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metalogs2024-01-10 08:14 pm
mostdangerousbird) wrote in metalogs2024-01-10 08:14 pm
OPEN | This is his equivalent of meeting at Starbies and the mall.
Who: Tim Drake mostdangerousbird and Open
What: Some vigilante has to patrol the city. Maybe you're one of them.
When: Like 2 AM January 7th.
Where: Mid-rise rooftops, D'Amicos territory
Content Warnings: Violence is likely.
2 AM Lunch break
Hey, ya gotta eat. Tim's favorite late night Chinese food place (across the Central City General Hospital) is the unofficial hospital nightshift cafeteria. He can get anything there - turnip cakes, fries, egg rolls stuffed with pizza, or tonight, an Italian sausage on a bun. It's a weird spot, with a takeout window that makes you wait in an alley, but that works for him.
He's only in the alley 10 minutes, while he waits for his order, but he's oddly approachable as he sits on a pile of pallets texting. It's like an art project, "Vigilante, Paused."
Stake(out) for Dinner
When the greasy paper bag is handed over, the hero melts back into the shadow. He's already on the roof, racing a few buildings over before unwrapping the bag to settle in to watch through telescopic lenses while he munches.
He's only checking in on a longtime problem, as it's so close to his snack. Rook wasn't expecting the mob clubhouse to have so much activity at this time of night. Before he's done his sandwich, he's counted 8 arrivals, including a plain white box truck, and only two departures (who left in 1 black sedan).
In the morning, he'll check if Jason knows what might be going down. Robin's intervened with Red Hood and his rivals once, but as Rook, he's tried to stay out of it -
At least he hasn't lit any warehouses on fire -
Two more goons come out of the building. Pause at the doors to the truck's cargo. They open the door and examine the dark interior. Too far to make out any detail, but there's movement in the truck.
He'll have to get closer. Polishing off his sandwich, Tim folds the tin foil and bag down to a neat and tiny square. Tucks it away into his belt.
mostdangerousbird and OpenWhat: Some vigilante has to patrol the city. Maybe you're one of them.
When: Like 2 AM January 7th.
Where: Mid-rise rooftops, D'Amicos territory
Content Warnings: Violence is likely.
2 AM Lunch break
Hey, ya gotta eat. Tim's favorite late night Chinese food place (across the Central City General Hospital) is the unofficial hospital nightshift cafeteria. He can get anything there - turnip cakes, fries, egg rolls stuffed with pizza, or tonight, an Italian sausage on a bun. It's a weird spot, with a takeout window that makes you wait in an alley, but that works for him.
He's only in the alley 10 minutes, while he waits for his order, but he's oddly approachable as he sits on a pile of pallets texting. It's like an art project, "Vigilante, Paused."
Stake(out) for Dinner
When the greasy paper bag is handed over, the hero melts back into the shadow. He's already on the roof, racing a few buildings over before unwrapping the bag to settle in to watch through telescopic lenses while he munches.
He's only checking in on a longtime problem, as it's so close to his snack. Rook wasn't expecting the mob clubhouse to have so much activity at this time of night. Before he's done his sandwich, he's counted 8 arrivals, including a plain white box truck, and only two departures (who left in 1 black sedan).
In the morning, he'll check if Jason knows what might be going down. Robin's intervened with Red Hood and his rivals once, but as Rook, he's tried to stay out of it -
At least he hasn't lit any warehouses on fire -
Two more goons come out of the building. Pause at the doors to the truck's cargo. They open the door and examine the dark interior. Too far to make out any detail, but there's movement in the truck.
He'll have to get closer. Polishing off his sandwich, Tim folds the tin foil and bag down to a neat and tiny square. Tucks it away into his belt.
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( but no, he's not following tim since now they're having a discussion later. instead, jason slips right on through the floor under his feet, without tim. a flash of red is visible in one of the darker, unmanned corners of the club.
he may not be one for stealth, but hell. the ability he's had for the past almost - what, two years? sure as hell comes in handy for it. )
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I put up with so much.
