2012-12-11 Spy Game

The nights are starting to get awfully cold, darkness sweeping in at ever earlier hour. It's not a great night for someone to be camped out on the roof of a tall building, and yet someone happens to be doing just this. A lone woman lies prone atop a building overlooking the Gotham police station, shielded from the wind and cold by a heavy black leather trench. If the cold is bothering her any, she's not showing it. Instead her aim is rock steady, gazing through a high powered scope fixed to the top of a beastly looking marksman rifle. There aren't many souls crazy enough to do what she's doing right now in a city overlooked by so many masked vigilantes, but she's still taking the chance. Luck tends to favor her, and she's got a job to do.
"God, this is boring."
He'd seen her coming out of Finnegan's; the violent vigilante types typically can spot their own in a pinch, and she certainly is eyecatching to anyone who looks up. So as Jason left the police pub, hoping to pick up any juicy bits of gossip or rumor, he sees the seeming shooter. Still, his curiousity makes it such that he doesn't just call for help. Oh no, that would be too easy.
Instead, Jason ran behind the building, quickly grabbing his trademark helmet/mask, then his revolver and quickly scaled the building. He attempts to remain quiet until he's within striking distance of the would-be shooter, giving his gun a loud click, letting her know he has a bead on her. "Oh I don't know, I'm having a good time," he quips back.
The cold. The wind. So focused in her work. It's easy to overlook things, like faint sounds that might not belong. The dark-clad, white-skinned woman is so acutely focused in what lies at the other end of those crosshairs that she doesn't realize someone's there until it's too late. A tingly itch spreads from the back of her neck, her next breath catching in the back of her throat.
Click.
"You're late," Domino flatly replies with a tiny sigh. Alright, time for a break. She lowers the rifle until it's supported by the bipod and stock alone, yet she continues to keep her attention focused on the building several hundred yards out. "Which one of you cowled kids did I manage to snag this time?"
For his part, Jason's attention is firmly attached to the shooter, as he shakes his head head slightly at the question. "No cowl here," he stands his ground; he has the control of the situation, why risk that by giving her any kind of striking distance. "Strictly freelance, never been much of a team player. That said, you recently gave me a hand so figure I'd give you the benefit of the doubt, offer you a chance to explain exactly what the hell you think you're doing rather than drop you right here. But start taking; my patience is far from infinite, and that goes double for my sense of mercy."
A slight chuckle follows, Domino drawing in a long breath of chilled air. "No, of course not. Those guys don't get in the habit of packing double-action revolvers, do they." Hear that sound a few hundred times, one learns to place it well. If it were any other moment, she'd tell you to go ahead and pull the trigger. Guns have an uncanny habit of failing to fire when leveled in her direction. Instead, with the apparent benefit being granted, she's more curious as to who's on the other end of this one.
Dom pushes up from the roof, rising into a crouch before she looks back at you and the chunk of milled steel separating them both. "Oh hey, you look familiar. Rooftop, few nights back, unusual combination of a spotlight and a Commissioner?" That must be what you're referring to about having given you a hand before. How fortunate! "Alright," she starts in with arms lazily resting atop her thighs, "the best way any of this will make an ounce of sense to someone in your position is to say that I'm an acting guardian angel for the guy." More or less. "I'm not here to drop the guy." If that were the case she would have done it a long time ago and have disappeared by now.
It's hard to read the Hood. It's more or less featureless, and Jason has practiced keeping his body language physically neutral. The gun is still leveled at the woman for the moment as she gives her explanation; once she's done however, he quickly rolls the firearms and holsters it, finally approaching slowly. "Yes, I always make it to all the best parties," he muses, his voice somewhat echoed but still clear behind the shiny helmet, Dom's own reflection soon visible in the reflective material. "I'd say I'm surprised to this 'the guy' back at work, but I'm not. Not really. He's a tough son of a bitch if there ever was one." He pauses, before asking curiously, "What's your interest in seeing him safe? Don't exactly seem to exactly be the Police's best friend."
Just like that Dom's grinning back at you. "There's still something left to drink at this one, if you can get it past that helmet." With the weapons put away she opts to take a seat, leaning back against the stoneworm that surrounds the roof like the wall of an old castle. It takes her no time to retrieve a matte black flask from a voluminous pocket, tucking a knee close to her chest while twisting the cap free. "Yeah, one helluva old codger. His being back at work means I know where to find him, too." When you ask her why she's doing any of this she's left to debate just how much information should be shared, if any at all. Normally it would be a no-brainer, don't share anything at all. Still, there's something ..off about this run. "That's a simple one," she starts in while taking a drink from the flask then holding it out to you. "Because I'm being paid to."
Jason makes himself comfortable as well, moving towards a chimney stack on the buildings top and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll pass," he says as he glances toward the flask. "Designated rider," he explains away before canting his head to one side. "Someone's paying you to /protect/ a city official? Gotta say that's a new one," he muses, running through his head who would value Jim's life that highly as he shifts his weight slightly. "Must be quite a pay-out. Commish has got a lot of enemies, and from I hear Domino, you don't come cheap." Boom, name dropped. Deal with it.
