Owner	Pose
Harper Row	Harper has another patrol on her to-do list. Lately she's been quite attentive with duties related to the Birds. Like, seriously, very intent about pulling her weight. There's quite a lot to live up to considering her peers. Gosh, it's like she's doing tryouts to be the Ward of someone. Or maybe life is going in directions that are quite nice. Whatever the source, she's humming as she does some parkour between a high gap of apartments. And then she's butchering lyrics. Her voice going all gravelly and punkish. "I left mah baby...and it feels sooooo bad." "Guess my race is Ruuu-uuuunnn...ah." "She's the bestest girl that I evah hhhad." "I brought the law, and then...I won. I brought the law and, uh, I woooon." " Her progress in the next series of leaps will allow her to come upon a nice crunchy roof with good friction to really get a good run going, or come to a halt well. She's got a few choices along this patrol route. A few choice seconds to make it as she's airborne and about to come down on that nice dark silhouette ahead, slim stacks and chimneys, bits of Gotham architecture that hardly get scene by most at this height. "To in-finity aaaaaand..."
Ariah Olivie	It really is a lovely night. Lots of long shadows, lots of dark corners. Lots of places to hide, get lost, and in a place like Gotham, potentially worse. There's sounds of a scuffle not too far away, perhaps a few buildings over and down at street level. Voices, grunting, laughing, mocking. "Looks like we hit paydirt, boys!" shouts one man. "Quit jerking around and HELP m-uRRGH!" a sound of pain, more fighting. "She's got a bloody sword!" shouts another voice. Then the gunfire sounds out. Handguns. A shotgun. "The garlic ain't doin' shit, but that dragon's breath sure worked!" guffaws another.     There's a near-animalistic growl and an explosion of light. "The fuck was that?! She some kinda /witch/, too?! Get 'er now! Do it, Barry!" Another explosion, this one louder, brighter. Obviously a flashbang going off. A scream follows. "THERE! DO IT NOW!" More gunfire and a loud THUNK sound. What will Harper find at the edge of the rooftops when she gazes down below?     Blood. Bodies. There's a half dozen men, most injured, and a ... small girl? One of the men isn't moving, there's a sword clear through his chest, pinning him to one of the walls. A staff lay on the ground, too, bearing designs that match the sword's grip. Likely a sword-staff of some kind? Another pair are limping or resting, likely from broken bones and other injuries. Of the three still standing, one is holding a smoking shotgun, it smells like fire and cordite. The other two are near the girl, but she's laying there, unmoving. She's pinned to the ground, a rod jammed through the middle of her chest, blood soaking her clothing. Dark skin, white hair. Staring at the sky, her heterochromatic eyes in silver and purple stare unblinking. Parts of her look to be rather charred, too, likely an after-effect of the dragon's breath that was used on her. Incendiary weapons. Bullet wounds.     So small. So elegant. A white dress stained in scarlet, not even five feet tall.
Harper Row	The silhouette of Harper's masked head presents itself against the night. Her mouth opens in shock. The sounds had at least warned her of trouble with a capital T, but the reality is ten times worse. There's little time to think, as the self-proclaimed smarty-pants takes stock and makes a judgement call. Even if it appears she's far too late. So much blood... "Heads up fuckers!" Harper swings over the ledge, and she braces for impact on a nearby fire escape. Wet and metal, she trusts in the grip of her boots and leverages her railgun up to hip-fire. The power-cell provides a background whine and the magnetic barrel glows bright electric blue from the slits heat-sinking the sides. Bluebird is legit angry, and her face resembles a gargoyle the way her mouth is twisted. All teeth and gums. That poor girl, and the apparent overkill to burn her, run her through, turn her into swiss cheese tests Bluebird's convictions on meeting out justice. VRRAK VRRAK Her electric non-lethal rounds are cast at the standing men. VRRAK VRRAK. Double-taps shot on the third. She's not telling anyone to freeze or back off, she's shooting first and taking names later. The details are curling at the back of her head, screaming at her there's a few things she hasn't considered. The girl must have been something special. A mystery she'll address after she's dealt with these assholes.
