9389/Mistake

Mistake
Date of Scene:	01 October 2019
Location:	East Park Side (Crime Alley), Old Gotham
Synopsis:	A brief meeting in Gotham's crime alley.
Cast of Characters:	Batman, Silver Sable

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Batman has posed:
The travel guides call Gotham a 'city with unique character', which some interpret to mean 'very high rate of violent crime'. But even in Gotham there are some streets you just don't walk down after a certain hour, some places the police never seem to make it out to.

One such place is Crime Alley.

Even though it is in the midst of its most recent attempt at gentrification, East Park Side remain grim and dismal. A chilly autumn wind whips up the streets, carrying dead leaves and refuse along choked gutters. The sodium streetlamps, those not broken by neglect or malice, cast pale cones of grimy yellow light down onto the road where only a few beaten up and unloved cars are parked.

Beneath the eaves of a dilapidated and run-down brick tenement, a small group of men mutter to each other with that unmistakable 'Jersey-Gotham' twang. They gather around a smartphone, drawn and pale faces illuminated in the blue glow as they watch.

Silver Sable has posed:
Some people might remark that even billionaires need street crime to survive. More intelligent people observe that being savvy about crime is the reason someone becomes a billionaire.

Tommy 'Schnotty' Maltone is thrown against a brick wall hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Before he can regain his aplomb, a hand grabs him by the throat and flips him violently through the air. He hits a pair of old steel trash cans, sending them flying, and lands with a groan.

The sole of a designer boot presses against his throat. Silver leans way over, resting a forearm on her knee, and glares down at him. "Last time I ask, before I start cutting off extremities," she informs the man with the coldest possible voice. "You take fifty thousand American, and promise all of Falcone's investment files. Then, you don't deliver."

One of his hands grabs her calf; a knife flickers into Silver's slender fingers and she hooks the sharp edge of the curved blade around a finger joint. Tommy yelps in pain and fear.

"So, either you give me the information, give my money, plus the vig, or--" The blade dimples flesh, drawing a thin line of blood. "Or I start collecting fingers. What will it be?"

Tommy whimpers. "Oh, Christ, lady, fine, I'm sorry! I got it! I got the info!" he begs, and his chin wags assurance. "I'll take your guy to it right now?"

Silver's eyes narrow, then she steps back and uplifts her chin at her bodyguard. There's no mistaking a professional soldier, even if he's dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. The big guy lifts Tommy to his feet with one hand and sets him on his heels.

"Escort our friend to his hideout," Silver bids her assistant. "And if he changes mind again... start with pinkie finger, and work inwards," she suggests, and passes her knife off.

The bodyguard, implacable and without any expression, simply grabs Tommy by the scruff and walks off, near-dragging the man.

Silver watches them both go with a sour expression on her face. "<Lying asshole,>" she mutters, in Slavic, and fishes for a slender cigarette wallet inside her grey duster pocket. Wearing a cream colored turtleneck and slacks underneath the jacket, a passing glance would peg her for a lost businesswoman rather than head of an international mercenary cartel.

Batman has posed:
It takes a surplus of guts or a dearth of brains to threaten a woman who has just made such a quivering mess of Tommy Maltone. What these young men have is anyone's guess - perhaps it is a combination of both that seems them strolling slowly around the corner as Silver's bodyguard disappears with Tommy. There are three of them, hoods drawn up over their heads and hands thrust deep into their pockets. They amble slowly down the alleyway towards her, the one in front grinning to show of teeth plated with some sort of shiny metal.

"Hey, girl," he says still grinning, leaning back and walking in the slow, assured way that suggests everything is about to go his way, "I like your hair. Think I might like pullin' on it even more, know what I mean?"

The rest of his cohort laugh uproariously as he glances back over his shoulder to confirm that yes, he is just that hilarious. If he noticed the knife, he doesn't say anything, but the group nevertheless stop a few paces away and out of arm's reach.

Silver Sable has posed:
Glancing over his shoulder proves to be the worst mistake the nickle-toothed thug ever makes. Silver glances once at him, then focuses on the task at hand of digging for a lighter in her other pocket. Her attitude is entirely dismissive of the man, of the implied joke, of any threat he could possibly offer.

And when he looks away, she swings her hand in a knife-edge blow. It hits the lumpy, protruding point of his adam's apple, bouncing under his sallow-skinned jaw. The blow's enough to dent his voicebox.

Silver ignores his choking response as he collapses to the hard alley asphalt, broken and pockmarked with years of deferred city maintenance. She brings her lighter up to the cigarette in her mouth and stokes it to life with a rapid fluttering of her cheeks.

Silver finally looks at the other two criminals and her eyes narrow pointedly. "You two playing amateur salonist as well?" she challenges them, voice flat and cold.

Batman has posed:
These things often go a little differently. If the Batman cleaved to such sentimentality, it might even be a time-honored tactic in his playbook. The basic conceit is that he would drop down behind the victim, rendering such a terrifying visage that her attacks would turn and flee. This is certainly his intention as he plummets down from on high like some silent, vengeful shadow but his presence is hardly required. The remaining thugs simply turn and run, not even noticing the arrival of Gotham's Dark Knight as they scatter down the alleyway.

It is, therefore, a little superfluous that the Bat is there at all. This isn't the usual way these things go. He considers for a moment simply retreating, but there's no doubt she would catch sight of him before he could do so. There's a certain mystique he must maintain, and so he speaks. The voice coming out of nowhere, the only sound he has made so far. Deep and calm. Focused.

"Busy night."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver Sable watches Batman's arrival run the thugs off. Her eyes remain narrowed, focused. Her sole concession to his presence is a shift of her weight, toes pivoting so she's facing the Dark Knight. Gotham's guardian runs off the thugs and Silver looks... a little put-out that he ruined her fun.

She exhales plumes of smoke through her nose. Dragon-like. Batman's given a slow head-to-toe examination, with the sort of patient calm that few can manage in his oft-unnerving presence.

Finally, near the point of her silence being rude, Silver's head shifts sideways an inch. Something in between a negligent shrug and a dismissive shake of her head. Her chin uplifts fractionally at Batman as if challenging him with the same remark he'd posed: what business does HE have out here at this hour?