2791/Going to School

Going to School
Date of Scene:	10 October 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Bluebird, Huntress

---

Bluebird has posed:
    "I am -never- gonna get over how cool this is."

    Harper Row is still pretty new to this whole super hero kind of thing. She has a lot to get used to, a lot to improve on. But one thing she hopes she never gets used to? The rooftop patrol.

    To her credit, she doesn't shout with the sheer elation she wants to as she ziplines from building to building, scouring for any potential problems or dangers in the misbegotten alleyways of Old Gotham's Central Heights. It took her a -while- to get the right way to get this swing down, and a -lot- of bruising in unpleasant places -- but she still manages professionalism as she soars through the cool midnight air of Gotham and lands on the next rooftop to settle into.

    Professional, except for the big, dumb, goofy smile on her face.

    For now, though, she just settles in as she makes landfall on that roof, a radio and binoculars in hand as she just... waits. The boring part. But, well -- she's used to this, too. It's all a part of helping to fix this city, in the end. And that is absolutely something she can spare some patience for.

Huntress has posed:
    Harper isn't the only one on patrol tonight; someone else is out. Watching the Watchers, as it were. Huntress got the call from a friend through an intermediary. There's a new vigilante-in-training who bears watching. And who might even appreciate a few pointers. Hell, it's not like the mob can't wait one evening.
    If there's one thing Huntress knows how to do, it's stalk her prey. And with the younger girl vaulting through the air with such abandon it's not too difficult a trail to follow. While Harper is scanning the city through binoculars, it isn't the force of the landing that gives Huntress away but the deliberate scrape of a booted foot on the rooftop gravel.
    SOMEHOW, the tall woman in purple and black just ...showed up... while Harper was looking the other way. And she stands there, in profile, watching. Perhaps waiting to be noticed.

Bluebird has posed:
    It's not that much of a stretch to say that Harper Row has a lot to learn. For as much potential as she may or may not have, the lack of experience shows in the simple fact that she doesn't even seem to notice the fact that she's not alone right now, engrossed as she is in staking out this particular corner of the neighborhood that has been more or less assigned to her -- like an unwary deer in the sights of a predatory ready to pounce.

    No -- it's not until she hears that deliberate scrape of heel across gravel that her eyes widen in stark realization behind the white lenses of her domino mask. To her credit, she moves quickly: binoculars are swiftly abandoned, clattering across the ground as she spins a sharp pivot on her heel to face the Huntress.

    By the time she's facing the other woman? She has one of those unusual guns out, spitting electrical sparks as it winds up a charge with an ionizing hum. "Okay, jackoff, you better have a good reason to be creeping on me or you're gonna get a face of--" she begins, before realizing who she's staring at. Her thoughts process obvious visual information a second too late; she squints. Frowns. Doesn't -quite- drop that gun. "You're... uh..." -Someone- important. Don't mind her; she's new.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress already has a crossbow pointed at Harper even before she gets a gun out. Her aim follows the younger woman's movements until realization begins to sink in. The crossbow lowers... a bit... and she finishes the stammered sentence. "I'm the Huntress." she replies, contralto voice both soft and husky.
    The tall, dark-haired woman doesn't approach as she continues talking. "I've been told you're going to be working the streets. I've been told you're in training. And I've been told to watch for you. But I haven't been told what you call yourself."

Bluebird has posed:
    "Right. Huntress. Okay," says Harper, slowly, trying to not be so sharply aware of the fact that this woman probably could have killed her if she had really wanted to. It makes her teeth grit in frustration at herself, but eventually, that gun slowly lowers in time to the dip of the Huntress' own crossbow.

    She's young, clearly, just by the sound of her voice alone -- but at least not naive, if the way she doesn't drop that gun all the way is any indication. Someone who's had to get used to seeing the worst in people. Like so many who take up the mask. "You know about me? Wow. This whole Bat... Network thing is seriously no joke," mumbles the purple-haired girl, scratching at the back of her scalp. "Did Canary ask you to? Or..." But then the rest of Huntress' words catch up with her, and she clears her throat.

    "Oh! Right. Yeah. Sorry." Her free hand taps once against the modest armor plating of her chest. "I go by Bluebird."

Huntress has posed:
    The crossbow lowers slowly, until it's pointed at the rooftop. Huntress keeps her back to the indirect lights out of habit, making it more difficult to see her face. At the mention of Canary, Huntress takes a step closer and the crossbow is put away. Not that she looks a whole lot -less- dangerous without it, for some reason.
    "Friend of Canary's, actually." she replies, keeping her voice low. "Bluebird, hmm? Well it's in keeping with the theme, anyway." Birds. Raptors. Birds of Prey. "I'm not here to show you how to stand or how to sit, how to watch or how to listen. But hopefully you'll pick up a few pointers that just might keep you alive for one more night."
    Tilting her head, Huntress paces slowly and deliberately around Bluebird, now, which makes it easier to see the details of her own costume. Her gaze -feels- almost critical, but all she does is nod until she makes the full circuit. "Where are you learning to fight?"

