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→ bang bang that awful sound

Who: Irene Adler & Stephanie Brown.
What: Irene and Steph hunt the same prey for different reasons.
Where: Murkside.
When: Backdated by a few days; Coardi, 23rd Ceidary.
Warnings: Violence, gangs, gore, hostage situation, mention of torture, language, possibly more TBA;

Tonight, in this cramped and humid Murkside bar named the Nine Hostages, there is going to be a fight. Still, that’s what the Tuatha are good at. They’re up-and-coming, present in the faintest whispers of brutalities; a Sharp supposedly found dead with T carved into his back but no one can prove anything and the Sharps are saying nothing, a man who won’t open his mouth who everybody knows got a little too chatty and ended up lacking a tongue…there’s even a rumour about them which would sound like Cenel does the Militia’s dirty work for the sake of a blind eye being turned if anyone dared spread it (don’t tell anyone I told you- in fact just don’t tell anyone at all, please).

The tension in the Nine Hostages is metallic in the air, copper on Irene’s tongue- she’s here for the excitement as much as she’s here to further her own interests, or as her 'true story' goes, here on the arm of a man named Ollav of some standing in the Tuatha. While he’s left her briefly to converse with another member in low, tense mutters, she’s marked out her own space in this crowded, noisy establishment, prim and pretty and blood red, attracting stares which she meets unblinkingly until the various other parties break her gaze nervously. She’s uncanny like this; wide-eyed and watching, something hungry wearing a socialite’s skin, so much so that for all her ladylike appearance she fits in here. She puts her hands on her hips, lifts her chin, and for a moment her eyes meet those of Cenel, the Tuatha’s leader, a self-styled king- who looks away, looks to Ollav, looks off to nothing with his jaw set. Yes; there’s going to be a fight tonight, and Irene can’t wait.

Except then Cenel nods at someone behind her. Then there is the cold point of a knife between her bare shoulderblades and everything seems very quiet suddenly but really, perhaps it’s not, perhaps her heart’s just suddenly louder than everything because perhaps she’s going to die.

Irene didn’t actually plan for the evening to go this way, but who does? It just happens- especially to her, she finds, although that makes it sound like bad luck rather than a direct consequence of her own knack for…adventure.

She came here to meddle, after all. Isn’t that what she’s always doing? She’s got this thing about situations like this- explosive ones- like a shark with blood in the water. And the Tuatha are nothing if not bloody- even amongst themselves. Irene can smell a power struggle, worked it out quickly from the rumours and the scraps of information Ollav has let slip to her, but mostly from the way Cenel keeps looking over his shoulder to see if Ollav’s stabbed him in the back yet. But the Tuatha have a loyalty which Irene finds frankly bewildering; Ollav has a lot of support, but Cenel’s their leader, which for some reason people seem to think is more important than being good at the job, or so Irene would rather prissily put it. The coup, when it happens, will be bloody, a question of nothing more than who has the most friends here and how many weapons did they bring. And that’s the only reason Ollav hasn’t made his move yet.

Well, that and Irene pointing out that he really ought to choose his moment carefully- darling.

Her friendship- here to be uttered in that particular tone of voice reserved for a certain type of friend, the type that pay in one way or another- with Ollav had started as so many of hers do, with a drink in the Vault which led to various other things in the Vault. She knew within moments of meeting him that he was in the Tuatha- there’s no mistaking the look, and a lot of them like the Vault. They fit in well there, melodramatic and predatory as they are. They have a common bloodthirstiness which Irene rather likes; Ollav in particular is a little wild, a little off, with worlds of ambition and desire held deep down inside of him, a kaleidoscope of ideas and wants which come spilling out into words and actions, larger than life, uncontrolled. He rants and he raves and gives the impression of being born for something outside of normal life; he’s the sort of man the Tuatha adore. A poet, really.

He’s going to be very successful. Or so Irene thinks. So Irene hopes. Because if he’s not...