Ariah Olivie	One of the men closest to the girl gives her arm a nudge with his foot. She's unresponsive. The other near her does the same with her leg. No motion. No nothing. She doesn't look like she's even breathing. "Right, keep 'er staked, I'll go get the va--" The guy with the shotgun turns towards the mouth of the alley, ejecting the two spent shells in his double-barrel. Just in time for Harper to go over the edge. "OH SHIT IT'S A BAT!" shouts one of the pistol guys. The third holds up his hands, "No, wait! You don't get it!" He's frantically backing up, away from the body.     "She ain't human! She's--AACK!" he takes charged shots and spasms, the taser bolts from the railgun easily dropping him. The second one who had called out drops easily, too, tripping over his own feet as his nerves and muscles are overloaded with electricity. The third, though, with the shotgun, seems to be wearing heavier clothing. "Back off, cape! This freak's--" ZAP! Right in the head. Enough to drop the burly guy.     "Hells with this...!" the injured pair try to drag themselves away, clearly having broken ribs and fractured bones, as if some concussive force had blasted them. One's hobbling, the other is crawling.
Harper Row	Harper sneers, the impacts of her rounds making some nice bright flash discharges to illuminate her mask. There's small satisfaction of the recent target practice paying off. Okay, more than a little when she sees the figures drop and do the spaz-dance. "That's right." she hisses. "Make like a fish." Her railgun is sighted down on the retreating figures, but according to her estimates, they won't be an immediate threat. The wastes a round near their heels to put the fear of retribution into them. She yells after them, hoarse and full of adrenaline, "A head start is all you get!" Her mental checklist gets some slashes and she drops the business-end of her railgun. As she turns back to the girl, that troubling detail is noted through her eye-lenses. That freakin dude run through and pinned to the wall for example. Harper's lips downward pout and she approaches the victim of the alley fight. She's far too late, surely. Harper crouches down and her hands tentatively touch the object that's got her pinned. "Damn it...I'm sorry." She peers into those eyes, noting the hair colour and weapons used. Things are not adding up, and the yammering of the goons is filling a separate sheet of notes now. Her mouth opens, in confusion, this is weird. Her hand on the rod shifts it a little. Ever the curious bird, she should leave well enough alone, but she's high on adrenaline and needs answers. "What the hell..."
Ariah Olivie	The guy impaled against the wall looks to have been done so with considerable force and precision. The blade itself is embedded in not just the body, sternum and spine included, but also about six inches of hard Gotham brick. The stuff you could build a fortress out of. And yet, this girl. This young woman. So small. And so... harmed. Those eyes are glassy and blank. Her lips are parted slightly, but blood fills her mouth. Those two guys in the alley are whimpering and hauling themselves away at as rapid a clip as they can. But the big guy probably has the van keys. Oh well. They'll go find an unsympathetic cop or something.     The girl, though. That thing in her chest. It pierces her heart, clearly, judging by what position it's in. She's cold. Lifeless. She looks like she'd been out for a night on the town. Knee-length black boots, that flowing white dress, muscular but bare arms and some gloves that are half black cross-wrap along them and half actually finger-covering. And then, as that stake made of some sort of ... silver ... is moved, her eyelids twitch.     When Harper pulls at it, it slides free with far less resistance than she might imagine. As if the girl's body was trying to forcibly reject the substance it's made of but just didn't have the strength to do so. But the moment it leaves, her pupils go tight. She coughs and heaves and chokes out the blood filling her windpipe, fingers curling tight and arm muscles going taut in pain from the burns.
Harper Row	Harper loves horror movies. She's watched the whole gamut with her little brother, low budget or big deals, she should know better. "Mutant?" she murmers, feeling a bit ill that such a terrible thing happened what was essentially on her Watch. She's heard a lot of anti-mutant hate groups causing noise here and there, so this bit of street targeting doesn't surprise her at least. The girl certainly had all those qualities that would make her stand out in a crowd. "Having my ass strung up from a bridge at the very least." Harper tries to shift the feelings of failure firmly onto her shoulders, grimacing and then gives a small shout at the object comes free so easily. That feels wrong, just like so much in this alley. The miraculous reanimation has Bluebird back off, holding up her forearm to ward off blood spatter from the girl's mouth or a sneak attack. But it appears mostly a kind of agony of being brought back to consciousness. "Holy shit!" Yeah, the dots connect up pretty fast. The weapons, the smells, the piercing of the heart. Harper's weapon is up and training on the girl, teeth flashing white.