Bluebird has posed:
    Like a little show of trust or at the very least good faith, Bluebird lowers her gun as Huntress does, until it finds its place holstered back at her hip. Not that it makes her relax anymore; the shock of being snuck up on and having those fight or flight reflexes activated sends adrenaline still pumping through her on inertia; she's tense and wired up, and seems to only tense up all the more as Huntress takes a step closer. That pervasive sense of danger Huntress manages to effortlessly cultivate doesn't help, either.

    "You really live up to your name," she still manages to note; and, to her credit, the typical sarcasm that laces it is only -slightly- marred by the faint squeak to her voice. Not that it makes Harper curse herself inwardly any less.

    Still -- she relaxes, just a bit, when Huntress continues; behind white lenses, Harper takes the other vigilante in, trying to just get a decent assessment of who or what she's dealing with as Huntress approaches. "So you're -- what? Here to help? Give me pointers?" Her brows furrow behind her mask. "... On how not to get myself killed?"

    Part of her wants to say she knows how to handle herself just fine. The other part -- "Yeah, okay, I probably could use some of that."

    To her credit, only a bit of that tension returns as Huntress starts to circle her. That jacket-clad costume of hers has all the hallmarks of something designed in a Batcave somewhere rather than homebrewed. The guns, though? All evidence points to those being, if not made by Bluebird, than at least acquired somewhere else. She can't help but try to track Huntress as much as she can, as far as she can, until the woman disappears behind her; from how stiff her stance is, she's clearly not used to being so assessed. "I was taking self-defense lessons," she answers, honestly -- because she definitely didn't have the resources necessary for the kind of training other people like her get. "But, uh -- Black Canary is training me now." A second passes.

    "And Batgirl taught me how to kick people in the face properly. ... I think. Kinda hard to tell with her." Definitely important to note.

Huntress has posed:
    Yes, Huntress could've taken her out before Bluebird even noticed. Not exactly a comfortable beginning to their relationship. It doesn't help that Huntress is taller, and that dark costume makes her seem more than a little bit creepy. "I hear Canary's a good boxer." she replies, as if making a mental note.
    Standing directly in front of Bluebird, Huntress folds her arms over her chest and takes a comfortably wide stance. "Self defense lessons might keep you alive for a short time, but only if you're lucky. Are those tasers, or something else?"

Bluebird has posed:
    Not a good start -- but at the very least, Bluebird seems nothing if not adaptable. Or maybe she's just rapidly getting used to people sneaking up on her. Either way, while she still seems tense in certain ways, she eases in others, her dour, wary expression changing towards something more neutral as her arms fold over her armored chest. "Yeah? Makes sense," she muses, almost to herself, as a brow lifts subtly behind that mask. "I think I saw some boxing in there when she was kicking some goons' asses. ... and a lot of other crap, too. Do all of you know, like, fifteen different kinds of martial arts? Because I've got a lot of catching up to do if so."

    It's an attempt at a joke, wary though it might be, like she was trying to break an otherwise very tense (and kind of creepy) ice. Her stance perhaps unconsciously echoes Huntress' as she turns her attention back on the other woman, though, brows lifting in tandem as she glances back down towards her guns at her hips. "The guns? Yeah. Kinda, anyway. They're not like traditional tasers, but they give off electrical discharges to incapacitate. Sort of like a fusion of a firearm and a taser, I guess." She looks back, eyes falling towards where Huntress stored her own weapon. "Crossbow, huh? Pretty old school. Kinda cool." She may or may not be attempting small talk.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress smirks, and even her -lipstick- is purple. If her eyes were visible beneath the lenses of her mask, it's a fair bet on the color of her eye shadow. Arms still folded, Huntress shifts her left foot back just a touch. It's subtle, but certainly more of a fighting stance. "Just make sure you get in a LOT of practice with them. Know how to use them as well as -when- to use them. A crossbow is lethal. I know when I'm going to shoot to incapacitate and how..."
    She levels her full attention on Bluebird, then, without moving further. "But no matter how good your gear or how skilled you are with it, there comes a time when you'll be unarmed. So I want you to show me what you've got." Pause. "Hit me. Kick me. Whatever you want."

