2014-05-22 - Cats Aren't All Black After Dark

Alarms. Silent alarms, but alarms nonetheless. Far in the background, sirens. It's a typical day in Gotham with the usual desperate need for heroes. Usually for the heroes who stand in uniforms, less noticed than the ones in spandex. All are there for the public, to live as a buffer between the innocents and those who try to get a little more back. They're called criminals, though there's always a reason.

Right now the reason for the sirens, the silent alarms, is the four people with guns in the Gotham bank. Wearing the absolute classic, cotton black facemasks pulled over their heads, they menace the crowd with also classic semi-automatic weapons. I'm sure that the people laying on the ground are thrilled with the sense of history. The teller who's bleeding to death in the pool of blood certainly can feel it.

Not to be outdone, the window suddenly smashes in with the arrival of a non-caped crusader. Grey clothing similar to a certain Catwoman's, but the facemask very different and the height...much less. But the moves are definitely active as the eyes of the gunmen turn to the arrival and three of them instantly open fire.

It's like dancing, though there's an air of brutality and showmanship today that the person inside normally doesn't use. The bullets are lost in the walls as the cat in tights lays out one of the gunmen with a sudden right hook to the jaw as his gun threatens to dip toward an innocent. The others guns are trained on the heroine and she's keeping them that way.

Wildcat was watching with interest until the teller was shot and bleeding on the floor. That demands action. The guy behind the getaway car barely has a chance to reach for his pistol. Then he's dragged out of the driver's window. Ted is not one for grandstanding. At times he is one for making an entrance that will have the bad guys peeing their pants. This is one of those times. He's had enough of the cops and courts and jails being unable to deal with these creeps. But that works both ways. The cops and the courts and jails surely can't deal with him either. The getaway driver gets thrown through a window and takes out one of his friends reaching for a likely hostage. "Oh hell no," he mutters. He leaps through the window and over the sprawled men. He doesn't check if they're faking. he kicks each in the head in passing then vaults over the counter to the teller. Ring doctor on call.

Cassandra Cain is a blur, a spinning arc of motion. She's moving fast but to a trained eye one could see that she's actually moving much slower than she could. It's a carefully chosen path that lets the gunmen keep track of her so they'll think that they have a chance, and therefore won't hesitate to try and shoot her. Her, and not the hostages. They're firing at her but they're not putting the innocents in any real danger.

One gunman runs out of ammo and moves to reload. Another. And suddenly the last few with ammunition in their weapons have worse problems as a male twin to the first hero arrives, doing things best left unsaid until the paramedics arrive.

The reloading pair turn to look at the new event. Blanch under their masks. Turn back to their original target and find that bewhiskered face less than a foot from their own, two fists coming straight for their limited field of vision, and then they're bouncing off the desks with mild concussions. And the room is suddenly still save for the sound of a baby in the background.

Wildcat has his hands full pressing a towel on an exit wound until the EMTs arrive. That's a relief. He's no doctor but he fought crime with one for several years. Doc Mid-Nite made the JSA learn first aid. Plus he spent plenty of time in ERs himself. Finally when the EMTs give him a thumbs up he can look around. His eyes widen when he sees what Cassandra is wearing. It didn't register when he came crashing in. He looks like he's about to say something but doesn't. then he points to her and makes a follow me finger crook and steps out of the building making for the back alleys at his best speed.

Cassandra Cain slides in to the ground next to Wildcat on her knees, checking the victim over by looking at the person. The order to follow me isn't ignored, it's just waylaid until she's certain that Wildcat has saved the life. Then she pats the person gently and hoofs it outside, vanishing before anyone can cheer or try to shoot at her again, as some of the guards seem to be considering picking up their guns again. Silly really. She shows up after Wildcat, wherever he's gone. Back alley?

Wildcat is waiting by the famous (?) Cat-o-cycle. Actually it's a plain HD painted black. He likes to ride it as Ted sometimes. He puts a helmet on and hands Cassandra one. Then he gets on the bike his body language very clear even to someone without Movement Reading.

Cassandra Cain has never seen the Cat cycle herself but is certain that it's been seen many times with fear and loathing by criminals around the world. She's never actually seen many of the Batmobiles either, doesn't watch tv or read history books. Still.

