972/Now Recruiting

Now Recruiting
Date of Scene:	04 April 2020
Location:	The Narrows - Miagani Island
Synopsis:	The Red Hood seeks to swell his ranks, only to be outdone by Beacon, Confessor, and another mysterious lady!
Cast of Characters:	Jason Todd, Phoebe Beacon, Blake Riviere, Jeremiah Parrish

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Jason Todd has posed:
    The Red Hood, a bit out of his way from the Cauldron to the Narrows, but one once related to the Bat Family knows that there's no rougher place on average. And sometimes, you just need some mindless muscle. Cheap, reliable, expendable muscle. And so, here's Jason, in full Red Hood garb, prowling the Narrows like a predator that no one can get a reliable read upon. The sounds of alarms, breaking windows, and cries ring out into the night, but the GCPD isn't coming. And, unless something goes horribly wrong tonight, neither is the Bat. Jason's sure that unless a big name is found out here, Batman won't bother. Crime is a given in the Narrows, and it seems far below the interest of the heavy hitters to bother coming out here on a night like this.

    And so, with his guns already drawn to make sure people KNOW he's here on business, Jason stalks the streets of the Narrows. Gangs seems to eye him with some distrust, but none of them engage him outright, seeming to be caught up in their own activities. He can hear doors locking as he goes along, until he turns down an alley. And there he finds a gang of thugs, beating on what may be members of a rival gang or perhaps just a couple of innocents in what is clearly a mugging. "Hand over whatcha got, pricks!" one of them cries, with grunts and pleading being the only response.

    And so, Jason, smirking behind the mask, draws a bead on one of the gang members, the biggest one he can hit from his angle, and fires a single, snapping shot into his kneecap. The man drops to one knee, crying out in pain before the rest of his gang rounds on the Red Hood. The shot seems to have silenced most of the street, allowing it to echo out followed by the screaming "WHAT THE HELL YOU SON OF A--!"

    Jason holds up his guns, pointing them at the gang and stepping forward. "You guys are really scrapin' the bottom of the barrel here, ya know? How about movin' up a bit?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Among the alleyways of the narrow a gray shadow has been walking, hood of her gray jacket lifted to cover her dark hair, the matte gray domino covering her face as she moves from narrow alley to narrow alley. She typically hovers around the edges of The Narrows, having been warned (several times) not to get too close -- but The Beacon can't stay well enough away. She adjusts her big bag, still half-full of care packs when she hears the report of a gun.

    Phoebe knows that she shouldn't investigate... but someone could use her help.

     So she hops up a dumpster, climbs a fire escape -- and makes her approach carefully over the rooftop.

Blake Riviere has posed:
There were bats in the Narrows...it just wasn't the kind that people probably thought of when they considered Gotham's crime-riddled district. A small screeching flutter of the winged creatures that might be unnerving for some or completely normal for others. Nothing overtly supernatural at a glance, but as the small swarm of winged creatures banked over the rooftops they began to gather, fluttering and seeming to lose form until none of the small creatures remained.

In their place? Blake Riviere rested perched above.

Wrapped in her black and red garb, the woman's form cast a shadow above the alleyway that formed the source of the cries, gunfire and scent of blood. Violence was afoot in Gotham tonight and the Vampiress had stumbled across it. Hunger, chance or something else entirely? It drew her in as a light-footed figure that approaches the fire-escape leading downwards...right in time to spot the figure of Phoebe coming from the opposite building. Curious.

Jeremiah Parrish has posed:
    Jeremiah Parrish is a long way from home, but sometimes, in the line of duty, a priest feels morally bound to step outside of their comfort zone. He knows he shouldn't be in the Narrows. Not on a night like this. Not on any night, honestly. However, this was the only evening he felt he could get away for a few hours before his night watch called.

