Owner	Pose
Helena Bertinelli	An hour earlier, Huntress arrived at the docks. It was supposed to be a watch-and-see -- she's been exceptionally cautious about messing with the Cosa Nostra in her vigilante guise, given how much heat is currently present on her non-secret identity. Then she saw figures inside one of the cargo crates -- surely not good news, whether they were being smuggled in or out. It's precisely the sort of thing she would've taken care of herself, back in the day. Bolts in the chest and bodies dumped into the water. A message back to the mafia. But she has to be cautious, and the fact that she has to make that choice makes her irritable, too. //Come by the docks?// An invitation from the Huntress to the Red Hood. //Bring your best outfit,// makes it clear she means business. She'll wait up on the first platform of a nearby crane, like a callback to their first meeting, all but invisible in the dark unless one knows where to look.
Jason Todd	Summer time makes a lot of people irritable. Vigilantes notwithstanding. Red Hood fits right in with his oft-quick temper. Tonight he's cornered a couple drug dealers in an alley. The message from Huntress comes as he is mid, uh, interrogation. Yes. Let's go with that. Pausing, fist held high, he listens to the message. Lowering his armored glove, he looks to the two dealers now worse for wear. "You're in luck boys. Today's lesson is a shorter one. Just.. remember what I said." Dropping the one he still held by the collar, he turns and walks toward his car. //Sure. Be there in twenty.// In reality he'll be there in fifteen most likely. Arriving ahead of his quoted time, he grapples up to the dark platform on the crane. "Everything okay?" He knows it probably isn't. Huntress does tend to be a more solidary predator. It's kind of the Gotham Way.
Helena Bertinelli	Huntress doesn't bother to try and hide her brooding mood. It's obvious to the Hood in her tense, alert posture as she watches the movement below, rather than the Red Hood as he joins her on the platform. Armed figures are gathering around the container crate, while a long white truck backs up towards it. Occasionally, the men below yell out to each other: there's no attempt to hide what they're doing. Why should they? The Cosa Nostra rule this part of the dockyards, and no one would dare turn against them. Except a vigilante, of course. Helena breathes out, slowly. It doesn't at all mitigate the anger in her voice. "There are people in that crate. Teenagers, I think, to judge by their height, but I wasn't able to get close enough to confirm for sure." Leather creaks faintly as she curls her fists. "Huntress can't be near this." And hence her anger. Not enough that there might be innocents involved, but her hands are tied and that infuriates her. The mask covers the top half of her face, but not her mouth, her lips pressing together as she looks at the Hood. "I need you to distract them. Once they get everyone in the truck, I'll take it, get them out." A beat. "Deal with them however you would like." He knows what choice she'd make. But she's cognizant of Jason's new lines enough not to make that decision for him, however much she might want to in this moment.
Jason Todd	Red Hood turns to regard the activity Huntress is indicating. Inside his mask he frowns. He taps the side of his mask to adjust the optics and zoom in. "Yeah. I'm getting heat signatures. Hard to tell age." Looking back at her he weighs her words - spoken and unspoken - and the obvious intention behind them. He nods. "Alright. Be ready. As soon as I introduce myself they may try to rabbit." With a final, longer than needed, look toward Huntress in case she has more to say, he turns and drops off the platform and out of sight. In a few moments he'll be in position to start raising the sort of attention she's asked of him.
Helena Bertinelli	Far below, figures are being hustled from the crate into the back of the truck once its doors are throw open. Some are shoved, some are dragged, but most have the defeated step of someone resigned to their situation. There's maybe a dozen figures all told, ranging in ages but none older than twenty from the looks of things. "I'll be ready," Huntress says. She's aware he's looking at her, to judge by the slight swallow, but she pointedly says nothing before he drops out of sight. She moves to the edge of the platform, alert and watchful. Below, they're closing up the back of the truck, a pair of gunman moving inside to escort them, and another one climbing up into the cab with the driver. A well dressed man, maybe a Capo to judge by the deference others give him, claps the shoulders of a young man who darts out towards a car that looks to be set to escort the truck. Movement inside the cargo container hasn't stopped though. Figures in bright vests enter and exit, carrying what looks to be heavy crates, setting them up on the road as another truck approaches. Hood's seen precisely this sort of shipment before, good bet it's weapons of some kind, likely to be automatic rifles. On the periphery, Hood can see a few armed figures keeping watch, both down the road and across the docks, though however watchful they are, they see either vigilante.
