1414/Black and White

Black and White
Date of Scene:	11 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	The White and Black Roses clash, heedless of the innocent few attending a funeral. The Steppin' Razor Molly Millions assists Miss Moreau in her bloody deeds, and Tim Drake attempts to stop them all. Only Moreau leaves happy.
Cast of Characters:	Miss Moreau, Molly Millions, Red Robin

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Miss Moreau has posed:
A small church in old Gotham is currently hosting a funeral. The graveyard is larger than perhaps it should be for such a small place of worship, but this particular denomination is known to be frequented by a small but dedicated base of the Russian Orthodox Church. Specifically, mobsters that at least have some lip service to faith.

This small band of mobsters have come to take the name 'Black Rose Gang', for their black roses they wear on their chests. In funeral attire, they all keep to the tradition as their departed man is slowly laid to rest. The mobster's wife places a hand on the casket, sobbing, before she's hauled away by a bald man to sit. The pastor winds down the service, and dirt is being placed.

A solemn party of about fifteen in total, men and women both. Several cars are out in the nearby parking lot. Suddenly, there's the screeching of tires in the distance. Three white sedans pull up, doors open. Three men from each car step out, in charcoal suits, top hats, and white roses on their chests.

Both groups meet eyes, there's gasps from the priest and one or two not involved with the criminal element.

Leaning against the side of the car almost touching the great iron gate that leads into the cemetary itself is a woman in an elaborate, ruffled dress. In one hand, a scarlet book is held open. The other, a cane is spun in her hand.

"Oh dear, my most deepest sympathy for your loss, ladies and gentlemen! May his soul rest where his fate leads him! Ah, but do not cry my friends!" Her 'sympathy' is nonexistant, her voice jubilant. She giggles enough to carry. One of the gangsters in the funeral service steps forward, and goes for a gun. BLAM!

The sound of a rifle going off, and he falls dead with a bullet between the eyes. Three buildings away, a White Rose whistles atop a water tower, reloading his scoped gun.

"Now, you will all join him in Hell! Show our enemies your claws, White Roses!" A snap of her fingers.

All hell breaks loose. Several of the White Rose goons take cover by car, or columns in the fence. The Russians have to scramble for gravestones. The priest takes a stray shot in the arm. Despite the greater numbers, the Russians are outclassed by the Roses' compact machine guns, and that sniper way up on the water tower. Moreau, for her part, stays behind cover and gently pets the golden raven on her shoulder.

"Ahhh, there will be so much blood and carnage! Such a symphony for us ravenous beasts!"

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions's not wearing a white rose. Or a top hat. But arguably by standing near the woman in ruffles with a carbine tucked comfortably under one arm it would be a fair bet which side she's on. A lean and unimposing woman, in a zipped up black jacket and jeans with a pair of silver lenses covering her eyes she doesn't fit the standard trope for muscle either. For the moment at least she's watching it unfold impassively, seemingly unmoved by the chaos.

Red Robin has posed:
It starts as a low rumble, a distant roar getting steadily louder. It's not long before it can clearly be identified as an engine, a vehicle bearing down on the encounter with haste. For a few moments it remains just noise until, with a sudden increase in torque, a bright red cycle comes roaring down an alley, makes an impossible ninety degree turn, and screams towards the firefight in the cemetary. The driver seems oblivious to the SUV's blocking the gate for he doesn't slow his approach. In an instant, the bike is upon the vehicles and then, with an explosion of steam, the front tire leaps upwards and the entire construct sails over the parked cars, twists, and comes to a halt in front of the downed priest and any civilians still lingering near him.

The driver, however, is nowhere to be found. At least not until he crashes downwards on the shoulders of one of the White Rose enforcers, a pair of batarangs arcing outwards towards the weapons of two others. "What is this, your somehow even more morbid take on the Red Wedding?" Robin quips, his profile low to the ground as he looks towards Miss Moreau, "Classy. Couldn't you have just sent a card?"

Miss Moreau has posed:
Tim may well have just saved the lives of the few innocent people here, as that bike comes screaming down. The priest, a true man of the cloth, sucks in a breath and spits a prayer. Then, he's grabbing the hand of the woman that was so recently sobbing for her husband. Pushing her to the ground, and pulling her towards the bike as cover, he seems oddly composed for all the bullets.

Former Russian Army, this priest. One or two unarmed funeral goers have either taken to the bike, or are hiding behind particularly tall gravestones.