    Stepping down the street, wearing black professional attire with the lone patch of white on his clerical collar, Jeremiah is not quite sure how the Narrows will respond to a man of the cloth. With a small Bible in one hand, he turns over the small item in his other hand, giving it one last look before placing the handcrafted necklace back in his pocket.

    The crack of gunshot grabs his attention for a moment. He pauses. Underneath his breath, he sighs then silently reminds himself that he is here to serve. Turning down the dark alley, he notes the distance to the commotion before donning his mask.

Jason Todd has posed:
    The gang isn't like the one he took out in the Cauldron. These are thugs through and through, and unlike the last group, they react violently to his proposition. Or maybe the violence is due to the wounding of one of their own, but the Narrows isn't a place known for its loyalty. And so Jason pulls the trigger again, this time dropping an approaching member with another kneecap shot. "C'mon boys, surely you want outta here. This place is picked clean, but the Cauldron is ripe for the taking! Come work for me, and you'll start seein' a positive cash flow and all the violence you can get." They continue advancing, and Jason shakes his head, kneecapping a third and fourth before they finally stop.

    "Who the hell are you?" a grunting voice says, the first of Jason's victims staggering to his feet despite the bullet in his leg. The Red Hood offers a nod of approval. "Strong guy, that one. You the leader of these morons?" The big guy grunts, "I asked you a question, asshole," he says, grunting in pain, "Answer before my boys break yer neck."

    Jason laughs, an echoing sound as he shrugs. "Call me Red Hood, and I'm here to make you guys part of my crew. I offer ya money and a base of operations out in the Cauldron, and a chance to be part of the biggest group this city's ever seen."

    As Phoebe, Blake, and Jeremiah close in, the Red Hood steps closer to the gang. "Either that, or I can wipe ya out and see how yer victims there like my offer. And don't think I can't. I could drop all of ya before your big ass hits the ground." The big guy grunts, then gestures with his hand across his throat. A clear sign of descent. However, a couple of the others seem unsure. "Boss, he's right. Ain't nothin' left here," one of the gang members says, even as a few make good on the boss' gesture and advance on Jason. "Ain't the point," the leader grunts, "I'M yer boss, and that's the way it's gonna stay. Hear me? Now GET HIM!"

    Jason sighs, then fires again, dropping the big guy with another crippling shot to his other leg before the first of the gang reaches him, catching a fist for his trouble. "Idiots," the Red Hood growls loudly, before backing up ever so slightly to begin fighting off the now unruly gang.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe hadn't seen the others yet, keeping to the rooftops -- relatively safe, compared to the streets below, the rookie heroine slips to a kneel, looking out in time to see the big guy drop, and the rest of the gang descend onto Jason.

    She doesn't quite catch the look of him, just knowing there was one on a gang didn't sit well with her.

    So down she goes, coming behind the gang with the flutter of her coat as she draws a staff from her back, the short 4-footer secure in her hands before she tucks the big bag to the side, takes a running start and comes in low, jabbing her bo staff into one of the goon's backs and up under his armpit to try and toss him into a wall.

Blake Riviere has posed:
How curious! Still Phoebe had been looking down and not 'across' to see Blake straight out in the open on the other rooftop, meaning that the woman in that black and red dress was simply left to chuckle as the other woman jumped down into the mix with her quarterstaff. It could make for quite the show...but then, she had been a little bored this evening.

Ah..why not?

To those in the alleyway, the sweep of cold air and the sudden rush of mist might almost go unnoticed in the sudden violence and gunfire, but one of the poor thugs would suddenly find himself seized and spun around to face the pale woman with ribbons in her dark locks smiling at him. Then there's an impact of her fist and he'd go sailing backwards from the inhuman force. Another stranger in the fray around the poor would-be victims.

Jeremiah Parrish has posed:
    In a place like the Narrows, the elements of fog, mist, and steam are not an uncommon site. Jeremiah uses this to his advantage as he finishes the last change of his vigilante uniform. Jeremiah steps out of the shadows of the night as The Confessor. A large white cross almost glows on his chest.

tHis eyes narrow as he continues to catch the unfolding conversation.