Domino 'ahs' in understanding, lightly saluting you with the flask before putting it to use once more. "You're a real trooper. Getting to be cold for that." Mmh, slight correction there. "Not directly, though some notable interest was paid in making sure that he didn't come across any unfortunate situations." When you drop her name her expression falters slightly, "Sounds like my reputation's been getting around again. And you," she says while pointing to you around the flask. "Red Hood, isn't it? I never quite understood that one. Why not Red Helmet? Or is the 'Hood' part homage to Robin Hood?" She gently shakes her head then rests it back against the aged stonework, somehow managing to look way too relaxed despite the cold, the less than ideal surroundings and the pounds of bulky gear strapped about her form beneath the coat. "Anyway, that whole spotlight thing was an unexpected left hook in what should have been a simple job. That's why it's a bad idea to be late to the party, slipped right the hell past me."
"I like the cold," the Hood says with a slight shrug. "Gives me a little bite the helps me remember that I'm alive. For now. Kinda like pinching yourself to keep awake. Besides, I keep the blood pumping." He glances towards police headquarters across the way for a second before back towards Dom. "Sounds like a complicated business arrangement. Would love to see the contract," he jokes, letting her know that he's curious who has her on payroll without giving the impression he actually expects her to tell him. "And if there's anything I've learned in my time in Gotham, the more you expect and hope, the more disappointed you'll be. Better to stay hopeless." He clicks his tongue against the top of his mouth at the questioning of his moniker. "Let's just call it a dedication to someone special and leave it at that."
"Well, that's depressing," Domino monotones in response to the thought of being hopeless. "Look, being a merc isn't for everyone but if you can't find -some- enjoyment in your work then you're probably in the wrong game, kid. Friendly advice, free of charge." As for the contract, frankly she'd like to know who it is that hired her, as well! She doesn't have a name to go by, just payment and photos in an envelope. The whole thing's been crazy weird, but the pay made it worth the trouble. "Yeah, fair enough. Listen, you're in a fairly unique situation, aren't you? Knowing the kinds of people that prowl the skylines after dark in this city, somehow you're managing to survive wearing -red- and packing heat. The only conclusion I'm going to draw there is that you've got some manner of understanding worked out that lets you continue to operate. That said, if..say, I felt the need to contact you for some reason or another, how might that be accomplished?" Having a proverbial middle ground contact that's already well established within Gotham could prove to be very useful, especially with the bad feeling that she's been feeling looming over the horizon. Something about this job isn't right, things are going to get worse before they get any better.
Hood shrugs his shoulders again as he pushes off the wall, walking to the edge of the building, looking down and around before glancing back towards Domino. "I used to have hopes and dreams and all that. And then something happened. Something that put everything in perspective, and made me realize if I ever hope, if I ever allow myself to think that I can achieve anything like happiness?" He shakes his head. "That's when the bastards get you, 'kid'." Yeah, he noticed that. "And I don't so much have arrangement as I have a gameplan," he muses. "And enough training and experience to know what I can get away with." He nods towards the rifle. "Pointing a gun at the commish, for example. Not exactly what I'd call low profile. But we all have our own MOs." A slight laugh is elicted by the comment about staying in touch. Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out a small business card, a phone number plastered across it in various newspaper prints, ransom note style. "That's a good way to reach me. Professional only, booty calls will be ignored," he jokes as he holds the card out.
Ask, and she shall receive. The excuse for a business card is taken and glanced over, Domino back to looking amused. "Classy." Serves its purpose though, and she'll never forget who handed the card to her! "We've all got our reasons for doing what we do. Just make sure you're doing it for the right ones." Saying that, she seems content to let that part of the conversation go. She didn't plan on sharing backstories with another on this rooftop tonight. Besides, if the other person gets into it then they tend to want reciprocation, and that's just not going to fly with her. As for the rifle, she glances back to it and, as nonchalantly as possible, says "I didn't have any binoculars. Good thing that you found me first, isn't it?" This unexpected meeting may well be more beneficial than if she had the entire night to herself. Good fortune works in mysterious ways. "Don't be too surprised if you catch wind of me over the next handful of days, I've got another week on the clock." May it go better than the first one has...
The card passed off, the Hood nods and starts to move away back from where he came in, namely the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. "Glad to hear that luck smiles on one of us at least," he says evenly, rolling his neck side to side. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open for any sign of your activity, try to help you keep the Commish safe. Anything outside of that? Can't promise we'll be buddies." He stops just before sliding down the fire escape. "Final bit of advice? Next time, might wanna pack better." And with that he disappears down the side of the building.
"More often than not," Domino claims in a low tone, more of a personal remark than one which is intended for you to hear. The next comment is entirely for your ears. "Here's to an uneasy temporary alliance, then," comes the announcement while holding the flask up. In another instant it's being put to proper use for a third pass, giving you just the right window to say your last piece then disappear. "What's wrong with how I've packed?" she asks the empty night air. Then, remembering, she looks back to the rifle one more time. "Oh yeah. That." Hey, it's hard to be a guardian angel without having the ability to reach out and touch someone when the need arises. Binoculars are sorely lacking in that regard.
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