Owner Pose
Dinah Lance It's a bright, sunny day in Rio de Janeiro. A picture perfect day that would ordinarily have Dinah Lance out on the beach and bronzing her Gotham-paled skin. If she could afford a trip to Rio. Which she can't. Which is why when the assignment came through, the combination of another mission with Red Rocket (whom she thought was odd, but good in tight circumstances) and going to RIO DE JANEIRO, Dinah jumped at it like a shot.

So here she was. Stuck in a collapsed shack. In her black costume. In the daytime heat. Doing surveillance duty. All while Rocket Red was sent overhead to do reconnaissance.

~Rocket Red ... why do I get the boring stuff while you get to whoop it up in the clouds again?~
Dmitri Pushkin      Dmitri swoops through the clouds taking in the sights and sounds. He holds his arms out to either side of himself as he swoops through a cloud mimicking the body language of Peter pan on his heads up display, because of course he is watching a movie while he's patrolling, it's just what he does to keep his mind busy.

     ~Ah I would probably be saying it is something to do with my ability to fly.~ He pauses for a moment before asking. ~Can you fly?~ He keeps high above in the clouds watching through his satellite footage the heat signatures mulling around on the ground level as he keeps a halfhearted eye on his vitals to make sure his blood pressure is alright. ~I can't remember if you can fly.~
Dinah Lance ~I can fly just fine. Throw me from a plane and I'll fly as fast as 200 miles per hour. Shortly before I splut on the ground.~

OK, so there's a reason she's in the rubble looking over the target favela and he's soaring with the birdies. Doesn't make her any less grumpy!

~Look, come Hell or high water, I AM GOING TO THE BEACH IN RIO BEFORE WE GO HOME. So whatever happens, we spend an extra day 'investigating' ... in my case investigating how well I tan.~

Canary returns to her binoculars, carefully concealed within the broken masonry from the last riot in this neighbourhood. These were the very latest in anti-glare lenses, buried deep in shadow. The odds against lens glint being spotted are astronomical!

In the favela, people start running out of buildings previously identified as "barracks" of sorts.

People with guns.

People running toward the side of the favela where Canary is hiding.

"Oh, FML!" Canary curses to herself before passing over comms, ~I've got company, Red. Lots of it. Seems they made me even with the anti-glare lenses. We need to have a long talk about this Soviet-era hand-me-down equipment!~
Dmitri Pushkin      ~That does not sound like flying...~ Dmitri offers sounding a little bit concerned. He flies a bit lower towards the ground looking carefully as he starts to spot the various figures mulling about. ~That sounds like falling.~ He adds after a moment before falling silent.

     ~Alright I can be living with that.~ Dmitri offers as he narrows his eyes a bit on the display. The dots move about a fair bit in odd manners as he watches them and a little thought in the back of his head tells him that something is wrong.

     Dmitri suddenly dives as Canary gives out the call for help. A hypersonic boom echoes out in every direction as he suddenly slams through the cloud cover and down towards the ground. His suit is covered in a thin layer of water from the clouds as he turns his thrusters back towards the ground counteracting his speed at the last moment as he slams into the ground landing with a superheroic pose.

     ~For the record Soviet equipment has a great reputation for a reason, it was height of quality, many people work very hard to make it so.~ Gunshots ricochet off of his armor as the dust settles from his impact. Dmitri strikes a heroic pose on the spot as he readies his lasers blasting towards the guns with intent to super heat the weapons causing them to be dropped to the ground or risk burning the operators hands.
Dinah Lance Canary is too busy to snap back at the Soviet quality thing. She's busy worming her way through the escape route she'd set up for herself. Able to get away from the observation post unseen, she pops up in one of the mazelike alleyways and rushes through the back door of the nearby building ... one that looked like some kind of business (thus guaranteeing likely a direct route to the front door).

~Hold their fire for a bit. I'll flank them and either give support if you need it, or close in on the main building.~

The room she found herself in was filled with tin bathtubs and a lot of naked men.

~Dammit! It *would* be a bath house, wouldn't it?!~

"Sorry, gents. Justice League work. Don't mind me. Pretend I wasn't here."

Canary beats a hasty path to what seems to be the front door and pauses only long enough to make sure there's nobody there to spot her before she races across the road and vaults the low wall surrounding the favela.

~OK, I'm in the fa...~

She cuts off the message as the tell-tale snap of a piece of junk wood behind her tells her she's not alone. Without pausing she spins around, runs at the wall nearest her and does the ever-impressive wall-walk, leaping at the top of her arc to crash, elbow-first, into the throat of the man who was about to shoot her.

~..vela. Had a bit of company. We laughed. We cried. We drank booze. He fell asleep. Now fire support or infiltration. Your call.~
Dmitri Pushkin      ~Now is not the time for a bath Comrade Canary.~ Dmitri scolds as he takes more fire and continues to heat up the guns of the men who are opening fire on him. Everything seems to be going so well. ~You should focus on mission at hand as to not let opportunities pass you by.~ He lasers another gun out of the operators hand. Several of the men duck down attempting to pick back up their firearms but they prove too hot to handle even still

     Dmitri zips back up into the air circling round and attracting the fire of the men on the ground level. After all what is a giant suit of armor good for if not attracting fire?

     ~I think a nice quiet infiltration may be our b-~ Dmitri is cut off as something slams into his back causing him to tumble through the favela roof through the top floor and into the ground floor.

     His coms are cut off completely as the thing that knocked him out of the sky proves to be little more than a green blur. Yet as the dust clears something grabs the back of his head and lifts him up in view of Canary. A 7 foot tall man with green leathery skin, and an oversized head. His hands hold mounted flame throwers on the back of each and stuck molded to his back is a massive jetpack strapped into position. His feet and legs are normal and human but as one looks up to his torso it merges with that of a Tyrannosaurus turning completely in the head of a lizard with massive mirrored goggles. His arms covered in prison tattoos.
Dinah Lance "Fire support it is..." Canary mutters as she witnesses the arrival of Tyranotoes.

