the side of that last brownstone and this is just a vivid dream while unconsious on an alley floor."

Bluebird rises and stands at the ready. "What you doing on my beat...Gramps." Full of piss and vinegar, she puts on a tough front.

Adam Brashear has posed:
Adam drifts closer and down. Settling onto his booted feet in front of the vigilante. Though even then, he's looking down on her. Her assumptions that she must have the wrong person make sense. After all, he doesn't look anywhere near ninety-something. "Is that so? Gotham... right. This place has changed a bit, hasn't it." He glances off the rooftop at the dark streets below, arms crossing over his broad chest. He doesn't seem to notice the look on her face. He eventually returns her attention to her though, and arches a brow at the bluenette woman. "Are you saying I'm the man of your dreams... I'm sorry, I don't know your name." He reaches out towards her, offering a gloved hand. "I suppose you can call me Blue Marvel. And I was just passing by when I noticed you. I didn't recognize the costume, so I thought I'd check it out. Can't be too careful. After all, you might be a criminal. Kid."

Harper Row has posed:
Bluebird bristles. If she had hackles they'd be raising and her tail would be a bristle-brush. She clucks her tongue like someone would make a deft flick beneath her chin outwards. "If I ever went bad, it wouldn't be for long in this town. The Birds don't mess around." she huffs and eyes the offered hand. This seems to make her stand straighter and puff out her chest, unwilling to accept an olive branch yet. Hot under the collar and keeping it in check.

"We've got interwebs now. They're like...these magical wires that are invisible to the eye, but can carry news of the next sock hop at lightning speeds." she snaps her fingers, sarcastic in tone and look. Behind her eye lenses, she blinks rapidly, to clear the fatigue and the after-effects of what she's taken to try and be able to do this patrol. Lots of bark but not equal to the bite she advertises. She reasserts her footing, this close to the edge of the roof.

She gets anxious, trying not to give ground as her grapple line finally slinkily reaches her cuff and winds itself up to charge for any further swinging attempts. "Bluebird. Mistress of the future and free streaming services. And also karate-chopping the heck out of criminals when they try to do anything under my nose. Blue Marvel, eh?" She gives Adam a long lingering look. "I guess you're proof to never skip leg day, yeah?" She grinds her teeth and wonders how long until she can pop more Ibruprofin and chase it with a rip of something. Something about this guy sets her teeth on edge like she was chewing tinfoil. "I guess if you're not looking to cause trouble we don't have to do the dance, but you should I could if I needed to. I got tricks, gadgets, my tongue barbed with venomous witty wordsmithin so feared it sends the underworld reeling."

Adam Brashear has posed:
When the girl doesn't take his hand, Adam eventually lowers it. "The Birds? Sorry, another name I'm not familiar with. I've mostly kept up with the prominent movers and shakers since my retirement." He steps a little closer to her. Perhaps looming slightly. "I know what the internet is, kid. You know, you haven't really convinced me yet that you aren't a criminal...." Her being on something isn't hard to figure out. He didn't intend to antagonize her. But she seems a little... prickly. His booted feet scrape over the rooftop as he shifts his stance, the revelation of who she is making him tilt his head. "Bluebird? Maybe we're related." He steps back again, arms once more crossing over his chest. "Is that so? I'm curious. Show me a trick, little bird. Lets see what you can do." Either he's not taking her seriously, or he's responding to her cattiness. Or maybe he's bored. He left his lab for a reason.

Harper Row has posed:
Oh good, he called her bluff. "I don't have time for this." Her excuse is out of her mouth quick as a flash, for lack of a better retort. Flexing her right arm, she give the forearm a little swirl. "I guess you'll just have to toss and turn tonight, wondering if the one that slipped away under your tall, inscrutible gaze, was a baddie." she quirks her mouth and gives a stretch that she hopes is as bad-ass looking as some crims do when they're winding up to deliver a monologue about why they're going to get away with a big freakin diamond.

An impish thought occurs, and her sensible ones clamour to try and dog pile it. But it's too late. Her faces flushes, and a shit-eating grin stretches wide. "Actually, Boomer, you've sussed it all out." She pantomines some damsel feeling the vapours. "I am a notorious cat burgler, er...bird burglar, and I've just raided the Lord Petticoat's suite of all his most expensive socks and monocles. I'm just on the way to my lair to cackle over it before getting back to my opinion addiction by the docks. Muahahaha." she is exuberant in her faux act. Almost tipsy.

Her right arm flicks to the side and casts out her grapnel like a fishing rod. "Until we meet again Blue Boomer...until we meet agaaaaain!" And she leaps out into the air. Kids these days...