8044/The Mute Magician

The Mute Magician
Date of Scene:	29 September 2021
Location:	Amusement Mile
Synopsis:	Silenced by an enemy, Zatanna fights for her life and is saved by the screams of fellow Bird of Prey, Dinah Lance.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Dinah Lance

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Amusement Mile was never upscale, and since it's creation a century ago it has taken a long slow dive into tawdry carnie shows and second class rides. That hasn't stopped Zatanna from performing there, it's where she learned her craft under her father's tutelage and when not traveling and performing at first-rate venues, she returns in hopes of giving the area and the theatre a little facelift. Gothamites share her nostalgia and come out to the shows in droves.

The closing strains of music signaling Zee's last act plays as she bounds from stage and heads for her dressing room, where an elaborate bouquet awaits her. She ignores the bouquet, intent on getting out the door quickly - to her peril.

A sinuous black viper crawls from underneath a bright flower unto the back of her costume and wraps itself behind the stiff collar of her tuxedo shirt and tie.

Makeup tamed down to streetwear level a few final touches, and Zatanna is out the backstage door into the alley behind the theatre. Simultaneous with black descending on her in the form of a net (Homage to Houdini), she feels a sting underneath her ear and the world goes blacker.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Unlike most of the hero crowd, Dinah didn't come from wealth and privilege. She's working class through and through, albeit the upper end of that in the realm of petty shopkeeper. So Amusement Mile is very much her thing. She has fond memories of the place. Of practicing her acrobatics in the darker corners of the dodgy roller coaster's struts. Of toughening up her fists and improving her accuracy both by punching the guy rope that hold up the larger of assorted tents.

Oh, and of course snogging with her latest schoolmate there. Right behind the theatre where nobody ever went. What was his name again? Jimmy? Nathan? Bobby? Well, doesn't matter. One of them was the first to be brave enough to cop a feel ... and pay the price. Good times.

"I wonder if the blood stain is still there?" she asks herself aloud as she heads to the back of the theatre out of nostalgia. Zee was having a show, so nobody was going to be out back. She could check out that plank to see if Nathan/Jimmy/Bobby's bleeding nose was still there in evidence.

Had they broken up over that or something else? Hard to recall.

"Now let's see..." Dinah brings out her penlight and flashes it quickly up the alley to make sure it's clear before looking for her teenage years.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
One of the dumpsters, great for sneaking an illicit snog behind, hides Zatanna's struggles to free herself from the net. Shades of the gladiator and Houdini, it's sticky and her battle makes it cling all the tighter. The bite hurts like living hell sending fire racing over her skin and into her veins. It has another affect which only makes itself known when she tries to use her word magic. The command"!em eerF" (Free me!) is no more than an unintelligible mouse squeak. Above her, two red eyes peer down from the theatre roof in satisfaction at the struggling bag of mute magician.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Shit. Someone's here. Sounds of it they're going a bit past first base too. Quite a bit.

Dinah turns away, not wanting to be an imposition. Let the kids have their fun. They've got to learn SOMEHOW and if she could learn back behind the theatre today's generation could as well.

Then the squeaking sound. That doesn't sound normal.

"Hey, are you kids torturing a rat or something!?"

That will not stand. Dinah strides over to the dumpster, out of habit leaping up on top of it to stare down, using her agility and strength to approach from an unexpected direction. It's one of those intimidation tactics Bats taught her. (Not formally. By observation.)

"Don't torture animals you psyc..."

The voice dies in her throat. "What th..."

Less talk. More action. Dinah leaps down next to the struggling figure she's not quite making out the identity of in the gloom beyond "female" and "caught up in a net". Her hands busy themselves trying to release the net while her eyes scan the alley both directions for an enemy ... before looking up.

Always look up. It's the go-to place for ambushes because most people don't. And that's where the two eyes are.

The fingers don't stop trying to untangle the net, but the body tenses, ready to dodge or strike as the case may need it.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It's a little late to look up. The Viper has learned the hard way to always carry backups. One of which drops heavily on Zatanna's would be savior.

The webbing is sticky and strong, strong smelling, too. It clings and tightens with every movement as Zatanna has found out to her chagrin.