    Jeremiah had been prepared to defend the innocent this night, not choose between the lesser of two evils. Beyond the tumult, his supernatural senses settle on the innocents who had been the initial victims of the Narrows' brutality. Momentarily regarding the actions of this Red Hood, The Confessor silently utters, "In everything, give thanks..." before slipping back into the shadows and whisping into mist form

    Silently riding the winds past the combat, The Confessor steps out of the darkness and stand before those wounded and in need of medical assistance. He seems to have no plans to involve himself in tonight's violence.

Jason Todd has posed:
    Jason fully anticipates having to take down this brutish gang alone, and plans on leaving them alive at least long enough to ask them to join him again. And so his guns are holstered after first contact, done in the same motion as a duck and punch to an attacking thug before he can feel someone else's presense nearby. As Phoebe leaps in, he ponders for a moment if he had another mark or a temporary ally. When she drops a thug with her quarterstaff, much to the thug's clear surprise. And Jason's, if he's honest. However, he's not going to turn down someone helping him turn the tides right now, even if he could handle a handful of untrained thugs. Their leader bleeds out in the middle of the alley, and perhaps that might draw the hero's attention before too long, but for now, he gives a chuckle. "Nice staff work," he offers, before he shoulders away another thug, pushing him away toward a wall.

    Mist, especially directed mist, seems to draw Jason's attention for a moment, but he's pressed by a double team and can't follow it any further. As he protects himself from a rain of blows and sweeps the pair off their feet and plants a foot into each of their solar plexi, he becomes aware of another presense in the alley, and his eyes dart toward Blake, blinking from behind his mask. Which is enough of a distraction for him to catch a trash can lid to the head. The reinforced material of his mask rings dully in his ears and the alley, and he turns and catches the thug that hit him with an elbow to the chest. An elbow that results in an audible crack.

    And as his vision clears after the blindside, he's aware of the Confessor standing over the original victims. How'd he get there? How'd Blake get there, for that matter? He doesn't ask, instead working his way toward the boss who now seems finally shaken, his legs inoperable and his guys thinned or fleeing. "Good work, asshole. Now you gotta die instead. Unless you wanna join me, then maybe I can get ya some help, yeah?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Thanks, should see me on fight night!" the teenager jokes as she uses her staff to guide and throw her opponents -- without touching them. Keeping them away.

    Phoebe works to quickly dispatch the thugs, to knock out or draw away, letting her attackers roll across her back, guiding them, throwing them and easing them away as she draws herself closer to the epicenter of brutality -- Red Hood. Jason Todd. The others flee, and she takes a breath, ready to stabilize the wounded before --

    "I don't think so." The Beacon states, the matte gray domino beneath her hood showing her dark eyes before she brings her staff a little over the gang leader. She can smell the blood, and adreniline is making her blood run to her ears, but she levels a look to the Hood.

    "Shooting to kill in front of some ladies?"

Blake Riviere has posed:
The poor thugs really didn't know what hit them, did they? Red eyes alight with mirth look over the fallen thugs as the gothicly dressed Blake reaches down to her victim, wiping the blood on her fist off against the man's shirt. Sure she was a vampire, but one didn't eat food they found in dodgy places if they could avoid it, so why should she be any different?

Without a mask on her face there was no shrouding for the pale woman's identity, certainly leaving her the 'odd one out' while she looked over each of the gathered in turn. Confessor might not have joined the fight, but there's a noticable moment of lingered gaze and a 'sniff' towards the man before she turns towards the small standoff between the Beacon and the Red Hood.

"How exciting," she speaks, raising her own hands in clear indication she wasn't stepping in to intervene just yet. "It seems some of us are not quite so keen on killing."