One batarang catches a Rose right in the chest, sending him thudding against the car hard enough to dent the side door. He falls unconscious, stars in his eyes. The man near him starts to aim a gun for Tim, but then ducks as the Russians rally. Bullets come for the Roses, and by proxy, Tim as well!

The other Rose is quicker, slamming himself against the car and taking it across the knee. He goes down, raises his gun, and...doesn't fire as he sees Tim atop his fellow gang member. Instead, he pulls out a knife, and tries to fling it at Robin's shoulder!

Another gunshot, and a Rose slumps, only to wildly fire at the remaing Russian gangsters. Two go down, one dead, the other wounded.

Both sets of gangsters are stubborn and violent, even if the interruption has made things hesitant.

Miss Moreau, for her part, speaks warmly. Far, far too cheerily for all that's going on around them.

"What? A card, to a funeral, Sir? How utterly impersonal! Such would not staunch the grief of these poor, violent men! No, no, no, I think the only recourse is that every single one of them goes to meet their fellows and departed, and dance as demons below!"

Moreau, by now, moves across the car and then, placing Molly between herself and Tim. Her hand reaches out, and there's a little tossle of hair to the poor mercenary. "Razor, dear, please give your regards to our sweet hero come to rescue all the innocent souls, hmm? Introduce yourself properly now!" Her free hand makes a gun-shooting motion with a wink, and a giggle. In Moreau, that old gotham madness runs strong.

Even as bullets scrape past her, absorbed into that dress of hers, she calls out once more. "Miss Moreau and her Roses of White, at your service! What brave, selfless hero comes to dance in the festering pit that is this city of Gotham with we mad few!?" That welcoming voice has the edge of hatred to it. She cradles her book, and her words dip low.

Within the cemetary, reality shimmers, and three dogs fade into reality. With eyes burning, that circular brand on their foreheads, they seem remarkably slick of black coat. They're the size of great danes, but with the bodies of dobermen. Each one sucks in a breath. Then, fire starts to lance out towards the Russians fending off the White Roses.

Molly Millions has posed:
It's the movement that draws Molly's attention, the silver lenses coming up as she adjusts her hold on the carbine. She's blatantly assessing the latest arrival, that cycle... batarangs? It's the last that make her ask sotto voce of Moreau,"...I'm guessing he's not one of yours. With the red and... bat... shaped.. shuriken. Seriously?" there's another head shake from her, but Moreau's moving, and when she reaches for the dark womans hair she can't help but lean a little out of the way.

"I don't shoot kids." is grunted for Moreau, but the guy with the black rose on his shirt running towards them? Apparently he's fair game, given the way she shifts the carbine up and plants two in his chest. The lenses turn in the direction of Moreau before the carbine's set down and she does step forward from the tree-line with a whistle Tim's way and a 'come here' gesture of her fingers. Seemingly resolved that the boss lady orders and she'll at least... sort of obey.

Red Robin has posed:
Tim's moving before he even gets Moreau's reply, leaping off the crumbled form of his landing pad into a high jump which, halfway through, turns into a sort of somersault towards a cluster of tombstones. Darting back and forth and still staying low, he manages to avoid picking up any extra lead in his torso, but concrete flakes his costume as the bullets chew into his makeshift cover. "Have you got Riddler envy, or something?" he calls out after Moreau's speech, momentarily ducked behind a tree as he attempts to assess the situation, "You sound like you're on your way back to Downton Abbey."

Tim takes a deep breath, digs out two handfuls of smoke pellets, and then swerves out from behind the tree, running as low to the ground as he can before he chucks a handful each at the two opposing mobsters. If he hadn't used his last rebreather on a burglary three hours ago they might have been something more potent, but as it is, they're intended simply to provide a bit of a smokescreen as he wades back into the mess, lashing out with foot, elbow, and fist wherever he spots a Rose of any color. He's halfway through a roundhouse kick delivered to one of the Black Rose goons when he spots Razor's gesture. Immediately, he dives back into the smoke and begins taking a roundabout way towards her, clearly trying to gain some sort of advantage on her when he finally closes the distance. Without any warning, he vaults over a half-destroyed tombstone and flips through the air, aiming a diving kick towards Molly and, more specifically, her carbine.

Miss Moreau has posed:
"Ah...a bat! A Bat you say!?" Moreau's voice takes on the lilt of the ecstatic...and then, Molly mentions his age. Her gasp, this time, isn't that of one with a few missing marbles. No, this is genuine surprise.

"I did not know that /they/ employed children to fight people like us. No, no, you are right little throat cutter. Drive the boy off, do not harm him too much." Her voice heightens.

