2823/Court of Owls: A First Strike

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Court of Owls: A First Strike
Date of Scene: 07 August 2020
Location: Batcave
Synopsis: The first of Bruce's family falls to Talon blades, but not the last. Tim is stitched up, but the first shots have truly been fired by the court.
Cast of Characters: Tim Drake, Victor Stone, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne




Tim Drake has posed:
Thursday night/Friday morning, around 3:45am

There had been an emergency notification from Red Robin on the comms for the Bat Family, first a stressed and terse notice that there was possibly League Assassins in the city just after 3am, which Nightwing had replied to and gotten radio silence for several minutes until another terse, pained message comes over comms from Red Robin.

"Inbound to base, injured. Can't talk."

The Batcave's readings on the vital signs on Tim's suit show increased heartrate and... despite this... a fairly sizeable dip in blood pressure.

When the batcycle skids into the cave, its wobbling heavily, as if the driver is having issues controlling it. It slows, but instead of parking Red Robin actually ends up laying it down on the ground, hitting the pavement of the Batcave's parking pad with a heavy thud. The front wheel of the batcycle spins unhappily from where it's propped in the air.

It may only be a matter of seconds before Tim pulls himself to his feet shakily. His face below the domino mask is bruised and cut up, his suit covered in gashes and slices, many to the flesh underneath. His right thigh is gashed open deeply (though thankfully not to the artery within), and the left side of his suit below the torso is slick with blood from the deep puncture just below his ribcage.

He manages a few steps away from the cycle before wobbling and almost hitting the ground. It's sheer willpower-- something for better of for worse all the Robins have in spades-- that's keeping him upright.

Victor Stone has posed:
The readings from the suit left no doubt as to the situation; as Tim arrives, Alfred is already waiting at the head of the hydraulic platform in shirtsleeves, gloves, and a surgical smock. He advances toward the staggering figure with quick, confident strides, pushing a wheeled stretcher that rolls over the cave floor with a minimum of rattling casters. Alfred keeps his own equipment quite as well maintained as any of the rest of the group's kit.

"Get on," he says in a tone that manages to be businesslike and sympathetic at once, while brooking absolutely no argument. He has stopped the stretcher next to Tim and lowered it to a height where the young vigilante can flop onto it with a minimum of effort. "What /have/ I told you gentlemen about driving under the influence of severe blood loss?" the butler continues. His cool, steady reaction and the normalcy with which he treats this situation are habitual, of course, but also calculated not to engender panic or fear. "It's quite as bad as being drunk. I will not have the members of this household becoming a public nuisance on the roads."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
The roar of the Batmobile's turbine engine is heard well before the vehicle tears down the ramp to its' own parking platform, considerably faster than would normally be advised. However, in what likely surprises no one, there are failsafes for that...in this case specifically a variation on the aircraft carrier arrestor hook, allowing the machine to be brought to a halt precisely where it's meant to be despite having come down that ramp at close to 100 mph. The canopy has barely slid wide enough for the Batman to escape before he's all but leaping out, moving at a brisk pace towards where Alfred and Tim are, and wordlessly reaching to help Tim onto the stretcher.

"I'll set up the transfusion while you get the sutures in." He notes to Alfred, businesslike, but you know...actions, words, etc... And yes, of COURSE the Bat-Family has a refrigerator filled with their own blood on hand, doesn't everyone?

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick had been one to respond to the call, but was one of the farthest out. He had been en route when the second message about the Bat Cave came through. He arrives as quickly as he can on his motorcycle, hoping that things were not as bad as he thought they could be. The still-costumed Nightwing dismounts his bike and strides over, "Is he all right?" Dick inquires, concern evident in his tone.

Stephanie Brown has posed:
It was a long trip from the south side of Gotham, where Spoiler was conducting a patrol through Chinatown when she got the message. Her cape flapped behind her as she leaned low over the bike, not one of the Batcycles but the gift from Barbara that replaced the rickety Yamaha that had been Spoiler's transportation before. The motorcycle weaved through traffic at high speeds on the trip back up to Bristol and in through the secret entrance.