Jason Todd	As all of this unfolds below him, he is in freefall. Things happen quickly. As the truck is loaded and locked and the escort is moving into position, Red Hood hits the ground. There is no Super-Hero Pose (tm). He lands, dropping into a crouch before popping up, pistols drawn as he calmly steps forward, mask tipped low as if he were looking through the tops of the optics in a menacing way. The warning Huntress gave him ensured he armored up and prepared for this. No one goes into a situation like this and avoids cover. Then again no Jason is, well, Jason. The flash of gunfire is seen from Huntress' vantage point before the report from the muzzles is heard. It sounds like a full firefight and yet so far only Red Hood is firing. It is a punishing volley that sees the Capo clipped in the kneecap, his leg being swept out from under him and taking him to the ground. Whether he is out of the fight remains to be seen. Red Hood walks quickly to the back of the truck and slaps two small circular devices to the doors on either side of the center seam. If the doors open it'll unleash a stun charge. Moving on up to the driver's side, he looks to take down the driver to keep the truck here. One gun aimed toward the cab, the other aimed back toward the crew working on the second shipment. He wants their heads down, maybe scattered. Once he's done freeing the truck for Huntress, he'll directly deal with the rest of this illegal cargo. Or so he plans.
Helena Bertinelli	The rattle of gunfire makes Huntress breath out. It's not nerves. Strangely the opposite. It's welcome, each thud beating like a pulse through her, quickening her blood, adrenaline spiking. The sharp-eyed gaze of the Italian woman admires the way the Hood moves, and though she might dissent in his method of dealing with the Capo, even she can't deny he's wholly effective at playing distraction. Because almost everyone else in the docks with a gun -- and that's a good portion of them, even some of those wearing the bright yellow jackets -- is fixed on the rapidly moving threat. The chatter of fire that isn't coming from the Hood joins the fray. At the same time, Huntress backs up three steps, and takes a running leap. Her cape isn't made of the same material as Batman's more advanced tech, but it does allow her to glide downwards, hitting the top of the truck, rolling as the momentum carries her, and slipping into the open door of the cab that Jason kindly left for her. A single tug pulls the driver out, a sharp kick deals with his companion inside the cab, and then she's grinding the gear and taking off. The escort car clearly wasn't ready for her, and the truck slams into the back of it, knocking it sideways as she begins a slow acceleration. It isn't exactly like her Aventador or the GT. Bullets rattle off the side, but they're mostly aimed at the cab, not the body, and she keeps herself low, hissing.
Jason Todd	Bullets angrily whiz by him as the rest of the mob men start to return fire. It doesn't matter. He isn't afraid of a gunfight where it's him against everyone else. It just makes it easier to find targets. They don't realize it but they're already surrounded. An army of one or something like that. As he hears the truck start moving, he turns toward the would-be escort car and tosses another device at it just as it gets shoved out of the way. The device hits the hood and explodes a second later. A small shaped charge directed down into the engine block. It may not stop other chase cars but this one is DOA. And its occupants are now trapped out in the open with Red Hood. Gun Fu is a thing and the Hood has his own style that has emerged over the last five.. six years. Unloading and reloading clips with a nearly lyrical manner, the cadence of rounds and his movements could probably be appreciated by others who are not currently being shot at by him. Moving away from the location of the truck and escort car, he begins to close in on the presumed crate of weapons.
