Travis phases through the wall of their apartment. Living with a Green Lantern isn't allowed to be normal. Sometimes he's gone for a few days at a time, just up and disappearing, coming back dirty and exhausted, but a little more content. Today, its just a grocery run though, several bags in tow behind him, along with a dozen roses.
Bette calls out from the bedroom, having had a very long night... morning... however long period of time and she's just finished getting some sort of sleep but probably not enough.
All of the groceries put themselves away. He's gotten the hang of this by now, and actually remembers where everything goes. The roses, on the other hand, float into the bedroom before him. "Good morn... err, good afternoon Sunshine." he replies as he wanders in after the floating boquet. "Sleep well?"
The first noise that comes from the room is not a pleasant one. Apparently she's still waking up. Then she sees the roses. "Oh.. That's... Thank you." She looks very rumpled, still pushing herself up off the bed as he comes into the room.
Flamebird drops into a position something like a one armed push-up. The other hand is throwing a small ball toward the oncoming force. The net is small but the electric charge is carries is substantial.
The sonic wave flips the tank over onto its side, and the smaller armored vehicles trailing behind it swerve wildly. Flamebird's device strikes the grille of the leading vehicle, and the driver swears.
"Language," chides the Canary in mock disapproval before her voice lashes out again.
"Why are we fighting tanks by ourselves again? Can you remind me why we're using the crazy bastard plan instead of, you know, something rational?" Flamebird pops up from the ground to run toward the vehicles before leaping to the air, extending a leg in a flying kick for the driver of the lead vehicle.
"OH! Family jewels!" Roy chuckles to himself as he dashes past the two combatants he's just downed. He did warn them not to run, but nobody ever stops to think about their movement and arrow trajectory, noooo.
Then again, these guys can't have too much brainpower, trying to drown an entire damn city for ransom in the locale of Titans South America. From here, Roy can even see the ringleader; who apparently can see him, as well. "Hey hot stuff! A ha--!"
Roy goes feet-up as the ground underneath him quacks and then shoves him forward.
Flamebird doesn't lose her footing but it is a close thing. It does, however, throw off her aim as she's throwing the bird-a-rang. It totally misses where she wanted it to go - ending up hitting an entirely different thus in the knee.
"META!" As if that wasn't already obvious. Roy rolls upright from the fall, hearing the *crackle* in his kneecap as he does. Damnit, that's going to hurt later. He knows that sound well enough as heavily bruised cartilage.
He's up and aiming for the lead-man, unfortunately there's an entourage of more meat-heads that need arrows through their legs before he gets to him. There's another grouping of four to his left, advancing. A step closer to Bette and he gives her hip a little squeeze. "You wanna make the day of the four at 9 o'clock, or grab the bodyguards before we get to El Supremo up there?"
The lighting down here never changes. It's always on the dimmer side of pale, though the workstation has its own luminescent glow; and the cases holding Jason's and Stephanie's Robin costumes retain their own illumination.
The cowled figure is in place there now, poring over information like a shark goes through chum.
A motorcycle skids into place near the Batmobile and a figure in a dark costume hops off. No helmet. Not surprising. Footsteps are audible heading toward the cowled figure at the computer.
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Sometimes he's gone for a few days at a time, just up and disappearing, coming back dirty and exhausted, but a little more content. Today, its just a grocery run though, several bags in tow behind him, along with a dozen roses.
"Anyone home?"
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Bette calls out from the bedroom, having had a very long night... morning... however long period of time and she's just finished getting some sort of sleep but probably not enough.
Reply
The roses, on the other hand, float into the bedroom before him. "Good morn... err, good afternoon Sunshine." he replies as he wanders in after the floating boquet. "Sleep well?"
Reply
The first noise that comes from the room is not a pleasant one. Apparently she's still waking up. Then she sees the roses. "Oh.. That's... Thank you." She looks very rumpled, still pushing herself up off the bed as he comes into the room.
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"Language," chides the Canary in mock disapproval before her voice lashes out again.
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Then again, these guys can't have too much brainpower, trying to drown an entire damn city for ransom in the locale of Titans South America. From here, Roy can even see the ringleader; who apparently can see him, as well. "Hey hot stuff! A ha--!"
Roy goes feet-up as the ground underneath him quacks and then shoves him forward.
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Flamebird doesn't lose her footing but it is a close thing. It does, however, throw off her aim as she's throwing the bird-a-rang. It totally misses where she wanted it to go - ending up hitting an entirely different thus in the knee.
"What the hell?"
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He's up and aiming for the lead-man, unfortunately there's an entourage of more meat-heads that need arrows through their legs before he gets to him. There's another grouping of four to his left, advancing. A step closer to Bette and he gives her hip a little squeeze. "You wanna make the day of the four at 9 o'clock, or grab the bodyguards before we get to El Supremo up there?"
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Bette winks at Roy before stepping away from him, "I'll take the four and meet you so we can feel the world move?"
She doesn't give him a chance to answer before she's flipping toward the group of big burly men off to the left.
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There was no sign of activity until a silhouette was visible in the kitchen, rummaging, apparently looking around the room.
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Bette has something in her hand behind her back as she approaches from the darker portion of the house. "You rea- Gar?"
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Thankfully his reflexes were still good.
He was scruffier now, stubble from his cheeks to his neck, hair a longer mess, a small scar or three adorning his face.
Slowly lowering the weapon, but not removing it, he sighed in weary annoyance.
"Jesus Bette, I thought you were outta town?"
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Bette looks at the gun for a moment before looking at Gar, "So. What were you planning here, exactly?"
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The cowled figure is in place there now, poring over information like a shark goes through chum.
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The footsteps stop just behind the chair.
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