Owner	Pose
Dick Grayson	Nightwing and Yin tear through the early evening as dusk settles over Gotham, instantly seeming to transform the city from an elegantly aged city, full of historic and retro styled architecture, into a thing of quiet menace, full of deep dark shadows,where everything is the same, and yet darker, like it's been washed in black ink. On the back of Nightwing's superbike, the pair of vigilante heroes are able to, with Nightwing's deft guidance, weave in and out of the heavy traffic as people rush to their homes, to beat the darkness that holds so many horrors in this old city. And before the sun finally sets, dipping under the skyline so that the long, long shadows encompass and swallow everything in its ravenous darkness, the pair find themselves parked before the gaping maw of an alleyway.     Here, the darkness seems the deepest. Like a tangible aura of dread hangs in the air, heavy in one's lungs and cold on the back of one's neck. Nestled between two long ago abandoned factories fashioned from brick the color of dried,old blood, this alleyway rarely sees visitors, even from the dredges of society,or the destitute. It's a place that screams, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here".     But there, within that choking, seemingly infinite darkness, there is, in fact a light. Sterile blue white light, pouring out of the smudged windows of a white food truck. Somehow the faint flickering of the lights, their cold hue, and the stillness of the truck itself seems even more unsettling than the rest of their surroundings.     There, at the entrance of this alleyway from hell, Nightwing brings the bike to a halt, dropping the kickstand and letting Yin off before he, too, departs the vehicle. Quietly, he mutters, "Oh, sure. Nothing out of the ordinary here... This isn't creepy at all.."
Brooke Harris	The food truck sits quietly. Ominously. But silently. The alley itself is quiet. No cameras are immediately obvious.. maybe a good thing, maybe a bad thing. A slight smell of fresh garlic pork wafts from the back door of the food truck, hot food from a cold food truck. Yin steps away from the bike and settles, closing her eyes for a moment. "I don't feel anybody. Not in the truck, anyway. It seems clear.. I don't trust it to really be clear, but they aren't close. She opens her eyes and looks at the rooftops and windows, falling in behind you.
Dick Grayson	"I don't trust it to be clear, either..." Nightwing replies, his voice dipping down to a quiet murmur, barely audible. In places as quiet and still as this, with such enclosed quarters, you don't whisper unless you want to be heard. He turns his face towards his masked companion, those faintly glowing white eyes fixed upon her mask covered face. "You sense chi, right? And yet you're not picking up anything. Let me ask..."     His brow furrows, scowling visibly judging by the crease that marks his forehead in the center. His fair, fine boned features twist with a frown. "Is it typically Yang qi that you read? And if so... do you think you might attune yourself to Yin qi, instead?"
Brooke Harris	Yin considers. Equally softly, she murmurs "Qi is qi. I sense the flow and the movement. The breath, not the air. The flow of the blood in the arteries more than the blood itself. It all has a.. distinctive texture and feel to it, and I can learn a lot from how it flows, how it feels, and where. I've studied a lot of biofeedback, acupuncture, qigong, things like that; in time I could feel it outside of myself." Thin Chinese accent, possibly staged. She notes, "There is life here, but.. nothing unusual, or like a person. If I were to leave a lookout.. maybe the roof of that parking garage, over there.." She inclines her head in the direction of a darkened parking garage a full block away, the top of which has a partial line of sight on the entrance to the alleyway where the truck is parked. "But they wouldn't be able to see into the alley."
Dick Grayson	"So if there's nothing here," Nightwing says, his soft, pliant lips pulling taut into a steep frown that creates sort of reverse dimples in his cheeks, "All we have to do is stake the place out. Obviously our Chef is going to have to come to the food truck, at some point."     It seems logical, doesn't it? But nothing about this seems to be sitting well with him. Of course, when dealing with murderers nothing ever sits right with him. Add cannibalism into that mix, and Nightwing's level of disgust is through the roof. Nightwing is not exactly the most patient person in the world. Age has helped his sense of discipline, but by nature, he's more of a man of action.     "Or we can try to track where the truck came from. It might take me some time, but I might be able to use the city's traffic light cameras to reverse its path to here, and find out where it came from. And who drove it."     In the meantime, though, Dick does reach up, using one finger to depress a hidden button on the side of his sculpted wingshaped mask to switch through vision modes. His eyes flicker from white, to blue, then red, and then to yellow, as he engages ultrasound. It's not exactly the most clear way to try to see the world, but it will afford him some limited ability to peer through the walls of the brick buildings that surround them. If anyone were hiding, he might be able to catch them.
Brooke Harris	The place looks very ordinary. Shop fronts, closed for the night. The hallways of a cheap apartment building. The alley looks shockingly.. plain. Secrecy by carelessness. Yin nods. "Good ideas. We could check out the truck, too. If there's a trap, I doubt it's going to snap on us here. If it does, this is good ground." She looks around the truck itself a bit, staying a bit clear to avoid messing with any clues. "What about you? How did you get started in this?"