That she manages to get the bike parked properly was a wonder in how fast Spoiler vacates the bike. Her cowl is yanked off as she hurries over to where Tim is being helped onto the stretcher, her anxiousness at the state of her oldest friend in the group showing. "All this fuss for just a few scratches?" she says, forcing a smile to her face for Tim's benefit. She stays back just a bit to be out of the way, ready to lend a hand, but lacking the medical expertise of the others.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim's scowling as he's helped onto the stretcher, though this is less an affectation of his mentor as much as it is powering through the pain. "Some assassin. Using swords, moves fast." His words are clipped, but he's reporting what he can while he's still awake to do so. "Had to grapple out. Dropped my bo." Generally, its rare for any of the Bats to retreat-- which, beyond just the number and severity of injuries Red Robin has, should be an indication of what level of threat whomever it was that attacked him was. "Woman, I think."

Victor Stone has posed:
"Excellent, sir," Alfred answers Bruce as he arrives. His voice is calm, but grave. "Dick, Stephanie, please help me move him into the medical wing." Alfred is perfectly capable of pushing the stretcher himself, of course, but if others are doing so, he can get started on the basics early. As they get underway, he takes folded, steam-sterilized cloths and lays them across the wounds on Tim's side and thigh.

"Press down hard," he instructs his patient, gently placing Tim's hand over the more easily-reached injury while tending to the other himself. "My apologies; it will hurt like hellfire." With no more fuss, the group is underway.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     The Batmobile's arrestor hook stop was...eventful. Nothing Damian couldn't handle himself though.

  He does take a little bit of time getting out of the car, trying to maintain his dignity while his face was slightly green for a bit.

  Robin jumped up, eventually, and approached the others, slowly. As if to not show that he cared, or perhaps he was still slightly woozy? He'd never tell.

  While he does look over Tim, there's already tons of people contributing to his medical needs, so he merely stands back a bit, observing and trying to deduce what happened to Tim.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Cape, cowl, and gloves are efficiently doffed as Bruce quickly makes his way towards where the emergency medical supplies are kept, and after taking a moment to sterilize his hands with a Wayne Medical antimicrobial spray. puts on a pair of surgical gloves, before securing a transfusion kit, and yes, a bag marked "RR - 7/14/2020" filled with...you guessed it...Red Robin Blood.

There's no immediate greeting for the others. Bruce is all business near where the stretcher will be arriving, starting to array the necessary equipment with calm precision, in anticipation of the stretcher's arrival.

"Robin, Spoiler, have you been shown how to set an IV for transfusion?"

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Stephanie Brown waits for that instruction from Alfred, but once she gets it she moves to the stretcher, taking one end to help roll Tim quickly and carefully into the Batcave's medical facility. Once the stretcher is alongside the treatment table, she'll move over to his feet, ready to work in unison with Dick in transferring him. "One, two, three," she counts to synchronize the lift and move so they are as gentle as possible.

"Just one?" she asks Tim, giving him a hard time if gently, in much the same way she would have if he wasn't injured. Morale officer Steph. "You'll be good as new and ready for payback soon enough," she says, giving Tim's shoulder a soft pat.

She turns her attention to the transfusion as Bruce addresses her. "Seen it done but not been taught it, no," the blond teen replies to Bruce. She gives Tim's shoulder one more affectionate pat and then moves over to where the nurse's daughter can watch the procedure more closely.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim gives a weak smile to Stephanie as she tries to make him feel better, though internally he's not particularly happy with himself for having been so thoroughly beaten by a single opponent. He presses on the cloth as Alfred instructs, and lets loose an underbreath hiss of a variety of curses, and given the breadth and quality, that he probably picked up from Jason. "Just one," he mutters. He reaches up with his right hand and tugs the mask off-- the data coming through the display is giving him a headache with as woozy as he is. He drops it on the side of the stretcher next to him. He gives Bruce forced grin. "Don't let Robin play pincushion with me, boss. I'm afraid he'll like stabbing me too much."