Bluebird has posed:
    Harper Row has been in enough fights in her life to know the beginning sparks of one when she sees it. The slide of that foot. The subtle tension of muscles. Even just the look on Huntress' face. Bluebird's pierced lips pull into a thin, neutral sort of line at the (very, very) purple vigilante's words, drawing from the smirk of those violet lips to the way the woman comports herself.

    "Are you--" 'serious,' she is about to ask, but it barely takes a blip for Bluebird to remember that this woman is one of Gotham's bat-crazy vigilantes, of -course- she's serious. And so, after mentally congratulating herself for not making that bat pun out loud, her own, right leg slides backwards across gravel and stone.

    "Right. Okay then. Hit you. Sure," she murmurs. "If you're really--" and then she -springs- before she finishes the thought, as if with every intention of trying to take Huntress by surprise mid-talk. Her left foot plants onto the rooftop beneath her, digging in firmly as she spins her entire body around in a sharp pivot to swing that right foot up and down heel first for Huntress' side, in a crude -- but markedly improved -- imitation of what Batgirl had shown her at the docks.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress doesn't react to the banter, at least not at first. She moves -with- the kick, letting the quick dive-roll absorb most of the energy. Rather than rising, however, her own response is a sweep-kick to Bluebird's pivot leg while still in that crouch. "Decent round-house." she observes. "They didn't teach you -that- in self-defense class."
    Huntress remains in the crouch regardless, and she shows why her long coat has the split-tail... ease of movement. "So what was your plan after the kick? Learn to -read- your opponent. Anticipate their moves before they make them. If you just react, you'll eventually find someone who's faster than you are. Or smarter."

Bluebird has posed:
    She wasn't quite expecting that, and it shows; Bluebird still doesn't have the best poker-face, if the surprise that paints itself across her punkish features is any indication. Her kick is a little bit wide -- it's far from perfect -- so when Huntress moves -with- it, Harper's own momentum becomes her downfall. "Ohhh wait wait HOLD ON--"

    And so, Huntress sweeps the leg, and Bluebird ungracefully topples over into a heap on the ground.

    "... uggghhhh... thanks, I'll be more appreciative once my tailbone stops yelling at me."

    And so she just lays there on her back, sprawled out for a time, staring at the sky. Eventually, she rolls backwards in a decent show of flexibility, pushing herself into a partially crouched, seated position. "Wow, you just laid me the hell out," she grouses, rubbing the back of her head. "I guess I was kinda figuring you'd just go down like a sack of bricks and then, uh, I'd punch you a few times, or something? Okay, now that I say it out loud, it was a really dumb plan." Her hand lifts, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck. "Okay, okay. I got it. Think before I act, right?"

    Bluebird seems to consider a moment, before she looks back Huntress' way. "You are a total badass. Like... how do you do that? Size someone up that quick?"

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress rises smoothly once Bluebird goes down, and she doesn't offer the young woman a hand up. "You made your plan before even watching me move." she replies. "I was fortunate to have a couple of good teachers. Good, dangerous teachers. But I learn from everyone that I can, whenever I can."
    Her stance shifts again, this time with her right foot back. "Okay, let's try this again. A bit slower this time. You get one attack and I get one defense. Then I return the attack and you defend. We'll build up speed as we go. Ready?"

Bluebird has posed:
    If she's expecting a helping hand, Bluebird at least doesn't seem particularly put out at not getting it; in fact, she's already moving to her feet before Huntress begins to answer her, heels planting into the earth as she pushes herself upward with only the slightest stumble without so much as asking for help. All those traditional hallmarks of someone accustomed to having to do things for themselves.

    "Well, I'm meeting tons of dangerous people now, so I've totally got that covered," Bluebird remarks wryly as she dusts herself off, underscoring it with a brief look Huntress' way. "But... learn. Okay. Okay, I think I got it. Let's do this." One shoulder rolls. And then the other. She cracks her neck, once.

    And then she's off, moving slower this time as she brings her right fist back in a more methodical, more telegraphed right hook aimed for Huntress' jaw. No more words, this time -- Bluebird just focuses herself on the moment, and watching Huntress' reactions.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress moves efficiently, left arm rising and turning outward to catch the right hook. There's no hesitation in her response, a right jab to Bluebird's jaw. It's not exactly telegraphed, but it's not full speed either. It -is- a little bit faster than Bluebird's punch.
    "Good! I learned mostly from a couple of assassins when I was younger. They taught me to be resourceful. And ruthless." They'll continue trading punches, with Huntress hitting back in the same line as Bluebird.

Bluebird has posed:
    Faster. Not by much, but enough. Bluebird adjusts herself quickly, to her credit, as that jab comes in like a mirrored echo to her own. Her own hand comes up to block that fist just seconds before it can make impact, feeling the sting against her palm as leather creaks and teeth grit.

