8820/Leather and Fishnets in Gotham

Leather and Fishnets in Gotham
Date of Scene:	25 November 2021
Location:	Kingston - Miagani Island
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Achilles, Dinah Lance

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Achilles has posed:
    Unlike some immortal beings, Angelo isn't some anachronistic type. He actually keeps up on technology and the like. So it made his brows raise when he found the announcement of a Gofundme thing.

    But Gofundme can be traced, and he both did not want things tracing back to him for others to find out... nor did he want to put her at risk via some traceable transaction. So instead, he acquired a motorcycle that was as close to the one he had seen in the rare photos of Black Canary riding about Gotham. He paid cash for it, and then he hopped on and rode it to Gotham. Fortunately, Gotham isn't far from New York.

    And so he's been basically listening to police reports, using his SHIELD credentials to try to track Black Canary's movements, all in hopes of finding her to be... *gasp* a nice guy. Here he sits, eating a hot dog he bought at a nearby vendor cart. His legs straddle the bike, and he is not in his usual expensive business suit. He's in jeans, a Gotham Knights teeshirt, and a biker jacket he hasn't worn in a few decades. But it's well loved, broken in, and comfy as hell.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Things had heated up on that Go Fund Me, but the campaign was still on-going and, well, truth be told, Canary really didn't feel comfortable at the computer. She'd gone back once or twice and got warm fuzzy feelings both times as the donations came pouring in, but aside from the Peregrine Shipping donation, she'd decided to keep reactions for afterward.

Peregrine Shipping said 'no strings attached' but really, it's just the decent thing to do. Black Canary, in addition to her normal fare, has somehow acquired a bandana with Peregrine Shipping's name and logo on it, in the company colours. This is tied about her forehead just above her domino mask.

That aside, she's still Black Canary, still looks the part, and still fights crime. Like right now.

"What kind of moron breaks into a bank...?" a woman's voice can be heard over a knot of men at the delivery entrance of the Bank of Gotham, "...HERE of all places? If the godfathers don't get you, I do."

Sitting in a windowsill above, Canary looks down on the wannabe bank burglars before leaping down, catching protrusions to limit her speed on the way down, landing in the middle of them like a canary unleashed among the cats.

"A moron like you crowd," she says, booted foot connecting with the jaw of someone reaching for something in his jacket as she flexes back, just in time for the swung knife to go over her.

The kick's recovery gives her impetus for the backswing connecting to the knife-wielder's gullet, causing the thug to double over in pain and, quite by accident, getting the first bad-guy tag in.

The knife scrapes over her jacket, cutting a line in the leather.

"Do you have ANY idea how much a leather jacket like this COSTS!?" she asks in a voice that's suddenly lost all light-heartedness, voice cooling to practically Mr. Freeze levels.

Someone call an ambulance. No, make that a half-dozen. Canary's going to town.

Achilles has posed:
    Okay. Silent alarms go of. Bank.. in Gotham. I swear, that's more likely to summon a vigilante than a bat-signal in the sky. Anglo drops the remains of his hot dog into the trash, and turns on his Ducati. Okay. He may have gone a bit overboard on the bike. But hey, he likes Ducati as a brand.

    But he uses his phone's voice input method to do a GPS trace to the bank via his blutooth device. And he is off, racing down the streets to reach the location that the alarms are going off at.

    He manages to beat the police there since he happened, by sheer luck, to be only a few blocks away. I mean for all he knows, the robbery could be going off without a hitch. As he approaches the front door... the unconscious (not to mention upside down) robber slams into the door and slides to the floor. He still has his helmet on though since.. he didn't plan ahead and did not bring some vigilante mask. What? He doesn't really have a costume. He has armor, but that kinda stands out.

    But he opens the front door, leans his helmeted head inside to peer about the room, observing the carnage before he just steps fully inside and calmly walks towards where the last bits of combat may be happening.

    Finally, he speaks, "Pardon me." he says in a voice that has just the smallest hint of an English accent left, like someone who is about to lose it entirely. "But am I intruding?" Yep, still in his helmet, so partly muffled.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Hold that thought..."

Canary holds up a hand behind her at the strange voice as the final two thugs try to team up. The strategy is sound. The problem is that a) they telegraphed it and b) Canary isn't new to the game. She skids underneath one, between his legs, punching up as she does so (and every man within 10km suddenly crosses his legs in sympathetic pain) before flipping to her feet.

Tricky. She did that and wound up facing the new interlocuter.

"...OK, just get in line behind this guy and I'll kick your ass in turn. Ticket machine in the corner if you need a number."

The final thug has some kind of improvised club, made, seemingly, from one of those velvet rope posts. This he swings around with some expertise forcing Canary to dodge and weave without quite getting the chance to take him out.