Victor Stone has posed:
As Dick and Stephanie transfer Tim to the treatment table, Alfred retrieves a pair of scissors from a tray nearby, moves the compresses away from the bleeding wounds, and starts cutting away sections of Tim's costume, to access his most serious injuries without forcing him through the physical contortions necessary to undress. Alfred the Medic, tonight, creating messes for Alfred the Tailor to tidy up tomorrow.

Next comes the antiseptic: it will sting, but not as badly as getting stabbed in the first place, so he issues only a warning look before going to work, checking to make sure the wounds are clean while he's there.

Finally, he returns to the tray and retrieves a hook-like suture needle, already threaded. "Do hold still," he warns the patient, one hand going to Tim's shoulder to give a gentle, reassuring pat. Then his eyes go to Dick and Stephanie, and he reiterates, "Do hold him still." Stitching is delicate work, after all.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Robin looks up from watching Tim on the slab. "Not for a blood transfusion." He comments, before adding. "I have put in an IV catheter though."

  He's already dropping his cape and gloves for a pair of nitrile ones, after a spray down of Wayne Medical spray. The youngest Wayne starts to get the needle ready for the procedure.

  "I left off the pancuronium bromide, Drake." He says, just a little joking jab before he swabs and sticks the needle into a vein for transfusion.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Moving aside just enough to give Robin room to work and Spoiler room to observe, while busying himself with setting up the blood bag and saline drip for Robin to connect up shortly, Bruce keeps a watchful eye on the procedures as they're performed, not that he's in any doubt they will be performed well. But once the IV is set and Tim is starting to be "refilled" He briefly places a hand on Damian's shoulder and murmurs a "Nicely done."

But then his attention is turned to Spoiler, and he gestures to the arm that Tim /doesn't/ have an IV in. "Spoiler, put a forearm cuff on him for blood pressure monitoring. Check him every five minutes."

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Stephanie moves nearer to the table, reaching out to rest her hands on Tim where she can help make sure the region that Alfred is working on doesn't squirm too much. "I keep telling you that being all chivalrous towards ladies and going easy on us shouldn't be extended to ones with swords," she tells him. "At least, not -drawn- swords." Her blue eyes swing over to meet his gaze and she flashes him a quick smile before refocusing on the medical work that is underway.

Stephanie watches as the IV is set up and then nods towards the instruction from Bruce. She looks to Alfred, confirming he is past the point that he needs someone to make sure Tim doesn't move about too much, then sets about setting up the instrument about Tim's arm to start gathering his vitals. She glances towards Damian at the way that he settles in so easily to the medical treatment. "Going to write a book about home schooling some day based on you, Damian," she kids.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim takes most of the poking, prodding, and jabbing relatively well after the first bit of swearing, but that's likely because the drowse from blood loss is catching up with him.

Also this isn't the first time this month he's been stitched up, though the previous bit was a lot less brutal and only needed a few stitches, which he started to do himself. There are very few among the Bat family not used to doing such.

"Didn't hear her coming," Red Robin admits. "Got the jump on me." Though with the boost of new (old?) blood hitting his veins eventually brings him back around a bit more wakefully. There are regrets about this, because he feels like he was hit by a building.

Because he was.

Still, Alfred's work is patient and thorough. It takes a little time, but the worst of the holes are stitched up, and the scrapes and minor wounds sterilized.

Which leaves him far more awake and aware for questions.

Victor Stone has posed:
"For my part, I would be quite gratified if young Damian shifted his interests to the medical arts," Alfred answers Stephanie with a brief, shallow smile. Giving the household's youngest a significant glance, he promises, "Just as much blood, fewer hurt feelings."

