Cassandra (predicted) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-10-25 02:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | batgirl, catwoman |
Who: Quinn and Eve
What: Backdated a bit, a late encounter
Where: Rainier Valley
When: About a week or so ago.
Warnings: None. Just Quinn and Eve bein Quinn and Eve.
After the sun went down, Quinn could bring herself to spread her wings and go. Her version of healing was different than Gwen's, of course. A wish to sit idly aside while the wounds closed and the pain faded, but she never seemed to take in to account Quinn's drive to push herself. After all, she did need practice rather than patience. If not, she'd feel like she was gathering dust on a shelf they had placed her on. The world kept turning, the streets were still filled with people looking to make a quick dollar on someone else's pain.
Finding herself among the alleys and darkened roadways of Rainier Valley again, Quinn had been careful. A bandanna covered the lower half of her face when she needed it -- muggers never expected what they thought a waif of a girl could do. She'd be a liar if she said she didn't get a feeling of satisfaction of a fist connecting to a jaw or the honest thanks she received from girls who reminded her too much of Wren. She handed the girl her purse back, eyes never leaving the girl's and gave her a quiet, "You're welcome."
This was all good practice for when she would be back properly. She turned to walk down the alleyway, rounding a corner to tug the bandanna down from her face. If anyone had seen her heroics, she would just be careful the next time.
A gang's turf was a gang's turf: Rainer Valley didn't hold much in it to steal and there were far too many young people holding a gun and feeling like gods because of it for Eve's liking -- a hospital trip was a set-back even these days and whoever said scars were interesting was trying to make like scars weren't a result of plain stupidity -- but it was a stop on the run home and a visit to an area that had the types who'd use her service, if it ever got running. Running roof-tops was harder here: tiles more likely to skid, an unevenness of buildings that made jumping that little bit too much effort for no reward -- and reward was the thing. Wrapping up the end of the night, Eve's mask was tucked into a pocket, hands shoved away and strolling the street as though it weren't late night and the only people out were too stupid to know the dangers and those who preyed on them.
A staggered cry, too familiar to be anything but some female accosted, taught the dangers of being out alone and late -- but cut off, too short, too quick, no standard play-out of responding voices. Speeding up, Eve caught the tail-end of what was mini-vigilante-ism on the down-low and by the kid who had been in hospital only a minute ago, taken whilst bleeding out on her damn jacket -- already hitting the streets, did no one keep the munchkins locked up and under control.
"Don't think that's standard recuperation and physical therapy, kitten." No mask: young as she'd remembered although less bloody around the edges. 'Healthy' was a good look for her.
Quinn turned her attention toward the voice, a slight furrowed brow of annoyance crossing her face at being called 'kitten'. It took a moment for her to place a name with a face, the words coming as slow as usual. She hadn't seen the woman she heard called Eve since before she sank into unconsciousness on a gurney. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Quinn lifted her shoulders in a shrug as her thankful damsel left with all her belongings. If Eve hadn't been there, Quinn would've chased where the would-be mugger had ran off to.
"In neighborhood," the lie was easy to say with an impassive face. "Couldn't not help."
"Aren't you supposed to be on ...bed-rest?" The last experience she'd had of hospitals, of the kind of injuries that warranted doctors and nurses damn scurrying to help, the girl in question had needed weeks. This one, this little nothing of a girl who stood there as nonchalant as if it had been years rather than days since she'd been hur -- shot. She'd been shot - she was doing it, this helping-people-thing as though it were a compulsion that had her up and out.
"I'm sure you were." It was a readiness to ask why the kid was out looking for trouble that had Eve dig her own hands into her back pockets, stand a little wider, steadier -- shit, first one kid, now another? Two too many.
"Better," Quinn snorted a little, waving her hand dismissively at the question. If the doctors put her on bed rest, she would've rabbit punched the doctor straight shot in the nose. Her opinion was if she was able to move without blinding pain, then she was ready to be back on her feet. "Been some time." A roll of her shoulders in a shrug was about as much an explanation as she felt like handing to the other woman.
There was a tense pause before Quinn spoke up again, "Thanks. For before. The hospital." With a tilt of her head, Quinn continued, "Appreciated."
"Yeah, about that." The thanks slid past Eve, uncomfortable enough with the acknowledgment of what had happened, of sitting in a waiting-room giving a shit whether this kid survived or not when she didn't know her name -- thanks were foreign, like speaking another language. But still -- "You killed my jacket." It was an attempt at lightness, a bounce in the voice that was reflected in the way the mouth quirked up -- Eve didn't do seriousness, not for long.
"Bled all over it. Your..." Aunt? Mother? The redhead hadn't looked old enough to parent this pint-sized mask, nor the right ...ethnic origin, but the way things were around here, it wouldn't be surprising if something wasn't up. "Whatever she was -- does she know you're back to exploring all Seattle has to offer in the way of entertainment?"
It was like the attempt at lightness passed straight over Quinn's head. She quirked her head to the side, regarding Eve with confusion. If she ruined the jacket, then she'd have to replace it. Quinn shrugged off her own leather jacket, holding it out to Eve. "Jacket for a jacket?" she offered, looking almost hopeful that it'd be enough for reciprocation.
