349/A Question Posed

A Question Posed
Date of Scene:	07 March 2020
Location:	Bristol Township
Synopsis:	Q brings Huntress in for some help. She gets to show off her stellar driving skills.
Cast of Characters:	Vic Sage, Helena Bertinelli

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Vic Sage has posed:
    Time had passed.
    No word.
    Maybe a message was sent. But from Question the only response would be a '?' given.
    But then a day ago a text had come through. 'Gotham Observatory, 11:17 PM. -Q' And that would serve. Everyone knew the observatory, it stood sentinel high on the Northern hillside bordering the great city, giving a place for the scientists within to observe the stars from the highest point around. Its large circular silhouette stood prominent there, easily seen from afar. So why would question want to meet her there?
    Of course with when the message is delivered there's not that much time to think about it as it'd take a chunk of it to just get there. And any further text message isn't answered. But true to his word, if she gets there around that time, she'll likely see the man in the empty parking lot, leaning against an old black Crown Victoria, standing there with a laptop on the hood of the vehicle as he types absently.
    No sign of back up. No sign of observers. Heck, even the security guard who is normally on duty apparently isn't in view. Though his vehicle is there. Yet whatever the situation is...
    There he is.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena knew she was supposed to meet with the stranger a while ago, but with everything that went down the night they first ran into each other she really didn't feel inclined to keep to any promises. Or not-promises, seeing as how she never vowed to meet him anywhere. Hell, she almost decided not to show up tonight. But here she is, arriving only a few minutes late, in costume, and undoubtedly fully armed.

Frowning upon seeing the car, she powers off the motorcycle she rode on to get to the appointed meeting place, the leggy Italian vigilante starting at the shadowy figure as he stands poised against the car. "Alright. So, you get to bask in my presence tonight," she quips dryly. "What do you want?"

Vic Sage has posed:
    When she approaches he doesn't look up, doesn't turn around. She'll have a perfect view of the man's back, or rather the back of his trenchcoat and his fedora. He also doesn't answer right away, instead he holds up a finger to the side, still typing for a bit with the other, then hits the 'enter' key with authority and straightens up.
    That time without conversation she might be able to check that car. Crown Vic, 87? Black. Plain. Maybe a restored police vehicle. Though there's something mean about it. Perhaps the way the front hangs a little low, the back a little higher for some reason.
    "Patrelli family. Anthony, third child of Christopher Patrelli." He turns then to look at her. "He's responsible for the kill teams that we saw passing through Gotham." He steps away from the computer and there's a map on display with multiple objects apparently being tracked on a grid that looks suspiciously like Google maps. "Several shipments, several operatives. Converging here." He stabs a finger at the display and... is that Manhattan?

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
To be truthful, Helena really doesn't know much about cars. Shr probably would be curious about the vehicle if she did, though. And maybe a bit impressed, too, although she'd never admit it if she were. The time spent waiting for the mysterious Q is put towards making sure everything's quiet while he types, not wanting to get lazy and let an ambush happen as a result. Happily, nothing of the like occurs and they are left to their own devices.

"Hmmm?" Turning so she can look at Question, Helena narrows her eyes, listening intently to the relayed information. Stepping around him some, she glances at the map, trying to keep any and all reactions from reading upon her face. "What are they shipping," she asks, curious as to if he knows.

Vic Sage has posed:
    "Weaponry." He says at first with his usual dead tone. But then silence drags on for three seconds before he adds. "I think." And she might be able to tell that him saying that tears a little at the corners of his soul. The not knowing. It's a disturbing thing to him, like a single grain of sand in his right eyeball and if she could see his face it might very well be twitching.
    "Only way to know for sure is to go there. And see." He slides his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat. "Two man job, though. And gambling that you know the Patrellis. As for incentive..."
    He tosses the keys to her and then pushes off of the hood of the car, tucking the laptop under his arm. Over his shoulder he says lightly, "I also brought snacks."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
The keys are caught and looked at, it taking Helena a moment to figure out that this probably means he wants her to drive, although she can't, for the life of her figure out why. Didn't he hear the Ducati she rode here on. Sighing, she takes her own sweet time getting to the car, wanting to push her bike somewhere it might not be noticed as easily - it'd be hard to get it out of impound if it were to get towed - and then she's there and sliding into the driver's seat after turning the car on via its remote starter.

"I find it amusing that you've done nothing but assume I want to work with you." Yet there she is, waiting for him to get buckled in and all that, her shoulders held slightly closer to the sides of her face due to the tension in those muscles.

Vic Sage has posed:
    "Why wouldn't you want to?" He asks with a hint of incredulity to it. And maybe, years down the line, she might recognize that tone in his voice. It's the hint that might let her know eventually that he's smiling behind that mask. But he does settle in and pulls the seat belt into place even as the car rumbles and then purrs, whatever engine it has under the hood is a monster of an engine and the displays on the inside are rather modern for it to be an '87.
    "But. Do me this favor." He makes the concession, "Cover my back for one night. Afterwards, I won't call on you again. Deal?" He turns his head to the side and then extends a hand.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
It truly is second nature for the woman known by many as simply The Huntress to be distrusting. Standoffish. Not pleasant. Surely Q knew enough about her to know that before asking her to team up with him. The hand is stared at and then his 'face', the blank visage eyed in silence before she shakes his hand. "Alright. Just..." Here she actually manages to crack something of a short-lived grin, "don't criticize my driving, otherwise I'm going to kick your ass out the car at a hundred-twenty miles per hour."

And with that, she guns the gas, causing the wheels to spin wildly for at least two or three seconds while they strive to gain purchase on the asphalt, squealing and letting off a cloud that reeks of burnt rubber, before they're off.