5719/Poor Target Selection

Poor Target Selection
Date of Scene:	05 November 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Batman

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
It's late when Mercy comes out of the S Mart carrying a couple of plastic bags of groceries. She pauses to glance around before heading to her car, stifling a yawn. She parked a little way out from the store entrance, under one of the parking lot lights. The old VW still gleams in the light from the wash and wax Alfred provided. The car is loaded down with some parts in the back, the rear seat flipped forward to make room for the car parts pulled from a nearby junkyard.

Batman has posed:
    Although he wouldn't admit it, the Batman has been keeping closer tabs on Mercy since he learned about her unique abilities when it comes to shape-shifting. The emergence of werewolves in Gotham several nights earlier piqued his interest further, and now he wonders if she may be related to them in some way. Not enough to approach her directly, of course, but for the moment he lurks across the nearby rooftops unseen and unheard.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy eyes the van parked a couple spots down from her car. It's not right next to her car, two empty spaces between them. The van arrived about 3 minutes after Mercy did, parked, and the driver went inside. She sets her groceries down so she can unlock the car. While she's fiddling with bags and keys, the side door of the van slams open and three men emerge, one extending a taser toward Mercy.

She's almost taken by surprise...she heard the door click as the latch was worked, but still. Mercy evades the man and his handheld taser, and takes a look at the odds...three to one is terrible. She sprints, groceries left behind, for the S-Mart doors.

Batman has posed:
    It feels as though this is how things always go in Gotham. The Bat watches from the rooftops and it's only a matter of time before a scum make a play against someone. Anyone. When they do, he's ready for it. When the taser comes out, Batman is already rising from his perch to drop down to the street below. He takes the moment, still concealed, to get the measure of the crooks. To see just what they're planning. Harmless petty thieves stealing groceries? He'd temper himself. Muggers? Perhaps not so much. Anything else? Well, they should hope they aren't anything else.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"SH**!" the guy with taser snarls. "Get 'er," and he's sprinting off after her. Noticably slower than Merc. The other two do the same, a step or two behind. Unfortunately for Mercy, the driver's coming out of the store and he jumps her, going for a tackle. She'd angled toward him, not realizing he was part of the crew until too late, and when he tries to tackle her she tries to dodge. She's partly successful...he doesn't get a firm grip on her, but the man does manage to jerk her off her feet. Mercy tucks a shoulder and rolls, managing to not take any harm from the fall itself. It slows her though, and gives the three men time to catch up. Taser guy is the sloweest, but one of the other two is right there on her as she comes to her feet. He's a younger man, maybe hispanic, and he makes grab for her, getting her in a bear hug.

Batman has posed:
    The man who made the tackle lets out a yowl of pain as a heavy boot comes down on his wrist, audibly cracking as it is caught against the pavement. As though emerging from thin air, the Batman stands tall and dark - silhouetted by the humming neon of the S-Mart. The man on the ground is left for the time being, the Dark Knight certain the pain is enough to keep him distracted. He turns his back on the other two, moving to reach out and grab the bear-hugger by the shoulders. His fingers search for a certain cluster of nerves in the neck and waste no time driving into it with all the force and severity of folded steel. A systematic, passionless disassembly of a human being

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The man screeches as Batman digs his fingers into the nerve cluster, and lets go of Mercy, but not before she slams her heel down on his foot, breaking it badly. The man passes out from the dual sources of pain, going limp and collapsing in a heap at Batman's feet. The other two skid to a stop. "Sh**" seems to be taser guy's favorite word, expressed at some volume again. He and the remaining man scrabble through a turn to sprint back for their van. "DIdn't no one say nothin'...>" the other guy gives up complaining to save his breath for running.

Mercy steps back toward the store and watches, staying out of Batman's way. Nothing says 'bad mood' like the Bat's scowl.

Batman has posed:
    Batman almost moves to chase the thugs, but ultimately opts to let them go. They aren't going far, and he has three different forms of tracking zeroed in on their van already. Besides, it will be more ? fun to spring on them once they think they've gotten away. Perhaps he'll catch them up to nastier things.
    The man unconscious on the ground is stepped over as the Bat approaches the one with the broken wrist. He grabs the forearm of his good hand, looping a cable tie through the belt of his pants and around his wrist to effectively tie his hand behind his back. Only then does he rise back to his feet, turning his full attention to Mercy and surveying her for any potential wounds. Still silent.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy brushes some dust off her shirt and arms. There's a scrape on one elbow that she winces at, but it's minor. "Thanks," she tells Batman. "Good thing for everyone you were here tonight." She sounds calm but there's a tremor to her hand that indicates there's at least a little bit of an act involved. "I don't imagine they were trying to shanghai me for a friendly game of cards."

Batman has posed:
    "I'm surprised you didn't tear their throats out," Batman answers, gauging Mercy's every movement with precision and watching her reaction. He looks at the man unconscious on the ground, lifting him effortlessly with one harm despite his being a fully-grown man. He binds his arms behind his back with a practiced motion before letting him drop unceremoniously to the pavement once again. "Claws. And fangs."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy goes still at that comment. "Are you spying on me," she asks after a moment's thought. "I swear, I had no clue that place was a chop shop." She's staying still, initially the freeze of surprise, now the stillness in case action is called for. "No....'cause then you'd have shown up to ask me about Jimmy and that freak that killed him in the shop. So how do you know?"