Quinn pressed her lips together, furrowing her brow. Oracle didn't know about her being back out here. All Oracle knew is she had a new friend in Wren, who she just happened to spend a lot of evening time with. It possibly was suspicious, but Oracle was usually too busy with Bats now to pay her as much attention. When the Bats called, she had to answer and Quinn was left to her own devices. Unfortunately for Oracle, her own devices lead her to be out on the streets looking for her own entertainment. "No," she told Eve, "She's busy."
Eve's blank look at the jacket held out was one that took some time to pass -- then amusement registered, and she looked at the sorry offering that fit a skinny little kid and wouldn't come close to the baby-skin soft and beaten one that had been sacrificed in the pursuit of saving her ass, "Keep it," she said, lips twitching with an attempt at seriousness that didn't work particularly well. But with 'busy' came a slip-slide look of irritation that didn't settle well on a face that had a thousand ways of falling into mirth. Busy? Did none of these supposed adults, would-be caretakers actually watch over their ducklings, or just expect everyone else to clear the little lambs out of prospective wolfish paths?
"Considering you bled all over me the last time, pumpkin, colour me apprehensive that you're out and about so quickly." Light, sweet in a way that wasn't sweet at all, Eve sounded more careless than she was.
With a shrug, Quinn put her jacket back on. If Eve didn't want it, then she wouldn't force the woman to take it. A jacket was just a jacket, after all. She could go through donation boxes for another if she needed to. Grocery stores still had jacket donation boxes in front of them sometimes. Quinn tapped where the bullet entered, not even registering a flinch. "Doesn't hurt," she explained. "Not quick. Just practice."
After all, she was saving up the real heroics for when Wren came through with her suit. Eve didn't need to know that though. "Staying away," she continued, "No masks. For now."
For now, that sounded real familiar. So did getting antsy and restless enough to want to be out, doing things before 'doing things' ought to be done, but because climbing the walls was the only other option. Eve hesitated, a spindle-thin moment between caring and not, and that hesitation swayed and swung the scales before she'd even noticed it.
"Just practice." Eve looked at Quinn with a sweeping, assessing sort of glance that took in the bravado and skinny-little-girl and the something else no doubt beneath short words and an old jacket that made up that nonchalance about running streets littered with crime. "You any good?" Another kid out causing trouble, one that thought they could take care of themselves and caused further problems... especially one that had taken a bullet and came parceled up with the concern of a redhead on wheels and a bossy little professional. Eve's sigh was a gust of breath, her hands on her hips. No normal kids left in Seattle, who were interested in boys and drinking and smoking, rather than taking out muggers, then?
Quinn doubted a lot of people could understand where she was coming from unless they had been there. Without movement came atrophy for Quinn, without the streets and alleys was nothing Quin could relate to. The evaluating look from Eve struck an annoyance within her, though, as the way older vigilantes had looked at them at the meeting. They hadn't asked to see any skills in action, rather just looked at the girl and wrote her off.
"Damn good," Quinn spoke with confidence about her abilities. Only Robin so far knew of her ability, what she could actually do on this side of the portal. Still, Quinn had been confident about what she could do without the ability as well. "Better than most."
The confidence rang true in the empty alley, a hallmark stamped on words that Eve could recognize for what it was. There was always a promise of a smile at the corners of Eve's mouth, a hint of laughter but now it rang out -- alongside a grin for a kid as cocksure as herself. For all of them, Robin and Wren and the other ducklings, this one seemed most aware of what the streets had in them, all the nasty secrets they promised.
"Trained?" Even the thought of gym floors and hitting them one too many times for enjoyment, the work put in on something for the first time that wasn't wiggling through gaps and squeezing through spaces she ought not to be -- gyms didn't teach street-smarts, though. Only the world itself taught that. With a little added enhancements, you felt invincible.
"Lived it," she jerked her thumb at the darkened alleys behind her. It was more training than the other young vigilantes had, which spoke volumes in the difference she felt between her and the others. She had been on the other side of the equation and moved herself to this side, which was more than what the birds or other teens in masks could say. Quinn knew how to fight on the streets, use the alleys and dark for her advantage beyond her god given abilities. "Could show," it was an offer.
Without prepping herself in any sort of defensive stance, Quinn beckoned the woman. "Try hit me." The emphasis was on 'try', to show why she was more capable than they gave her credit for. To show that the girl in front of her was a small package, but the potential of being lethal was there.
The streets didn't come with crash mats: the silver-glint of moonlight was the only illumination and Eve's grin was too wide-white but she 'tried' -- for the sake of a young girl who knew of the alleyways and dark places as familiar, saw them as a playground, a training ground. It wasn't an attack: nothing flashy or showy, just a simple attempt to get into the kid's space, right close where a knife blade could snick out and bite a vein. Movement slid between the shadows, using them as a veil: it was faster than humans normally managed and somehow sleeker.
