No Rest. {Nightwing}

[Helena Bertinelli]

For a city that had lost a large portion of its inhabitants and fallen into ruin, Gotham was playing host to a surprisingly active nightlife. The scum that ran the city needed to have its playtime, afterall, and at night they had the whole city to themselves. The remaining upstanding citizens retreated to the safety of their beds as dusk fell, even the cops. There was no point in putting oneself in a ridiculously dangerous situation by strolling the unlit streets; laws could be enforced only in daylight (and even then only loosely). Night was when the mobsters made their deals, signed away people's lives, and plotted to destroy with a handshake.

At night, the only things standing against them were the masked phantoms that Gothamites had learned to place their trust in over the past months of desolation. So The Huntress sat in a darkly shadowed fire escape, watching the comings and goings of criminals, waiting for one in particular. He should emerge from the "club" any time now. He had to if he hopes to be on time for his appointment in The Narrows; and she would follow him.

The Huntress was an entity apart from the other vigilantes, though most of Gotham didn't realize it. Often people referred to her as a "new Batgirl", but they couldn't be further from the truth. She was not a part of the "Bat-family", even if she'd wanted to be, and she never would be be, even with Batman vanished as he was. Robin, Oracle, even Nightwing with his independent spirit, held noble beliefs she couldn't ever possibly share. Though they didn't condemn her as Batman had, calling her too dangerous and violent to be allowed, they knew she was in a league of her own.

At times, Huntress did crave the acceptance and support of those other costumed silhoetes who seemed to think and feel as she did, who also waged wars on crime for reasons locked in their own souls; perhaps she could have a partner to rely on instead of simply occasional aid, perhaps she could learn to be patient and calm as they were. But then, Helena Bertinelli would remind herself why she clashed with the Batman and those he had trained.

When all was said and done and they had a criminal, a killer, a villain completely caught...they cuffed them and sent them to the courts. From there the next stop was Blackgate or Arkham, but it didn't matter. Ultimately, they would be back on the streets. If they weren't released on "good behavior", they escaped, which was ridiculously easy to do nowadays with both institutions partially in ruins. Inevitably, they would destroy more lives, commit more crimes; what was the use of locking them away? Well, true, they didn't all escape, (how often had Nightwing told her this?) but then what was their fate? They sat lazily on a prison cot for the rest of their lives while the people they had killed rotted in a cold grave. It was unnacceptable. So, whenever she could avoid the interference of the others, The Huntress killed those she caught. She often wondered at the fact that she hadn't been arrested yet, so disturbed were Gotham's dark knights by her actions. Yet, they never even truly turned their backs on her. Nightwing in particular never failed in returning to her, always determined to have her see the error of her ways. Didn't she know that true justice involves mercy? Didn't she see that having compassion for criminals was what could truly disarm them? Didn't she realize that by killing in retaliation she was lowering herself to the level of those she killed? Somehow he seemed to understand her, see where she was coming from with her anger and bitterness and she relished that strange feeling of having something in common. However, Helena could never really accept what he told her. She saw the obvious logic in his statements, but her mind fought against him.

So, tonight, the Huntress was hot on the trail of her latest prey. She would stalk him as he left the club, well-fed and tipsy. She would use fear to coax him into some isolated spot. Then, she would kill Martin Lorreni.

----------
Words: 709
Outfit: huntress gear.
Comments: written for the last site, reposting because the thread never went anywhere but I loved this starter! (and I'm a little lazy)

[Dick Grayson]

I was in Gotham, completely alone, or so I thought. I was running along the rooftops, surveying the streets with a look of dismay. It was insane, criminals all over the place, in alleys and bars and even looting shop windows. There was no way in hell that I could even try to clean this mess up, my god, where was Batman? Where was Robin? At least I knew Oracle was still here at my back if needed. The streets were rioting, joyous under the illusion that Batman wasn’t here. I didn’t want to believe that though. I’m sure he was somewhere drawing up some battle plan with Robin, waiting for the right moment to strike and put them all back behind bars.

These criminals had no fear, not when there was no big black hella scary bat coming to chase them down, which made my life twice as difficult. I sighed, balancing upon a ledge above the country club, my stance graceful but powerful. Scanning the shadows with my eyes I saw something move down below, changing to night vision I was shocked to see the Huntress down below. Not so alone after all then. Yet I was a little concerned, concerned that she was here simply to make a kill rather to bring a person to justice.