Ariah Olivie	No attack comes. No howl of anger or rushing off into the night on bat wings or bloody mist. Instead, the girl rolls over onto her side, still coughing and choking. The wound can be seen clear through her, the stake having left an exit wound that glistens with blood just shy of her spine, pushing through her dress but it's hard to tell with the gunshot wounds. One thing that Harper *can* see, though, are the girl's fangs. They pop out as if on reflex even as she curls partially into the fetal position. Not the first time she's had this reaction to being in Gotham, go figure.     But she's babbling, a mix of pained incoherency and French. "Merde... merde..." she grunts, "ca brule.. ca brule...! Brulante! Aidez-moi, s'il vous plait..." she seems to be pawing at the burns on her form, eyes clenched shut. "Besoin. Boire. Nourrir..." another coughing fit. She smells the blood, though, from the man she'd impaled. And she can sense the heartbeat of the fallen gunmen nearby. She starts to drag herself towards the nearest one...
Harper Row	Harper does a wonderful goldfish impression. Shocked at the girl being able to move and make those noises. "Hey...Hey..." she lowers the gun, noting how in pain the stranger is. And the fangs of course. Her hands go towards Ariah, and then are pulled back. There are some very strong survival instincts elbowing her in the brain while her need to help softly pummels from the other side. "I don't speak Spanish, I'm sorry!" she hisses. Harper drops the object that was impaling the girl and rises, circling her as she crawls towards a fallen attacker. This is a problem. Bluebird stands in front of the gunman, unsure if he's still alive or dead for certain. She dropped three and they should only be stunned. She doesn't raise the barrel of her weapoon but she holds up her hands and tries to pat the air for peace. "Hoooold up, hold up girl. I can't let you drain these juice boxes dry. No matter how much that might feel right. Hey..." Harper shakes her head from side to side, setting her mouth into a hard expression. "Let me...help. I can make a call to some really smart people."
Ariah Olivie	Whether or not the girl can hear Harper for the moment is up for debate, her ears look like they're bleeding, too. She paws at the concrete and fixes those blurry eyes on the woman standing before her. The blood soaking her clothes mixes with the ever-present grime on the Gotham ground. But those words give her pause, though. She hears the English. Understands the words. And then tries to, slowly, pull gently at one of those outstretched arms. "...drink... please..." she mumbles, voice still thickly accented in French.     The look on her face is one of abject pain, as she's likely feeling the intensity of those burns and the other wounds that are clearly, at the moment, not healing or closing. She might not be actively gushing crimson out on the rain-slicked alley, but she's more than a little toasty and perforated. "...you can.. help..? Then. Let me. Feed."
Harper Row	Harper keeps herself in the girl's line of sight. She's no Doctor, but she's confident that if she lets a feeding take place on the injured, she's an accessory to murder. "No exactly the Trolley problem is it..." she mumbles under her breath. The Bluebird slings her railgun, barrel carrying some static electricity and steam, and offers her hand. "Now listen...I'm gonna help you feed. But not them. They need to get what's coming to them in a way that they'll be able to regret. C'mon..." Harper closes the distance, meaning to offer herself as a means of support. "What we're gonna do is get you out of this alley, and I'll get you on my bike, and we'll get you some type Aye, Bee and..." Yeah, sure, that's the plan. The closer she gets, the more she notices the very bad terrible condition. "I...Can you make it..." Harper grimaces. "Can you...can you take a little...from me?"
Ariah Olivie	Trolley problems imply some potential of greater good to be gained in a net-zero karma situation. Ariah might not /die/ here but she's in agony. And if left to her own devices, would easily fall prey to the others. The fallen hunter she might feed on probably won't die, but the one impaled on the wall already is gone. And Harper... Harper would probably be fine. The small woman pauses crawling as the other woman asks to take her somewhere.     "...too close to edge. Need. Something. Any. Starvation.. turns to beast.." she warns quietly. In her condition, waiting too much longer might kick her into a violent frenzy mode, using the last of her strengt to feed at any cost. The look in her eyes, the faint shine, makes her look like a wounded animal and waiting too long might be catastrophic for her--and those around her.
