782/Log

Log
Date of Scene:	04 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Lady Blackhawk, Green Arrow

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Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    Lakeview International, is just over the border really. An hour flight out of Star City, and this is where folks actually keep their little business jets and private planes. The airport terminal building is quite nice actually, ecologically friendly and airy with big open spaces. A cute little art gallery where they'll charge you entirely too much, a little bistro with 40 dollar artisinal hand crafted sandwhiches and of course a pair of bars. All things considered it's not the worst place to spend an hour or two, which is usually how long it takes to pull a business jet around and get it ready to go. It helps of course, that the Wifi here is kind of amazing.
    Of course Lakeview has no lake, it's in Utah for god's sake. There are no towns around Lakeview International (LVI), there isn't even a rental car place out front. Heck the nearest actual town, Henderson? That's an hour's drive from here, it's a funny little island then in the middle of nowhere. That said this hub, it's been buzzing for the last twenty years without interruption. It's seclusion, was likely even considered a security benefit more than anything. Not that there aren't a few TSA types milling around, desperately trying to justify their existance and failing miserably. It's the kind of place most folks never get to see, a little wierd pass through for the wealthy.
    This isn't Zinda's regular gig then, officially she was supposedly a freight pilot occasionally. Yet she's stranded here all the same, or more specifically she's stranded in the bar. Waiting on another fuel filter of all things, which was supposedly due in an hour ago. So she's taken up residence then at the bar, peering at an actual honest to god Newspaper's sports section as she works on her second pint of the afternoon. Cigarette smoldering in defiance of the placard posted directly over her head, but well she's rolling the dice there. Everyone else in this joint is some kind of important, and it would seem nobody has yet dared to ask her to stop.
    This being an airport, planes and helicopters are always coming and going. So the touchdown of a plain white CASA-212 escapes notice quite easily, slowly making it's way towards the concourse. It hasn't gone sideways though, not yet at least.

Green Arrow has posed:
Wearing a bespoke charcoal gray suit, Oliver Queen approaches the bar with a smile. "Excuse me," he says to the bartender. "Mind if I order a drink here? I think whoever you've got in the 'Platinum Lounge' must be swamped. Just a Greyhound is fine."

Queen steps in next to Zinda. "Sorry. Excuse me. Hi there," he says, still smiling. "Come here often?" he asks, chuckling. "Couldn't help myself."

As the bartender provides the man with his drink, he lifts it. "Cheers," he says to Zinda, and then he takes a sip.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
"Hmm, aha!"Offering an easy smile, before letting her gaze drift over to Ollie. Fingers neatly folding that paper in her lap as she grants Ollie her full attention "Often no, approach out here is garbage but I fear that for the moment I'm somewhat stranded it would appear. So c'mon cowboy, if you're gonna stay then saddle up and buy the girl a drink."It's Zinda Blake alright, but understandably it's easy to miss her these days. Been a few years since her return, since the papers had photos of her in uniform plastered all over the place.
    No for the moment she's just another blonde at the bar, in a skirt a few inches too short and a well worn aviator's jacket. Aviator shades, and a ballcap surely don't hurt things either. If anyone in the joint has recognized her, they don't really seem to care at least. Which is likely for the best. "I'm Merideth, and you are?"Finally lifting a hand towards Ollie, as she sneaks a glance over her shoulder at the concourse beyond.

Green Arrow has posed:
Placing his drink carefully down on the napkin provided for him on the bar top, Queen swallows his sip and smiles warmly. "Oliver," he replies, taking the woman's hand in his own. "Enchante," he adds, chuckling again.

"Tell me, Merideth, why so distraught? If you're interested in some higher-quality, although still overpriced, fare, I'm happy to escort you back to the Lounge. It's not /that/ much more glamorous, though, I'll confess." Oliver runs his finger about the rim of his glass.

"I've got to say," he says, "I'm really loving the ensemble. Amelia Earhart fan? Modern-day fly girl?"

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Naw, I'd rather dig on Robin Olds or David McCampbell. Only pilots are fighter pilots, only thing Amelia ever did was flying while Female."She offers a grin, easing back off the bar a few degrees. "Distraught, no. Stranded, my bird's got a broken wing at the moment."She finally half turns to point the aircraft out, and normally this is about where "Enchante" becomes "Boring". Head cocking off to one side as she stops short, because believe it or not there is something more interesting than her own bird out there.
    There is a Case-212 cutting across the tarmac at a somewhat queer angle, and then it heaves to a stop infront of the only taxiway seperating the rows of parked aircraft and the actual air strip. A man in bright orange waves after the wayward aircraft for a moment, before jogging towards the thing. Cockpit window dropping as he nears, and the dude in orange? He crumbles to the ground in a heap. That loading ramp clatters to the ground, and a stream of guys in black armor come pouring out.