"But I'm sure a few bruises won't stop a young man! A good lesson, I think."

Sorry Molly, you're only partially getting out of this one. The Roses might leave children off their list of targets, but there's nothing that says they can't discipline them!

Tim does good work, as he kicks a Black Rose Goon down to the ground. The smoke turns shots from both sides wild, shots ringing madly. Two Black Roses shoot each other. One sedan peels out, holding mostly wounded White Roses. And then Moreau's dogs start torching up the smoke littered cemetary. Screams echo as the Black Roses are sent into disarray.

Still, Tim has downed a good third of both parties, and numbers are thinning. Casualties are very much higher on the Black Roses' side though.

"Oh please, I have no infatuation with inane puzzles! Merely, to see the dark, bloodthirsty beast within us all unleashed in full young man! I simply wish to do so with elegance and grace."

With her dogs having done their job, she flips a page. Molly isn't alone.

"By my Power and my Mark, come forth to thy Mistress. Shirahebi!" Mutters Moreau.

Beneath the car where she and Molly are taking cover, a single white snake no larger than a garter snake appears. It slithers quietly, waiting, and watching.

Miss Moreau has posed:
The dogs on the other hand, are nowhere to be found.

Molly Millions has posed:
Smoke bombs. Well, that gets Molly to pay a little more attention. She doesn't seem to feel the motivation to worry overly about white or black roses until one of the black roses gets close enough to make her care, stepping out of the way of a lunge towards her midsection she grabs his wrist with one hand and buries the other in his throat. Literally. This results in her losing sight of the kid in red as she extracts it again, flicking blood at the ground as she scans for the kid.

Under other circumstances, she'd be impressed by the flip, and the stealth of his approach, but right now? For all the lack of costume she moves with the kind of snapfire speed that speaks of more than training and brings her empty hands up, palms out in a Muay Thai stance, the bloody one coated up to the palm for all that there doesn't appear to be anything but false nails on the ends,"Nice." the word of acknowledgment for him,"Look, take the civ's and go. Yeh?" she tries to offer, watching, wary, and totally oblivious to the snake.

Red Robin has posed:
Tim barely seemed to awknowledge the demonic dogs, distracted as he was dodging fire from both sides. There's no chance he even spots the snake through the smoke and havoc. "Funny. Where was all that sympathy for the bystanders when you and your friends opened fire, huh? You guys hit a priest." Despite his previous quips, this time he's almost judgemental. As he recovers from his kick, he saves some of the momentum by tucking and rolling past Molly, a hand coming down to plant on the ground as he twists into a capoeira style kick, both feet pinwheeling through the air back towards his foe. Still, despite that, Batman's first priority WOULD be the civilians, and he risks a glance back towards them, cowering behind tombstones and the R-cycle.

"Counter proposition: You surrender and I'll make sure that when I deliver you to GCPD, you're conscious."

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau, for her part, reaches out to tug the now bloodied, and gurgling Black Rose that Molly so easily dispatched. Her free hand goes to that throat wound, feels it, and she sighs.

"Such skill in her...oh, she is such a good fit. Don't you agree, little wilted Rose?" She asks of the corpse, before hauling it up in front of her. Then she's trudging along the front of the car. A few stray bullets hit the deceased man, but by now what few Roses are left of both sides are already starting to pack up, or simply cower on the ground in the Black Roses' case.

"Sebastian! Exunt! My Vorpal Blade and I follow soon, I think our message is sent!"

There's only one more Sedan left as Sebastian peels out with a lot of wounded Enforcers. Never let it be said that Moreau is the kind of Boss to leave last when her men's lives are on the line.

Dropping the body, she's slid into the back seat, the engine is humming. One more tough, having taken a bullet to the knee, has his gun aimed vaguely at Robin, but Molly is also there. The other tough is driving.

To Robin, Moreau smiles. "If they associate themselves with those that cause harm to my dear, sweet Family, then they too shall be devour by my ravenous jaws! Consider this a small mercy from a predator. Oh. And do tell your own little Family hello, hmm?" The cheeky gang-mage even winks at the sound of his voice.

Which is exactly when that white serpent slithers out from the shadow of the car. It's small jaws open, aiming for a thigh of Tim's. There's not one, but eight different fangs. The bone may as well be tiny, serrated diamonds rather than normal calcium.

"Do not risk your life or your livelyhood, my beautiful Razor! Prove yourself, but a fool hunter ends within a beast's jaws as the hunted!" Cautions Moreau.

