Owner	Pose
Cassandra Cain	Gotham was one of those cities, those strange cities, where it was still dark, even during the day. And during the night, it was the blackest black. Within the black, a deeper shadow looms. She is standing perfectly still at the 10 story building's ledge, overlooking Crime Alley. Waiting. Watching.     The newest member to the Batman Family has, perhaps, a costume even more terrifying than Batman's. No eyes. Simply black patches that she can see clearly out of. And, where every other member of the Bat Family had an open mouth, hers is patched over, sewn and stiched shut. The small girl watches as the homeless shuffle past with the expectation that -something- is going to happen.     And, in Gotham, something always does.
Dick Grayson	As the years passed it had always been a tenet offered to him by the Bat. As more and more vigilantes appeared, more and more super-powered individuals... when you work an area you secure the airspace. Or, in this case, the rooftops, the valleys between the skyscrapers. It is important to know who is possibly in play.     She is perhaps not aware of it, but her perch in the dark is compromised. For a haze of green covers the gaze of the watcher from afar. The darkness banished with the faint low-level hum of technology that provides him the gift of that sight. She is so still. And her choice of position is perfect, a spot that he and Bruce had used any number of times past when needed.     It's definitely worth investigating before he heads on to the Cave, if only because new intel is worth gathering.     His approach is circuitous. It takes him a good two minutes to slip from point to point. Silent footsteps, a vault across a wide expanse, curling into a roll and back up with a single movement. He makes it to a place to watch from. Turns his head slightly to the side, and then with a snap of his wrist sends a small noisemaker hurtling towards the rooftop opposite her.     The electronic chirrup lifts with a random voice clip, 'Hnh? Whozzat?' meant to draw guards off angle and towards it.
Cassandra Cain	The sound, as it was meant to, catches her attention. But, Cassandra isn't stupid. She is a clever girl, and she is fast. Smoothly, she shifts, and runs up and jumps over into the next rooftop over, before angling the grappling hook to come across the way. She means to come at the sound, the person of it, by the side and surprise them rather than attack from the front.     Her motion is fluid, perfect, as she moves from running across rooftop to pulling out the grappling hook, swinging, landing, and continuing to move. There is not a single motion wasted.     She pauses, though, as she gets to the source of the sound. She looks around, wary of the trap she thinks it to be. Maybe knows it to be. And she does not stoop to pick up the little object. She crushes it with her boot, instead.
Dick Grayson	The object is crushed with a satisfying /crackle/ but then the shadow that slips between her and the moon gives her warning enough. Just enough as that shade flickers, as there is the shift in air pressure, and the faintest creak of leather and kevlar. Barely enough time to turn and react.     There is no hesitation, nor telegraphing of the moment beyond that. Abruptly there is a man in black and blue spinning in the air as a shin comes hurtling at her side. But even before that blow lands he is turning, arm blurring into a back fist towards her jaw, balance shifting in a hop-step as he continues the turn and his hips twist to bring around another kick, sweeping across the ground and kicking up gravel as he seeks to rob her of her balance.     From afar it would seem like nothing more than two silhouettes coming together in a balletic swirling of movement, strike, counter, and strike. No sound comes from either of them, no hint of their presence to the world beyond that slight hint more of darkness so high above.
Cassandra Cain	It's possible that Nightwing has never fought anyone -like- Cassandra before. She moves not with just knowledge of martial arts. But she's blocking his moves as soon as he's executing them, countering them not only effectively, but with an attack his body is not prepared for. What's more? She's fast. Faster than Batman, no doubt. Her hits are solid, and from her hits, she can tell there's a similiar armor plating that would prevent her nerve strikes from working.     And, like Batman, she says nothing. Not a word. Her arms come up, one angled, one straight to block an incoming punch, and she shifts her feet, turning, slamming her fist after the arm lock is released into a satisfying punch into Nightwing's face, before stepping back.     If not the face, she recognizes the fighting style. She has seen videos, training videos, in the Batcave that the computer had recorded. Yet, she does not speak, yet. She does pause in the fight. Watching. Waiting, to see what the one who was once Robin will do.