Well. There’s the blade of a knife at her back and she raises her hands gracefully, like she’s dancing not surrendering, her eyes suddenly wide and snapping to Ollav in what is not so much a plea for help as a demand for action. It’s fine, it’s fine, they can play this off- this isn’t how she expected this to go but they can play this off--

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Irene gives an actual bark of laughter; she's already tugging off her heels, and her stockings too, for the sake of having better purchase should she need to run, climb or anything else.

"I've jumped worse," she promises, getting to her feet- she leaves the stockings on the carriage floor (she likes the idea of them finding them, like an extra kick in the teeth) but holds her shoes in one hand, wiping her mouth; her hand comes away smeared with red- blood and lipstick. "Just go."

Anything to get out of captivity, which looms with a capital C in her mind; there's nothing Irene prizes more than her freedom, nothing which scares her more than it being taken away, and this carriage-come-cell is far too small and close.

Usually, shouldering the door open would be the best option, but she doesn't want to tumble right out into the street without at least a brief moment of preparation. So she loses her heels as well, though she's happy to leave them in the carriage for others to find, they're cheap and it's easier to run barefoot, honestly. She relocks the opened half of her cuff so they're both on the same wrist, to keep them out of the way.

With her hands braced against the roof, Steph brings her right leg up and kicks out at the door, aiming for where the lock would be. The wood, strong but not strong enough, splinters and breaks, rendering the bolt useless and letting the doors bang open in the wind.

There's no one behind them (thank the gods) and there's no time to waste, in case someone notices those doors opening; Steph leaps out of the carriage. She lands on her feet, but for not much more than a second before she's dropping into a roll to try to absorb some of the momentum. She's bruised, bleeding and sore, but alive amd on her feet after a second.

Irene presses her lips together- jumping from a moving carriage had seemed simpler before seeing the road in front of her- but she doesn't let herself hesitate, jumping before she can think of all the reasons not to jump. Anyway- at least out here is free air.

She lands less gracefully than she'd like to but (miraculously) keeps hold of her shoes, scrambling to her feet and ignoring the various pains from twisted arms, knocks in the carriage, tight ropes and cuffs and now this.

No time to stand around, though. She whips around, trying to work out just where they are, and then catches Steph's eye in an agreement to run.

Running is good. Steph can work with running, "Follow me."

There's a very brief moment in which Irene has a chance to argue that order, but it's mostly superfluous since Steph is moving a second later. The first thing she does is get them off the same street the carriages are in, preferring to duck into a side street and go fron there. She's not going at top speed for herself, unsure of what pace exactly, Irene can keep, but what is clear is that she's heading back in the direction they came from.

Her bike is back there, after all.

Irene keeps pace with her, briefly struck by how ridiculous this is- running barefoot through the streets of Baedal accompanied by a twenty year old...what, vigilante?

Except this is the kind of situation she gets into a lot, isn't it?

Best to ignore its absurdity and just get on with it. "Where are we headed?" she asks, aware that she's going to need a CiD if she wants to organise things to her own gain, but also aware that this is Steph's area of expertise. Not that she's entirely out of her depth- she's far from as dainty as the hair and makeup would imply- but it's not how she prefers to solve her problems.

"Where we started, then a safehouse for supplies, and then I'm gonna try to pick up their trail," The last part is going to be the most difficult, and is the least likely to actually happen but she's hoping they can be quick enough to make it work. (It's also worth noting that she says I'm, not we're there, but it's because she's not sure Irene will want to tag along for that part, rather than trying to exclude her.)

And for all that it felt like hours in that carriage, it really hasn't been that long - Steph is impressed with the both of them, honestly, for working so efficiently together.

"The Nine Hostages won't necessarily be empty; whatever you're planning on doing, I hope it's going to be quiet," she tells her, through deep breaths of exertion, still keeping pace nonetheless. "There's no need to track anyone. Find me a CiD and I can get you an address," she adds, inviting herself along on that particular jaunt regardless.