Helena Bertinelli	There's something particularly frustrating about a lone gunmen. With this many men, he should be easy to take down, and yet body after body jerks and hits the floor as the Hood's stun bullets ripple through the air. The Capo, still writhing on the ground from the wound to his knee, grinds out: "Kill him you idiots! And help me to a car, we gotta get that truck back, or they'll be hell to pay." One of his fellow goons starts helping the Capo limp towards another car. The truck reaches the gates out of the dockyard, the Huntress keeping the pedal fully depressed, not even backing off when a brave guard rushes out into the road to try and wave her down. He dives out of the way at the last moment, as the truck smashes through the gates and into the dark streets of Gotham. Meanwhile, some of the yellow-jacketed figures have fled to the other side of the docks for safety, but a handful remain, with one reaching for a crowbar instead of a weapon. "Breaking out the guns!" He manages to lever off the lid enough to reach in and grab the first weapon to hand, his fellows looking to follow suit as he brings the automatic rifle around, points it in Red Hood's general direction, and starts depressing the trigger.
Jason Todd	Red Hood has walked, shot really, his way back toward the cargo container that they offloaded from. That puts the capo in his path. Looking toward the writhing man, he simply comments, "You talk to much." It's followed by three more stun rounds. One would have been enough. It's more fun to make this self important Made Man soil himself. Looking to the crate and the guy with the crowbar, the distance isn't that great. He can close in before any weapon is likely to get picked up and loaded. Holstering his left pistol, Red Hood reaches behind his back, "I've met a man with a crowbar before." His voice is probably socioupathically calm and emotionless as he speaks, "I'll tell you this. You're not even close to the same sort of threat. Also: I brought one too." Pulling a red painted crowbar from the back of his armored coat. He studies it as he seeks to close the last few feet to the man where he'll look to introduce his crowbar to the mob man's knees. Just so he can't run away.
Helena Bertinelli	The thing about being a vigilante is often a need to memorize things. Like the places where the nearest police station is, so that you know how much time you have before you need to disappear into the shadows. It isn't often that Huntress uses that knowledge to head /to/ a police station -- almost unheard of, in fact. Tonight though, that information is useful. She pulls up on the street across from the police station. A pair of cops are getting out of their marked vehicle and heading inside, but otherwise it's quiet as she leaps out of the cab and rounds the truck to the back. Before she gets there though, those stun rounds the Hood anchored to the back go off, creating a short clap of noise, and two figures stumble out of the back of the truck. One swings wildly and then immediately collapses to the ground. The other, who was probably behind the other man, leaps down and immediately grabs for Helena, snatching at her throat and pinning her to the wall of the truck. The man's not at all prepared for the strike upward of her knee, letting out a pained grunt as he coils forward. Helena /shoves/, and as he stumbles back, fires a bolt that goes through his shoulder and pins him to the ground. "Hey!" the cops near the entrance have already turned and are running over. "Stop right there!" Not likely. The woman spins, shooting a grapple upwards and disappearing up onto the rooftop seconds later, as the scared victims still inside the truck tentatively creep forward. "Shit, there's kids in here. Forget about that, Bob, call in." Back at the docks, the Capo goes down, with three solid shots, two excessively unnecessary but satisfying, sending him slumping over. Meanwhile, yellow jacket's just closing his hand around the automatic rifle when the Hood is suddenly /there/, too fast for him to react in time. The first blow strikes his knees and both weapons get dropped as he falls forward, barely catching himself on his hands. "Ugh. I'm just... loader." Sure, which is why he was reaching for the weapons. Two of his fellows take one look at the Red Hood and run in the other direction. There's something about the mask, the way the man moves uncannily, the lack of emotion, that just engenders fear.