Dick Grayson	Nightwing stalks forward. It's strange, the way he moves. Almost inhuman in the careless grace he seems to display in every movement. Almost boneless in the fluidity of it. Airy, in how he seems to glide rather than walk. He, too, is careful in his steps, though. The route that he takes is a wary one, approaching the truck from an angle, and circling about it to give a wide berth,so that he can observe through it with the use of his ultrasound vision.     "You know, you might be surprised, in this town..." he remarks, still using that quiet and grim tone of voice. "We could step inside of the truck just to have it close and lock itself down and start moving by remote control. That's a thing. It's happened before. Gotham bad guys are creative. Sometimes."     Satisfied, for the moment, that no one is waiting in ambush, he switches vision modes with the touch of a finger once again. Instead, he engages his link to the Batcomputer, letting his lenses feed what he sees back to the computer to pick up on any details that he might miss as he scans with his own eyesight.     "This life?" he asks, allowing just a single rueful huff to pass from his lips as a chuckle. "My parents were victims. I was orphaned. It hit me young enough to leave a lasting impression and a need to make things right. I want to say that I'm noble, and just want to make sure that no one else has to go through what I did at a young age. It's not a lie,per say... but the truth is that I do it for myself. It's... a need, you know?"     A pause.     "I guess we're all broken, in some way. People like us, I mean. The ones who come out to do this kind of thing, with nothing but maybe some specialized training. We're not gods like Superman or Thor, who do what they do because they can, and they have some inherent goodness in them to see the world protected. I think that's the big difference between superpowered people and people like us. Superheroes versus vigilantes. They do it from a sense of nobility and charity. We do it because we have something that has broken us."     He casts his gaze back to her, and shrugs his shoulders, "I mean, I can't speak for all vigilantes. Your situation could be vastly different from mine. But every non-superpowered crime fighter I've ever met is driven by their hurts."
Brooke Harris	Yin mms quietly and considers, then moves back to you to wait for the results. "Maybe I'm a superhero, then." The car seems, again, boringly stock. Whatever The Chef might be, he doesn't seem to be the death trap sort. Not with cars, anyways. The registration is similarly boringly larcenous to the other one, disposable if anything. Still, unmarked food trucks are distinctive enough to run a search for pretty easily... and there's already a hit on it for, of all stupid things, a parking violation an hour and a half ago at a restaurant nearby.
Dick Grayson	"Oh yeah? So what's your story, then?" Nightwing asks, even as he's reading the plates, getting the information relayed through the computer, and then using it to track images from the traffic lights around the area and time when the truck received that traffic violation. Searching for the driver who parked it there. Or who drove it here.     "You come across as more vigilante than superhero," he continues, as he finally approaches the truck plainly, and tries the back door. If it's not locked, he'll enter. Otherwise, he's got the skills to unlock it, as he had the van previously. "We can usually smell our own, you know. It doesn'tseem like you've had a life of sunshine and rainbows, and your power seems like the result of special training, rather than being a mutant, alien, or scientific mishap. If I'm right on that, it suggests the same kind of drive as a vigilante."
Brooke Harris	Yin mms. "I had some health issues when I was a kid, and the drugs they use to treat it didn't agree with me. My mom is a yogi and a meditator, and she had me trying to meditate to get the trouble down. After awhile, I started being able to deal with it a little with biofeedback, but I had to learn from some masters." The truck parked and loaded up some stuff from the restaurant back door, and came straight here. Amateurs. The person driving looks young, probably minimum wage. Cheap, off the books, no questions asked labor. But you get what you pay for. The truck is unlocked completely. A warmer sits in back with food in it. Garlic pork from the smell of it, two containers worth. Generic fast food boxes. The actual ingredients are probably a bit more sinister. Yin prowls behind you, but you are clearly better at this part. "Then I just kept learning about meditation and the body and how to heal people. I keep seeing things that need fixing, now that I am more sensitive. Of course, a lot of knowing how to fix people is in learning how to break them." She shrugs faintly. "I am a very good student."