Dick Grayson	She can read it in his motions as they flow together, and after each step she can sense the incredulity and the regard that grows from this smooth series of exchanges. The back and forth, the counter, the ease with which she turns away each blow until he finds rather quickly that he's on his back foot, and reacting to her. The momentum is drawn to her, the initiative is seized. And it's as he's flipping back onto one hand and /pushing/ himself into a whirling acrobatic flip that she's able to /leap/...     And close the distance for her punch to strike soundly, snapping his head to the side even as he stumbles back on one foot, fists coming back up to the guard. His eyes hidden behind the domino mask, so she cannot read those as easily. But that smile that comes up, even perhaps marred by the blood she just drew... he's impressed.     And then he takes another step back, no longer engaging and he tells her the first three words they'll share. "You're _really_ good." If that smile didn't convey the sentiment, the tone in his voice will.
Cassandra Cain	Another combatant might've taken that for an exchange of praise, to continue the fight. Or, disregarded it, and, continued the fight, until one of them was down and out. Luckily for Nightwing, she is not just limited to reading body movements in martial arts. But, the emotions and intent of the person as well. She gleans in that moment, then, that he was in fact testing her. Sizing her up. There was no malice. And, that he is impressed with her.     Batgirl nods, once, sharply. The only words she speaks is, "Yes." The word is spoken with force, finality. It may come off to Nightwing as brisk, perhaps even bitchy, or prideful if Bruce hasn't made him aware of just how difficult speaking is for Cassandra.
Dick Grayson	"Do you know who I am?" He asks her as the defensive stance fades from his form, with him gaining his normal height. It's curious how much of Bruce she will see in him here, how much she can read simply because of the time the two men spent in each other's company. The way he balances on the back of one foot deceptively seeming at ease yet still able to convert such to motion with a minimum of delay. The way he observes her and seems to measure her own stance, her center of gravity, her reach.     "He hasn't told me of you, yet." The 'he' is assuredly the Bat, but they both know enough. He steps to the side as if trying to get another angle on her. That uniform is quite severe, but that lone symbol is striking.
Cassandra Cain	"Yes." The word spoken in the same exacting tone, the same finality. 'Yes', afterall, is a far easier word for her to say than 'Robin'. And assuredly more easier than 'Nightwing'.     She moves, then, as if to turn away from him and disregard. As if to disappear, as Batman would in perhaps the same scenario. But, she does not disappear. Instead, now she stoops to pick up the broken widget that he'd thrown to attract her here. She gathers the pieces in her gloved hand, and she carries them back to Nightwing, and silently offers them to him like a small child, apologizing for breaking someone's toy. Except, no words come out.     The Batgirl in the featureless, all-black mask simply stares - or seems to stare - at Nightwing, hands proffering the destroyed widget in penance.
Dick Grayson	His own gauntlet extends to her, and he draws it out of her palm. She'll see his smile still in place, "Thanks, waste not want not." He gives her a nod as he looks down and tucks that small device's remains in one of the myriad pockets at his waist.     She'll be able to get an eye on his own uniform this close. And again... the similarities to Batman's equipment are striking. Almost exactly the same in parts, but she will see small differences in them. Small touches of what he most likely believes are improvements for him. Much like the fighting style he used against her just a moment ago. So alike, but different.     He looks back, that black domino mask giving her little insight into him, yet she can read him as if he were standing there bare of face. So the smile given she can sense the sincerity as he tells her, "I need to go to the Cave, check in. But we should meet up again."     Then his brow furrows and he looks aside to where she was perched. He looks back to her and that concern is clear in the tension that enters his shoulders, his arms, "Do you need help? If you're on a stake out I can stay for a few hours."