Harper Row	The hairs on the back of Harper's neck rise and it's clear time is running out in more than one way. All this situation needs is the sound of something ticking down. Mentally, Harper tries to calculate how long assistance could take to arrive, and also cops. With a curse, she goes to actually lift Ariah up into her arms. "Alright." Gritting her teeth, Bluebird hustles the girl up against her and attempts to move deeper into the alley. And if that's not possible, to at least put some distance between herself and the dead and wounded. She hisses, "Okay...O-kay..." It's hard to say the words, but whatever happens, less people are going to die now that she's involved. "Take some from me. And then there's gonna be some explainin." The fear of getting infected is huge. "My friends won't forgive me if I get a craving for blood. I don't know how this works...should I offer my arm or...neck? Is it dangerous? I don't know how to..."
Ariah Olivie	Tick. Tick. Tick. Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood on the sword, coming out of the man's chest against the wall is rhythmic. Drop by drop, pooling on the ground in the alley. As Ariah waits and watches, she could almost hear the gears turning in Harper's mind. Or maybe see the indecision on her face. If she's able to fully see properly at all at this moment. Then she makes a small noise as she's picked up.     For a girl her size, she's not light. Her muscle density puts some extra weight on her, but she's not exactly fighting it. In fact, she's trying to help. To push her feet into the pavement and move to where Harper is taking her. Even if it's just a few meters away into the dead end. It's something. Somewhere. At the question, she just shakes her head, "...not dangerous... promise.." the little French girl speaks, voice low. "...anywhere. Good vein. Neck. Wrist. Will not turn you..." she furrows her brow. "...have to drain you to change you... still too young.. to have children.." she says in jest. A vampire joke.
Harper Row	Harper isn't sure her truth detector is working all that properly, but she's going to have to go with her gut. "Jay-Z...you're heavy girl." Good thing the Birds have been making sure she hasn't skipped Leg Day, or arm day for that matter. This is putting it to the test. Further into the alley, it's about as dark and closed in as it can get. A corner that Harper kicks aside trash and other smashables. Bottles and vermin skitter and clatter away as Harper puts her back to the corner and lets Ariah absolutely help support herself and lean against her. "I gotta...I gotta loosen..." Harper rasps. The whole scene playing out, making her feel oddly like she's sneaking out with a girlfriend to sneak a smoke or a quick snog. "What in the hell am I doing!" she hisses. Her gloves are well and truely strapped, so she works at her collar to bare her neck. "You gotta promise. You gotta promise." The joke flies over her head like a high-flyin bat. She squeezes her eyes shut.
Ariah Olivie	Thankfully, Ariah's legs are in better shape than her arms. She helps as best she can, stumbling and leaning the whole way. "...apologies... was... am... soldier... much training... strong..." she mumbles, fighting the hunger delirium. There's so much blood that she can smell. That she's walking away from. Being pulled away from. It gets into her instincts, her mind, yelling at her to feed. That burning sensation in her chest starting to heat up.     One of the girl's hands shoots out, palm smacking flat against the wall, giving her a little more support so she's not forcing all of her weight onto Harper. The girl is breathing, though. Some semblance of it. Her chest rises and falls. Air flows in and out, heated by whatever furnace burns in her breast. Vapors in the cold Gotham night. But those words. She stares at Harper, mismatched eyes glowing more in the dark, hints of crimson deep within silver and purple.     Her eyes focus on that bared neck though, and she... hesitates. Biting back the hunger again, low growl rising in her chest. "...promise what?" she asks. She wants clarification. She wants to know she has permission from her savior.
