Owner	Pose
Dick Grayson	Sometimes so late at night, after it's rained for an hour or two, and even Gotham can seem like it settles into a restful slumber. The street noise grows quieter, though there's the whisking rasp of tires rolling through shallow puddles from time to time. Far off is the occasional clang from a depth buoy out on the river, and in rare moments is a car horn heard when the automobiles on the beltway force their existence back upon the city. It's just a handful of hours until the sun comes up, and most of the city is at rest. Though some of its denizens are far from sleep.     There's a rapid tip-tap-tip-tap of six sets of footsteps rushing across the rooftops in China Basin. The alleyways are closer together, the roads in the old neighborhood narrower than most of the others from Gotham's days of prominence. It creates an acrobatic playground unlike most of the other city. Awkwardly tall and short buildings settled next to each other, large billboards and illegal signage scattered throughout, and clothes lines and general detritus from the people living there cover most of the roofs. For some it's an eyesore, for others it's an obstacle course.     For Nightwing, as he runs along the roof and gets a box full of coat hangers thrown his way, it's more an annoyance right now. The young vigilante plants a hand on an old air conditioner and vaults over it as he chases the five men in their orange and red robes. If this were a video thrown up on Youtube some would imagine it was just late night parkour with one man in black rushing after five garishly garbed monks who have no intention on being caught.     Of course once the quintet of them skid to a halt at the edge of a building and round on their pursuer, and when the weapons are drawn and readied, the viewer might imagine it's something else entirely.
Carrie Kelley	Chinatown. The last time Carrie Kelley was here was to enjoy a nice late night dinner with a newfound sparring partner that she'd found interesting if not outright charming. He'd vanished since then leaving her curious as to his whereabouts until she'd forgotten it entirely thanks to the passage of time, and demands of every day life. Yet some curiosity still remains once learning more of him. It led her back to Chinatown where she had taken to resting atop the roof of one alley-way restaurant that had chickens hanging in the front windows as many authentic places in Chinatown did. It was actually rather restful and gave her time to both think, and meditate. Soon she would depart before the sun came up though as her current attire was a pair of skin-tight runners leggings, soft padded black shoes, a fitted top that vaguely resembled a gi and a cloth facemask. It hid her well enough in the shadows but in the light it would be rather telling of her presence. The commotion on the rooftops across the way garners her attention as her eyes crack open from her meditative state to regard them. Not the person she was hoping to run across though perhaps a situation of interest none the less. For now she only watches as the garishly clad 'monks' turn toward the dark clad individual. It's when the weapons come out that she sighs to herself and rolls to her feet feeling the ache of muscles gone stiff from the chill rain. Her hand dips down into a pocket to withdraw a small device which she holds up with arm outsretched to aim. The other draws back pulling it taunt as she lets fire a shot of rooftop gravel. The sharp stone sails true aiming for the crotch of one of the orange garbed men. Hey, no one said dirty shots weren't allowed.
Dick Grayson	The silhouette of the dark figure so distant might not fit what she's seen before. From afar he has that same profile as the Dark Knight that has flirted between figure of fame and urban legend, yet there's no signature cape that billows as he takes stance that some distance away. He's tall, at least that can be told, thin and athletic at least in profile.     Then across from him those five monks all slash into their stances, their weapons bared. Blades of various types are readied, the sounds resonant as they slide from sheathes while one unslings a bow from his shoulder and nocks an arrow. Something is said between them, grim and severe assuredly and with the overcast hint of light from the moon above she might see a smile on the face of the man with the domino mask.     One of the monks advances and strikes an ominous pose pointing angrily at the man in black. He seems about to launch into some sort of tirade that assuredly would condemn the people of Gotham for their decadence and weakness. But he never gets the chance to finish his words as, as if out of nowhere, a stone thwips through the air and whaps him right in the crotch, causing him to grooooan and abruptly fall over.     And as quick as that, whatever detente had been reached ends as the remaining monks /leap/ forwards to the attack towards Nightwing, though the one with the arrow seems to be the only one who realizes what happened as he spins, leaping off the billboard he was perched on and sending several arrows winging their way towards Carrie as fast as he can draw and fire.