Jason Todd	Red Hood looks down. "Of course you are. That's why you knew how to open a create of illegal weapons and how load them." Swinging the crowbar again, he connects with the man's ribs. "Next time something like this happens? You turn and walk away. You'll live longer." He doesn't even look at the two men running away, but he still raises his right pistol and fires four times. Two men, two rounds each. Some would say shooting a man in the back is dishonorable. Hood looks to the man on the ground. "Pray you never see me again." He fires two rounds into the man's chest, cracked ribs or not. It's all he says as he reloads and pulls out another device. This is a grenade. Long and cylindrical. Pulling the pin, he drops it into the crate of weapons before a second is tossed into the larger shipping container. He turns to walk away. Almost stalk really. "Car." Somewhere in the shadows at the edges of the docks, a '67 GTO roars to life, shifts into gear and accelerates as it self-drives itself through the docks toward Red Hood's location.
Helena Bertinelli	The parting of mouth, the awareness of in the man's gaze suggests he knows he's been called out. Whatever protest he was forging however dies as the crowbar connects with his ribs, pushing the yellow-jacket'd man's breath from his body in a cry of pain as he slumps over, groaning loudly. It might be considered merciful, when Red Hood shoots him with the stun ammo. The running figures probably don't think so. They go down near simultaneously, falling forward without even an attempt to slow their drop to the hard ground. It's eerily silent. Apart from the growl of his approaching car of course. At least it will be until those grenades go off, the pack of all that unexploded ammo inside the crate making an ear-shattering detonation that shudders the ground underneath. Further away, the Huntress settles down on a rooftop two buildings down, watching the swarm of police come out from the building, her lip curling. She watches the figures being guided away. Wonders, not for the first time, if this is the right choice. If they have no one to be returned to, is she doing them a favor by putting them in the system? What would've happened to hear, with the wealth tied to her name? She shivers. A hand lifts to her earpiece. She isn't one to check in, not a habit she's used to, but: <<Everything under control?>> Her voice is a little constrained, though not with anger for once.
Jason Todd	Walking away as the grenade fuses burn internally, he moves to where the Car will arrive. Behind him the two thermite grenades explode, burning everything flamible and melting everything metallic into so much useless slag that only helps burn what is flammible. Of course if there is ammunition it could get interesting shortly. But by then he'll be in his car and leaving. As he does just that, a squealing angry burnout declaring his departure, the explosion renders the mob's little toy chest useless. Also the shipping container. That was just mean spirited, really. <<Control is an illusion.>> Well that was helpful wasn't it? <<I'll be at the corner of Occidental and Baker in two minutes if you need a ride.>>
Helena Bertinelli	The answer doesn't help Huntress' mood. Not that it's not true, but... he's quipping, so everything fine. Does she need a ride? She doesn't. She doesn't /need/ a ride. ...but she wants one, anyway. There's no answer, as the Huntress moves -- leaps -- from rooftop to rooftop. This... this is something she misses. The night. The speed. The tense certainty of inevitable violence, sooner or later... but the later doesn't come. Instead, there's merely the swirl of purple and black as she leaps lithely downwards... right in to the path of the car. Dark eyes glitter as she stares him down. Either trusting that he'll stop in time or uncaring if he doesn't. Either way, neither bravado so much as sign of her mood.
Jason Todd	Cutting through the darkened streets and a number of alleys, he is where he said will be, when he said he would be. He sees the streak of motion as Huntress drops down into the street not so far in front of him. The Car's engine revs as Red Hood downshifts smoothly even while he applies the brakes. The combination of racecar quality brakes and using engine compression, The Car stops fluidly and without the tires breaking free from the filthy Gotham street pavement. Illuminated by the headlights, Huntress finds herself just feet in front of the bumper. The engine rumbles low and relaxed, at idle. Waiting.
Helena Bertinelli	Unmoving as the car comes to a halt, Huntress stares at it. No, not the car. At him, even though there's no way she could see him beyond the gleam of the headlights. Her head turns, and for a moment it seems like her body will follow, away -- but at the last minute she touches a hand to the hood just above the headlights, an exhale rattling out of her as she traces it up and over the door, reaching for the passenger side handle. Hopefully it responds to her to let her in. If so, she climbs inside, whipping her cloak to stop it catching in the door as it closes. Despite the fact that she knows how ruthlessly he drives, she doesn't immediately reach for the harness. Instead, she reaches up to pull the mask off her face, and then parts the top half of her costume, the silky dark blue camisole beneath settled against pale skin, the slight bruising around her neck barely even visible yet. "Take me home." Helena says.