And taking one more step towards all of this coming up in her favour. She needs to get Cenel out, needs to establish Ollav's authority, needs to get her CiD and her phone back, and most of all needs to not get her hands dirty.

"As a mouse," Steph promises. If all goes according to this rather hapazard plan, no one will even know they're there; her bike is parked a couple of blocks away from the actual bar, and that's what they're really after.

She's not sure what the CiD is for, but she can make a few guesses and tentaviley decides to roll with it, "You can have ten CiDs, if you want." Which is not actually the amount Steph has, she's just indicating her willingness to procure one for Irene. Her myriad of questions can wait until later, for now she keeps her main focus on keeping them running in the right direction.

"You spoil me," she manages, before shutting up for the rest of the run, ignoring her aches and pains; she's going to be black and blue all over, she's accepted that by now.

It's fine, though. It's more than fine. She's on top of things now, has a plan and a way forward, and at least, at the very least, she's not bored; she's racing down the street with her shoes in her hand and the tang of blood still on her tongue from one of the most ridiculous escapes she has ever made, and it's absolutely insane- but in a way that's what she wants from life.

At least one of them is content with their life. Steph, for all her appreciation that they are no longer tied up in the back of a carriage, is angry, frustrated and looking forward to taking it out on the gang when they find them. Admittedly, this can be attributed to her life in general right now, not just the specific situation.

Two blocks away from the bar, she takes a left that is note worthy in that it's leading them now in the wrong direction, but there's no time for questioning it before they come upon Steph's bike. It's black with purple accents, fairly non-descript, and tucked into a little back alley.

"Hey, baby," Steph greets the bike, opening up a hidden panel near the handlebars to put in a code on a keypad (this stops it from delivering a mild electric shock to whoever touches it), before climing on and indicating with a nod of her head that Irene should get on behind her.

"My God." Irene leans heavily against a wall to pull her shoes back on, taking a gasp for air which turns into a laugh, head tipping back to rest against the wall for a split second. "A motorbike, as well? Marvellous. When do we walk away from an explosion? I can't wait." It's not hysterical; she's very much rooted in the situation. She just finds it honestly funny, in a terrible, vicious way. Still, it doesn't take her long before she's behind Steph, holding onto her.

It pays to be able to find these situations wildly amusing, surely? And yet in some ways it's still part of the act; a woman joking slightly unnervingly about action film cliches isn't a woman likely to use you to further her personal interests in a gang power struggle.

As Irene laughs, Steph looks at her with a completely neutral expression, "In about half an hour, if you'd like." Explosions can be arranged; she has a small stash in the safe house they're going to.

And going they are, Steph drives fast without going too fast, they don't need unwanted attention right now and although the road rules in Baedal aren't particularly strict, she won't risk getting pulled over. They make it to the safe house in good time, less than five minutes, though maybe safe is too strong a word. There's small group of buildings that all look like they're about to collapse, and Steph drives straight up the side path of one, pulling around to the backyard before she stops the bike and kicks out the prop.

"When we get inside, you're gonna want to follow my steps exactly," Nice to know?

This safehouse doesn't look fantastically safe, no. Irene stands up and straightens her dress, brushes herself down, rearranges her hair--

Her hair. In which there are hairpins. Her eyes flick to the cuffs still attached to Steph's wrist, and she lowers her hands, keeping her face entirely neutral, and decides not to mention that.

"Got it," she says, with a surprising (for those who don't know her too well) level of calm practicality, following Steph closely.

Wise choice, Irene, since Steph would probably kill her for not mentioning that little fact sooner.

But Irene doesn't mention it, so there's no need for Steph to throw her off a cliff, instead leading them in through the back door, up a flight of stairs and through a complicated series of hallways, broken rooms and crumbling floors. It looks completely untouched, a thick layer of dust over everything, but Steph knows exactly where to step so that they don't meet a nasty end.