Dick Grayson	The kid isn't likely to be much help, but Dick will run what he can on the face. High school year book pages. Facebook. Tinder. Snapchat. Police records. XBox Live. Full work up.     "Meditate the sickness away?" Dick asks incredulously. He's not going to say it outright, but that sounds an awful lot, to him, like the same kind of abuse of faith healers trying to pray their child's pneumonia away. A part of him feels a twinge of anger at that. His jaw clenches. But otherwise, he doesn't let on. In fact, he only forces on a smile, instead, and says, "I guess something worked, because you're looking pretty healthy from where I'm standing. And that's another thing I'm pretty good at."     He only gives a cursory examination of the food. It might seem appetizing, but he knows damned well what that meat is, and it isn't pork, unless this Chef had a really sick sense of humor and it was made from policemen. So, then, what should he do? He's not going to rest until this Chef gets taken down. Literally. He's not going to sleep or come off the job until he's tracked this person down and brought them in. He can't. He won't be able to. Every time he would close his eyes, he'll see that foot in the...     "So," He asks, even as he starts, more or less, rewinding through time in his HUD, trying to find where the truck came from through backtracking through cameras. It has to have a source somewhere. "How would you fix me? Or break me, for that matter."
Brooke Harris	The kid is pretty boring.. behavior problems, underemployed now. A couple runins with the police, but nothing worth arresting him for. He's just broke. He posted a couple places looking for work. Looks like a now deleted Twitter account took him up on it, a couple weeks ago.. there's a hole in the thread, but someone mentions the offer on it. Something about @MeesterChef88 and how washing dishes being better than flipping burgers and getting his hours cut. He isn't exactly flush now, but he isn't behind on his rent anymore. The idiot literally parked the truck at his house, went to a restaurant, double parked the truck, picked stuff up, drove straight here, and walked off to go get some fried chicken. "I wouldn't be a believer, if it didn't work. She was a bit desperate when I had a bad reaction to the only drug the doctor knew to prescribe, so the doctor was just going to leave it be. I tweak my endocrine system manually now." Yin frowns. "How to fix you? Hmm. You are physically in the best of health. You've been hurt a lot, but you've healed from it, too. There's a lot of places I can see that have healed just a little bit erratically. Right now? Maybe your ribs. You look like you had a dramatic injury there some time back. I might be able to help it a little bit if I took the time, but it has been long enough that it's not necessary." "Physically? We are both in top shape. You're a bit bigger and have more muscle mass. You move.. I see a lot of Kempo, maybe? And some Sinawali, perhaps? Very skilled. Your style is acrobatic. Very energetic and mobile. We both have the endurance for it, but structurally, I work better with grounding and softness. Mentally? With time and trust, I could release some tension, maybe lower some emotional walls, but you have lived with them for a long time. You know how to deal with your inner demons already. There's not much I would try to do there."
Dick Grayson	"Sounds like you just needed to get another doctor," Dick replies, though his anger has mostly passed. A shadow that was as fleeting as he himself can seem, at times. "Still, that does seem handy. Being able to control your own endocrine system. So what was the issue you had, anyway?"     Meanwhile, he's digging deeper into finding out what he can about @MeesterChef88, as he starts to climb back out of the truck. "Our boy went to go get chicken nearby. It's all eating."     As she gives her assessment of him, Dick takes up residence propping up one of the nearby brick walls, where a sliver of the silver light of the moon cuts a diagonal swath of pale illumination across his face, and half of his chest, making the blue chevron across it seem vibrant and aglow. His head cocks to one side, spilling a few errant locks of raven over his brow. His lips arc up at one corner only, just the barest bit. He does nod his head in agreement about the ribs. A real mistake, that. One he was never going to forget now. Never trust a low class thug with your back turned on him if he has a baseball within reach. Dick feels that pain again everytime itis cold outside.     "Kempo, and Sinawali. That's right. I also tend to favor a bit of Capoeira and Savate, but there are other things, as well. I like being unpredictable. The acrobatics make that happen. I can strike from angles that they might not expect. I'm hard for them to get a good read on me. You definitely have a good eye. Solid grasp of principles, too. Being grounded,and focusing on softer styles,deflecting and redirecting force and momentum plays up to your slighter build. It turns what most would consider a disadvantage to your advantage. I've gotta admit, what I've seen of your moves are flawless. It's gorgeous to watch you in action. I've always had a deep seated love for the Wudang styles, and Baguazhang is my favorite among them, but proper Taijiquan is amazing to watch."     He lifts off the wall, then, and cocks his head towards the opening of the alleyway. "But... emotional walls? Yeah. Those kind of come with the job. You have to keep a certain level of distance in this kind of life, right? Not just to protect yourself, but to protect others, as well. Though... Yeah. Time and trust go a long way towards getting past them. Anyway, let's go get our guy, and see what we might get out of him about a MeesterChef88."
Brooke Harris	Yin mmhs and follows you, looking around the inside of the van as you look, then watching you, listening. "I saw a bit of the Capoeira, because of course you need it with your acrobatics. And a flash of Pencak Silat. But I wasn't sure how much you got from them, or if it was just mining for the necessary. And.. Too much testosterone, too early, with some other minor oddness. I'm sure you'll read all about it when you do your background check." She nods. "Sure.. Let's go check out this chicken."