So, on with the helmet and Cassandra tugs up on her boots to make sure they don't slip. A little loose in the heels; they weren't made for her after all and she'd slipped a bit in them in that fight. Cassandra Cain gets on the bike.

Wildcat is silent as the pair ride over the bridge into Jersey and take the highway through Bludhaven. He turns off onto a side road that seems little used. There's a tingle as they pass through something. Ted felt it many times. There's spells here and worse than spells to keep intruders out. He stops and hits the kickstand and kills the engine. Wildcat hops off the bike and motions for Cassandra to follow him down a leafy path. His helmet is left behind.

Cassandra Cain walks behind Wildcat, trying her head. Left, right. Tilt forward, back. Helmet on her head, she's apparently trying her range of motion with the thing on her skull. She taps herself on top of the helmet, then once a little harder. She pulls the helmet off, slipping the mask off of her skull as well so she can see, and walks while she squeezes the helmet testing it for structural endurance. She's curious about little things.

Monument stones rise beyind the path. Each has an epitaph but more importantly a statue of the person interred beneath. Wildcat gestures at the place. "You know what this place is for?"

Cassandra Cain tilts her head to the right as she looks around the area. She hunches down and inspects a monument, her body very still now. There's no curiosity in her movements; she knows a grave when she sees one, and she sets down the helmet quietly. If ever there was a respect and reverence, apparently it is for the dead in her little heart. She lets her eyes come up to Wildcat's, though her body stays down near that randomly chosen monument.

Wildcat goes over to the monument statue depicting a stocky man in a full facemask and cape and drapes his arm over the figure's shoulders as if meeting a long lost brother. "Hi buddy. Sorry I been away." He rubs some dust off the statue's head. He steps over to the statue next in line depicting someone looking very like Wonder Woman bearing a sword. This time he rests his hand on the pedestal a moment and takes a small rock and places it on the foundation next to a pile of similar pebbles. He smiles ruefully. "Polly never liked flowers. She said throw rocks at her headstone. It'd serve her right for being stupid and getting killed. We worked out this compromise." He abruptly pulls his mask back. Then he steps over to the next stone and says, "Come here, ass kicker. I want to introduce you."

Cassandra Cain stands up in a motion practiced so many times it seems as if she's lifted from the earth, not rising under her own power. And yet, just standing up. Simple things. She stands behind Wildcat, slightly to the right side so she can see, but this will never be a time for her to fool around. She turns to inspect the squiggles on the epitaph, the usual unreadable mess. "Father?" She asks.

Wildcat shakes his head. "My brother by another mother. Atom. Al Pratt. My best friend. This one though is the woman whose costume you're wearing a copy of. Yolanda Montez, my Goddaughter. The second Wildcat. I want you to know whose costume you're wearing without asking."

Cassandra Cain gets a few words out of what Wildcat says. Most of it isn't anger, I'd guess. A little bit maybe. She tilts her head the other way as she watches Wildcat talk about his family. A hand appears on his shoulder as Cassandra touches him, her eyes concerned. "All die," she says with obvious care for her words since they weren't slurred or backwards. "You...fight" and she pauses to think, then taps his skull with a finger. "here. You live, they all die. You ask why?" That took a lot of thought, it was slow and painful but she got it out.

Wildcat shakes his head. "No. I ask, 'When?' I'm tired. I'm lonely. I'm just a guy in a cat suit for God's sake. But ... I wanted you to see whose suit you are wearing. But I think she'd approve. i think she'd like you. I like you. Keep it. Maybe you'll be a better Wildcat than we were."

"Never."

Just once, Cassandra looks Wildcat in the eyes with what seems to be total understanding. Then her eyes wander again, but for a moment there she got it. From body language, from bits of words chopped in her mind, but she understood what he was saying. And her answer was clear. Then she's her usual confused self again, searching to find a way, and she looks at the statue of the person she's wearing the costume of reverently in the falling light.

Wildcat finally cracks a smile at that. He throws his arm around Cassandra or WIldkitt or whatever the Hell she'll call herself. Keep the costume or dress like a bat. Doesn't matter. Hopefully he doesn't trigger any self defense moves as he squeezes her tight. "Don't . Die. Okay?"

Cassandra Cain makes no promises, which is probably for the best. She's got many things in her future. After a moment's squeezing she does however flip him to the ground by the wrist, almost amusedly, and takes off with a laugh.