Another squeak joins the first, joined by laughter from above as the Viper sends out two brawny footpads clad all in black with no thoughts of dalliance in their minds to unceremoniously drag the first catch to an awaiting mini-van that drives to the back of the alley.

The back door opens to reveal a third man dressed in black who steps down to help carry the catch. The first bundle is swung on board and drops heavily to the carpeted floor without a sound. Zatanna's throat is closed to the point that she is struggling for air.

The second bundle is dragged down the wet, dirty asphalt toward the waiting van.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Initial struggle is violent, but Dinah spots the pattern quickly. Struggle tightens. So stop struggling and keep it as loose as possible for later. She's in civvies, so this isn't a vendetta. She's a victim of wrong time and place. But who was the target? Just any random passers-by or a specific person?

Theatre. Zee doing a show. That woman is ... well she's got Zee's shape, but balled up like that, and face obscured, she's not sure. She'll have to come back to that. Let's assume worst case: that is Zee and whoever this is has neutralized the magic woman. That means they could neutralize her if they find out who she is, so ... that revelation will have to come at a different time when she can cause maximum damage.

So ... time to play along.

"What ... what do you want with me?" she asks like a terrified civvy would. "I don't know this woman. I don't know who you are. Just leave me alone! I won't tell the cops, promise!"

Get the right amount of snivel in there. And now a few crocodile tears. And above all RELAX. Stop fighting the webbing. Freeze and act petrified and ironically you won't get snagged as tightly.

"Please!" she wailed. "I don't wanna die!"

She lets herself get dragged and tossed into the van alongside the worst-case presumed Zee.

"I got some money. In my back pocket. Fifty bucks or so? It's yours!"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A painfully thin man,dressed in black, insinuates himself into the back of the van and pulls down a seat. His clothing catches the light in oddly, what some might mistake as opaque sequins are snake scales.

The pleas for help are like music to his ears, as the smile that pulls back his non-existent lips attests to, "Oh, how fortunate, we caught two. Keep your money. Though, maybe I should take it because you'll have no use for it where I'm taking you."

The van starts off and immediately turns a corner heading to a back street that parallels the main strip of the Amusement Park. The lights of a ferris wheel that dominates the park shine through the front window of the van and illuminates the man's strange face, showing oddly oblong eyes and a noseless face with two slits for nostrils.

"You are just a little extra blood for my babies. So shush."

Dinah Lance has posed:
Zee, if that's you, please forgive me.

Dinah sends that thought out as she prepares phase II. All the bad guys are in one place. That one place is an enclosed metal box. Enclosed metal boxes are easy to start resonation in.

It's about to get really, really, really loud in here.

Feigning wild-eyed panic, Dinah takes a deep breath ...

... and releases the Cry. In a time span most conveniently measured in milliseconds her cry rings out and runs up and down the frequencies until she finds it. The resonant frequency for the van's ...

... engine.

A hellishly loud banshee cry fills the compartment of the van. Normal ears are deafened (and might leak a bit of blood, truth be told). But those are the lucky bits. They're only caught in the backblast, so to speak, or the periphery. The main cone of sonic energy is aimed toward the front of the van where it sets up sympathetic vibrations in the engine block.

It doesn't take long for the engine to seize as cylinders warp in their shafts, their rods snapping or bending. The van shudders as its wheels suddenly stop. The back end slides out, sending the van sideways down the road before its front left wheels hit a curb and flip the van.

Now, in addition to hellishly loud sound the van is filled with shards of window glass, twisted pieces of metal from tortured panels that give way, and, too, a traffic sign that transfixes the van from ceiling to floor, barely missing the head of one of the kidnappers. (That one, if the pain of the scream weren't occupying his mind, might have had his life flashing before his eyes.)

And Dinah, having braced for impact, is now trying to saw some of that web off of her from the torn metal's edges, bleeding as the ragged edges slip against her skin.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Reflexively, Zatanna tries to raise her hands to cover her ears, she adds a voiceless scream to the sound that penetrates to her bones as they are churned left and right in the van that comes to an abrupt stop, flipping with the force that it hits the curb. The noseless man claps his hands to the vestigial ears that adorn his bald head, an unwise move as he has nothing to brace himself with. The driver and two toughs roll like so many sodden tennis shoes in a dryer as they flip over.

The back street is deserted. Only two revelers throwing up in an adjacent alley witness the crash and run away from the wreck that smokes upside down on the road.