Harper Row	Harper pries open one eyelid when there's no shooting pain happening. She peers towards Ariah, looking pensive and anxious. Attempting to keep a stern expression like Batgirl is a challenge. "What?" She opens both eyes and blinks hard and is arrested by Ariah's eyes. The temporary wisps of breath before they're whisked away or dissipate. A hard swallow and Harper reiterates. The growl has her rising up on her tiptoes, the hard corner of the alley directly behind her. Self-cornering herself doesn't feel natural. "Just...Just don't take it all. Do me a solid. Take what you need and we'll go from there." Harper stares at those different coloured eyes with their inner light and the mezmerizing quality. So much adrenaline running through her, the passage of time feels strange and this part of the alley closer and unlit.
Ariah Olivie	She's a predator. A beast. A *monster*. But she's there. Fighting her feral urges. The edge of losing control. And. Asking permission. Getting final confirmation. Somehow holding out with enough willpower to not simply lunge for Harper or the unconscious man and tear out their throats with her teeth. But with one hand braced against the wall, she reaches up with the other. She has to pull Harper down. She has to bring the girl closer to her level. It's bad enough Ariah is seven inches shorter than Harper without boots, but she's leaning heavily on the wall too.     But even as she does this, she speaks, "..promise.. only hurt.. a little. Short. Drink." Her words come as if rasped out by someone with dry lips and a parched tongue. With her needs, that wouldn't be far from the truth. So she tugs, aligns her mouth with Harper's neck, and closes her eyes. She feels that rapid heartbeat, that adrenaline-fueled pulse. It makes finding the vein so much easier even if she wasn't in a hypersensitive state right now.     And then her fangs sink in.     A sting. Momentary pain. The burn as twin-points of teeth press in and go deep. And then warmth. A blooming heat radiating out to make finger and toe-tips tingle. Masking the two wounds that are being denied closure for the moment.
Harper Row	Harper makes a grunting sound as she's hauled into a better position. She catches more than a hint of how badly this could go. She's really gambling on this, and if there's a replay she's not certain she wouldn't be yelling at how dumb she is. Like watching a Horror flick. "Right...only..h-..what?" she blurts and her head turns away and she stares at the shifting view of the alley. Harper stifles the yelp on its way out of her throat and smacks a fist against the brick wall with a solid thunk. The flood of warmth has Harper gasping and her gloved fingers drag at the coarse texture of the bricks. She hunches, but remains still as Ariah's mouth is felt pressed against her flesh. "Aaaaa....HHhhh..." In her boots, her tingling toes scrunch and flex as her senses tussle with these new sensations.
Ariah Olivie	It's so warm. Like liquid running down Harper's nerves. Like those fangs have made a direct connection to her nervous system. Ariah could channel pleasure or pain through the bite, but its primary use is masking that pain. And mask it she does. The feeling is.. pleasasnt. Not overloading. No intent to dibilitate the poor Bluebird. The only intent now is to make this as pleasant as possible so she can get what she needs: Blood.     It coats her tongue, small trickles of it, wetting the dry muscle with the life-giving heat. And as she swallows, her form spasms. Her fingers dig into the brick, leaving furrows in the material, her other hand roughly holding tight to Harper's collar. Even though the girl is warm, the blood makes her warmer, the effect is instant. Her temperature boosts by several degrees but she doesn't stop. That bare swallow isn't enough, with as wounded as she is. As slow as the blood comes, though, she isn't forcing it. Just letting Harper's rapid heartbeat do the job for her.
Harper Row	Harper's legs don't go out from beneath her, but she wouldn't mind too much if they did. She's had enough training to be able to stay on her feet through a lot. She was expecting one thing, and to receive ~this~ gives her a kind of pleasant sensation unlike something she could inhale or imbibe. No strange taste or sting beyond those initial punctures. The sounds of brick and mortar getting croonched nearby don't seem so nerve wracking. "That's...that's...thuh..." Bluebird feels the lips at her throat preventing a mess of her essence. Harper sucks in a breath as the curious feeling of her heartbeat sounding louder and louder in her ears manifests. It feels like her veins are full of syrup, and there's a kind of contained system of pressure, that the girl has let it dollop out. Da-dump-da-dump, more of her pumps out, her tongue starts to hang out. She can still think, and there's no spectral cold hand clutching her heart, rather something else. Is time slowing? Harper stares, staying still as she's fed upon, tension seeping from her. "This is fine..."
