5905/These Rooftops Are Crowded

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These Rooftops Are Crowded
Date of Scene: 03 December 2018
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Batman, Souvenir, Spider-Man, Spawn, Shadow, Alfred Pennyworth




Batman has posed:
    <I really do wish you would reconsider, sir. You shouldn't be out of bed, let alone galivanting on->
    "I'm fine."
    Batman cuts off Alfred's concern shortly and sharply over the sub-vocal microphone built into his cowl. He can feel the not-so-dull ache in his midsection as the stitches tug uncomfortably at his flesh and itch almost unbearably. A man of lesser will may scratch at them, but to the Dark Knight's credit he sits still as a statue. The rooftops are foreign to him - being in unfamiliar territory on top of his injury make the situation unideal to say the least. But he remains, binoculars clasped in his hands as he focuses on a lit window on the uppermost floor of a squat brownstone across the street.
    "Hnh." A sudden grunt in pain as he shifts uncomfortably.
    <What was that?>
    "Nothing."

Souvenir has posed:
Erika Kristasdottir had heard a rumor of some kind of fight on a rooftop here, at this address. Probably.. Which was.. a bit of a long shot, but she was FRUSTRATED and she needed to freshen up her workout routine. Long runs, punching trees (carefully), climbing stuff, and other workout things to exhaustion on a regular basis needed variety.

And she had been trying all day wracking her brain trying to think of who to talk about about her mother being dead asleep. Grrr. She needed to DO something, even if it wasn't necessarily effective. Because it was SOMETHING.

And Souvenir needs souvenirs.

Maybe she can find a scrap of ninja uniform or a discarded throwing star or something.

She certainly isn't a great ninja master, with her awkward climbing and scrambling to find a way up. Potential Robin she ain't. She's at least in passable shape and not horribly out of breath, but the clinging to safety doesn't bespeak great experience at this.

Spider-Man has posed:
New York didn't have nearly as many stone gargoyles as Gotham, but then, it had gargoyles that came to life at night. So, New York was once again better than their neighbours across the river. And currently dangling beneath one of those gargoyles, the stone variety, was our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. He was upside down, using his feet to hold onto the webline he had dropped from, and had rolled up his left sleeve. A closer inspection would see that he was using a very small screwdriver, or something similar, to adjust some metal and plastic around his wrist. It was one of his webshooters that had gone afoul and he was doing some on the job maintenance. Little did he know that he was dangling beneath the caped crusader. There was no danger, so his spider-sense didn't go off. But he heard a man talking. Not knowing who it was, but figuring it was just some young couple enjoying the evening, or an aspiring astronomer, he called up, "hey, you want to go halfsies on a pizza? Anducci's is excellent." And he fired some webbing into the air, seemingly indiscriminately, but it was a test shot that'll land on an inconspicuous area, dissolving about an hour from now.


Spawn has posed:
    He was awake.

    Was he? Sometimes it was difficult to be certain, sometimes he went days without sleep or human needs, and then there were times where it felt like he had hardly enough energy to stand. He'd woken up this morning in his little slice of Bludhaven, his miniature hobo kingdom where he had as much space and privacy to lock himself away from the world as he wanted. Which meant that, for the last few weeks, he'd been locked in continuous sleep, dreaming of horrible visions and darkness. He didn't think his body even had human needs anymore, but he awoke this morning in a cold sweat, and was weak as a kitten until he finally absorbed the energy he needed to form his armor and cape.

    Which lead us here, as the thing that was formerly Al Simmons was practically bounding across the rooftops of New York, burning energy and trying to clear his head. Normally a passive, quiet and patient figure, the tall gothic figure landed heavily across that Chinatown rooftop with an audible impact of a bag of cement smacking across a concrete sidwalk. And that was before one took into account the rattling of chains with every step and impact. The man was speaking out loud, almost idly, in that impossibly deep voice while his green eyes shone in distress.

    "What does it mean, what are these visions...who would kn-"

    A splatter of indiscriminant webbing hit the side of his brilliant red rustling cape, and instantly the tall figure looked over at the others on that rooftop. The way his eyes slowly narrowed suggested that he was probably very happy to see them. That's what narrowing eyes meant, right?

    Right.