    "Assassins? Jeez -- everyone's got these -- ngfh -- crazy stories!" she doesn't sound irreverent, though -- mostly, just impressed, as she looks to bring her knee up a little bit faster to try to drive it into Huntress' abdomen in the midst of their punches. "I learned how to take care of myself in the Narrows--!" Which, really, is a kind of hell all on its own.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress doesn't hesitate when Bluebird throws a knee into the mix, even though their initial exchanges have been with punches. She talks all the while, now, blocking the knee with a downward sweep of her arm and a half-twist of her torso.
    The response is more unusual, however. Instead of a punch it's a straight-fingered strike aimed at Bluebird's throat. Huntress pulls it at the last moment, however, since it's fast enough to break the rhythm. And she doesn't want to end the exercise just yet.
    "I also learned from a martial arts master. I was still inexperienced, and more full of rage than sense. A good friend pulled me out of the river after I took a really bad beating. I learned yoga and I learned how to make tea. But mostly I learned to control my rage."

Bluebird has posed:
    There's fingers coming for her throat. She can see that, but she can't do anything about it, and that combination of elements makes her eyes widen behind that mask in a mix of emotions. Shocked, frightened -- and most importantly, frustrated at her own inability. "Crap--" she begins--

    --but when those fingers never quite make impact and cut off her oxygen like she's expecting it would -- should -- the relief is an odd juxtaposition to her growing frustration. She's already tilting her head back in a gesture that she knew would be futile and is now pointless; adaptable as she is, Bluebird is already pushing an offensive once more, snapping forward to drive her palm towards Huntress' solar plexus. But she puts too much of herself into it. Pours too much of that frustration into it. That feeling of inability and powerlessness, like she was just trying to punch it away.

    "'m -- pretty bad at yoga--" she huffs out between movements, because she's not nearly as good at maintaining a conversation. "Rage--?"

Huntress has posed:
    Yeah, the finger-strike elevates this beyond a simple sparring match. It also adds credence to the purple-clad vigilante's claim of professional instruction. Strike-block, strike-block, strike-block. Huntress lets Bluebird set the pace, but she gradually amps up the tempo with every counter. Testing the girl's speed as well as endurance.
    And her patience, of course.
    When that over-extended blow comes towards her solar plexus, Huntress changes things up again. Twisting rather than blocking, she grabs for the wrist just as Bluebird says the word 'Rage'. The long coat whirls as she turns, twisting to try and put Bluebird into an armlock.
    "Rage." she repeats. "It can give you a brief adrenaline boost, but it clouds your mind and impairs your judgement. Makes you sloppy. And in this business, sloppy makes you a casualty."

Bluebird has posed:
    She's fast, at least. Fast like someone who's learned how to run from a dangerous situation. And with a staying power like someone who's often chosen -not- to. But all the speed and stamina in the world doesn't make up for a simple lack of training, and therein lies the weak link in the chain. Because she's unfocused, but most of all, as that frustrated shove of her palm shows so clearly --

    Bluebird is not patient.

    And she pays for it. The Huntress catches her prey with the snare of a wrist and the lock of an arm; a gasp is torn from Bluebird's lips, short, dyed hair whipping about as she snaps her head to the side and struggles against Huntress within the all but self-made vice she's found herself trapped in.

    "Ow -- dammit --" she grouses between heaved breaths of exertion, molars grinding against each other in irritation with herself. "I don't get -- mad," she insists, jerking against that armlock. "Argh, come on!!"

    A weighted second passes.

"... Okay sometimes I get mad. ... But it's -- nnf -- frustrating, just --" Feeling powerless.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress holds the armlock just long enough to make the point. Long enough for Bluebird to admit her failing. Rather than releasing completely, however, the pressure just relaxes and the older woman's voice is heard from behind. Close to Bluebird's ear.

    "It's all about the reason why. Why are you doing this? I don't need to know, but YOU do. Because in the end, if your -reason- isn't strong enough... if your 'why' doesn't matter enough, then there's no point. And in that critical moment when you NEED the reserve, it all folds into itself."

    Huntress releases the hold, then, and she steps back. "When I was eight years old, some men broke into our house while we were having dinner. They murdered everyone there while I watched, but left me unharmed. I screamed in my sleep every night for years, until I decided to DO something about it. That's my reason."

Bluebird has posed:
    Even as the pressure relaxes, tension rolls through Bluebird as she feels as much as hears that whispered voice tickling so close to her ear. The younger woman stops struggling, even as those muscles tense, even as she bites her lip. Why is she doing this?