[ He barely breathes it as he slides the pane free and gently sets it on the ground.
He’s inside ten seconds later without a sound. The room is bigger than he’d thought, with a combination of partitions that don’t meet the ceiling and thick steel beams that had read together as walls from the high window. Not great.
- taking them so long -
Rook creeps further into the darker parts of the room, away from the snippets of conversation until he can see where they’re echoing from.
- I don’t want them here longer -
- no trouble -
Three men in suits are gathered around a table, staring at whatever’s on its surface. Awful late for a campaign meeting. The fishing expedition suddenly has a more defined purpose: whatever’s so important to keep the pinstripes up late.
It’s winter. Pipes freeze all the time. If he can get to a waterpipe and bust it somewhere else on the floor, he can snap some high resolution photos and make for the truck outside while they’re dealing with a burst pipe. Less obvious than a smoke bomb. ]
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for now? he's focusing on keeping out of sight, steps quiet as he moves through the shadowy corners of the building - right up until he gets bored, decides it's time to fuck them up and take their shit, but instead tips his head back so he can figure out where the hell rook went off to. it's his play. jason may as well play nicely and make his way back over to him to figure out what rook's gameplan is here.
luckily, he knows what he's looking for. a step into the crates he's been hiding behind, and he steps out mere inches away from tim.
raises a brow at him. )
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But what Rook mouths the word "Wait here" with the accompanying signs and, then, looking up to follow water pipes -
(Gotta love these old buildings and their gravity water systems. They do make it easier.)
He'll back back in under 2 minutes. Just a quick potty break (ha!). A number 4, if you will. If he times it right, a full 30 seconds before the blast saves them the trouble of reno demo. ]
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- pulled out -
- are we supposed to do with -
- them down -
he catches enough to know what's going to happen next. still doesn't move, up until they've got automatic rifles in hand and are heading on out to the exit. he's faster, but tim's distraction's coming a little too slowly with them heading out, especially with how quick the conversation went from i don't want them here to putting them down. jason waits another four seconds for tim, but they've got the door open and he figures if he waits any longer, they're going to fuck up whatever's in there long before jason gets the chance to stop them.
so he does what any sane, rational person would do when told to wait while also watching some assholes get a little too close to what they've decided isn't worth the trouble: tosses a nearby tire iron onto the ground and lets it clatter by his feet. watches it for a moment, before he very loudly declares, )
Oops. Sure hope that didn't give me away.
( the following curses and attention turning his way was intentional, even if jason dodging behind massive crates to avoid being shot is inconvenient. he could shadow jump out of their path, but that's not an ability he wants to give away if he can avoid it. )
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Rata-tata-tata-tata-tat!
Fuck.
Rata-tata-tata-tata-tat!
(No, really. Fuck.)
It’s a race to 3 feet from the open door. Pause before he runs out of shadows to see he’s not between the shooters and Kestrel.
(There’s a difference between taking a bullet for someone and running into open fire.)
No hesitation in going for the closest. Kick the gun up. Chop the neck. Catch the Tommy gun.
(Think about why vintage weapons later.)
Crack him in the temple and continue the motion, releasing the hands to the throw it clear of the fight. Dive and roll to the next. Bo out before he finds himself in a crouch. AIM for the crotch from the floor.
The first goon is staggering to the bathroom.
(Kestrel will have the furthest.)
No point in being quiet. The other five heard the shot. ]
WAIT. HERE. I said wait here!
[ Boolmf!
A muffled, wet explosion and the sound of a forceful spray of water containing in the bathroom. ]
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but boy does he love to see rook in action.
from behind the crate, kestrel takes out his gun and shifts so he can see just beyond it without risking getting shot in the face. aims and fires at the goons with their guns still drawn who rook won't be able to reach in time. they're not rubber bullets, not today, but he's aiming for hands, shoulders, and kneecaps. enough to incapacitate, not enough to kill.
yells out after he manages to clear the way enough he can step out without being brained, )
I stayed, didn't I? I was in the same damn place you left me!