    "Aww hell, Ya'll gotta be kidding me."

Green Arrow has posed:
Queen grins as 'Merideth' corrects him, and he follows her gaze out the window to view the sudden unexpected appearance of a small army.

"So..." he asks, trailing off for a moment. "...I take it that's not a normal runway sight? I admit, most of the time I'm fully engrossed in my drink and whatever movies are playing on the lounge screens. Or, perhaps, enjoying the 'nap' pods." Queen takes another sip of his drink.

"Should--should we alert someone? Or do you think air traffic control's already got this taken care of?" he wonders aloud.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Oh I thi-"Gunfire rakes the concourse, glass shatters. So begins the frantic rushing around without anywhere really to go, and of course the screaming. "Yeah, hey Oliver why don't you hide behind the bar and see if you can get some service. I'm going to uh, go." She does pause to reach across the bar and snag a bottle of jack, before ever so casually sliding her way over towards the entrance to the bar. Taking up position behind a particularly handy little pillar.
    The dudes in black fan out, moving in a neat herding line. A few depart from either end to rush around the other side of the concourse, likely to take up positions at the entrance to keep everyone put. "Everybody on the floor, do as we say and you'll survive this! We are the Blue Revolutionary army, we're radicals not butchers!"

Green Arrow has posed:
Queen ducks for cover like everyone else, scrambling toward the bar on his hands and knees. "Uh--good idea, Merideth! Are you ... coming?" he asks, the final word inflected with confusion as Oliver looks around, unable to spot where the woman had gone.

He slides behind the bar, nodding to the bartender. "Hi there. Got anything particularly flammable?" The playboy begins rooting through the bottles below bar level, sighing in frustration. "I watch a lot of Mythbusters," he explains to the hiding bartender. "You don't happen to have a lighter nearby, do you? Or a few knives for cutting lemons and the like? Great."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    Folks do start getting down, and systematically the line begins to take their marks. Eight men on static, and another four moving through the crowd with some kind of tablet. Taking hand and retinal scans, one by one. A lone grunt with one of those hand scanners works his way into the bar, Shotgun resting comfortably against his shoulder as he silently scans person after person. "Hey, you. On the ground lady, didn't you hear the man?"

    Merideth steps foreward, left hand pressed against her chest as she feigns a gasping pant. "I need, I can't.."She's not a particularly good actress honestly, but she sells it exactly enough to get him to step in her direction. Out of sight, it's amazing these amatuers aren't moving in pairs.
    She's quick with that bottle, laying it into the side of his face just below the ear. He's out cold the moment it connects, slumping to the ground in a pile. She spends a minute holding the poor guy up, peering around that pillar to make sure the scuffle's gone unnoticed before dragging him back behind the bar. "Oh hey you guys, ever fired a gun before?"As Meri casually unholsters the dude's glock, and slides it over to Ollie. Looks like she's taking that shotgun and it's associated bandoleer for herself. "Booze went straight to his head I'm afraid."

Green Arrow has posed:
"Er...ahh..." Oliver fumbles, looking at the pistol. "I /have/ fired a gun before, but I have to admit--I'm not really a big fan. Still," he adds, sighing, "I guess beggars can't be choosers."

He takes a deep breath and nods, checking the gun. "So, what's next? Just start firing? Entice them in here? You seem to know what you're doing."

Queen smiles, but it seems strained. "I haven't played enough Call of Duty to be in the zone here. You'll have to forgive me." He glances out toward the circulating militia.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "What I'm doing, honey I'm a fighter pilot. I always know what I'm doing, especially when I don't."She cracks that corncob back enough to eyeball that her shotgun is loaded, before she proceeds to pilfering the dude's pockets. Great, two flashbangs, a single frag, an obnoxiously large knife,a bundle of flexcuffs and a radio. "So I throw like a girl, think you can get this frag into the back of their airplane out there? Figure losing their ride out of here will get their attention, right?"
    She throws that radio, and a flashbang in her jacket pockets. Which in turn means Ollie has some tools at his disposal. Knife, Flex cuffs, a Flashbang. "From there, uh I counted eight bogeys on station for security and another three dudes wandering in the crowd. I've got six in the tube here, which leaves two of those guys in the wind assuming I can do my part."

Green Arrow has posed:
"What's a bogey?" Oliver asks, his expression one of being overwhelmed.