Batman has posed:
    "I know," Batman says flatly, "there is little that I don't. But I'm satisfied being the only one that does, and I won't be sharing that information. However, I want to know what you know about the creatures operating on South Hinkley, if anything. They possessed similar abilities to yours."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy thinks that over for a minute. "I'd rather not have this conversation in the S Mart parking lot," she says after a minute. "Meet me at the shop in ... thirty minutes? I want to put the groceries away befor the frozen stuff thaws and melts." She shrugs. "Unless you have a freezer somewhere convenient I can stash stuff in."

Batman has posed:
    "I'll be there."
    The Batman says nothing further, stepping into the shadows. It seems for a moment as though he may still be there, but a cursory glance will show that he has departed as swiftly and silently as he arrived.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy Thompson stays still a minute more, then walks back to her car, gets the groceries she dropped, and drives off. It takes about twenty minutes to get home and she puts the frozen stuff away immediately, grumbling to herself all the while. THe hot chocolate comes out next...the good stuff real chocolate with touch of jalpeno in it and she starts heating milk to make it. "COuld be worse," she mutters to herself. She takes the pot and two cups down to the garage. Not the office, that's where evil paperwork lives. The shop itself is more home to her. And waits, doubting it will be a long wait.

Batman has posed:
    "Speak."
    The Batman's voice comes from nowhere as once again he is somewhere it might seem impossible for him to get without being heard or seen. He remains largely concealed in the corner, the shadows surrounding him and only the whites of his eyes visible.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
She's not surprised. The scent was there when she came down. Mercy pours the hot chocolate, both cups, first. "First, just to confirm what you already know: you are really scary." There's some acid to her voice, she apparently doesn't like being scared. "I heard about South Hinkley but other than it was werewolves I don't know anything. I can ask around and see what i can find out if you'd like. The wolves mostly talk to me. Some don't like me on general principle...wolves and coyotes don't really get along, you know. "

Batman has posed:
    "Factions," the tone of the Bat's voice suggests that he finds such a thing distasteful, "You weren't involved. I suspected you weren't, but I had to be sure. They're smuggling some sort of artefact. Magic, by the way they talked about it." The idea of magic seems ridiculous to Batman, and he makes no qualms about letting it slip in the way he speaks. The comment about being scary goes unremarked upon. He knows.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Scary or not, Mercy offers him the otehr cup of hot cocoa. He's in her place, so hospitality is in order, and she can't drink the chocolate she wants without at least offering to him. She gets up and holds the cup out until he takes it or refuses. "THere's lots of factions among the wolves," she agrees. "And to be really clear to you, I am a coyote, not a werewolf. All I do is change between human and coyote, a largish coyote, but not outlandishly so, about fifty pounds. I have no pack, no super strength like the wolves, silver doesn't bother me. I don't have to change at the full moon." She shrugs. "A magic artefact? Any idea what? A lot of those are fake but the real thing," Mercy shakes her head. "The real things are trouble, in big letters."

Batman has posed:
    "Some form of book or tome," Batman answers, finally lifting a hand to refuse the offered cocoa. It wouldn't help his whole 'scary' vibe to be sipping on hot chocolate, "They didn't get their hands on it in the end. It's with an associate." If he can call the Shadow that. All he knows is that they grabbed it, disappeared and laughed like a maniac in the process.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy sets the cup aside on a toolbox, and sits back down. "Books .. knowledge is power as the saying goes." She sips and frowns, thinking. "I'll ask around," Mercy promises. "Do you have any idea what the book was or who they grabbedi t from?"

Batman has posed:
    "No." It is a difficult thing to admit, especially since he just said he knows everything, but if Mercy is going to help then he needs to be at least part-way honest with her, "They brought it in on a ship from somewhere in Eastern Europe. The intention was to use it as a weapon. Beyond that, no further information."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"There are some scary monsters that come from Europe, particularly eastern Europe," Mercy replies. "I'll ask around." She sniffs, amusement. "You seem to be making a habit of coming to my rescue. I'd not have thought bats were dog lovers." The sarcasm is light and she drops it completely to add. "In any case, thank you. I have no idea who those men were or what they wanted, but I am sure I want no part of it. So thanks."

Batman has posed:
    "It doesn't matter what they wanted now. They're on their way to Blackgate." Batman frowns, moving at last - this time towards the window, reaching out to open it and climbing onto the sill, "You don't have to thank me."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Actually, yes, I do," Mercy disagrees. She watches him go to the window, looking amused. "I have a perfectly functional door you know. Not even locked at the moment."

Batman has posed:
    The Batman pauses on the window sill, almost like he's about to turn and use the door as bidden. He turns his head just slightly, not enough to look directly at the door but so much that he seems to consider it from afar.
    "Noted."
    And with that, he disappears out the window and into the night.