Why isn't she screaming at him to stop?

Well, primarily because she doesn't have to, it turns out. After getting the rhythm and the thematic variations, she counters. One kick at the club as it swings around stops it in its tracks, the shock of the sudden stop and ensuing vibrations knocking the club out of the burglar's hands. Second kick launched in quick succession lands in his solar plexus. As he gasps in pain, and desperately relearns out to breathe, a straight-up gym exercise of repeated left-right-left-right punches to his upper torso take him off balance until, just before he falls of his own accord, a single huge uppercut takes his jaw and injects it, seemingly, into his eyes.

Well, OK, not really, but it sure LOOKS like it should!

In a defensive/offensive crouch, Canary turns to Angelo. "Your turn. Step on up! I haven't finished my workout yet."

Achilles has posed:
    Inclining his helmeted head as he watches the fight, Angelo makes mental notes. Fast. Skilled. Well trained. I mean, he might think he sees mistakes or openings, but hey, he could be wrong. The thugs she is fighting certainly wouldn't be good enough to exploit them whether they were there or not.

    But he holds up his hands as if trying to ward off an attacker. "Nope. I am -not- with them." he says as he slowly points his left hand at his right front pocket. "I am pulling out keys. Not a weapon." he says as he -slowly- reaches his right hand in. Or rather, his right index finger and thumb. He pulls out a key on a ring with a Ducati logo on it.

    "I was just delivering this as per my instructions." he adds as he holds the keys out, "It's the black bike parked out front. I was told that you were raising funds to purchase a backup motorcycle." And yes, the keys are held out, "If you -did- want a workout, perhaps something could be arranged, but at a location not about to be swarmed by police?"

Dinah Lance has posed:
A visible threat assessment, then Canary relaxes.

AFTER the keys are produced. A small intake of breath precedes their removal.

"Cops got it in for you?" she asks as she efficiently ties up the thugs with ... plain old zip ties. "No judgement," she hastily adds. "Lot of good people got on the wrong side of cops. I'm not about law, I'm about justice and crime."

She completes the binding then pauses to stretch momentarily. "But if cops are a problem for you, I don't have a problem moving on elsewhere."

With that the pint-sized pugilist passes Angelo, snagging the keys on the way out, heading out to the street.

"You comin'? ... Or just breathing hard?"

Face. Meet palm.

Achilles has posed:
    "Oh, I just figured you'd want to leave these guys as gifts for the Bobbies." A pause, and he adds, "I'd be fine with them, eventually. I just didn't want to really get a ton of public exposure here."

    That said, he turns to follow. His movements are confident, simple.. and he doesn't have the posture of someone unsure of himself. "Lead on." he adds as he follows, hands going into his pockets casually as he moves along.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Ducatis are sweet bikes," Canary says as they head out. "What's the catch?"

Experienced enough to think of that apparently.

"I mean don't get me wrong. I appreciate this, but I have to be careful. People like to use money to handcuff you sometimes."

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees the bike, letting out a low whistle.

"Check that. Don't care. That's a sweet piece of machinery!"

Achilles has posed:
    "No catch. Also, check the number on the back of the keychain insignia." Angelo adds. On the back is a string of numbers. "Cayman account number. Outside US influence. You and are the only ones with that number. I add to it, you use it. I was thinking about ten k a month for expenses. And... before you ask, no.. I don't want to control you."

    He adds, "I've ... sponsored a lot of heroes over the years. You're fighting the good fight. I have more money than I could ever really spend with normal expenditures. You're going to be suspicious, distrusting. But... this is whatever you want to make of it."

    And then he grins, "Shall I ride behind you then?" he asks as he approaches the bike.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Sure. Hop on. I hope your undies are waterproof because I'm going to give this a good trial."

Canary hops onto the motorcycle and ... sits. Looking. Taking it in. Taking inventory of the controls before doing anything else. This gives Angelo plenty of time to climb on. And sit. Doing nothing.

Then, she turns the key and kicks the engine into a roaring start, eschewing the electric starter, choosing to use her muscles and body weight instead, requiring almost her whole body weight to do it. Revving it to the redline, she pops the clutch at just that junction between spinning wheels and gripping, tearing away from the bank at lunatic acceleration to obscene speed.

"Decent pick-up!" she shouts over the roaring engine.

Then the actual insanity begins. She tests the manoeuverability.

Achilles has posed:
    Amazing pick-up for that matter. Angelo is gripping the back of the seat... not trying to use this as a chance to cop-a-feel or anything. "It's yours. Treat it any way you like." he states.

    But anything more he might say is cut off by the engine's start and revving. But yeah, holding on for dear life, so to speak.