Ariah Olivie	It's such a warm thing. Like being submersed in a hot bath. But instead of on the outside, the heat is rippling out from within. Certainly not a fire, no, but that sense of floating and... relaxing? As relaxed as one can be like this, in this place. But as trickles of blood continue to roll down her throat, something in Ariah changes. Her hold clenches and pulses, as if her strength is ebbing and flowing.     If Harper can see her body from where she's being held, it's becoming obvious that those outer wounds on the smaller woman start to fill in. She's starting to heal, to recover. All it took was.. this. Such a price to pay, literally in blood. But she isn't forcing it still. No hard draw of suction, no ripping and tearing.     In time, though, her own heart feels like it's beating. Her body comes alive, even if it's painfully obvious she... isn't. Not in the sense of a normal living organism. Harper had found her. Dead. Heart stopped, eyes glassy. A stake shoved through her sternum. Whatever mockery of true life the girl is, it feels... real.
Harper Row	The changes in the strange girl come to Harper's awareness slowly. Her senses merely mortal, her eyes and ears can still tell her much. Harper doesn't turn her head, but does slide her eyeballs over. She swears she can sense some manner of vitality from the other woman. Certainly not what she tried to carry over here earlier. "Is it...working? Are you okay?" Harper feels quite okay. There's nothing to worry about here. If there was, surely she'd know it. This nook in the alley isn't so bad either. Usually that'd really be a damp and dirty place to visit for a few second, and be literally an effort to exist in. But it's not so bad at all. Harper raises her hand to try and touch, to feel if the girl is quite solid, to see if she's warming up or still feeling cold. Her palm rubs against Ariah's back, as if she was trying to soothe and make ~her~ feel more comfortable. When the girl was darn dead, feels like it was so long ago. "Bluebird to the rescuuuuuuuue. Gawd, I don't even know your name." That warm heat through her limbs. "Pretty classy right? Swept you off your feet but now you've the one that's got me floatin."
Ariah Olivie	Ariah is... quite real. Warm. Soft. Pointy in places. Namely the places where she's clamped to Harper's neck. She isn't going to drain the Bluebird dry, though, no. She isn't here to kill. Or to turn the other woman into a vampire along with her. She may not have to breathe, but there's something in the long, slow breath she exhales. Like a sign of relief. It washes over Harper's neck and her muscles relax as tension bleeds out of them. The poor girl had been a high-tension wire, trying so hard not to just completely lose it. And now she has what she needs.     The amount of blood she does drain, however, may leave Harper light-headed. When she finally pulls away, a soft, gurgling groan escapes her. One last swallow before she seals off the punctures with her tongue. One last gentle rush of inner warmth as a silent thanks. By now, though, she's left deep furrows in the brick, bloody from having torn her fingers up in the process even though they don't even look the slightest bit hurt.     Her mismatched eyes, glowing faintly, peer up into Harper's as those seemingly delirious words echo in her ears. "...Ariah. I am Ariah. Merci. I am sorry you had to see me like this. It has become... far too frequent for my liking..." she says softly. Her voice is quiet, cold, and her French accent is so thick it might make it a little difficult to understand her. "It is. Nice sweep."
Harper Row	Harper feels her head swimming, and once the connection is severed, she's leaning back against the damaged brick wall. That last surge of pleasant sensations has the Bluebird lean her head back until it baps against the surface behind her. She takes in a number of steadying breaths, not gurgling, but definitely issuing out a few groans of her own. Her hand comes up to pat at her neck, expecting to feel it slick with blood but miraculously feeling a-ok. Her fingertips drag down, probing around her collar and outfit. Harper's eyes blink slowly and she focuses on Ariah's own. The two different hues mystify her, and the accent needs some parsing, but totally pleasant to her own ears. "Ariah." she says it, her mouth trying it out. "Frequent?" Her brain is starting to spin back up, remind her that they're not out of the woods just yet. "Feel like I just listened to my new best song, or that part in the movie where the music sort of...anyways..." Harper pushes off and tries to take stock. "Let's get you someplace else, and then we can talk. There's more than one hunter in the city, and while I don't know those assholes over there, I did meet someone recently with a Madmax mobile that looks like she's serious business."