( right before he's ramming into another idiot with a gun and twisting the both of them around to use him as a human shield for the other one, who starts at them. )
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The poor second wiseguy - Rook feels for him, he really does. Cups should be a job requirement. - is re-inventing lowbrow humor with his bent-over wheezing. But sympathy or no, this is a numbers game. And the ones that come up first in the batting order order, well. They have to stay down a little while longer. This isn't Whack-a-Mole.
(He will hit the third one on the back of the head with his bo. Still isn't Whack-a-Mole. Headshots are only a subset of incapacitation.) ]
Stay and wait aren't the same thing! Ask any German shepherd.
[ He's managing his little group of three well enough. Rook grabs the second and only standing man by the neck with his bo. Pulls it tight across the goon's windpipe.
(The dumbass, for his part, starts firing off the gun indiscriminately because that's how he's going to get the smaller vigilante who is behind him.)
Rook yanks him back as much as he can, arching the man's back and directing the gunfire at the roof. Several lightbulbs and one high window are now amongst the casualties.
Head count to not lose sight of the room. 2 is in progress. 3 down at his feet. 1, likely down in the bathroom, but the pinkish tinge to the growing pool spreading from the bathroom means less with every second because: 4-8 were caught in Kestrel's covering fire, but it's not like Tim could count bullets and watch for blood splatter. They are bloodsplattered; dark clothes hide the specific sources.
Holding onto to a larger, stronger opponent is always a struggle, especially when they figure out to drop the gun and use their hands - or body. No. 2 throws himself forward and attempts to stop drop and roll Rook off him. The goon gasps at the initial impact; Rook grunts when they're flipped and he's suddenly got 350 pounds on his diaphragm. Let's see who can hold their breath longer. ]
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a few others are heading their way - kestrel can hear muffled yelling of what the hell's going on from the other side of the building, and neither of them quite has the time for that. usually, he'd leave rook to handle his goon, he's fine down there, getting crushed isn't going to take him out. but given their lack of time - well.
he saunters his way over to where they're both laying, rook with his bo across the guy's throat, the guy thrashing while trying to get the grip off of his neck. his gun raises, aimed at number two's head for a moment before it slowly trails down the length of his body, barrel pointed straight at his groin. )
Y'know, you really should pick on someone a little closer to your size. 'cause layin' on top of my friend down there--well, he's only got legs that reach this low, which means I've got a real clear shot. It's him or me, pal. Pick your poison - or don't, an' I'll just pick for you.
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The guy is reacting to Kestrel though, although the only thing that's clear in the exhale that almost whistles under the force exerted is "you!" with audible recognition.
... that does not bode well.
The goon has to be on the verge of unconsciousness at this point. Maybe Kestrel won't catch it - Rook is so much closer to his mouth. ]
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it was probably meant as a fuck you, which is hilarious considering where this is going. kestrel whistles low under his mask, head tilting in a way that'd look ridiculous if he didn't have his hood up. )
That was a poor choice of words. ( especially considering his finger is putting a little more pressure against the trigger, and the poor guy's dick is not going to be fucking anything any time soon. )
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How could you miss at this range?
[ Because that’s the assumption. Jay must have missed and hit something vital. He hurries to check for a pulse. Alive. And bleeding from the groin. Kestrel didn’t miss. Okay, he can work with this.
Rook starts unclamping a gauntlet to heal damage. It’s not life threatening if treated, but it is the kind of wound that starts unending grudges. ]
I’ll take care of it.
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Rook, he's fine. He's got friends coming, he's not gonna bleed out, and you're not gonna want to heal that one.
( he'll get him by the back of his collar, if tim doesn't shove him off first. )
We need to get to the truck, they were about to take 'em out.