Shadow has posed:
    Meanwhile, far below the common people go by their common business. At this time of night, most of that business is traffic to and from the nightclubs, people getting ready for the deadman's shift, overnight deliveries... And one car that Batman's intel confirms as being owned by Frank Keletti, an up-and-coming mobster that had the good sense to be out of Gotham for a while when the Bat family took down several of his superiors.

    He's feeling pretty good about himself at the moment; there's absolutely nothing connecting him to the anonymous tip that pointed the Bats at his boss, and in fact he was out of Gotham on said boss' orders "until the heat goes down" after the last heist. In fact, his boss' boss has already let him know that his boss' former position will be waiting for him when he gets back. It's enough to make a man smile.

    Fortunately for Frank's good mood, he remains blissfully ignorant of the Bat currently observing his car from his vantage point up on the roof -- as well as the unremarkable taxicab that happens to be going in the same direction he is, about for or five cars behind him...

Batman has posed:
    If the web-head underneath him went unnoticed until now, Batman makes no indication that he is surprised. Instead, he leans forward slightly to peer down at the dangling wall-crawler. He says nothing, simply locking eyes with Spider-Man in a way that gruffly insists 'yes, it's me' before leaning back. He has heard Souvenir clambering upward nearby, locked eyes with the somewhat-familiar outline of Spawn across the way.
    He does /not/ have this problem in Gotham.
    In the back of his mind he reasons that no, they did not sneak up on him. He knew they were here but with no imminent threat there was no need to be elsewhere. Besides, the vigilantes of New York didn't have a Batman to make them reconsidering roof-lurking time without permission.
    Inclined as he may be to try and scare them off, he has no desire to cause a scene and draw the attention of his quarry. Keletti is in the building across the way. Somewhere. A directional microphone and the thermographic receptors in his binoculars are enough to help him begin to narrow it down, although he mutters loud enough for the two closest to him to hear.
    "Keep your mouths shut."

Souvenir has posed:
Erika Kristasdottir pulls herself onto the rooftop, throwing one leg, then the other, over the ledge and flopping onto the rooftop, lying on her back a moment to catch her breath before carefully coming up to her knees in a crouch to look around her.

She's wearing a black turtleneck athletic shirt and black leathery gloves over black jeans, running shoes, and a black backpack. A cheap generic plastic costume domino mask is over her eyes. Her socks are out of place, both white, both mismatching.

She looks over. Batman. Holycrap yeek. Wait. She didn't DO anything.. and this isn't Gotham! What the heck? Quietly, she murmurs, "o..kaaaay?"

Spider-Man has posed:
Spider-Man's mask does not have lips, yet it is still obvious that the man underneath is smiling. He quickly tugs the sleeve back over his left wrist, and then holds it up to Batman. He gives an unusual wave. His wrist and palm remain exactly where they are, but he curls his pinky finger, then his ring, middle, and index finger, one after the other, and then he moves the middle, index, ring, and finally his pinky back up, repeating the entire motion a second time. As Batman pulls back and out of view, Spider-Man asks, "so, is that a no on going halfsies on an Anducci's pizza?"

Crawling up the wall, and leaving the line he had left, his eyes go wide as he notes the billowing majestic red cape of Spawn, and the narrowing of those green eyes. He gulps, wondering why his spider-sense isn't going off given the look of the man. He decides to complete the movement, heading up to the roof, where he sits, very casually, with his legs dangling over the edge, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Whispering, he asks, "hey, does that guy look like Nightwatch to either of you? He doesn't look happ... no, I'm not Deadpool" and he zips his lips, miming locking them and throwing away the key.


Spawn has posed:
    They were currently across a busy street from one another, but the creature now known as Spawn was genuinely curious as to what was bringing two local fixtures like the Bat and the Spider together. And so, they'd each probably be able to see the man taking a few long steps away from them. He looked like he was rolling his neck and preparing himself, because moments later he was running at Olympic speeds toward them both, leaping off the very edge of 'his' building. Here in the air it was easy to see his armor in full detail, black leather with white markings, though parts of it shimmered as if though part of a mirage. Chains were wrapped all around him, and though both of his black boots were plain and just lead to the blackness of his leggings, in real time they'd be able to see the right boot expand as red spiked leather wrapped around it, no doubt adding to its weight and stability.