Ariah Olivie	Slowly, Ariah pulls back. That hand is still on her back, though, and she isn't trying to pull away. She exhales a long sigh, nodding slowly. "...I am... not safe... Someone is directing these people and I am a target..." she explains quietly, then glances around as it's suggested they leave. "Oui, we should depart. The others... they may return with help..." she mumbles and finally pulls herself away from Harper and the wall. Her destination? The body impaled on the wall.     "I must not leave this," she says, voice cold as ice, preparing to recover the sword and staff. Now that she's more ambulatory, it's easy to see the extent of the damage. Not so much in terms of wounds, but her body is still caked in red. Her battered dress soaked in blood. And it's obvious that the girl is shivering. It's cold out, on this bitter winter night.
Harper Row	Bluebird follows along. She's not so squeamish about corpses, but there's a kind of horror in the impaled corpse that makes a point of shaking her deep in her core. Her companion is cold, and Harper's voice is tight. "My guts tell me you had to do what you had to do." She comes to stand beside the extraction preparations, and her mouth beneath her mask visibly grimaces. "There's never a time I'm gonna allow some jerks to gang up on someone." The more she talks, the more she may sound like she's trying to convince herself. Her hands make fists, and she stumbles on a piece of refuse. "You and I, we'll need to toss this around a bit, right?" Gods her head is swimming. "If this is yours, whatever, yeah..." she huffs and looks to the other bodies, cold or unconscious. "We'll strap it to my bike and we'll use a safehouse while you dot my i's and cross my t's. Frig. You need to get out of here and...warm up, or something. I've got a poncho on my bike, maybe that'll hide ~some~ of the blood. Jeez, I haven't even called this in..."
Ariah Olivie	While Harper is going back and forth to justify what happened, Ariah is looking over the man she'd stabbed. From the looks of it, the sword went through his heart. It was a quick death, thankfully. She grasps the handle and yanks without a sound. There's a give, and it pulls free of building and body, the latter slumping down. The other half of the weapon, the runed staff laying on the concrete, is picked up. It would seem that the rune blade and runestaff belong together, as the sword itself sheaths into a slot at one end. At a glance, it now just looks like a metal quarterstaff inscribed in Norse runic text.     "If you wish to speak to me, I will speak to you. I do not wish to linger here any longer than you do. And you are Bluebird, non?" She'd heard the little 'to the rescue' thing her companion had uttered earlier, and it stuck in her mind. The small woman shakes her head, gazing down at the unconscious ones. The two that had limped away are still nowhere to be seen or heard. "...a warm bath would be pleasant..."
Harper Row	Bluebird blows out her cheeks as she watches the pinned body become free and just collapse like a sack of potatoes. "Yeah..." she murmurs and takes a beat to try to just compartmentalize this. It's going to be how it's going to be. "Bluebird, yeah." Harper starts for the mouth of the alley and beckons Ariah, holding out her hand to grasp or follow. "That can be arranged." Harper does a mental check on what evidence she's left. "I've got a place for you to warm up, clean up, change up and chat me up. I'll need to know some things before the girls ask ~me~ things. Oof!" A head shake and Harper remembers to use extra focus to keep from driving into a few street signs before authorities or Hunters are on the scene. "But yeah, I ~do~ wish all those things. And a few juice boxes while I'm at it."
Ariah Olivie	It might be telling but there's no sense of.. remorse or shame for what's happened, not in the small woman. She just stares at the fallen, as if contemplating finishing off the unconscious ones. But it's Harper's words and the way she beckons, offering out her hand. There's a moment's pause, and then she follows. She takes the hand as offered, too, and shuts her eyes for a moment. Her hand is cold. It's the weather now, not so much herself. Maybe.     "Apologies for making things complicated," she says quietly. "Would have been better if I had been able to fight them off, but they have been given adequate tactics and equipment..." she trails off and looks back at the dead one. "...mostly." Then she turns her focus back to Harper, blinking owlishly. "Be careful driving, if you are light-headed. I only took what I needed but... it was not a small amount. Merci." She thanks Harper again and lingers close by, well within arm's length now that she'd holding her hand in her own free one. Sticky with blood and Gotham grime.     "I am ready, let us quit this place."