Jason Todd has posed:
    Jason sighs from behind his mask, then draws his other pistol and turns it on the Beacon. "Honey, thanks for the help, but this was all a business setup. Sometimes you help the wrong people, but now you got a chance to just walk away from this and let me finish my work, yeah?" He knows, or suspects, that she's not going to back down, but perhaps a simple threat will be enough. "I put the bullets in this guy's legs, after all," he says, "I'm hopin' to heal him back up if he agrees to work for me."

    The thug glares up at him, but it's clear he's getting weak from blood loss. "To hell with you, asshole," he spits, falling forward and looking quite pale indeed. Jason glances over toward Blake, who is unmasked and seems almost pedestrian. However, the blood she wipes off her knuckles speaks volumes beyond that. "And who're you supposed to be?" he asks, "Not another do-gooder like this one, I hope?" He chuckles, then puts hits guns away. "Seems this guy ain't what I wanted, but maybe some of these guys will be curious enough to look around once they wake up."

    The Confessor, for his part, is given a deeper look from the Red Hood. "And what's your deal? Wearing a cross and just standing there quietly. You tryin' to tell me something?" He quirks an eyebrow, but no one can see that. "Look, just patch him, I guess," he says to the Beacon. "I think I've made my point, and I don't really feel up to hurting someone who helped me out today, even if it was a naive move."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's not the first time someone's pulled a gun on Phoebe... but it doesn't seem like another one of Gotham's Finest in Red is about to step in here -- and she seems like she may be caught between a rock and a hard place as she stares down Jason's gun with a not-quite-steely, but no less determined look. Her grip on her staff even tightens slightly, and she begins to consider just where to hit him to break his wrist, eyeballing down his arm to guage if he's wearing armor -- until he pulls the gun up. Her shoulders relax, and the Beacon does what she does best.

    She draws down to the bleeding out goon, and she slips off her glove.

    "This will stop the bleeding," she states, apologetically, "... but you should probably stay down, quiet, and reconsider how close you came to ending in Potter's Field." she whispers to him, and she presses her palm against his shoulder.

    And miraculously, he stops bleeding out, the bullets pushing out of his leg, though it will take a while before he's ready to walk again.

    Beacon teeters, somewhat, leaning against her staff as shecomes to a stand.

Blake Riviere has posed:
A 'Do-gooder'? That's worth a shrug from Blake once more before she looks between the pair. Jason is certainly dangerous, he may well even be threatening her by-proxy...but she's almost dismissively calm in the face of what very well could be a gun pointed her way. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out she was probably a little far from 'normal' be it by ability or just straight insanity. "A curious way to make friends, relieving them of their ability to walk. I wouldn't imagine it makes them very useful..."

Then Beacon was channeling some sort of...something. Something that began to cause that scent of blood to fade and wounds to close. How very -very- interesting? The Vampiress' faintly luminescent red gaze flicks upwards now, looking over Phoebe with newly alighted interest.

Jeremiah Parrish has posed:
    The Confessor, with his hand placed over a bleeding exit wound, bothers not to even make eye contact. "Some would rather heal than deal wounds." The Confessor rips a portion of the poor man's sleeve. Wrapping the improvised bandage around the his patient's leg, he continues, without looking up. "Rest assured... had you not intervened, I would have had no qualms in ending the lives of these men."

Jeremiah pauses at the sight of the blood on his hands. He grimaces and places a hand to the cross on his chest. For a moment, his mouth moves with his eyes closed but no sound is made.

Opening his eyes and reassessing the wounded, The Confessor finishes his thought as he lifts the barely conscious man, "It's not killing that I have a problem with. I have a problem with murder."