The movement may have been fast for a human, but under Quinn's watchful eyes it seemed like slow motion. Her brain fired and processed the movement before Eve even brought back her arm fully. Her hand shot out, grabbing Eve's wrist and twisting it back in disarming her imaginary knife. Her hands were surprisingly gentle for the quick flashes of movement, but her fist was up and swung close to Eve's face. She stopped it midair, an inch of space between knuckles and jaw. She was equally as fast as Eve, perhaps a little faster.
"That," Quinn said seriously, "is how I do."
Eve was laughing, all soft breath and a kind of admiration behind it that just came through in the glitter-green eyes and the sharp smile. There weren't many faster than her, not here on the streets where it counted. There weren't many who were thin and cut from alleyways and night-sky and who stood bravado-shabby and professed to be 'damn good' and then back it up with blade-quick movement. She batted away the hand and she folded her arms and she looked at Quinn with the measured assessment of adult-to-adult. This one, she could handle herself.
"You do, don'tcha, pumpkin?" Eve's voice was silk and hard calculation in one. "But you took a bullet when you could have just knocked her down. Don't play the hero if you can help it, kid," the word was a substitute for a name now, not a derision, "There are better ways of getting what you want. And a martyr isn't anything but dead."
Quinn took a step back, giving Eve a proper space and looked up at her with an even look. It was almost mirrored movement, folding her arms in front of her. Quinn decided she liked Eve, probably more than the older vigilantes. Earning the respect was something you knew to do out on the streets, this woman understood. When the topic of the bullet came up, Quinn shrugged her shoulders. "Risk higher to push," she tried to explain. Wren was well enough in the way that pushing her down may've opened her more to the bullet fire. "Don't usually. But. Owed her. Save her made even."
A favor for a favor. It would have been a big one, to owe a life, but Eve understood the exchange of things owed and wanting them repaid -- when all you had was a gray sense of honor and your self, that part of you that was unencumbered by other people, what was owed was too much to bear. The reflection, skinny kid to fleshed out adult was something that didn't pass by unnoticed by Eve -- a shard of humor passed across her face, and her head canted, listening to the cadence of street-talk and street-sentiment.
"I understand," she said, simple because it needed no other words. "Going to gatherings is the fastest way to start owing people." This was another would-be vigilante whose face she now knew but whose name she didn't. Eve looked at her, even. Steady. "You got a name?" she asked, because names were currency for criminals as well as heroes and a name was not her name, not unless she chose it. "Eve," she said, because she chose to give it (that she had no other was not something to consider)
"Maybe," Quinn said with another roll of her shoulders. It was the closest someone would get her to admit that maybe racking up debts with vigilantes would happen. Debts that'd need to be paid, which meant she was in this for the long run. "But worth it." The sentiment laced the short phrase to show she did think it was worth it's weight.
There was a brief pause, regarding the older woman. This woman, Eve, earned her the truth, at least not 'Nobody' and her actual name. Taking her to the hospital and understanding the streets was enough. "Name's Quinn," Quinn looked serious as she stuck her hand out to Eve. It was an offer of an understanding truce, where they both understood each other in some way. "Thanks. For hospital."
"You were for Wren," Eve said, with that same simplicity. A favor earned, a favor paid. Whether Wren considered it as such didn't matter -- the hospital run, the hospital stay until a redhead on wheels showed up to claim the battered body and bloodstained responsibility -- that had been for Wren and Eve was unapologetic about it. "Not your favor." Her half-smile was like someone almost-showing their knife on the street, a shine of a promise. It said 'you don't owe me anything' and that Eve bothered enough to say that rather than claiming false dues.
"Quinn." Tasting the name, and what went with it. Eve shrugged with fluid grace, rejecting stacking debts and duties owed. People were a cost that money couldn't pay for, not even when you had a lot of it. "If you say so, kitten." Laughter bubbling: Eve's mirth was never contained for long.
"Still." Even if Eve saw the debt to be paid or paid by their mutual acquaintance. Quinn felt partly responsible, at least for bleeding all over Eve's jacket. "Bled on coat." There was a little rough chuckle that followed it. Quinn was serious as the grave, which made her laughter and stilted smiles seem more awkward than not. Beneath the barest hint of light, Quinn looked away for a moment before her dark eyes turned back to Eve. The streets still called to her, humming a loud song for her feet to pound against the pavement in a rush.
"Should go." Quinn's grin was a knife flash in the dark. "Will be good. No trouble." Her version of trouble was more bouncing amongst the ruins of the back alleys. She gave Eve a nod, "No trouble either, yeah?"
"Yeah, you did," Eve acknowledged with a tilt of the head, and a rueful look down at what she was wearing. Not quite as soft -- luxurious, if you knew what you were looking at, the most expensive kind of leather jacket one could buy if you walked into the shop and demanded it -- but luxury couldn't beat leather into submission, couldn't bruise it with hard living and hard loving. Wasn't the same, ever. But Quinn's nod and little question made her laugh again, bright and hard beneath the moonlight with the kind of merriment that was all sharp and edges.
"I'm always trouble," she said, and she turned away from the kid in an alley and meandered home another route, one by way of rooftops to avoid another encounter. Enough with tiny vigilantes.