I'm not a Dam--sel
Roleplaying Log: I'm not a Dam—sel
IC Details

Huntress tries to get back into the vigilante thing too soon after her injury. Canary and Misfit come to the rescue.

Other Characters Referenced: Batgirl
IC Date: February 03, 2019
IC Location: Gotham
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 05 Mar 2019 06:23
Rating & Warnings: Warning: Huntress cusses. A lot.
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

It's been almost a month since her poor life choices ended up with her unable to do much of anything due to the stitches over her left shoulderblade. The stitches aren't gone yet, but she's still stubbornly working on getting those damaged muscles back to some kind of mobility.

It's frustratingly slow going.

Her frustration finally hits intolerable and she mentally gives up on being good and not straining her shoulder. It's well after dark, so no concerns there, but just the same she pushes her motorcycle about half a block before starting its engine. And that truly sucked, she normally should have pushed it at least a block.

After some aimless driving about, she finds a spot on the edge of the Narrows and hides her Ducati before taking to the rooftops. Her shoulder is already twinging, but she pointedly ignores it and keeps moving.

There. A huddle of men at the mouth of an alleyway. Not suspicious at all. She watches them until she sees money change hands and a largish plastic bag full of smaller white somethings is produced. Good enough for her.

Firing her crossbow to knock the 'merchandise' to the ground, she follows the bolt to the street as quickly as possible, but more slowly than she's accustomed to. That only succeeds in annoying her MORE, and she has every intention of taking it out on these morons.

One man who tries to flee gets a bolt in the meaty part of his calf, another pulling a gun gets a bolt through his hand, and by that point she's in the middle of the group.

For a second or three it looks like she's going to put them all down quickly enough, but then one gets a lucky hit in on the shoulder she's unconsciously favoring, and shock of the sudden white-hot pain sends her to her knees.

* * *

Misfit is back home for a Patrol. Ever since she joined the Titan's she has probably been neglecting her patrols in Gotham and that won't likely make the Old Man Bat very happy.

So tonight she makes heads out onto the roof tops and looks for trouble to solve. Wrongs to Right. General Bat Business. There is no Bat Signal lighting up the night sky. No Bat Computer alerts. So tonight Charlie is just prowling the roof tops and seeing what there is to be seen.

The cry of pain from man one, man two, and then maybe the shock of pain and some sort of noise from Huntress perks her ears under her cowl.

She swiftly heads towards the source of the noise stopping at the edge of the roof top and surveying the scene. "Okay that looks bloody and potentially very bad." Misfit mutters to herself. In a heartbeat she is down in the alley, teleporting from the rooftop and appearing in a slash of Crimson Smoke behind the third individual. Two very fast rabbit strikes with weighted gloves to the kidneys and then an elbow to the side of his head. "DARK Vengeance! Hsss" okay yeah she totally shouted out that.

* * *

Holy shit that hurts. With her left shoulder throbbing sharp spikes of pain in time with her heartbeat, Huntress doesn't try to be fancy. Instead she just lifts her crossbow and fires it at the runner, who has pulled a gun and is aiming it over her toward whomever just yelled. And no, she's not trying for any pansy-ass 'knock his weapon aside' bullshit. She puts the bolt into his shoulder, possibly breaking his collarbone in the process.

Serves him right.

* * *

The third guy hits the ground with a meaty thud. Moments later there is a flash of crimson in your line of sight and Misfit is behind the guy you just put a bolt in the shoulder of, to go with the one in his calf. "Shhh" she intones as he is yelling in pain and sweeps his legs out from under him and then tap kicks his head off the alley pavement causing him to be much more quiet. "Do you want me to get the one with the arrow in his hand. Oh man you actually shot an arrow through his hand… crackers that has to hurt."

Said arrow through his hand has also decided to start running.

* * *

Also worth noting Misfit is clearly in a near bat theme. Got the utility belt. Got the cowl. The logo is something between an M and a Bat symbol. Everything from color scheme to the flopping cowl ear is slightly askew though. It definitely isn't Bat Girl but maybe a mirror dimension version. Is that something that happens.

* * *

"Sure, knock yourself out," Huntress replies without looking at the friendly. If it means she doesn't have to run after the guy, she's all for it right now.

Still on one knee, she puts her crossbow away and somewhat shakily pushes to her feet. She's doing her best to not let her injury's flare up show, and she knows she's probably failing miserably. But damnit, she's going to try.