~The Schwartz is with us...~ she says into comms, though not quite sure why. ~Red, you still with me?~

Canary rushes through the favela, dodging over and under obstacles, sliding between buildings, keeping things as stealthy as she can while circling Tyranotoes. Finding a good angle from which to launch an attack, she starts approaching, even more stealthily, to get within range such that she can hit the flying flamethrower without including Dmitri.

~Talk to me Red. I didn't hire on for a solo job.~

Of course that's because she didn't get hired at all.
Dmitri Pushkin      ~That hurt more than it looked.~ Dmitri says after a while of silence. He's still gathering his thoughts and himself as Tyranotoes begins to cook off his flame thrower beginning the process of heating Dmitri's armor more and more by the moment.

     Inside the suit Dmitri is beginning to sweat profusely from the rising heat levels as warnings echo out throughout his suit. He does the only thing he knows how and blasts the arm with a full force of his two twin linked lasers causing a great impact that does just enough for him to be let go from Tyranotoes grasp. Falling to the ground.

     Dmitri shakes his head one side to the other looking up towards the abomination of science that stands before him. He kicks on his thrusters to back up faster from the beast sliding across the ground as Tyranotoes lets out an inhuman roar.
Dinah Lance Dmitri in the clear, Canary is liberated to do what Canary does best: cause carnage. Stepping out into a clear line of sight, she launches her Cry at Tyranotoes. The noise leaps out at, oddly, the speed of sound and the impact it has on Tyranotoes echoes its way back. A short modulation and Tyranotoes finds that the flame thrower on his left arm is starting to vibrate alarmingly.

How alarmingly?

Disassembling itself alarmingly.

The assembly falls apart, spewing fuel on his left side, straight past the pilot flame that ignites it, covering him on his left hand side with flames.

~Reminds me: I've got to arrange a trip to Burning Man after this.~ Canary's grim voice over the comms. ~That was a bit more burny-hotty than I was expecting. I can do the same to his rocket pack, but ... that may explode and hurt ...~

Tyranotoes loses control of his rocket pack as pain wracks his body. The rocket pack aims him straight at the ground. Well, obliquely at the ground. At an angle that looks like it's headed straight for an underground babysitting/kindergarten service.

~Aw, sh...~ The crackle of static covers the profanity.
Dmitri Pushkin      Dmitri zips across the ground partially unable to control himself enough to get liftoff. He skirts along the surface of the dirt alongside Tyranotoes. He bumps up agaist the other figure once, then twice, and on the third time with a great deal of force that instead sends the massive partial dinosaur skipping across the water instead and crashing into a wall on the other side of the waves.

     Dmitri lays on the ground as he looks up towards the sky having been able to just barely save the daycare center by a few inches as a strange sound echoes out across the region. The sound of a propeller engine kicking into gear. But where is it coming from?
Dinah Lance Dinah, too, hears the propeller plane. Indeed she probably hears it more clearly than anybody unfortunate enough to be in audible range of her Cry. Unfortunately her position in the middle of a favela alley instead of a courtyard makes it hard for her to identify, then isolate the source. Rushing forward to the courtyard where hitherto Rocket Red and Tyranotoes hit it off so well, she runs into a bit of trouble with dazed, but still determined gunmen, occupying her attention as she slides for cover.

The cover was already occupied by two gunmen, distracting the Canary for a few more moments as she exchanged blows (some landing, most of theirs not) in a little scuffle. Finally from her perspective she can see ...

... An honest-to-goodness WWI-era biplane? What?

A mysterious figure in a leather flying helmet and goggles sits in the cockpit, head poking out. Vicious flashes from a machine gun firing through the propeller with a synchronizer sends Canary leaping for DIFFERENT cover as the plane builds up the speed it needs to take to the air, clawing for altitude as its engine roars in defiant strain.

~I don't know who that is, but the bastard shot at me!~ Canary struggles with some stray canvas she got tangled in. ~Can you get whoever it is, Red?~
Dmitri Pushkin      Almost as if on cue, Rocket comes screaming across the ground at high speeds. It seems he still can't quite manage to take off into the air something having gone wrong with his own rocket pack in the course of the combat and the application of heat.

     Sparks fly in all directions as he skips across the ground like a stone lifting just a few inches off of the ground every time before skipping back against the hard ground.

     ~I... am... on... my... way~ He is repeatedly interrupted by his slamming back into the ground as he skips ever closer to the biplane. As the craft begins to take off he holds onto the bottom of the craft grabbing hold of the wheels. The plane drags him across the ground as he attempts to maneuver himself in such a way that he can potentially get a shot off and damage a wing.
Dinah Lance It was a valiant effort, but the pilot of the antique was clearly an expert flyer. Expertly the plane adapted its angle of attack to the sudden extra load, the engine roaring even louder, apparently not an old engine, or if it is, heavily altered, dragging Dmitri higher into the air.

Then came the sudden, sharp turns, wing waggles, and other manoeuvres designed to throw off the Russian's desperate, grip. This didn't have the desired impact: throwing Dmitri from the plane. Instead it broke the axle, leaving the aircraft without landing gear, but going up while Dmitri fell to ground, rocket firing fitfully, barely slowing him before he hits the ground.

Then going off full-strength, driving him straight to a nearby wall.

~OH GOD! RED! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT!?~

Canary's voice crackles over the damaged comms. Dimly through the helmet her Cry can be heard as she finishes off the rest of the gunmen a bit viciously before her fishnets carry her pounding boots to the fallen armour.