Cassandra Cain	In some ways, Batgirl might seem more Batman than Batman. Batman would be able to stand there, unexpressive, and listen, or assess a situation. But sooner later, his jaw muscles would tighten. His eyes would crinkle, narrow. His frown would be evident.     Cassandra just stands there, the full mask making her seem eeriely inhuman, featureless. She analyzes the man before her, studying those simliarities. Those differences, the nuances in body gestures, movements, suits. His first question gets the same, "Yes," response. Still, there is little about her to suggest on the outside she considers this a positive thing, but that same absolute forced finality in that answer might give Dick a few further clues that this is how she always speaks that word, a pattern emerging. And Dick had always been a damn good detective once trained by the Bat.     At his latter question, she seems to consider him even further. Finally, she consents, "Yes." She would, afterall, like to see Nightwing in action. It will help her learn. Perhaps learn some of his own moves, like his acrobatics, to add to her already seeming limitless measure of physical combat.     Then, she turns her head, to look up at him, and not just -at- him. As if she wanted, perhaps, to say something more. Or, him to do something.
Dick Grayson	The moon above them slips away behind the clouds, giving them a deeper shadow that obscures their silhouettes from afar. Yet they are able to perceive each other easily, even in such darkness. Just from the faint break in the breeze that drifts past them, and the subtle hints of their breathing.     As she tells him the first yes he'll smile and she'll see him shift his weight slightly as if getting ready to depart. But then her second yes he gives a sharp nod and presses his fist into the other, the knuckles giving a faint crackle as if he were making ready. His lips part as if he was about to ask her a question, and she can almost anticipate what it will be.     But then when she looks up at him it's his turn to look at her quietly. She can see his brow come together just behind that domino mask, the small way his head turns a centimeter to the left conveying curiousity. She'll see the ghost of a smile that precedes him asking of her, "What?" He looks aside towards where she was perched, perhaps considering that as figuring into the matter. Then he looks back to her, but does not repeat his question. Instead she'll see him look to her closely, as if trying to discern her wish.
Cassandra Cain	It is another minute of dead silence, before she speaks. Perhaps there is frustration that she has to. -Why can't he read her bodylanguage too?!- Words are -hard-. Speaking is -hard-. She tries. "Why?" The question seeming to matter. A lot. But it's also the first non-Yes word she's spoken. Yet, no more comes. No further dialouge for what the why might be formulated around, or the basis for the one word question.     Apparently, Nightwing is supposed to know. Or, to guess.     Stubbornly, Batgirl awaits the answer.
Dick Grayson	He draws his lip between his teeth and worries it for a moment, though he gives a nod towards where she was perched, signalling for them to move if only so they can have a good position to keep an eye out as they 'talk'. It's just a few steps, his footfalls silent even moving over that gravelled rooftop. But once they are near to where she was, he kneels down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he looks to her, arms resting on his knees.     "Why did I test you? Or why am I done testing you?" He asks, perhaps seeking if that is what she wishes to know of him. "Do you know what a gut feeling is?" Though it was not entirely that and she can perhaps read that as being only half an answer.
Cassandra Cain	"-No-." Word #3. And the word is spoken far more harshly, far more pronounced, than any of those 'Yes's that she spoke earlier. Now, Nightwing might have a better sense between normal words, and more - emphatic ones, with her. She jabs a finger, directly into the symbol on his chest. The nightwing symbol that is -not- a Bat symbol, but yet, an extension of the Bat symbol - Nightwing's own version.     Then, slowly, she draws her finger back, pointing at the color splotch of bright yellow against the otherwise pitch black of her own costume. The true Bat symbol. She again tilts her head. And asks, meaningfully, "-Why-?"     And there, perhaps, is the first real clue to Nightwing, or first real solid evidence that Cassandra may just have some language barriers.