Inside, a groan comes from one of the toughs, the driver of the van is quietly bleeding to death from a shard of glass piercing his chest. The other tough in the passenger's seat stirs, croaking, "Wha... wha?"

The Viper hisses in anger from a corner of the van next to Zatanna's sticky bundle. He unfolds his skinny legs, one foot minus a shoe, lost in the wreck. Then, wiping a trickle of blood coming from his ear, he unsheathes a bone-white knife, thin and curved like a snake's tooth from the inside of his coat sleeve. It catches the light as he plunges it at Dinah, attempting to free herself.

Dinah Lance has posed:
OK, Di, priorities. Priority #1: stay alive because the other priorities don't matter a wet slap if you don't. Heedless of the pain, Dinah severs the web holding her arms in place. The legs can stay bound for now, that doesn't matter. What matters is...

...block the incoming knife. This she barely accomplishes, the wicked blade managing to sever a lock of her blonde hair as she lets it get way too close for comfort. She takes a deep breath and ...

"..."

A croaking sound. Damn, that impact jostled her enough she's lost her Cry. Thankfully she doesn't rely on it. Instead she swings both arms in a desperate ear-boxing, trying to add injury to the insult of her Cry, bashing with furious rage and fear on both sides of the Viper's head, stunning him and leaving him staggered, knife-dropped, in the van.

Time for priority #2. Pausing only long enough to see that it was, indeed, Zee, she bypasses the mage, squirming not quite unlike the snakes Viper seems to thematically favour, using her arms to help her over and around obstacles, in favour of ... the thug with the glass shard. Yanking the conscious passenger over and down, she grabs the guys hand and forces it around the glass. "Hold that there. Apply as much pressure as you can without choking the breath out of him. If you want your buddy to live, DON'T STOP!"

Heroes save lives, after all.

"I mean it! You take that hand off, so help me I'll cut it off myself and glue it!"

Then it's back to the van proper. A shard of glass. More cuts on the hand as she frees Zee first, letting her friend get the chance to escape or fight as the case may be.

She can beat this guy with both her legs tied together.

Especially if she can get her voice back.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Bruised and stunned, Zatanna's breath whistles thinly as she desperately sucks air down her swollen throat. Through the webbing capturing her she watches the bundle next to her on the roof of the upturned van transform into two arms and a familiar blonde head wily enough to escape the knife intended to kill her. She creaks her approval like a rusty hinge.

Viper sits heavily on a shard of glass, adding insult to injury from the blows to his ears.

Dinah has a commanding voice and without their boss hissing orders to them the two toughs deflate like popped balloons.

"You won't get the best of me," he threatens, leering through his lipless mouth, "without the antidote the famous magician will be no more! Touch me again and you'll never find out where it is! Try to scream your way out of that!"

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Thanks for telling me it exists."

There's a certain expression that crosses Dinah's face from time to time. It's the kind of expression that has a good end (the side giving it) and a bad end (the side receiving it). It's an expression that says, quite wordlessly, but still clearly and distinctly, that being on the bad end means you're going to have a bad day.

Viper is going to have a bad day.

"Talk to me girl," she says without looking at Zee. "I could use some theories while I tear this bastard's arm off and beat him with the messy end."

Since the Viper is talking, not acting, she takes the opportunity to cut apart her legs. Then that expression is once again informing Viper he's about to have a bad day.

"You've got three seconds, no negotiation, to talk. Or the next thing that crosses your mind is your skull."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The black-haired magician shakes her head silently at Dinah and holds her hand to her throat and opens her mouth miming the muteness that the venom has caused. Frowning, brows drawn together she looks around the van, until her face lights up looking at the webbing she was captured in.

Her shoulder bag was snagged along with her. Careful not to entangle herself again, she extricates the bag and searches inside it. With triumph she pulls out an old fashioned date diary with a pen slipped into a holder. With shaky hands she writes, "No voice. No voice spells. Don't read aloud. Maybe I can write them. This shit is dangerous."

The message is passed to Dinah with a glance of loathing shot at Viper. Hand stretched out to receive back  the book, she waits for the blonde woman to digest the meaning.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Dinah presses her lips together in consternation. Her Cry is stilled, temperamental thing that it is. It might come back soon. It might not. She can't plan on it. And now the mistress of magic can't talk.

