197/Following A Lead

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Following A Lead
Date of Scene: 29 February 2020
Location: Coventry - Miagani Island
Synopsis: Two people looking for the same information run into each other. Someone is less than pleased by that.
Cast of Characters: Vic Sage, Helena Bertinelli




Vic Sage has posed:
    The architecture in Coventry is beautiful, even after the great quake that destroyed a good portion of it. Tall spires, arching doorways, grim visages. It speaks of Eastern Europe in some ways, while conjuring hints of Colonial America. But that hasn't stopped a large portion of that particular Gotham neighborhood from suffering due to the passage of time. Most people who live in the area never really pay attention to such things. Too busy focused on the trials and travails of day to day survival. But Vic Sage, he notices.
    Though at the moment he wears the empty features of The Question, even as he stalks slowly across the darkened room, shoes crunching glass in his wake, the single lamp that had been used for illumination had been knocked over in the chaos, it's halo of light dimmed with it on its side. It's only with the touch of those brown gloves from the faceless man as he rights it that brings a hint of warmth to that room.
    When the light comes up the seven fallen unconscious men are visible. As well as the battered down door. But none of that interests him as he kneels beside one of those fallen, hand reaching out to go through the pockets of one of those mafia hitmen on that kill team he had sought out.
    "This building is really quite remarkable." His hollow voice offers in reflection, though his audience is too unconscious to answer.
    "It is a Francisco Pastorelli. One of the last of his line. Some call him the Davinci of domestic stonework." He gathers the papers from each one, the phone IDs, the coded missives. These men were up to something, and he intended to find out what.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
"Yeah, yeah... can we stop with the TED Talk on architecture? It's a little boring."

The voice comes from somewhere behind Vic, the source not yet seen, remaining hidden for a few seconds as the person, obviously female, takes in all of what's to be seen. When she does emerge, the woman known as The Huntress has a frown on her face. "What are you doing here?" It's an abrupt question, one that is asked with zero consideration for politeness. "Not sure what you're looking for, mister, but I'll let you leave."

The tone of that has a vaguely threatening tone. Either the faceless stranger leaves or there will be a fight.

Vic Sage has posed:
    That thin halo of light shines on just the edge of him, limning the vigilante's silhouette with an eerie gleam. For a time he stands there, papers in hand then his head tilts just a little to the side as he takes her measure.
    "Huntress." The man without a face in that brown trenchcoat slides his hand slowly inside that heavy jacket, the papers finding a home in one of the inner pockets as he turns his head the other way to watch her, somehow, without eyes. "Should have expected you."
    He starts to step to the side, now moving to the unbroken furniture. A desk, an end table, what looks like an oversized chair. "Mafia kill team, right up your alley." He speaks with that steady almost monotone, unflappable, calm, even as he wipes a spatter of blood off of the desk with one gloved hand and pulls open one of the drawers.
    "But what led you here. Patrelli family, or the Maggia. My money would be..."
    He rises up, now holding a sheet of paper against the lamp as if illuminating it as he finishes murmuring. "On the Patrellis."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
The Huntress appears to be unfazed by the fact that the stranger knows who she is. She hasn't exactly been keeping her actions secret, after all. "Yeah, you probably should have," she eventually says with a shrug, the displeased expression deepening. "Who the fuck are you?" Again, there's no consideration for niceties. Zero fucks given. The field upon which her fucks are grown is barren, obviously.

Stepping over one of the felled goons, Huntress reaches out, seeking to snatch the paper right out of Q's hand. "Why I am here is none of your damn business," is grunted, spoken so hastily that he might not have time to answer her question as to his identity.

Vic Sage has posed:
    "That is The Question. Isn't it?" Says the man. He's holding that piece of paper up as if trying to see if anything will appear with the moonlight from the distant window...
    Only for her to snatch it from his hand with a quick rasp and whisper of that paper stolen. She might see whatever features he should have shift a little, the formless emptiness of his face contorting yet somehow still conveying a hint of displeasure.
    "I'm here for the same reason you are." The Question walks around the room, now running a gloved hand under the tables that are standing, seeking something or other. "Outside contractors. Why would the Patrellis need this much muscle this fast and station them here?" His glove comes back up from underneath the table and he wipes the dust off of the fingertip apparently having found nothing.
    "We should work this together. Cover more ground. Share information." He seems willing to cooperate, despite her... colorful manner.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
"I have no clue why," Huntress admits, "but I am certain that it can't be any good..." Pausing, she looks at the stolen paper, trying to make sense of it while ignoring the blood at the same time. Shaking her head after a moment, she holds it back out to the faceless enigma, not yet catching on to how he provided his name to her moments ago.

Stepping carefully about the bodies, she glances here and there, looking for more clues. "You'd have to make it worth my while to work with you," she says with a slight shake of her head. "I prefer to work solo." That's another fact about her Question might know about her already.

Vic Sage has posed:
    One of the fallen men groans, shifting slightly as he reaches out with one hand, some of his fingers bent and twisted apparently from whatever befell them. She might recognize him from the extended Patrelli blotter that listed him as Ronaldo 'Ronny' Vacini, a man with a rap sheet a mile long and multiple warrants out for his arrest, most known for the use of a stiletto.
    Yet as that man starts to come to, The Question walks over and takes his arm in one hand, then casually kneels on the side of his throat. While Ronny coughs, gags, then his eyes start to close, that masked man continues to talk almost conversationally with that same monotone.
    "I would imagine you would not shirk a hand extended in friendship considering your lack of them in Gotham." Ronny continues to slightly fight, gasping, coughing. Then eyes slowly shutting.
    "The Batman is quick to take talent under his wing. Even wild talent. Unless... you did something."
    As he says that, puzzling out that small piece of her puzzle, he holds onto Ronny's arm for twelve seconds longer, making sure the man is back out. Then he rises.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Huntress can't help but to approve of how swiftly Q takes care of putting that guy back down, someone that she does recognize somewhat. She would comment on that, wanting to compliment him on his technique, but then he brings up friendship and... Batman? The hell? Why would he do that? "You don't know me," she snarls, turning to move as far away from the jerk as she can without leaving the room entirely. During the process of relocating herself, Helena kicks at the head of one of the thugs' head, perhaps aiming to break his jaw.

"Batmanh as yet to approach me," she adds, grumbling, "but even if he did I wouldn't work with him and his... family." She knows the way she does things would not meet the approval of the caped one and she refuses to change how she fights to appease him.

Vic Sage has posed:
    That man who had been stirring as well gets his lights put out with that short sharp /crack/ of her boot hitting him in the head. It sends him reeling and then /fwumpf/ onto the ground, quiet once again. But it still leaves that faceless jerk talking to her even as he rises to his feet fully. His hands slide into the pockets of that long brown trenchcoat even as his attention follows after her.
    For a time it might seem like he's inclined to let her go without another word, his stance entirely passive and his head only tilted to the side ever so slightly.
    But then his hollow eerie voice follows her as he calls out, telling her three words. "Hollander's Grease Emporium." Three simple words, referencing what exactly? Might take some googling, but then he adds. "On 34th."
    And with that he turns to go, but for him he uses the door.