Once the wounds are fully cleaned and dressed, he's going to busy himself more with making the patient comfortable; cozy blankets and freshly fluffed pillows are brought from upstairs, along with cocoa, and soon the treatment area has become surprisingly homey -- for a hole in the ground. Alfred doesn't mention that a lot of these details also comprise a decent treatment for shock, but they probably already know, and there's no reason to alarm anyone.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     A reassuring hand from his dad makes the olive skinned boy blush a bit. Actual praise, from a parent. It was a weird feeling. But he kept on trucking.

  "So...it was a swordsman." He says, looking at the stitches on Tim. "Any other intel? League of Assassins?" That would be their MO after all.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick helps where he can moving Tim to the table, fortunately Tim is not the heaviest person in the world. Not wanting to be the nth cook in the kitchen, or in this case the one that makes it too many medics in the ward, he simply follows instructions and helps hold Tim down as instructed, saying, "Yeah, they're pretty good at that, glad you made it out of there alive." Dick is trying to be kind, "Whatever you got we can work with."

"Swordsman definitely is out of left field, but not the worst thing. Just, now we know. If they are out there, perhaps we will need to begin adjusting the suits accordingly." He grumbles and steps aside if he no longer needs to hold Tim down.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"League of Assassins is a reasonable guess, but I don't think so in this case." Bruce's face twists to a grimace, briefly, before he looks back to Tim. "Avian-themed leather outfit, red goggles, an excessive number of edged weapons, and evidence of supernatural durability?" He looks towards Tim intently, rather hoping that the young man will tell him his guess is incorrect.

He does give a silent nod of acknowledgement to Alfred, understanding fully what the man is up to, then again all here likely do. He hasn't been the indispensable "silent partner" of this family business for years just because his Souffles never collapse.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim frowns some. "...yes, actually. Faster than she should have been and none of my strikes seemed to even bother her... when I could land one." He shifts, grimacing some. "I ended up having to drop my defenses to use the grapple to get away. Slammed into the face of the office building across from the old bank building." Which likely explains a lot of the bruises. "I didn't really have options." He looks grim. "I felt outmatched in every possible way."

Victor Stone has posed:
"If only it were just another woman with a sword," Alfred comments dryly, raising one eyebrow at Bruce's elaborate guess and Tim's uneasy confirmation. "Master Bruce has proven quite adept with those, over the years."

He sets his mug, filled with the finest Colombian coffee, down on a nearby countertop and turns to Bruce with an expectant look, hands folded in front of him. "Well, then. Whatever you've been working on, sir, it seems it is past time to share your findings with the class. Forewarned is forearmed, after all."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick listens and nods, "Seems a bit thematic. So points for that, but does not seem like what I understand of the League?" He might not be the expert on them, but it does not seem like that is what is going on. The eldest Batling does hold back a smirk at the reference to another woman with a sword reference, but he does look to Tim, "The important thing is that you are alive, and can live to fight another day. Any other clues as to who could be involved, did y our assailant say anything?"

Bruce Wayne has posed:
It's unlikely that Alfred's somewhat subtle barb goes over Bruce's head, but outwardly he gives no sign of annoyance or exasperation. It's still "business" time, it seems. He settles down in a nearby chair with a posture that actually looks...tired. Not entirely uncommon but still a sometimes-surprising bit of humanity openly displayed.

"It's not the League. I've been trying to track these people for months with little to show for it. I've even been putting myself out as bait, but they haven't bitten. I was hoping they would focus on me but..." He shakes his head, "It's beyond just me now. We'll gather everyone for a full briefing, but for now...they're Talons. The enforcers of the Court of Owls." He looks over towards where Tim lays and adds, "For now, Tim needs to rest. Likely we all do. I'll put out the call..."

There's an unusually pensive look from Bruce before he concludes.

"And then we plan for a war."