In a way she was little different to Jason Todd, I think they’d almost get along. “The punishment fits the crime.” Wasn’t that Jason’s reasoning? He was quite happy to murder a murderer, or any criminal in fact. It just made my stomach churn. Who were we to chose the punishment? Who made us judge, jury and executioner? We had no right. We play by the rules and in return the police have our back. We are detectives not killers. I just hoped to god that he wasn’t in the city as well, it’s like he lives to make my life harder.

With a forward double twist I landed down in front of her and crossed my arms in front of me with one raised eyebrow. “Behaving yourself I hope.” I said in a light tone, moving into the shadows with her to look at what ever she was watching. The entrance to the club.

My blue eyes gleaming at her through the black mask that adorned my face, a symbol of who I was, the sharp edges only making my hair look wilder than it really was. My tight black and blue costume blended in perfectly with the night as though I was only a figment of an imagination of any passer by.

So very glad I didn’t have a cape though. As flashy as they look, they’re a pain in the ass. They get in the way, throw you off balance, they un-steam line the person wearing them. As much as it seems cool to glide down from somewhere, that really wasn’t my kind of thing. That was Batman’s thing. I like to backflip and somersault and twist down from the rooftops, not glide like a big old stuffy bat or a dainty Robin. I had improved so much fighting wise since I had ditched the cape, I was sleeker, quicker, more accurate. Not only that but it made me feel unique, unattached from my mentor. How many heroes don’t have a cape?

It’s really not about the flamboyancy statement of a cape though, you’re no less a crime fighter if you don’t wear a cape, and you’re no more of one if you do. All it matters is that you bring some sort of justice to world. If I could do that without my mask and in civilian clothes, then why not? I don’t need the costumes. The criminals do though, they need their enemies in a costume, a costumed enemy strikes fear in their hearts. If they have hearts.

“Anyone special you’re waiting for?” I joked, as though insinuating that she might have a date.

[Helena Bertinelli]

Helena surpressed a jump of surprise as the darkly clad figure landed almost noiselessly in front of her. She'd become quite good at looking like nothing phased her and, as such, the only movement she made was to jerk her head up to look at the young man who now looked down at her bemusedly. She stood up quickly, years of training and an unquenchable sense of self-preservation making her nearly phobic of being somehow caught at a disadvantage.
Behaving yourself I hope."
Now there was a loaded question. Essentially, it was more of a declaration, and the look in the black-rimmed-blue eyes said everything he meant with that deceptively nonchalant phrase. What he meant was, 'are you after someone'? And, 'I hope you think before you act'. She returned his questioning gaze with a hard, unemotional one. She had work to do, important work whether he saw it that way or not, and she wasn't going to be preached to tonight. Huntress looked away, forcing herself to ignore the devilishly disheveled black hair and pushing away thoughts pondering who the hell was under that mask. Instead, she forced herself to think of the reason she was there.

She returned her attention back to the door of the club as he melted into the shadows next to her. She balled her hands into fists and stretched her fingers a few times, a habit that she employed in an attempt to concentrate and ignore Nightwing completely. The duality she felt towards him was palpable and nearly frustrating enough to make her scream. At the same time, she wanted him to stay the fuck away from her, and join her on her missions. She wanted him to shut up and let her work, and she wanted him to keep talking in that endearingly sardonic tone. She wanted him to stop preaching about "true justice", "judge and jury" and she wanted him to keep trying to talk her out of killing. She wanted to know who he was, to see his real face...and she wanted him to stay out of her face forever. Helena took a slow breath and focused on the dilapidated club.

"As a matter of fact, I am waiting for someone," she said this with no hint of amusement in her voice and paused to be certain that he understood his attempt at a joke was not accepted or appreciated, "His name is Lorreni, Martin. Small-time mob scum. Mostly stuck to bookkeeping and petty bullying in the past, but last week the boss gave him a promotion."

She stopped speaking abruptly as the door of the club swung open, releasing a deluge of loud music and raucous voices into the night air. Helena leaned forward, balancing on the balls of her feet, every nerve in her body wound tight in preparation to spring into action. As her eyes strained to make out the figure in the subtle green glow of the neon beer signs next to the door her mind was busy planning out her first moves; jump from the fire escape, a roll and two quick steps to be behind him, a kick to the knee, he'd already be turning around, duck two (maybe three) punches, step right, a jab to the ribs, he's too drunk to retaliate, he runs, pursue...but before she could plan any further the man in the doorway turned his face into the pool of light, and it was not Martin Lorreni. No doubt this man had done his fair share of evil, but Lorreni was tonight's agenda and she hated to deviate from a set course.