Carrie Kelley	She may not have a lot of on-the-street training but one of the few vigilantes who had offered her help was Green Arrow. She knew to run. To flip, to twist, to abruptly change direction by rebounding off the wall of the other building with legs swinging out to press off in a jump. Then she was out of sight as she dips behind the rooftop A/C unit to presumably hide from more arrows. She'd leapt around enough to try and empty out his stash of the projectile though she hadn't quite had time to count what the archer had in the first place. Out of sight behind the A/C unit she fishes into another pocket. It's no slingshot this time she draws out, but a bolo, which she wings over head in a quick spin. Dartin up she lobs it toward the archer seeking to entangle bow, archer and his arrows together.
Dick Grayson	Arrows /thwip-thwip-thwip/ into the ground just inches from her steps as she twists out of the way. The archer gets three shots at her even as his features twist into a grimace at her evasion. It's when he reaches back over his shoulder for a fourth arrow that abruptly he's hit with a smoke bomb that bursts into life in his face, the white haze and powder suddenly clouding the area.     And suddenly the group of men are clashing with their pursuer. Blades lift and slash downwards, silvered metal catching the moonlight as they cut forwards. One rings loudly upon the armored gauntlet of the man in black as he leaps in, deflecting the sword stroke and twisting like a gyre as his kick slashes through the air to knock back another.     From afar it's a blur of motion, quiet save for the sound of metal upon metal and the impact of flesh and bone. There's a moment when Nightwing is backed up against an old industrial air conditioner and grabs hold of the top of it behind him over his head, then pulls himself upwards in a back flip out of the way. Only for him to leap back into the fray with a seemingly almost total disregard for the danger.     For a time it seems like just a rapid-fire back and forth of movement, strike and counter-strike. All coming together in a crazed flurry of activity. Yet the fighter in black is staggeringly athletic in his movements, acrobatic and nimble as if the entire thing were a performance on some level.     Eventually, approximately two minutes later, the clash is over and the robed men are fallen. One dangles over the side of the building with a length of grapple line holding him in place, the archer is pinned against the billboard, unconscious and with one of his own arrows holding him against the surface. The others fallen where they were struck unconscious. It leaves the man in black alone upon that rooftop, and him holding there long enough to trigger the display on his inner wrist to let the GCPD know the location and place the call.
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley remains hiding for now. Small peeks are cast toward the fight. When it grows hard to see due to the smoke bomb she moves from her hiding spot to another to ensure that she wouldn't be a sitting target should one of them slip free. Instead she heads two rooftops over where she lands in a crouch using the shadows to hide herself much as she can. There she remains watching the end of the fight. At least what she can see. When the smoke finally clears revealing the result she has to grin a little at the sight. It was almost comical. This was certainly no level she was on... Yet. As there were no others on the street below, and the commotion hadn't seemed to draw any attention to begin with, she just offers a light golf clap and a call out of, "Nice," to the remaining fellow.
Dick Grayson	At the end, Nightwing grimaces a bit and wipes a forearm over his features, steadying his breathing as his brow furrows. Across the distance, some small ways, he'll catch sight of the youthful woman in the makeshift uniform. Tilting his head to the side his irisless gaze falls upon her and his lip twists a little. Her call isn't answered, at least not initially. Instead he turns and sweeps his gaze over the fallen. Once he's assured they are indeed well and truly under control he then turns back towards her.     A few steps lead up to him breaking into a run and making that /leap/ across the way, snaring a low hanging heavy antenna that juts out the side of the building and using it to swing across on and make that leap to the edge of the building where she stands. He lands in a crouch on the stairwell shed, meeting her gaze with a wry smirk. "Ya know, I probably could have talked them down. Just saying."
Carrie Kelley	"In my experience, you talk people down when they're chasing you, not the other way around. That's more like cornering a cat then expecting to rub it's belly." The ill-costumed girl shrugs however with hands spread a little. "Sorry if I pushed your hand. You were out numbered... Though I see now that wouldn't have been an issue for you." Namely, she was just trying to help.
Dick Grayson	"Mmm," For a time Nightwing eyes Carrie, tilting his head to the side as if trying to get another angle on her. His glance seems to light upon each aspect of her and her uniform. She can likely see the eyebrow quirk a bit at the choices made or the makeshift aspects of some of it. But, to his credit, he doesn't offer critique. Instead he says calmly, "Some crazy kung fu thing is going down for some reason. You might want to lay low, Karate Girl." Probably because of the gi she wears that he chose that name.     He holds up a hand, "But try and keep your head down. Not everyone running around this time of night is as nice as I am." That said he rises up out of the crouch and grabs the grapple line from his hip. He turns and brings it up, firing it towards the further market building deeper into the neighborhood. He lifts a hand in a wave, then drops off the side of his perch and lets the line carry him into the night.