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Post by Helena Bertinelli on Aug 19, 2009 17:18:10 GMT -5
It's difficult to recognize how much comfort something provides until it's no longer there. Streetlights, for instance. No one really thinks about how nice it is to have those evenly spaced, oblong shaped patches of light guiding you up and down streets once the sun sets. That is, until all (or at least most) of them are cracked, broken, malfunctioning, or disconnected. Then you start to realize what a significant role they played in your own personal ecosystem. With the loss of one component, the rest suffers and has to compensate. You're in a changed world just because some lights have gone out.
Helena truly wasn't afraid of the dark. She'd traine any such wariness out of herself by spending so many countless hours hunting in the blackness, using it as her ally. However, as she stole quietly down the alleys and sidestreets of Gotham, she had to admit she was acutely aware of the absence of electirc lights. Now, more so than in the daylight, the city seemed like a ghost town or some ancient relic of a lost civilization; and maybe it was. Just a few working lamps would have given the landscape some sense of life, but instead Helena felt like she was exploring some foreign world.
It was a particularly dark night to begin with; there had been heavy cloud cover all day. the neon signs and lit appartment windows that were the only possible sources of light cast strange shadows in the small areas they illuminated. If you weren't sure of where you were going, you might have easily gotten turned around or lost. Thankfully, Helena had an exact adress to find and, if all else failed, a flashlight on her utility belt; though that would defeat the purpose of taking such care to go unnoticed. Not hat she'd seen a single soul yet that night. Anyone who wasn't looking for trouble was long since in bed. Which implied that Helena was looking for trouble. And, though she didn't know exactly what she would be doing tonight, she reasoned that finding "trouble" was probably part of the agenda.
Her destination, Mason Street, wasn't more than a few blocks from St. Hubertus', so she'd left her motorcycle at home and opted to head to the location on foot. It gave her an opportunity to think, which was welcome. She didn't have to worry too much about running into any thugs in this part of town, that sort of activty was usually confined to the downtown area and the Narrows. This, of course, led her to wonder why she had been instructed to meet with Oracle in a specific alley on such a quiet street. Was some mayhem planned there tonight? It honestly wouldn't surprise her. Sometimes she thought the mob must just be getting bored with getting whatever they wanted lately and as a result were causing trouble wherever and whenever they could. Of course, much of the mob related violence stemmed from conflict between the different crime families, but Helena didn't see it that way. To her the mob was the mob and the whole slimy, disgusting mess needed to ne exterminated.
Then again, there was the possibility that whatever was the matter tonight wasn't mob-related at all. In fact, now that she thought of it, that was a rather likely option. Firstly, the Rogues' Gallery could always be counted on to be plotting something, and secondly she had the distinct impression that the Bat Family was trying to keep her away from mob cases as much as possible. Not that it mattered. She was perfectly capable of hunting those bastards on her own. If one of the Rogues was part of Oracle's plans for the evening it would be an interesting night for sure.
Huntress slipped into the alley next to the abandoned clothing boutique on Mason Street ahead of schedule. Her watch read eleven fourty, she had five minutes to wait. She leaned back against the brick wall of the building and crossed her ankles.
"Well, here I am Oracle." she said quietly; mostly to herself but also knowing that the "all-knowing" vigilante could very likely be listening.
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