Wait, skeevy #1 is the one that got the money. She steps over and all but crumples back to her knees next to the guy, who starts snarling curses at her. So she quiets him with a knuckle sandwich. "And stay quiet," she mutters darkly before starting to rifle through his pockets with her good hand in search of the cash that she saw change hands.

* * *

Off yonder there is a startled male noise of surprise "Huh that hand looks super painful.. I can't believe she shot you through the hand." and then sounds of meaty parts being hit by weighted ballistic materials. Thud. Cry of pain. Thud Thud. Sound of breath being knocked out of him. "I mean you probably deserve it, drugs are bad. Say no." another smack of boot to flesh and then the sound of another head bouncing off the concrete of the sidewalk. This is followed by the sastifying Zzzzzp of zipties and then skeevy #2 and the pint sized vigilante is dragging him back over to his friends and you.

"Looking for clues?" happy chatter "I mean this looks pretty by the book drug deal in progress but maybe we ca find out who their supplier is and go kick them around a bit." Charlie pauses for a breath "Are you okay by the way, you seem to be favoring your arm?"

* * *

Oh for fuck's sake. This one's CHATTY. Huntress keeps rifling for the money and … ah. There it is. "Yeah, if that'll let you sleep at night." She pockets the 'clues' then stands and FINALLY looks at Misfit.

"It's fine," she replies to the question about her arm, and tries like hell to NOT make it obvious that she's in rather severe pain. "You another of Hoity Toity's cronies? Tell her I really don't need her help OR her rules." She turns to leave, wondering how in the hell she's going to rooftop hop her way back to her bike. Or, damnit, how she's going to RIDE with her shoulder feeling the way it does.

* * *

Charlie is indeed chatty. Also sometime in your starting to turn, in pain, and walk away Misfit got in front of you in literally a blink of an eye. Crimson smoke drifting down around her feet. "That looks pretty messed up." she says helpfully. "Also.. um… who is Hoity Toity and her cronies. I mean to be fair that sounds like some sort of gang in Gotham. This place is nuts. That said I am not part of any girl's gang." she kind of gestures to herself and that cutting edge gear she has. "I'm associated with the Old Bat and all. Also a Titan." aren't they out of New York City not Gotham.

There is a pause beat and then the eyes behind those orange goggles widen "Oh crud sorry, my name is Misfit…what do you go by?"

* * *

Misfit's abrupt appearance in front of her makes Huntress startle, which just sets her shoulder to searing white-hot again. It takes her about three seconds with her eyes closed and her jaw clenched to manage to NOT audibly let on how bad it actually is, and then she takes a breath, pulls her crossbow and aims it at the wonky bat symbol on Misfit's chest. "Go. The fuck. Away."

* * *

Misfit seems pretty nonplussed about the whole having a crossbow aimed at her. To be fair she has had way worse pointed at her. "Oh come on, that would be a very bad choice." there is a pause beat "I don't know who you think I am." or who you are is unsaid "But I have some painkillers, you may also need a muscle relaxant and a doctor to take a look at your shoulder. It seems super painful?"

* * *

"Do you EVER stop talking?" Huntress huffs and puts her crossbow away again as it clearly didn't intimidate the wonky little bat the way she'd been expecting. "I don't need ANYthing. Especially not some… twelve year old telling me what I do and don't need. Get out of my way." She moves to step around Misfit. "And tell that red-haired bat bitch to stop sending people after me."

Well, at least that narrows down 'Hoity Toity' to one of two people.

* * *

"Oh Batgirl… I mean I like her or did you mean the angry silent one." she is still flowing you but not popping in front of you again. "Well like I said. I don't work for Batgirl. Not sure why she is sending people after you but I can talk to her if it is annoying you. I'm also not twelve.. I mean .. I am pretty sure Batman wouldn't condone that." is pretty sure. Not positive mind you. Robin did seem to start young when you work the ages backwards. Also ugh Damian. "Anyhow… you should probably take it easy for a couple weeks and get better before you break up more drug deals…."

It does sound like Misfit intends to let you go though. "Oh what name should I tell Batgirl is pissy at her?"

* * *

Huntress SIGHS and gives on up hiding her injury, supporting her arm to take the stress off of her shoulder. "Yeah. BatGIRL." She doesn't really care if this weirdo is twelve or not, she's annoying.

And more yammering and more yammering, and finally she's had enough. "God DAMN, don't you ever SHUT UP?" She turns and gets right into Misfit's face. "STOP. Talking." And she stays there to see if this kid actually listens this time.

* * *

Aw. That is just downright mean. First cursing. Then yelling in Misfit's face to essentially shut up, well first a shut up then a stop talking. All at solid volume even which may attract attention.

