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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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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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(If there is a flaw, it's that Rook's not wasting a rebreather on this. They're a pain to fabric, and not cheap, so he's holding his cape to his face. It keeps him quiet, anyway.
And this time, Rook clocks the sensation of being teleported when it begins. But they're still in the truck.
(One of the cats sounds like its coughing up a hairball. Please be facing the back of the truck.)
But Kestrel - shit, that's not good. That's how Tim imagines he looks, when he heals too much or too many. Shaking is bad enough but touching his hand to his chest is voluntary, if subconscious, and Jay doesn't do that sort of (showing weakness) thing. ]
Do you want me to drive or heal?
[ Asking, because he knows it's important to give his brother a choice. Limited options, because he knows he'll pick the stupidest one. ]
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I'm fine.
( a moment after it leaves his mouth he realizes exactly what tim's catching onto, and how he's going to take jason's answer as utter bullshit. )
It doesn't hurt. ( a yellow light, which jason speeds up just enough to get through before it turns red. drops the hand from his sternum. ) I'll explain it later.
( he's tired, in a way that feels like it's more than bone-deep. but he's not going to crash in the very short distance they need to go to get to the warehouse. )
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(They’ve survived higher speed crashes than this. It’s two blocks. It will be fine.)
(Maybe.)
He’s going to avail himself of the passenger seatbelt now. ]
We need to figure out what to do with the cats. And if they’re chipped with tracking devices. Do you have ketamine?
[ Rook straightens the passenger side mirror or tries to. It breaks off in his hand from the damage it took in the alley, so he has to hold it at the correct angle check their tail.
The subject change is damning, but questions would only start the fight earlier. There’s nothing to say in response to the excuses. ]
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( fingers tighten on the wheel, gripping it almost too hard for a moment, before they loosen again. he pulls in a breath, lets it out. they're almost there, he'll be fine.
another turn, before jason's reaching into his jacket for his phone, and navigates into an application that lets him access the warehouse's truck door. presses the button to open it as he starts backing in.
doesn't bother trying to use the side mirrors, they're fucked he knows where the door is, there's nothing big he can fuck up inside the warehouse. if they hit something, who cares.
tim suddenly changing the subject is more worrisome than accidentally running over something. )
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When they’re inside the warehouse and the vehicle’s come to a stop, Rook gets out of the truck. Through the window because, surprise, the door’s dented shut.
He runs to the other side, expecting Kestrel to fall out of the car and muttering something that sure sounds like: ]
You’re as stubborn as B.
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it was a rough ride. the door starts closing behind them, and jason figures as long as none of them caught sight of their landing through the smoke and there's no trackers in their new kitties, they should be safe here for a bit. not safe to wander, given he's damn sure they're looking for them, but.
jason doesn't fall out of the truck. partially because he's still sitting down. give him a few more minutes, and he'll be fine. )
Don't give me that. You're just as bad.
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I’m not. My choices are only self-detrimental when there’s no other logical option.
[ He’ll acknowledge he’s stubborn when he’s right, and not apologize for it. ]
You can teleport a truck, two men, and tigers, and then you’re visibly showing strain. Let me help. I’m asking.
[ Rook hates withholding aid, inaction when he thinks he can help, and ignoring the better option because of principles or whatever this is. ]
Or tell me enough about this that I feel better about letting you recuperate while we’re stuck in an unheated warehouse with tigers in a truck - and give me the gun I left on the seat. If they get out, I’m not fighting them off with a bo.
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Non-lethal rounds. All I've got on me, so don't waste 'em.
( see how nice he is. tim asks for a gun, jason hands over the gun. )
It doesn't hurt. You got your new meta-abilities from the Confluence, right? I got mine from the godbits that yanked me into New Amsterdam.
( patting at his chest for a moment, before he's reaching up for the high neck of his suit. jason pulls it away from himself far enough that the blue glow of his sternum is visible. not his sternum itself, he's not explaining the scar there too. )
's more of an uncomfortable pull. Pain I can handle. This just feels weird.
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