Jason Todd	The door opens without question. Inside she'll find him, one hand on the wheel, one on the gearshift. One foot pressing down the brakes, the other holding in the clutch. Waiting. He watches her move. Watches as The Huntress becomes Helena Bertinelli running around in so much cosplay high-tech cosplay. He listens. Nodding silently, he reaches up to the dash, tapping on the screen. The windows automatically darken completely and the outside world is digitally projected inside the windows with a perfect recreation of color and brightness. Reaching up he unlocks and removes his mask as he lets out the clutch and accelerating so that both of them are pressed back into their seats. "I'll have you home shortly." It's all he says, even though he no doubt sees the brusing. For his part, it's possible to see that he was not unscathed in his bravado minutes earlier. There are a half dozen handgun bullets flattened out and still embedded into the outer later of his armor. He took the hits without hesitation. Because she asked him for help. "Are you okay?"
Helena Bertinelli	It's too complicated an answer for what should be a simple question. So Helena doesn't answer it immediately. Instead, she exhales, her legs stretching out to brace herself for the turns, her head tilting to lean against the window, eyes closing against the brightness of the display. Just closing out the world for a moment, trusting she'll be safe. "I need to not be her right now. Not just because of them," the mafioso, "And not just because of... how angry she gets. But /he/ wants me to check in." That emphasis can only mean Batman. "He's suspicious already. He's not going to like how things are playing out." Which is a weird thing to say, because Helena can't possibly know either, really. Only that she's helping to push things to a breaking point with the Cosa Nostra, not as Huntress, but as Helena Bertinelli, and sooner or later things /will/ break. Maybe her. But she's okay with that. "Are /you/ okay?"
Jason Todd	That's the thing about choosing to be a lone wolf. Most every one is okay with their own demise. Their own price to pay. But they forget that there are others still invested in their lives, regardless of what might be wished. Those others have different opinions on whether it's okay for the lone wolf to finally be lost. There is always a price. He doesn't drive as intensely as he often does. The Car changed colors and license plates a block back when he cut through an alley. It is now Jason Todd's GTO on the way to Helena's place. He listens and nods. He can understand the price. The cost to become someone like they are. "Shoulder's better. Still a little stiff. Better to stay away from close combat for another week or two probably. I'd say.. 90-Percent." Not directly answering her question. Turning a corner he looks over at her. "They're better shots than I gave them credit for. I won't underestimate the Sunday Night Dock Crew next time. Didn't make friends with their boss."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena knows better by now than to try and get out before they reach her place. No point, unless he wants to let her get out of the car. That he's quiet in response, that he seems to understand, accept -- that is something that still surprises her. Maybe she was braced for the lecture, even from him, and the silence stills her for long moments after his non-answer to her question. It wasn't what she was asking, exactly, but she accepts it all the same. "You make it hard to like you sometimes, Jason," Helena says, but there's a teasing note in there somewhere, the curve of her lips visible when he looks her way despite her turn towards the window. "Then again, so do I." Her eyes take in the familiar surroundings of her neighborhood. Her fingers reach for the discarded mask, though she waits for the car to stop before she bothers reaching for the handle of the door. "...coming in?" Helena doesn't wait for the answer, either way. He will or he won't, and he knows how to get in even if she hadn't invited him.
Jason Todd	Jason Todd steers the car toward her place, slowing to a stop around back where the shadows are more plentiful. As she makes that statement, he does look at her and considers. "I get that a lot. Usually because I kneecap or nut the bad guys and assholes with taser rounds." He studies her a moment. "Do you usually invite difficult to like assholes home?" He watches her get out and calls after her. "Five minutes."