    All around him that cape was like a miniature halo, and just as it seemed like he was about to falter and plummet down below, the edges of that cape...they 'flapped' suddenly, thrusting him upward more, and putting him just in range of the currently 'occupied' building. And when he was close enough, a pair of chains shot out, snaking through the air and digging into the material like a pair of claws, pulling him through and letting him roll to his feet now that he was on steady ground. After all of that, one might expect to hear heavy breathing. Instead, it seemed that he wasn't even breaking a sweat. (And his chest wasn't even rising or falling.) Instead, he looked at them both, as he spoke. Mainly to Batman.

    "How are you not killing this one? You must be more patient than I thought."

    His voice was dry, raspy, and sounded like autumn leaves sweeping across a gravestone. And yet, was that a hint of humor in his voice? An extremely dry hint of humor, but a hint nonetheless?

    It might just have been.

Shadow has posed:
    On the streets below, Frank whistles to himself as he turns the wheel, pulling up into the private driveway of Glaveston and Sons' Manhattan offices. The name is something of a misnomer these days -- old David Glaveston retired before the end of the previous century, and Craig sold his birthright shares to his brother to cover his gambling debts ten years ago, so Henry has been the sole owner of the accounting firm for a decade now... And he has been very helpful to his benefactors ever since. The mob has learned from Al Capone's fall, after all; these days, all their income has all the paperwork they can come up with to prove its legitimacy, even if it means paying taxes.

    Most of the time, Henry doesn't really mind the arrangement -- if nothing else, the Mob pays well, and these days they've supplied him with about half his workers, so he even has some muscle on hand if he ever needs it.

    And he's going to need it, because there's another thing that both he and Frank are blissfully ignorant of: Frank's boss didn't manage to burn all his paperwork in time. In fairness, not much survived, and what was left wouldn't have been enough for almost anyone to go on. But Oracle is not just anyone, and over the past week she's torn through the two dozen or so layers of shell accounts and red tape that kept Glaveston's involvement a secret. And she shared it with two people, both of whom have independently decided to pay a little visit...

Batman has posed:
    "Shh."
    Batman seems quite accustomed to commanding those people he barely knows. He keeps himself apprised of the various and sundry super-heroes active in the Eastern United States and beyond, and that feels like knowing them well enough to tell them what to do. He has never much considered whether they may agree with this way of thinking.
    As Spawn arrives, the grim line of Batman's mouth tightens. He had been hoping to remain inconspicuous and now his quiet vantage point had become the locale for a convention of the weirdest sort. He says nothing at first, covering up a wince as he shifts his weight to another leg.
    "We don't kill." He says pointedly, unilaterally including Spawn in that declaration whether he likes it or not. He leaves the pair to conduct introductions, before going on.
    "If you're all going to be here, you can either help or get out of the damn way," There is an unusual edge to his voice, keeping the pain bottle up, "The man in the convertible who just pulled into the garage thinks he's escaped justice. He is wrong."

Souvenir has posed:
Erika Kristasdottir sighs. Wonderful. "I'm not much use without a souvenir. Toss me a throwy thingy or something you have been carrying around on patrol and I can totally back you up."

She moves to look down at the scene, frowning, trying to make sense of the scene. She hasn't been learning anything about this stuff yet.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spider-Man held up a hand, as if he didn't want Batman to hear, but it was done more for dramatic effect than any ability to actually hide what he was about to say, "Hey, it's bad luck to kill a spider," and he brought his right hand forward, tapping his index finger in Batman's direction, "and this one's from Gotham. He needs all the good luck he can have." He was also speaking in a faux whisper, pretending to, but not making it hard for anyone on the roof to hear him.

Looking around, Spider-Man took in the gathered superheroes, or was that vigilantes? And then he snaps his fingers at the very theatrical Spawn, "hey, weren't you one of the people who took down the Rampaging Rhino, a few months back? I read about it, but no photos. So, was that the Rhino I know and love, just with a better PR firm, or someone new?"

Looking to Erika, he said, "I could spin you a poodle, but not sure if it'd be much good in battle, plus, it's got a limited shelf life, but at least you don't need to worry about a poopy scoop. Lot of people here tonight, I heard the rooftop traffic lights are going to start being installed in January. It really does make you think, like, with there being a highway to hell, and a stairway to heaven, what does that say about anticipated traffic numbers?"