Molly Millions has posed:
"Do I look like I'm wearing a white rose?" it's a rhetorical question from Molly, really. Though from the lack of a glance even in the direction of the civilians, it doesn't make a difference to her one way or another. The stillness of her as he tumbles and rolls at odds with the speed with which she dodged. The kick connects as she shifts into it, bringing an elbow down without concern for it potentially injuring him.

"Not being paid to surrender. Especially not to some other mob of tights-wearing lunatics." Molly points out, stomping a shin-kick in the direction of his face and supporting hand. Well. It looks like she is. Probably it's just pure bad luck that the snake might just have gotten in the way.

Red Robin has posed:
Robin lets out a grunt as his kick feels like it lands squarely on human-shaped iron, then shortly after feels the force of Molly's elbow crashing down on his momentarily captive leg. He doesn't even have time to worry about the limp he'll be sporting tomorrow before he's rolling out of the way of her follow-up just barely avoiding having to explain to Batman how he was taken out by a single hit. He continues the roll, popping back up to his feet in one fluid motion, and in that same moment, he draws a metallic tube from his bandolier. With a press of a single button, the ends of the tube snap outwards as the springs inside release and leave Tim holding his trademark bo staff. "Hey, I resent that..."

"We're not a mob."

Then he lunges, flipping acrobatically through the air to bring the staff around in a pair of rapid fire strikes aimed at either side of her torso in a move that, foregoing any outside interference, should leave him crouches with the staff resting across his shoulders.

And then the snake bites and Tim realizes his mistake.

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly can hear Moreau's suggestions, clearly, for all that there's little more than a flick of her fingers by way of acknowledgment. She doesn't just block the staff, there is flesh there and it's totally capable of bruising. The surprise of the little device still means she's slow about trying to block it, the jarring impact tremoring through her arm for all that she bends out of the way of the second strike, backing up to avoid the rest of the flurry and in the process leaving the snake free to slither after the kid.

"Hey!" that, from the razorgirl as she straightens and turns towards the car with Moreau, the woman dubbed Razor actually calls out,"That better not be lethal!"

Miss Moreau has posed:
One particular stubborn Black Rose is still shooting at Moreau's car. One bullet wizzes past Moreau's face close enough to take some of her hair with it. Her head tilts, and she grins.

"You could have fooled me!" Offers Moreau to Drake in support of her 'Minion'. Another laugh, and then she ducks down from another burst of gunfire. There's glass in her hair from the now shattered window. Somewhere in the whole thing, she'd closed the door and stolen the gun from the dead Black Rose.

A blind woman with a gun is a recipie for disaster and poor accuracy, but the return fire at least makes the cemetary goers that remain pause. When it's empty, she clicks it a few times...and then tosses it. One more Black Rose goes down by a random, lucky toss of a gun.

The snakes fangs dig dip...but not for long. It spurts that potent venom once, twice, three times...and then a kick sends the snake flying from Molly. Accidental. Surely. Does Moreau care?

The smile on her face, as the snake screams to her magically, might suggest not. Her book closes, and it's gone.

She kicks open the door.

"I am a horrible woman, Miss Razor, but I do not murder children. Child! Well fought. Have a boon for the day's entertainment!" Compliments the woman. Another toss, and a cloth-covered vial rolls out to the asphalt towards Tim.

"Let's go before any of the young man's friends show up." The paralysis venom works quickly, but it's only half the intended dose. Perhaps enough for Robin to drink the vial before he might succumb fully to it! The last white sedan is ready to pull away!

The Black Roses, what few remain, are in dissarray. At least the GCPD will have someone to arrest tonight, thanks to Robin!

Red Robin has posed:
For a moment, it just seems like Tim's gone cautious. After rolling back away from Razor to gain some ground, he comes up in another crouch and simply... waits. It takes a moment before he finally breaks into a grimace and slips sideways, his leg giving out underneath him. Still, he's a fighter and has been innoculated to some very potent poisons. It's not enough to make him fully immune, but it allows him to maintain some semblance of dignity as he draws himself back up using his bo staff for support. He ignores the vial for now -- no way he's going to trust anything tossed by Moreau without some thorough tests, and probably not even then. Instead he sort of staggers and props himself up on a tombstone, the memorial supporting most of his weight as he wields the bo staff in a defensive style.

Things may have just gotten serious. There's very little chance he'd be able to stand up to any sort of attack from Razor at this point, so he makes a desperate play as he presses a small concealed button on his gauntlet that begins to flash a dull orange. "Hope you're not planning on leaving," he calls, mostly to Moreau but his eyes are on Molly, "I'm sure my fellow mob of tight-wearing lunatics are nearly here by now." He then holds up his still blinking gauntlet while quietly hoping to himself they take the bait and bail. Or see through the bluff and bail anyway. Just so long as whoever is still alive stays that way.