Dick Grayson	"Ah," He leans back slowly, back resting against the small brick wall that serves to circle the rooftop, giving them some measure of cover from the street below. Again he worries that corner of his mouth and he looks at her, "You don't ask the easy questions, do you?" Which in the abstract might strike him as a little funny.     But he looks to the side, tapping at the gravel with the toe of his boot, then looks back up at her. "Sometimes, you don't always see eye to eye even with the people that are closest to you." He rests his arms on his knees, grabbing his forearms with each hand as he leans to the side to take a look at the street below. Then it's back to her.     "And sometimes you have to go out into the world to see who you are. If I had stayed here... just as my other self. I wouldn't be the person who I am now. And I think I'm the better for it."     He reaches a gauntlet out and lightly lifts some of the gravel into the palm of his hand, then lets it fall leisurely. "So I chose a new name, a new identity. To honor one of the heroes I admire. And I set out."
Cassandra Cain	Cassandra reads into all of this. Both the words, and the body language, the deeper, far more hidden meaning behind the words. And, while she may not fully understand why someone would want to leave someone like Batman, whose taking her under her wing and showing her how to be 'A Real Girl' <tm>, as much as Cassandra can be one, she can at least understand to some degree what Nightwing is referring to.     She nods, to show she accepts this answer. Or at least, understands it. And, having accepted that, she moves to the side of the building, to take a new position, to watch the alley down below by.     Not much for conversation, this one. Even less so than Batman, if that's possible.
Dick Grayson	For his part, Nightwing is alright with silence. He'd have to be considering the role he'd taken on for so long. She can watch him as he maintains that quiet, that raised attention almost effortlessly. Once after a half hour passed she might hear a faint crackle from his neck as he turns it to the side, and if she looks over he'll smile as if to apologize.     But time moves for them like that. Silence save for the white noise of the city. But that's when the two SUVs pull up to the street she'd had staked out. For whatever reason her place of observation was perfect. The cars pull up smoothly to their spot, turn in to park...     And then eight men start to get out of the vehicles, all adjusting their jackets conspicuously as they move around to the second vehicle. One of the taller men thumps his hand on the trunk of the car, causing the sound of muffled shouting to come from the boot of it. The next moment a ninth person is being pulled from the vehicle and is roughly pistol-whipped for his trouble.
Cassandra Cain	Batgirl does not look back to see if Nightwing is going to follow. She's already descending the moment the car door is opened. She's already registered the intent of the pistol whip. And, by the time it's finished, and the driver of the car is on the ground, unconscious, Batgirl is already landing just behind the man executing that pistol whip, following up her landing with a seamless transition into a leg sweep to the ground, followed up by a cross-arm jab into the throat, into a side-roll and straight kick into the solar-plexus of the incoming man already rushing into attack Batgirl.     She doesn't mess around.
Dick Grayson	Nightwing's senses are not as attuned as hers to intent, to reading the language of the human form. But he has experience, and can gauge the flow of action from moment to moment. And here it pays off. For Cassandra he is able to gauge that she'll be able to handle those four near the hostage. He picks up the other four entirely organically and seamlessly as he's dropping from the side of that building.     His arm against the wall helps guide his descent partly as he catches a low bar and spins around it, seizing that momentum to send him hurtling into the backs of two of the men, his legs split into a perfectly precise scissor kick that knocks those two down even as he's rounding upon the other two, escrima sticks drawn and snapping into place as he takes up stance, then swirls into movement.     Around Cassandra the men are still partially stunned. The ones still able to are reeling, backpedalling quickly and reaching for their guns. One has enough wherewithal to shout, "It's the Bat!"
Cassandra Cain	There's the sound then of a bone snapping. Efficiently, cold. Cassandra does not hold back. Almost at the same time, there's the muffled, brief scream of the pain of the man whose leg just got spiral-fractured, before he's silenced with an elbow to the temple, and dropped carelessly, but still very much alive, to the ground.     Batgirl turns to face the last man standing on her side of the car. She stands there, facing him down for a brief moment, before she tells him, firmly, "-Run-."     The terrified man does so, scrambling, dread on his pastey white now-pale features as he turns and runs, terrified, looking back.     Looking back just in time to see the whirling batarang coming, and cleanly smack him in the forehead, and sending him unconsciously skittering into the pavement below. He'll have a nice road rash, and a nice bump on his head to remember his terror by.     Only then does she turn to look at Nightwing, and to assess if the other needs her assistance.