He was acting oblivious to what Batman had said, especially the part about shutting up, but he had heard every word, and was careful to watch. "So, what's the plan, Mr. Batman? I'm sure working with you can't possibly ruin my rep with Jameson and his editorials."


Spawn has posed:
    "Rhino?"

    Spawn didn't respond right away save for that initial thought, as he stepped forward to get a better look at the sight they were surveying. By now his cape has wrapped around him, enveloping him entirely save for that striking black and white mask of his...in fact, especially considering the green eyes, one could possibly draw parallels between the Spider's mask and the Spawn's.

    Perhaps it was coincidence. Or perhaps Malebolgia studied the happenings of earth, when designing his chosen Champion. Whatever the case, after a moment of quiet studying, Spawn finally looked up, and over at the friendly neighborhood wallcrawler.

    "You mean the guy in the rhino suit, who smells like he hasn't taken a shower or wiped his ass since the Second Tens? Yeah, we made him regret throwing his little tantrums. After we take care of the Bat's little pet project here, you can explain why you keep clowns like that around."

    Then he's looking over at Erika.

    "You didn't bring things to throw with you? You just expected others to conveniently have whatever you need? You haven't done this for very long, have you?"

    Strangely, despite Erika's shabby attire, Spawn didn't seem to even question her being there to fight crime. In a city like this that ws utterly filled with costumes, maybe there wasn't any reason to question it.

Shadow has posed:
    Batman's laser mic picks up little more than almost depressingly mundane chatter - it's clear that Frank isn't here on 'business' so much as he's being a temporary houseguest - but quite a few first names are dropped and automatically attached to the relevant files by the uplink to the computers in the Batcave. Little of actual import, but confirmation is always useful...

    ... And then suddenly all the lights inside the building flicker and go out -- and while the occupants swear and curse and demand to know what just happened, a sinister chuckle can be heard, gradually swelling into laughter. Not the Clown Prince of Crime's lunatic cackle, but the malice of a hunter knowing that their prey is here, in their reach and has nowhere to run...

Batman has posed:
    The Bat takes a moment to lock eyes with Erika. It seems that he is simply looking at her, weighing up her merits in the situation. In truth, facial recognition software built into his cowl is capturing her image and pairing it against files on the Batcomputer. Hardly more than a blurb there - he's been careful not to delve too deeply into the records of the Xavier School. But he knows enough.
    "Catch," he says flatly, producing a batarang from his utility belt and tossing it underarm towards her.
    The sudden darkness in the building across the way is enough to draw his attention back to it immediately, and he turns to glance at the impromptu members of his very own Super Friends: "Try not to get shot."
    Good plan, Batman. He may trust the Shadow to a point, but not enough to let her risk losing Keletti or, worse yet, letting him die in the crossfire. The man has a different price to pay.
    The said, he leaps into action. He masks his pain and the fact that he is favoring one side over the other fairly well, especially for those no overly familiar with him. He dives into the empty space over the street, looking like he is simply going to fall before his cape flutters out around him and allows him to glide. Both boots angled soles outward, he plows through the window of the building across the way feet first.

Souvenir has posed:
Erika Kristasdottir rolls her eyes a bit. "It's not to throw, it's to crib moves from. I'm a psychometrist. I was looking for broken ninja scraps and stuff from a fight I heard happened around here between I don't know who. If you don't want my help, that's fine, I'll just go snooping up here. No souvenirs and I'm dead weight."

Then a batarang is tossed to her and she catches it. Whoa. Stuff just got real. She immediately stuffs it in her bra. Brr.

Her eyes close, twitching as she makes an incoherent noise and jerks a bit for a couple seconds.

Okay. The pain is gone. Different balance. Younger. Female. No armor. No utility belt. No microphone. No mask Just hi... Her, two vigilantes, and her... Batman, jumping through the window. Okay, where would I want Robin to be at to cover me? The next window, of course. She takes several steps to get up to a sprint, compensating every step, and launches herself across the street. She flies through the window, mostly avoiding getting sliced by the glass, and pops up into a combat stance, pivoting to go for the nearest target.