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly spares a look for Tim, even with the lenses covering her eyes it might be considered compassionate. Her hands relaxing as she backs up with a grunt in a non-verbal indicator that she's totally not about to take advantage of the situation. Still, she retains awareness of his position as she starts to turn away, making an exasperated sound when she realizes there's still someone shooting at Moreau.

"Good." is the only word she has for Tim.

From her jacket she pulls out an odd looking pistol, from pepperbox muzzle to checkered grip not your average weapon, evinced by the electric whine it makes as she raises it, and the *fwip* before she puts a razor-sharp metal fletchette in the guys eye with none of the compassion spared for the hero.

She's still muttering when she nudges the vial in Tim's direction and keeps stalking to scoop the carbine from the grass as she heads towards the sedan, apparently content to leave with Moreau despite everything.

Miss Moreau has posed:
"So much as I would love to entertain your little fluttery mob, dear child, frankly it is not worth the resources. Oh, but do not fret, this is hardly the last. No, no, no, I think we all might well get to know each other! We could become the best of enemies! Wouldn't that be a joy? Passion, hatred, violence! Blood spilled in a ravenous dance for domination and territory! Fully suiting of two packs of wild beasts."

She smiles in Tim's direction as he stops, right at the sound of his voice.

"Heal. Grow stronger. A cub devoured before his time is such a waste. I look forward to see what you become."

A flechette round hits, and the Black Rose falls. The fire slackens, and it's just dead bodies, the wounded, crying civilians, and the scent of blood. Moreau sucks in a breath and lets out a sigh that's one part physical, and one part mental ecstacy. She's getting off on the horrible carnage.

A hand is offered to her partner outside of the gang. She'll try to all but throw Molly in with those dainty fingers, through momentum and grace less than strength. The door would slam shut, and the car peels off after a moment's hesitation.

Perhaps long enough for Tim to make one final act.

Moreau, slumping over against her door, lets out a sigh and licks some of the blood mixed from her own wounds, and that which splattered on her from the dead body.

"Such...an exciting night, wasn't it, Miss Molly?" Offers Moreau, sounding happy as a clam. And then she slumps over against the other woman tiredly.

Red Robin has posed:
Tim just grimaces as Razor fires on the Black Rose, wishing he could move, wishing he could do anything to stop it. Instead he just silently stews in impotent anger at the blatent blood shed. He waits until her attention is on getting situated into the vehicle before he points the end of his staff at the rear bumper of the car and with a near silent puff of compressed gas, a tiny tracker sails through the air and magnetically latches onto the departing SUV. With his flagging strength, Tim scoops up the vial, stumbles and falls onto his R-cycle before the Black Rose survivors can realize they've got a disabled Robin in their midst, and lets the vehicle clumsily drive him into an alley, whereupon he and the bike crash into a pair of garbage cans and he waits still and silent as his allies close in on his homing signal.

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions's busy with her weapons, fletchette pistol back in it's holster, carbine in hand as she slides into the sedan, still as emotionally unmoved as she was when they first arrived,"I think you should cut back on the derms, Moreau. That crap will fry you in the end." is what she asserts, uncomfortably wedged up against the door as the sedan pulls away and heedless of it's electronic tracker,"That kid better not die." the only words she has to offer as they depart.

Miss Moreau has posed:
"So very, very untrusting, dear Molly!" Comes Moreau as the car gets on the highway, right towards the Narrows and one of the White Roses' preferred dumping grounds for all sorts of things. Her finger, still stained with red, vaguely points at the other woman.

"I am a woman of my word. He will be fine. ...Though I do not envy him the headache in the morning judging by how quickly he took off. Poor, reckless youth." A sigh.

The shattered front seat is kicked down, and used as a foot rest. She wiggles her toes, heels dropping.

It's that last part that has Moreau howling with laughter. "Derms? Oh. Oh ignorant little Razor. Let me...tell you a secret." Leeean. A smile, and she dares try for a finger waggle.

"No drug can replace pure, beastly, blood-addled lust. I have found my addiction for life. I only pray that you, so cool like the edge of a knife, too shall find that same pleasure."

A huff, and then she's out like a light as the stress of a gunfight and her own magic takes it's toll. Those ruffles take up way too much room in a mid size sedan, alas poor Molly.