Owner	Pose
Helena Bertinelli	SEVERAL YEARS AGO... It's a dark, rainy night in Gotham. It's the sort of weather that deters all but the most determined, criminally minded... or vigilantes. Down by Gotham's docks, though, the loading and unloading of ships is a twenty-four hour operation, just by virtue of the number of docking slips versus the number of ships in port at any given time. Overhead lighting does its best to pierce the gloom, managing to catch the crane that's moving containers from the ship down onto the dock's edge, the occasional glimpse of dock workers in their fluorescent vests, yelling out to one another. It's a lot harder to see the group that's watching this happen, though. They're standing next to a pair of dark tinted sedans, one and all dressed in suits. Most of them look tailored, though one or two, standing on the edges of the group, wear ill-fitting suits, shift and look uncomfortable in the wet, occasionally flashing the guns they wear underneath. Together with the automatic rifles at least three of them are carrying, they make for an intimidating group. One of the mafia men is holding an umbrella over the head of the oldest of them, a somewhat balding figure whose suit seems to struggle to contain him. Alessandro Galante, brother of the current Galante family don. Jason Todd, of course, will recognize him on sight. Might have even been tracking him, like he has been various movers and shakers within the Gotham mafioso. Alessandro doesn't often come out in public, but whatever's on that ship seems to be of personal interest to him. A perfect opportunity. Problem is, there's more than vigilante abroad tonight. The figure comes sailing over one of the cars, hitting one of the gunmen carrying one of those rifles before he even has a chance to bring it up from his side. It's a hard blow followed by a punch that puts the man out completely. The figure -- her cloak flashing in such a dark purple that it looks black -- spins and shoots a crossbow bolt aimed at the throat of Alessandro Galante, missing only because his bodyguard knocks him to the ground. A second later, guns are raised and return fire on the cloaked vigilante, who moves to leap behind one of the cars, a slight flex of body suggesting at least one of those bullets winged her.
Jason Todd	Red Hood was out for blood. He wanted Joker's. He had wanted Batman's. But in lieu of those two, he has turned his blood lust toward organized crime. This had been the night he was going to make a power vacuum in the Galante family. He was set up on top of towering container crane, hidden in the shadows just the way he liked it. Sprawled out, he hold the grip of a .338 Lapua Magnum chambered sniper rifle with a smart-linked scope that used the uplink feed from his mask to ensure a very accurate shot. The problem is? The moment he takes his shot is the moment the Huntress strikes. The boom of the rifle and the impact of the crossbow bolt and sniper round hitting the bodyguard and rendering him dead before he even hits the cold wet ground. "Shit!" he barks angrily into his mask. He tries to reset but already Galante is being almost frog marched toward one of the other vehicles. He takes two snap shots that take out another bodyguard trying to drag the Don to safety. Shifting his aim, he fires the last two rounds in the clip into the engine block. If he can't take Galante down he'll make it hard for the man to get away.
Helena Bertinelli	There's no way, from the distance the other vigilante has, that he can hear the angry, "Shit!" that comes from Helena, that moment of shared, angry frustration. The mafiosos are moving like a swarm of angry bees, half of them protecting Alessandro, the other half stalking the purple-and-black clad woman. The first half manage to steer Alessandro to the rear car, one of them even pushing him inside before he's hit by Jason Todd's bullet, and he goes down. The frantic, "DRIVE!" to the man behind the wheel is fruitless when, a moment after roaring to life, the engine splutters out as high velocity bullets pierce it. One of the more savy mafioso barks at two men and they begin jogging towards the base of the crane tower, peering upwards. It's a long climb! They're not convinced it's worth it, but... orders are orders. The zing of bullets coming from somewhere else gives sufficient distraction that the Huntress can strike. She slides over the hood of the lead car, a brutal kick aimed at the groin of the gunman that raises his gun too late. Leaping over him as he rolls on the ground, she puts another crossbow bolt between the ribs of another of the mafioso. The remaining two retreat protectively to the car Alessandro is in, as the Huntress disappears back into the rain-soaked gloom.
Jason Todd	The window of opportunity was closing. Leaving the weapon behind, Red Hood stands and steps off the crane and into free fall. Only after he begins to drop does he pull his pistols from their holsters. The left one fires off a grapple line that both slows his descent and lets him adjust his angle to swing down and toward the fight below. Whoever was after Galente was going to be a good distraction for Red Hood to get in close and finish the job. As his momentum brings him to the shipyards pavement, the decel line detaches from his weapon and he lands with a brisk walk, stalking his way toward the mob's vehicles. The faint angry red glow from his mask's optics cuts through the gloom as he approaches, weapons raised as he fires off a volley of rounds toward the car Galente is hiding in.