The room they finally make it to looks as though it's been reinforced recently, since it's the only one with an entire floor, "We're fine here." To indicate that Irene can walk around without worrying about any booby traps.

At the far wall, Steph crouches down, and takes off the covering of a vent. Inside, there's a large duffel bag and a larger tool box, both of which she pulls out, rummaging inside the duffel first, finding her back-up, also jailbroken CiD and holding it up for Irene.

"I need to know exactly what your plan is, here, I won't be a pawn," There's a hardness there, in her voice and in her gaze as she looks up at the other woman, because despite the fact they've worked together fairly well for the past half hour or so, Steph does not trust Irene.

Irene casts a long look around and, not for the first time, has to wonder what it is Steph actually does.

Upon Steph speaking, her gaze snaps to her, and she smiles as if to herself and no one else, plucking the CiD from her fingers. She doesn't speak until she's turned it on and entered a number, finally saying, "Fine. Cenel's on his way out. I intend to speed that up a bit. I've got Ollav on a leash-" She glances up from the screen and adds, with another disconcerting smile, "That's a metaphor. Mostly." Striding away, apparently tapping out a text, she continues; "If I tell him to make his move now, he'll do it." A few more clicks, and she fixes Steph with a proper look, eyes piercing.

"I need you to help with that."

As soon as Irene starts talking, Steph starts getting to work. It's not that she's ignoring her, just that now she's assured an explanation, she doesn't need to stare it out of her current partner in crime.

The apron gets tossed, socks and combat boots get pulled on, as does a thin hoodie, plain leather gloves, and a thigh holster. When Irene is finished explaining, Steph is just opening the tool box to start working on her arsenal for this mission. She stops then, turning her head back up to look at Irene; her gaze considering.

It wouldn't be the first time she's done terrible things for good reasons - she's protected the Penguin to get to Intergang, among many other small crimes, all done in the name of justice. That concept feels further away every day, but it's not a problem to consider right now.

"So I'm keeping him and his people alive?" It's semantics, really, but it eases the potential for guilt. She's not helping them gain power, she's just stopping them from getting themselves killed.

"Exactly." Irene gives her a bright smile.

She doesn't, after all, want to threaten her. Not because of any morals, but just because threats can be tricky unless you get it exactly right, and Steph could definitely kill her in a split second if she wanted to.

"Consider it an investment," she advises. "That's how I like working- long term. It pays off. And not just for me." Her eyebrows go up; think, Miss Brown. They have links with the Militia, after all. It's best not to spell these things out, she finds. Let the other party come up with the answer and it creates a rapport; what's more, it makes them feel like they have more control over the situation.

"I know," But it sounds a little weary, and she nearly goes to rub at her face before seeing the dried blood on her hand, so she just huffs out a breath instead, "Make your call, I'll help."

Wrong things for the right reasons. It's not the end of the world, and it's been a while since her morality lined up with the rest of the Bats, ever since the gang war, really. So she'll help Irene, and remind herself that this will be her link to the gang, and through them to the militia. It helps that she'll just be doing it as Steph, not as Batgirl.

Before that, Irene needs to find out where they were headed, and Steph needs to get ready; reaching into the tool box she grabs out the small first aid kit, and sets to work cleaning and bandaging the wound left by the wire, and the smaller grazes from jumping out of a moving vehicle.

"Thank you," Irene says, very calmly and simply, before turning her attention back to the CiD.

No point calling- it would only associate her voice with this number and that's not particularly helpful, because God knows what Steph might use this for later. In fact, that doesn't even matter- what she's doing now is dangerous enough, trying to turn the tables on someone with vague, unpleasant Militia connections. They need to know Ollav won't renege on any connections before she can be too obviously linked to this.

(And if Ollav does come into contact with them then, well, the Militia will be down a convenient link, he will be dead, and she will be fine and all's well that ends well).