Charlie's eyes go a bit big, and her mouth opens then closes. She blinks behind those orange goggles a couple of times and honestly has an expression of a very sad, very kicked puppy as she just stares wide eyed back at Huntress.

Whose Ass for the Record Misfit totally saved if the downed criminals in the alley with them are any sign.

* * *

Huntress finds herself completely unable to care any less about the hurt look on Misfit's face. She's in pain. And, thank god, the kid's finally taken the hint and stopped talking. So after about three seconds of stare-off, she turns again to leave. She still has to figure out how the hell to get her bike home with her shoulder still throbbing the way it is. But, one thing at a time. First, get away from Chatty Cathy.

* * *

There's a revving of a carefully tuned engine. A high-performance bike, not some overtuned ricer. It zips around the corner and J-brakes to a halt in front of Huntress' bike. The sound would be familiar enough, along with the expert operation of the Honda. With the headlights aimed at the wall there's enough visibility to identify a gymnastic looking woman dismounting the bike. She removes her helmet and lets a pile of blonde hair shake loose from the safety gear.

"Jesus," she remarks, looking around the debris, casualties, and the injuries Huntress is managing. "Looks like I missed the party." She leans past Huntress, and uplifts her chin at the woman behind her. "Oh, hey, what's up, Misfit," she greets the batling. "I should have known this was your kinda thing."

She straightens and looks Huntress up and down. "You need to work on your dodging," she tells the woman with a wry humor that conceals her concern. "You gonna make it or can I part your bike out?"

* * *

Charlie looks pretty upset by the time Dinah gets off her bike. Mostly just staring at the back of Huntresses head. "Arrrgh" flail gestures at Huntress "She is sooo mean!" and vanishes with a flash of crimson smoke appearing a split second later further down the alley by the furthest downed drug dealer and ziptying him up and then stepping back to the third and securing him as well with zipties from her utility belt. "She yelled at me for trying to help her. She hates Batgirl." that seems like the worst offense by Misfit's tone "Just mean. Not even one thank you for stopping the guy from shooting her in the back too." most of that is angry mutters but there is no one else here to drown them out.

Once the actual work of the job is finished Charlie just puts her hands on her hips and glares at Huntress.

* * *

"Touch my bike and I'll hunt your skinny ass down," is Huntress' grumbled reply to Dinah's erstwhile greeting. She doesn't comment on her injury, but has to resist the urge to stand up a bit straighter because that would mean moving her shoulder.

She can hear Misfit's grousing, but she ignores it, planning to continue on her way and still trying to figure out her bike. She brought her painkillers along, but they're last resort only to her as they make her muzzy-headed enough to not trust herself riding.

* * *

"Do you want a pity party?" Dinah queries Misfit, one brow hiking behind her domino mask. "This isn't an industry that attracts 'service with a smile' types. For shit's sake, you work with *Batman*," she tells Misfit. "If you can't take a little grouchy ingratitude from Italy here, then you need to toughen up a bit."

She looks back at Helena. "Stitches, puncture wound, and you're out here trying to lay the smackdown?" she inquires of the leggy Italian. "Looks like you threw your back out or something, you're moving like my grandma," she advises the purple-clad vigilante.

* * *

Oh great now Black Canary is on her case "This was well past grouchy ingratitude. I've punched friendlier demons in hell." not even a remote exaggeration either. A lot less whining in that statement from Misfit as well, god deal more venom.

The dressing down that Dinah gives Helena though causes Misfit to smirk and fall silent and let Dinah take over.

* * *

No. She's NOT going to fall for that bait and move her shoulder. She couldn't care less what she looks like to Barbie the Shorter. "Fuck off, Honda, you're not my mother." And she continues on her way, back to trying her damnedest to not let on how bad her shoulder feels.

She almost — ALMOST — tosses back at the kid to go back to punching demons in hell, but stops herself. Knowing Honda, she'll get pissy about that as well. And Helena really doesn't want to deal with anymore attitude tonight.

* * *

Dinah scowls at Misfit's insouciant response. "Boo hoo, are you only going to ever rescue people who make you feel good about yourself afterwards?" she inquires, with the bluntness of a tutor (or older sister). Dinah's all of eight years Misfit's senior, of course, but that doesn't stop her from taking a protective mentor's role with the young woman.