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But Kestrel has a shockingly good point that overrules his feelings about lifelong quality of life. ]
You couldn’t have lead with that??
[ Why are they wasting time? “Take them out” is evocative if not definitive. ]
Stairs or window?
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( he'll come back to the being compared to a dog thing later. fingers release rook's cape, and kestrel fires his grapple off towards the window. figures it'll take less time to go up and back down than to bother taking the stairs. doesn't wait for rook, because rook's plenty fast on his own and instead focuses on getting himself up. he can shadow jump later, once he's certain they're out of eyesight. )
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He’s already collapsing his bo with one hand and unhooking his grapple from his belt with the other. He deserves to gripe about this, though.
The hook embeds in the wall on the opposite side of the window, and Rook’s hauled up to the frame right behind Kestrel. He holds his weight on the line for him to go throw the window first and will follow him out. ]
Good news is you can never Pooh Bear again.
[ Because he can teleport free. ]
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( which he'll explain later, thanks. because currently, he's wrapping an arm around rook's waist to drag him on through a shadow on the rafters. no one can see them, and he's in a rush to avoid the goons heading their way. they step out just in front of the truck, where jason lets go of tim so he can head towards the truck, tests the handle, and when it's locked - opts to pull out a knife and use the hilt to smash in the window so he can pull the lock up.
they're in a rush. who gives a shit about alarms when their presence is already known. )
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(Probably both just to piss Tim off.)
Oh god, ground. When the shadows fade into the parking lot, it’s like waking up from a falling dream. He’s not moving, but his brain tells him he must be. He was hanging, and now he is not.
There’s something wrong.
Kestrel’s broken in the truck, which is rocking on its crappy suspension from the force.
The alarm’s whooping. Less than ideal.
The parking lot getting strafed with rapid fire from a window is bad, but new.
(And critical so fuck figuring it out now.)
Rook takes a page from Kestrel, busting the passenger window to sit shotgun. On glass. Fun. ]
Hello everyone, we’ll be your rescuers this evening.
[ He’s turned to the heavy, white painted grating separating the front of the truck from the cargo, trying for competent and comedic to reassure whoever’s trapped back there. ]
We’ll get you out as soon as
[ BANG! The grating rattles and strains against its moorings. Tim has an impression of teeth and eyes and short fur through holes too small for his pinky finger. ]
holy fuck drive!
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Jesus fucking christ.
( too new to tear out the steering column and wire it that way, going in through the engine bay is also useless. jason leans down to shove his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, then shoves open the driver's door so he can get the vin off the dash. pulls out a small handheld device that isn't his phone but looks like it may ads well be and starts typing it in fast, while tim's - trying to goddamn rush him. )
If you're gonna rush me, you get the damn car to run!
( not that jason isn't still trying, even if he's muttering under his breath, something close to, i'm not stealing i'm repurposing to save someone, kas as he moves around to get back into the truck, still tap-tapping away until he stops and realizes
the noises coming from the back weren't human at all, were they.
he turns to look towards the back of the truck, and lurches forward in his seat the moment whatever it is lurches towards them. )
What the hell is that.
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No, a round of roars and snarls. They're overlapping. ]
Cats. Plural and big if that's not glaringly obvious!
[ Now why is Jason bitching about the car?? There are bigger problems. ]
Who has a push-to-start box truck?!
[ Fine. He can fix this. Tim pulls up the display from his gauntlet and taps a few things, which means he’s not watching the window or the back of the van. A sequence of numbers starts cycling on the display as his embedded comms device starts sequentially mimicking all known fob signals.
He holds his wrist closer to the steering column, as is he were in the driver's seat.
They don't have time to do this again if neither his nor Kestrel's attempts work. ]
I'll just do everything. Might as well give me your gun, because they're going to be out here any fucking second and you can't drive and shoot out tires.