"Two weeks ago, Friday, Lorreni walked right into one of those appartment buildings in midtown. You know, those dumps that only have half of their floors intact and can only turn the lights on three nights a week? Well, he walks right in, which wasn't a challenge even for a moron like him since the locks are all broken or missing. He goes to an appartment owned by a man named Louis Stater, a poor slob who's been scrambling for any job he can get since the quake, but has been having a hard time of it with a wife and two kids. So he got in with the mob out of desperation. Now, he owed them cash he didn't have, Maroni's men were on him day and night...so he considered going to the cops, just to keep his family safe. It wasn't like the cops would actually do anything to hurt the big bosses, but it didn't matter. They sent Lorreni in. Stater wasn't home, so he shot the mother and two kids. They got Louis three days later." she paused again. Helena's voice had grown sharper and faster as she spoke, the hatred and disgust boiling painfully in her chest. She looked sharply at Nightwing, "Now, tell me that man doesn't deserve to get his comeuppance. Tell me he doesn't deserve a bullet of his own. Chi la fa l'aspetti. It's logical."

----------
Words: 847
Tags: cool hair, illiteration, italian proverbs ftw!, conflicted helena, angry helena
Inspiration: Sherlock Holmes' (from the new movie) knack for planning fight scenes before they happen :o)

[/size]

[Dick Grayson]

I was unfazed by her lack of appreciation for my sense of humour. You should try growing up around Bruce Wayne, it’s like trying to get water out of a stone, I can tell you. I just gave her a dazzling devilish grin in reply to her cold expression. Even though her methods aren’t completely ethical and by the book, she definitely was beautiful in a strange sort of a dark raging way. Truthfully, I gulp a little nervously around women, not that I’d let anyone notice. I can kick a six foot man’s ass but put a curvaceous woman in front of me and I freeze up. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not exactly a prude either, I’ve had my fair share of women.

My eyes went hard at the mention that this man had killed a family but I shook my head exasperated, my back leaning flat against the grimy brick wall behind me. “He doesn’t deserve to die.” I held my hand up before she could retaliate. “Death is too easy a way out. Once their dead their dead and they learn absolutely nothing. Not only that but it makes us just as low as them. I could have killed the man that murdered my parents, but I didn’t because I wanted him to rot in a jail cell for life. They don’t all break out, they aren’t all escape artists like the nut cases in Arkham and if they do escape, we put them back. Killing is wrong, Huntress, it makes you a murderer just like them.”

“Okay, you’re not murdering women and children but some of these criminals have families, it’s not the families fault that their brother, sister, father, uncle or mother is a murderer, if you kill them they won’t be able to ever see them again, if you put them in jail at least they’ll get to see them on visits. You might even be creating more criminals by killing. These family members that have their relatives taken away from them without a trial, surely they will just grow up to be a criminal themselves, out for revenge and vengeance because things weren’t done the right way.” I rubbed my forehead, there were just too many complications that came with the Huntress’ way of thinking. Not to mention it was against every moral I’d ever had.

I watched as she tensed every time she watched someone walk from the club, rocking forward on her feet until eventually I stood in front of her, blocking her view of the entrance of the club. “You do know I’m not going to let you kill that man, right?” I said deadly serious, my eyes sparking with warning. No one dies on my watch, I’d fight her if I had to. “Let’s just hand him over to the cops.” It was that option or I’d let him get away while I was busy taking down the Huntress. “How are you planning on murdering him anyway? Beating him to death? That’s humane.” I said sarcastically.

I stood there like an immovable rock, looking her up and down, I’d block her if she tried to move round me. “Where’s the line, Huntress? So you kill criminals easily. Then one day, a civilian gets in your way, it risks you losing a criminal you’ve been hunting for months and you’ve only got this one chance to stop this mass murderer. Would you kill the civilian too? Just a casualty of war, someone who got in the firing line. Maybe one day you’ll be past caring.” I put my hands on her shoulders, keeping her place, probably only angering her to a volatile point.

“Would you kill another vigilante that got in your way?” I asked her. “Maybe one day you would. How do you know you’re going to be able to stop yourself? When I first became...” I almost said Robin for a moment, I wasn’t sure if she was aware of that. “...a vigilante, I let my fighting get out of control, I almost killed another hero, one from the Justice League. It’s imprinted upon my memory like a scar. It’s easy to get out of control.” I didn’t trust her control, I didn’t trust any killers control, they give in too easy to the option of disposing someone.