Do it. And tell me where I'm sending this present I have for you. Magnolia. x

Magnolia being a safeword, which is a very convenient guess who that doubles nicely as a pseudonym. Not, of course, that she really thinks he'll doubt it's her- by now, they will have almost certainly realised that their hostages are missing, and Ollav's not an idiot.

She deletes the record of the text immediately after it's sent.

While Irene types out the message, Steph finishes cleaning up her injuries and then gets to work preparing her utility belt. Nothing that goes in has a Bat symbol on it, or could be connected to Batgirl in any way. The smoke bombs, small explosive disks and other little devices are all unmarked and spotless of any fingerprints and hopefully, wiped of any presence that can be traced. She gets her weapons from Rex, but sometimes she has someone with magic jazz them up a little.

Once the belt is packed, she clicks it around her waist, then grabs two escrima sticks from the bottom of the box and attaches them to the belt and holster to keep them in place until she needs them. She'd prefer her bo staff, but it's got too much of a connection with Batgirl, so the sticks will do for now.

"You want anything?" Meaning a weapon, just in case.

"I doubt I'll need it," she informs her, pointing a toe and inspecting a graze on her leg with an air of prissy, detached irritation, as if it were just a stain on fabric rather than something which is actually causing her pain.

She knows just in case is always an option, but the fact is that that's not how she operates. There are more of them than there are of her. She couldn't win in a fair fight.

So, she'll just make it unfair, and fight on a level they're not even thinking at, for the most part. The CiD chimes; she inspects it.

"We need to go. I'll give you directions."

Because if Steph knows the location, she could kill Irene in a second and do her own thing. Which is what Irene would do, in Steph's position.

"Let's hope not," Steph is always a just in case kind of person, even before she started running with the superhero crowd, but well. She thinks it's probabaly better for everyone if Irene isn't armed.

She packs up the kit and the duffel bag, then puts them both back into their hiding place and puts the vent cover back on. There's more she could to do disguise that they've been here, but this safe house won't be used again. She'll come back in a few days, clean it out and wipe any trace of hers and Irene's presence.

"No, you'll tell me where we're going, and give me my CiD back," It's not up for argument, Steph stands and holds out her hand for the CiD, "If this goes wrong, I need someone to know where I am."

Babs must already be worried, Steph was supposed to check in regularly.

Irene rolls her eyes, exaggerated- as if this is still all a game, something she can huff and sulk over. It's not, and she knows it's not, but acting like she takes nothing seriously is all part of her protection.

"If this goes wrong, you're going to be dead," she says irritably, weighing up her options; Steph offered her a weapon, after all. Anyway, Irene is aware she can be of use to her. She deletes the message from the CiD- removing any trace of Ollav's number- and tosses it back, stalking to the door. Gone is her usual sashay; very movement now is viciouly purposeful. "So don't let it go wrong, Miss Brown. We're going out to the Spatters- go through Ketch Heath and head westwards out into the Narrow Roads. Pass Grendl Hill and you've gone too far, but we'll find them before that; they make noise. That's all he gave me; now let's go."

There's no reply to anything Irene says, Steph just types up a message - complete gibberish to any onlookers, but Babs will understand - and sends it off, then slips the CiD into one of the pouches on her belt. At the door, standing next to Irene for a moment she says, "If I die, they can't have my body."

She knows that there's only one way to get out of this situation alive, and that's by winning. But even if they lose, and even if she gets herself killed, some shitty little gang isn't going to be left to dispose of her body. Babs will send someone, Steph won't be left to rot in a river or something worse.

But she's trying not to dwell on it, so that's the only comment she makes to Irene before heading back out the way they came, careful as she was when they came in and, once outside, she climbs on her bike to wait for Irene to join her.

Irene gives a prissy little sigh as if worrying about what will happen to one's body after death is just so uncouth, verging on a bit Daily Mail, and slips onto the bike behind Steph.

"Admirable."

Shut up, Irene.

→ bang bang that awful sound

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