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( not the animals, the rfid-enabled car. the massive cats are far out of both of their fields, even if the snarls aren't deterring jason any from wanting to get them out of there. his device vibrates, and jason presses down on the brake pedal as he presses the push to start button, and the engine starts up as the alarm switches off.
another curse under his breath, but jason's shoving his boot down onto the gas and turning the car to get them the hell out of dodge. unlatches a thigh holster and pulls out one of his guns, yanking a spare clip out of his jacket, too. drops them down onto the seat between them. since tim was complaining - fine, it can be his job to shoot out the tires.
jason's busy pressing down on the brakes and swerving sharply to the left. )
've got a warehouse out this way.
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Much like Tim won't thank Jay for being able to drift around a 100 degree turn with no warning. ]
Sorry, kitties. Shuriken aren't batarangs. This is gonna get loud.
[ Less graceful screeching of tires as the mobsters must have made it to the vehicles. Rook puts his back to the window, one hand on the frame, and holds for what feels like too long. Maybe they're not following.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
Good for bystanders, they've switched to something smaller and not fully automatic, and they couldn't shoot for shit when they were standing still.
The first break in shots, he's half out the window, firing off 4 rounds and sliding back in before they return. The cats are going ballistic. He looks pretty smug. He's nothing on Jason, but he caught at least 2 of the tires of the lead car. ]
2 cars. I think. I'm not shooting at anything that's not shooting at me.
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it was an ill-advised one, but it wouldn't be a tim and jason excursion if they weren't being reckless. the hand not holding tight onto the steering wheel gestures ahead, where there's a small little walkway leading out to the right. not big enough for their truck or any vehicle running on more than two wheels. )
Got any smoke bombs? ( he's not waiting for an answer, because tim always comes prepared, that's his thing. ) I'm gonna need you to set 'em off, 'bout five seconds or so before my window lines up with that alley.
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[ He has to nearly shout to be heard over the cacophony of engine, gears, scraping metal, cats, and gunshots because it keeps getting worse. The felidae have roaring after the brake sends them to careen into the divider (which holds for now) and Rook's ass ends up on the fucking dashboard, back against the windshield and roof, because he's not buckled in. ]
Yeah, I have smoke bombs because I pack my gear.
[ Rook produces a handful of smoke bombs, more than enough to clog the alley in smoke while Jason guns it to lose them in whatever the next turn is. See? This is competence. Bringing standard gear to a patrol is basic competence, idiot. He'll keep them ready at the ready, but he continues to give him a hard time about it. ]
I'm touching your shit. Every morning. I'm packing your belt because I'm not healing you if you forget to pack a goddamn extra clip!
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( he does have a belt. and a significant amount of pockets stitched into his jacket exactly where jason wanted them, thanks. more pockets now, after his kind-of trip back home spaced out his time in new amsterdam when he'd gotten used to going without his significant amount of gear from his time elsewhere. )
Leave my shit alone, I've got it just how I like it! An' mine're in my back pockets, I can't reach 'em and drive at--hold on.
( because they're approaching the alleyway, and despite the mild bitchfest going on up here, he knows tim's good to throw them like jason had asked him to. he doesn't direct tim to do the job he's already given him, instead takes a deep breath, holds it in and turns eyes to the alleyway. counts down the seconds, and as soon as jason's got visibility beyond the alley, he's scrunching up his nose, bites down on the inside of his lower lip - and turns the wheel just enough that the car starts sinking into its own shadow.
there one moment, and gone the next as it lands half on the sidewalk on the other side of the alley. jason lets out the breath he'd been holding. lets off the gas, gets off the sidewalk, and lets the truck slow down to a reasonable pace for the road they're on.
stops at the next stop sign with his blinker on, like any good driver. and makes a right turn. )
Two blocks.
( to jason's old warehouse. tim probably knows where it is. the hand he's got on the steering wheel's shaking a little, and the other's raising to press against his sternum. )
'm never doing that again.
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