Jason Todd has posed:
    Jason flicks his jacket back to resettle it over his holsters, rolling his shoulders as Beacon sets to work. While she does, watching her with curiosity, he turns his vocal attentions to Blake instead. "I didn't say I was looking for friends, just muscle, really." He shrugs again, then watches Beacon work her... magic? She seems to have some sort of ability, and Jason chuckles again. "Well, would you look at that?" he says, the clatter of the bullets dropping to the concrete seeming loud in the sudden hush. When the girl struggles back to her feet, he shakes his head. "Seems like a waste of power to give this guy a new lease on life, but that's just me. Must be exhausting bein' a goody-good, huh?"

    He then turns toward Blake, crossing his arms but still seeming on guard. "And what about you? She came from the rooftop, but I couldn't help but notice that you, and him for that matter," he says, jerking a finger toward Confessor, "just sorta... showed up. What's with that? Clearly you got some sorta secret." He seems laser-focused on the other two now that Beacon seems exhausted, though he stays guarded in case she gets any funny ideas. Which he doesn't think she will, but he'd be a terrible bad guy if he just let his guard down. Again.

    As Confessor finally stirs and makes moves to help the initial victims, Jason seems... perplexed, sure to say. He hadn't so much as spoken a word, and now he seems... weird. "Uhh... Yeah, alright. Sure. So you'da killed these guys to defend those two, but... didn't. What's your deal, then?" He shrugs. "Yeah, and sometimes that line's hard to see, don't ya know. Is it murder if ya know that someone's gonna go on to do this kinda crap again? Then again, I WAS plannin' on hirin' him as thug muscle, so I guess I ain't the guy to have that debate." He shakes his head, then turns his back. "Well, I guess since all my marks are now unconscious, again, and I seem to be outnumbered at least two to one by you hero types, I'm gonna get rolling. Man, I've got some terrible luck." He lifts a hand in a wave, then turns his back on all three of them. Before he gets far, however, he stops. "Just to let ya know, you ain't seen the last of me. This city's mine. It just don't know it yet."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Beacon steadies herself, and she gives a bit of a withering look to Jason as she straightens her jacket, and goes to retrieve her bag, passing by the other injured men that Confessor tends to. To anyone who can feel it, she is, indeed a Beacon of lightenergy, though it's flagging -- slightly. Those Vampiric types might not like standing too close to her.

    "Beats letting the city collapse around itself. Someone's got to lend the heroes a hand." she states to Red Hood, though she siddels her givings bag back on, pulling her hood a little further over her eyes.

    She gives another glare to Jason as he goes, then looks to the other two.

    "I... ah... should get going too. Thanks for the help. I do appreciate it."

Blake Riviere has posed:
Sunlight wasn't fatal to Blake...but it was uncomfortable. Enough to make her feel a little weaker when it's more 'direct', far more 'mortal' than usual. With the other people tending the wounded, Blake in black looked more like some gothic fatale impression of 'death'. Even her lipstick was a deep shade of red to offset her pale skin and add to the 'vibe'. Left with fleeing Phoebe and sending a little nod her way, Jason's question is far more coyly answered. "I've got a secret," she nods, offering a little purr to her accented tones. "What woman doesn't? It's half the fun."

Of course, the Confessor gets a glance himself, but it's back to the vigilante in red that she turns her still faintly glowing gaze. "You're not the first I've seen to try and proclaim something as theirs...this will certainly be interesting to watch..."

With that? Her form starts to fade, a swift silhouette of fog and mist flowing from where she'd once sat solidly before an unnatural gaze sweeps her upwards and away into the night.

Jeremiah Parrish has posed:
    The Confessor looks back from shadows to address the Red Hood's question. "I did not kill these men because I was unaware of the situation before you intervened... and then only if I had deemed it necessary." He then looks at the numerous bodies. "It probably would have been necessary."

"However... you are correct. The line between killing and murder is hard to see. All murder, by default, indicates a life has been taken, but not all killing is murder." He furrows his brow and narrows his eyes. "It is a heart issue." The Confessor looks down at the victim for whom he had been too late. "Too many broken hearts..."

"...but this one I can do something about."
With those last words, he dashes down the alley, carrying the bandaged man.