    All that tension goes slack with a little shiver of relief when she is released; Bluebird lingers there for a time, slumped a bit forward with a mild stagger, as her eyes focus on the rooftop grounds beneath her. "... I'm sorry. I can't even imagine..." What she'd do if she lost her brother. Her pierced lips pull towards a frown as she straightens, and slowly turns, to face Huntress fully. She shared something that personal, that... traumatic. It's only fair...

    "... I like fixing things. I'm good at it," mumbles Harper, chest armor rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath. "My mom died when I was still little. Killed. My dad..." She bites the inside of her cheek. "... my dad's the kind of piece of shit that doesn't get on a supervillain rogues gallery. He just hurts people and leaves them to rot. So for as long as I can remember, it's just been me, taking care of my brother. And I'm good at it. I'm really good." She straightens, looking at Huntress.

    "I figured -- if I can fix things, I have to try, right? So that's why. But I guess I still have a ways to go."

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress watches the young woman through the mask, shaking her head slowly. "Thank you." she replies in a soft voice, a voice without the edge. She listens to the story, then, quietly and without expression. Which is pretty easy with the mask.

    "Your life doesn't NEED to be a tragedy for you to act, Bluebird. I did this because I had to, in order to survive. The assassins I mentioned earlier? They were cousins of mine. And honestly I sometimes think they just got tired of hearing my screaming." The purple lips curl into a wry grin, then. "But you're doing this becaues you can. Because you want to help. Believe me when I tell you that's a far more noble reason."

    Huntress steps closer, then, almost looming as she rests an armored glove on the young woman's shoulder. "Just make sure your nobility doesn't get you killed. I'm going to watch you for a while. When you're out there. You probably won't see me, but I'll be there."

Bluebird has posed:
    One gloved hand lifting, Bluebird rubs at her forearm in an idle gesture. She's got a wealth of self-confidence, but still feels like she has to prove something -- anything -- to the older woman in front of her, who's been through so much. Is so much more skilled. And seems to be so much more put together.

    So she eats up those words when they're offered, and despite herself, those pierced lips twitch into a faint grin like a mirrored echo of Huntress' own, a slice of pride curving them just a bit at that compliment. She can only nod once, mutely, but she clings to those words -- the good and the harrowing -- as something that provides invaluable perspective.

    She's so engrossed in them, in fact, that she doesn't notice how close Huntress has gotten until she feels the armored weight of that gloved hand upon her shoulder. She starts with a sharp suck of breath, gaze snapping up -- and then relaxes just a bit under that touch. "U-uh, right, yeah, no dying, pretty important," she agrees, just a bit flustered, as she scratches the back of her head. "Watching me? Seriously? That's... kinda scary. And flattering. Mostly flattering. I think." Her words wry, she still gives a firm, lone nod.

    "... thanks, though. I'm gonna keep doing my best." A second passes. "... and getting better training."

Huntress has posed:
    It's really the teacher in Helena that's coming out, now, although she'd never admit it. Certainly not to the young vigilante. Huntress is tall, and the dark, billowing costume makes it easy for her to loom. Being intimidating is part of the job, right? But she's smiling all the same.

    "Watching you." she repeats. It sounds so much better than 'following you to make sure you don't get your skinny ass killed'. "You just keep doing what you're doing. Be smart. Be safe. Look before you leap." All words of advice that Helena would've done well to consider when SHE was this young woman's age.

    "And if you want to do some more serious combat training, I'm available for that as well. Among others, of course." Reaching to her belt, she pulls out a plain business card with nothing but a phone number. In purple ink.

Bluebird has posed:
    It's a tutelage that Harper seems happy for, despite that intimidating presence -- and despite the fact that she has too much pride to directly admit she still desperately needs that kind of help. The smile helps. Probably. At the very least, she doesn't seem about to bolt like a frightened, rooftop-hopping deer.

    "Right. Look before I leap. I can totally do that," claims Bluebird, even though she's probably more reckless than she'd like to admit. It's probably a good thing someone is watching out for her, really. Arms folding over her midsection, she looks back towards Huntress, head tilting and a brow lifting at that offer.

    "Seriously?" she asks, after a moment, before that card is produced. "Okay, yeah, seriously, wow." She takes that card, looks at the purple number inscribed on it. "Wow, again. That's a badass business card. Wow. I'm saying wow a lot, aren't I?" A second passes, before she grins just a bit, pocketing that card. "I'm like... one hundred and twenty percent up for that, even though you are totally going to kick my ass. I'll, um. Give you a call. This is gonna be really great. ... And really painful."

    And so, she summarizes, eloquently: "Wow."