However, he takes the knife and feels its weight and balance quickly. "I'll do what I can," he says, examining the flashbang. "It works like this, right?" Queen asks, pulling the pin. "Oh, wait, I have to throw it, don't I?"

He lobs the flashbang out toward where the static militia fighters are located, and then he looks away in anticipation of the grenade's detonation, rushing forward at the guards the moment it does so.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Bad guys, bogeys."She clarifies calmly, before peering after that flashbang and the pin with a blink. "O, y-yeah just yaknow sure wing it wherever."She's, rolling with it. Turning away and taking a knee as that flashbang flies. There's a cry of alarm as soon as it hits the floor, and then it goes off.

    It isn't just loud, it's mind numbing. The flash is dazzling, but thats only part of why flashbangs work so well. Ceiling tiles are blown askew and come tumbling down, lights flicker off, fire alarms trigger, there is smoke absolutely everywhere and now positively everyone is screaming. The Militia, is as dazed as everyone else is it seems. There are cries of fire, and a bumrush out the doors beyond that the Militia is momentarily too bewildered to halt.

    Zinda moves fast, dashing out of the bar and into the open air. Pivoting mid step to swing that gauge around, and loosing the first rush of buckshot. Pouring lead shot into the poor sod's body armor, enough to break ribs and put him on the ground. Swinging that scattergat with an audible grunt of effort to pour buckshot downrange at her next target. Some of those .38 caliber pellets find flesh, but it's non fatal as well...probably. So far so good!

Green Arrow has posed:
For his part, Queen attempts to use as much of the chaos as he can for cover, firing his pistol with far more skill than his 'moron playboy' persona seems to suggest he'd possess.

He runs and slides beneath a table to line up one shot at one terrorist's shoulder. Then, he somersaults forward to kip-up to his feet, leaping onto a nearby counter for a pair of shots at two other milita men's dominant hands.

From the counter, Queen dives forward to try and tackle another of the nearby assailants, throwing his arm out to try and contact his target's face elbow-first.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    There is screaming as 9mm rips muscle, tendon and bone to shreds. Hands, shoulders turned to so much hamburger as a result of that shockingly accurate pistol work. Ollie's next target starts to raise his rifle as he spots his attacker, only to take a face full of elbow. He too, goes tumbling but he at least has the presence of mind to try and fight back. Groping blindly to try and get a handful of Ollie and anchor him.

    Zinda meanwhile, or rather "Merideth" is doing her part. Shucking shells with furious intensity, pounding buckshot downrange with remarkable speed and precision. It's enough to empty the concourse of badguys, or at least it puts them on the ground in a pile of high dollar body armor and woe. The jerks out front have, well they're not stupid.
    That CASA-212 throttles up, pulling foreward as a pair of black cad hoods sprint to climb aboard, and yeah those guys are totally going to get away.

    "Yeeehaw, ain't had this much fun since the war was on. Who says peacetime is boring, right?"Yeah, it's Zinda what did you expect?

Green Arrow has posed:
"Uhhh," Queen replies, his voice only sounding faintly shaky. "What was the plan again? Grenade in the plane, right?" He punches the man he's tackled and then gets to his feet.

"Looks like we may not be able to run that fast," the playboy says. "Somehow I doubt the stair trucks are fast enough to catch a plane trying to leave."

He sighs and approaches the fighter pilot. "You always find yourself in this sort of situation when you fly? I've got to say, if I can kick ass and wear a dope jacket like that one...maybe I should take up piloting."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Long time ago, yeah sure."She glances back towards Ollie for a moment, before pitching that shotgun off to one side. Content to "borrow" a nearby MP5 in trade, because well these dudes aren't exactly dead. "During the war, feels like it was only yesterday."She glances around oncemore, before giving a roll of the shoulders. "Well everyone should really learn to fly, but here on the house."She shrugs out of that jacket, and pitches it back towards Ollie. "I'll see you around cowboy, I'm going to nurse my bucket out've here before the coppers show up."And well, off she goes.
    Heels or not, she slips through broken glass and over groaning dudes in black body armor. Machinegun held under her arm like it belonged there, and well off towards that beat up P-47 parked down at the far end of the tarmac.

Green Arrow has posed:
Watching the woman depart with some awe apparent on his face, Queen catches the jacket that 'Merideth' tosses his way. Before he can figure out what to say, she's gone, and he's left looking around at the aftermath of the concourse chaos.

Staring at her coat for a long moment, Oliver finally sighs and throws his head back. "Damn," he mutters. "I really should have gotten her number. I don't suppose..." He begins rummaging through the jacket's pockets. "Damn," he says again.