Dick Grayson	She is such precision, such power, and the timing of her movements are so connected that it would be amazing to graph her form as it went through the flow of a fight, to see how much time was wasted action. None it would seem. On some level Nightwing considers this, even as his escrima stick bounces off the side of one man's head only to smack into another with the enhanced momentum. The other smacking against wrists, ribs, then abdomens as he sets up a rhythm between the two and then taking them out with the same whirling kick that connects with their already tender jaws.     The two go down just as the other two are regaining their feet. For a moment he's in the air, flipping up and over the car trunk of the forward car, skidding across it for a moment to close distance. A pistol is reached for only for a black kneepad to smash hard into his face, the same leg uncurled backwards in a kick to the other man's brow, bouncing him off the back of the car and he hits the ground heavily.     How many seconds was that? How many opponents in the span of twenty seconds? Less? He looks across the way towards her and gives a short sharp nod. His style is perhaps not as direct and brutal as hers, but it is effective still.     "The police are on their way." He says after removing his hand from his gauntlet.
Cassandra Cain	Cassandra knows what that means. Without needing further signal, she takes her grappling hook, and sends it skywards, and she is momentarily thereafter soaring up into the skyline, cape billowing behind her to once again land safely onto the rooftop. She turns, to wait, to watch for the police. To make certain that nobody gets up. She doubts they will.     And, when Nightwing joins her, she nods to him. Once. Apparently, she is as equally impressed with him, as he is with her. She has not seen someone fight with such acrobatic skill before. It's unusual. But, certainly effective.
Dick Grayson	The gravel crunches under his foot as he joins her, and he gives her a nod of support. But then he looks back down towards the fallen. There are no moans, no rolling around in injury. For all of them are out, and will most likely stay that way for the time being. The response time b the GCPD is usually fairly good here during this time of night. Four minutes last time he had gauged it.     Settling down with his back to that small wall, he looks across the way and murmurs, "Why the cape?" He looks to her and seems to assess her form, tilting his head to the side, "Blurring your silhouette can help, and that one did mistake you for Batman. But I would imagine you would fight better without it."
Cassandra Cain	There is one reason why Batman chose the moniker he did. Chose the costume he did. The reason comes on Cassandra's lips now. "Fear." This is said as if it were a simple reason, one that she believes Nightwing should have gotten, or understood. Or, perhaps, it's just the problem with speaking she has.     The girl remains still, trained to precision, to be the perfect assassin. She has no need of twicthing. Of restlessness. These are foreign concepts to her. Instead, she simply raises her hand, to point to her eyes. As if to explain that she could see their fear. That it gave her an edge in battle.     Then, that same finger points to the man whom she'd told to run. Who did, terrified. She waits, to see if Nightwing understands.
Dick Grayson	He follows her gestures and looks down, considering the motion and the flow of the fight. She can probably read the shift in tension as his thoughts turn towards recalling the combat, and then he gives her a nod. "Good point." He offers, though it's clear that he's also considering something else that might have an effect on such a decision.     Looking back to her he then adds, "I tend to move around more." Why he doesn't have a cape. "More potential for interference." He wipes at the small trickle of blood from where her punch got through, their recent activity most likely having split it back open again.     He says quietly, "I need to get back to the Cave. Find me soon. Alright?"
Cassandra Cain	"Yes." She follows this with a nod, to certify the fact she does want to do this thing. To meet him again. Perhaps outside of cape, and cowl. But she does not seek to hinder him from his desire, either. For herself? It's still a long night. And, there is still patrol to do. Batman would not be pleased if she slacked.     She parts ways from him, moving off in a different direction, towards the warehouse district.