Don't read aloud. Maybe she can write them. This shit is dangerous.

Dinah's brow furrows as she thinks it over and ... then the light dawns as she hands back the book.

"Holy shit, really!?" Something almost feral crosses her features. "I'll keep the shithead off of you."

She hopes she got that right. Bah, who cares? Even if she didn't, she'll have the fun of turning that face into hamburger!

Without warning 165cm of surprisingly muscular form gets launched at Viper. Fists. Elbows. Knees. Feet. Fingernails. Forehead. Teeth, in a pinch. There's not a part of her body that's not getting used as a weapon as she tries her best to take Viper down (and to keep him away from Zatanna as she writes).

If she guessed wrong, she'll search the body for the antivenin.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Hate me all you want, little Miss Magician. You take after your father who also was powerless without his voice," he gloats, venomously. The gloat turns into surprise and rage as he is pummeled. Ineffectually, he ducks from the blows covering his head, hissing and swerving.

Notebook in hand, Zatanna props herself against the side of the van and writes quickly in Latin, forming each letter with care, /!em anaS .muem meniugnas eradnumE/(Sana me!- heal me! Emundare sanguinem meum.- Clean my blood)

A glow creeps up her arm from the notebook, wrapping the magician like a second skin. Clearing her throat, she says hoarsely, "It's working!" Distant sirens can be heard.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Dinah is probably having a bit too much fun. Close-in fighting is, after all, her gig. It's probably not the gig of a guy who sends snakes to do his dirty work. Hearing, however, that Zatanna is getting better, she stops the assault and switches instead into an immobilizing hold.

Some men would, on seeing that hold, likely wish they were in Viper's place. Until they saw the bruises, the blood, and the odd way that one finger is bent in a direction it just simply SHOULD NOT bend.

"OK, I've had enough fun, Zee. Your turn. Magic him into a rat or something. Let him escape his own snakes. I'll stop hitting him."

Beat.

Forehead smash against his ear.

"Well, OK, NOW I'll stop."

She's bruised. She's bloody. She needs medical attention. And she looks happy. Like she always does when in the field.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
So much for Zatanna's date, she seldom uses magic for mundane personal things like mending her clothes or removing blood stains, but she is not adverse to healing the woman who saved her. Hand to her throat, she clears it like a prima opera singer preparing for the stage, ".haniD ,dneirf ym laeH (Heal my friend, Dinah) she says in a rich contralto, carefully enunciating every syllable to overcome any lasting affects of the venom.

"I can't thank you enough for being at the stage Door like that Dinah. I doubt you were coming for an autograph. One sec. "sffucdnaH." (Handcuffs) she mutters prosaically in English. "Let's get out of here. I was hungry when I left the theatre. Want to get a bite to eat and let the police deal with these two?"

She flips a hand at the door of the van with a quiet word. Before leaving, she scrutinizes the strange bald man and asks with barely concealed anger, "You knew my father? I will see you in jail for a little parlay time." The door pops open and she sweeps her arm to it in a gesture fit for a ballroom inviting Dinah, "After you!"

Dinah Lance has posed:
"I was just remembering old times, actually," Dinah says as she exits, looking with amazement at her uncut arms, unbruised knuckles, and feeling the non-blackened eye. "The first time someone copped a feel was behind there. I was checking if they'd ever painted over the blood staining the board. I thought your show was still going on."

She glances back at the Viper and watches Zatanna's barely-restrained fury. "Need someone to help in that conversation? People say I'm good at talking."

What they say is she talks too much, but to-MAY-to to-MAH-to.

"I'm pretty OK at making people talk too."

She pauses a second. "Hold that thought." Rushing back to the van she pokes her head in. "Keep that hand there, pressing hard. Help's on its way. You can hear the siren. If I hear your buddy wasn't properly stopped from bleeding, I'll hunt you down."

Threat delivered, she turns back to Zatanna.

"Yeah, I'm a bit hungry now after that workout, Zee. I feel like a pizza." Mock-high voice. "That's funny, you don't look like a pizza!"

Ugh.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Pizza, yeah, good. We can talk about it over some food and something strong to drink." A police car roars up painting the scene with red and white lights. "Let's talk to them and get out of here."