Helena Bertinelli	Under that withering fire, one more of the mobsters goes down, while on the far side of the car another body hits the floor as Huntress closes in. Her head snaps right, towards the approaching vigilante, mouth thinning. This is /her/ hunt, her kill. She stalked Galante for months, seduced the man managing Galante's appointment calendar. She is earned this, she is /owed/ this. He belongs to her. The Huntress leaps deftly and silently on top of the car's trunk, and two quick steps take her onto the roof, kneeling for balance as she fires towards Jason Todd with one of her crossbows mounted on her arm, and downwards, into the car with the other, in the far back side where she presumes Galante is cowering. The shot towards Jason isn't intended to hit him -- it's a deliberate warning shot, given it glides so close to his cheek he can practically feel the tail of it brush his skin.
Jason Todd	He heard the bolt streak past his helment. Unlike most people with a self preservation instinct, he doesn't even flinch. "You've been a useful distraction. You should go now before you get hurt." Verbal and literal shots fired. He unloads both clips into the backseat of the car just inches below Huntress' current perch. The custom rounds rip through the bulletproof glass and armored door like they were so much tissue paper. Who put Alessandra Galante in the ground? There will be debate for years to come. There is no doubt, however, that one of them did it considering all of their shots found the mark. The sound of more vehicles arriving signals reinforcements in the near future. "Time for you to run along before you get hurt." Oh boy.
Helena Bertinelli	The kill will, no doubt, be contentious in future. Undoubtedly, the Huntress will point out it only took her /one/ shot compared to his wasteful dozens of bullets. She might even, in a few months, feel compelled to gift him with an ammo pouch, 'for when he misses the first eleven bullets'. Right now though, as the bullets hammer through the window mere inches beneath her feet, but the Huntress doesn't retreat. Like some kind of protective lioness defending her kill, she snarls at him as he quips at her. Oh, she won't stand for that. When he comes closer, she can see he's young. Far too young to be filled with such cocky sentiment, far too young to be killing, far too young to have that old look in his eyes. Then again, she wasn't much different. "Can you even drink, yet, boy?" the Huntress asks, tilting her head. Then the sound of vehicles approaching. A heartbeat of tension, then she snarls, "Stay away from my kills." Between one instant and the next, she's flipping off the car, purple cloak fluttering out behind her as she races into the shadows.
Jason Todd	No one makes an actual Mob Hit with one bullet. A proper hit is public, it is brutal and it involves an explosion or a hail of gunfire. Getting the effect he delivered from her little bow and arrow would require a whole company of archers to unleave a volley. It's the 2020's, not the 1220's. Guns win. "I'll toast you when you're gimping away with your walker" he fires back. "There wasn't a neon sign over his head proclaiming -Angry Bitch's Hit-. The job got done and I kept a few of them from shooting you in the back. You're welcome." He can tell she was about to rabbit. As she turned to make her exit, he threw a pellet toward her. It lands short, just catching and bursting on the end of her cape. It was enough. The tracking nanites inside spread like a *piff* of dust. He just needed a few to stick for him to track her down later, he figures. Then it's his turn to make an exit. But first he has a weapon to recover. Those two chumps hadn't even made it halfway up and are having to hoof it back down all over again.
Helena Bertinelli	Guns win, for sure. It's why it's the mafia's favorite weapon of choice. And the reason why the Huntress deliberately eschews one in favor of that very much more archaic method. It doesn't say /another mob hit/, it doesn't say /payback/. It says this is personal, up close, someone close enough that it could be any one of their trusted associates. It's a method that incites distrust, and as far as the Huntress is concerned, if they distrust each other it makes her job that much easier. The woman doesn't bother firing back, verbally: she lets him get the last word. And the last two mobsters, puffing and out of breath as they realize at the same time they're out of a job and they might not have a chance to consider a new career by the time they see the Red Hood. Those trackers? They will lead him, eventually, to an expensive apartment building in the city. Specifically, the penthouse apartment. The building has decent security, including a doorman -- but the security uses Wayne Technology, barely a challenge for a man who was not that long before the trusted adopted son of Bruce Wayne.