Her blue eyes flicker to Huntress. "Look, hold up," she says, voice dropping. A gauntleted hand lifts to forestall Helena without touching her. "You look like you took a few hits and I bet those stitches are torn. Lemme give you a ride out. There's a guy, I trust him, he'll pick your bike up and drop it off for you somewhere. Getting pasted across a semi's grille would be a shitty ending to your crimefighting career," she tells the wounded bird.

* * *

There is a bit of an eye roll and then a puff of a breath "Fine. You're right." is shot back to Black Canary. Charlie sounds unhappy about admitting it, but she totally admits to Dinah that she is right. No further bitching or antagonism, just crossed arms and silence as she watches Dinah deal now with Huntress.

* * *

Huntress stops, but doesn't turn to look back at the other two women. Mostly because she's having to put effort into keeping her voice level. "No. You trust this guy, have him move YOUR bike."

Misfit's indignant response to Dinah just further reinforces Helena's thought that the slightly oddball little batling is decidedly younger. Maybe not twelve, but definitely still a kid.

Wait, if Huntress is saying for Dinah to have HER bike driven by someone else, who is going to drive the Ducati?

* * *

"Oh, you bitch," Dinah breathes at Huntress. Well— she walked *right* into that one, didn't she.

"I know I'm right," Dinah tells Misfit. But she moves up to the younger heroine and gives her arm a firm but reassuring squeeze. "Hey. C'mon. Rule #1?" she prompts Misfit, and starts speaking in time with a canned response. "At the end of the day, come home alive," she prompts. Dinah flashes a smile at the Batling.

"Listen. I gotta get Queen Bee here back to a safehouse before she bleeds out. Can you take my bike home for me?" she asks, pressing keys into Misfit's palm. "I'll make sure Italy here doesn't end up pasted on the highway."

* * *

There is a bit of a smile there from Misfit as she gets the arm squeeze and reminder about rule #1. "Right. Rule #1" with that Charlie takes the keys and looks to Huntress. "She was out fighting crime." is admitted. Like that counts for a whole lot in Charlie's book despite the angry attitude. "I think she is mostly just angry she is hurt and vulnerable, not at us really." that is surprisingly and oddly observant and wise from Charlie. I mean maybe saying it loud enough to be heard from Huntress isn't but Charlie can be surprising sometimes.

Charlie snags the keys and vanishes with a slash of crimson smoke over to Dinah's bike. "I'll put it away." of course Charlie isn't driving the bike despite sliding onto it like she is. Firm grip, a wave to Dinah and Huntress, and the bike and Charlie vanish with a slash of crimson smoke. … … ..

Good odds Dinah didn't know Charlie could do that.

* * *

Queen Bee? Honda did NOT just call her that. NOW she turns to glare her best glare at Dinah, but the fact that she's white as a sheet under her mask is likely proof enough that Dinah is far more correct than Helena would prefer.

Misfit's wise observation earns her a narrow-eyed glare, and then there's the red-smoke bamfing about again. Like before, it makes her flinch and flinching is NOT a good thing at the moment. If possible, she goes even whiter.

* * *

Dinah stares at the puff of smoke that evaporates with a significant chunk of her personal equity under it. "God, I hope she doesn't lose that thing somewhere," Dinah mutters. Clearly, that's not what she was expecting.

The blonde turns to Helena and, with no witnesses around, offers support to her waist and elbow. "Okay. Kid's gone," she murmurs. "C'mon, let's get you off your feet. You gotta be hurtin' bad."

* * *

Yes, Helena's been asleep and even unconscious around Dinah before, but that doesn't mean she's suddenly going to be all grateful and happy to have her there as backup. She's hurting, and she's taking it out on those around her.

"Damnit, lay off," she hisses at the blonde, and yet she doesn't actually pull away from the offered support. She really is hurting that bad.

* * *

"Yeah, yeah, fuckin' sue me," Dinah grumbles. She relents by all of a micrometer or so, but the support remains for Helena to accept— or stagger through the alley on her own two feet.

She guides Helena to her bike and gets her settled, then nimbly vaults the handlebars and lands in the driver's saddleseat. "You got a safehouse you want, or should I just drop fifty bucks on a cheap hotel? I can check in tomorrow morning, see if you've died of sepsis."

* * *

Getting settled on the Ducati isn't an instant affair. It takes Huntress a moment to reconfigure it to reveal the passenger seating, and then she's pulling her cape around to both keep it clear of the bike's rear tire and use it to support her left arm and shoulder.

"Neither." What the hell IS a safehouse, really? She's got her civilian home, and that's it. There's no way in hell she's leading Honda THERE. And the hotel sounds singularly unappealing. She's also about to the point where she just doesn't care anymore. She just wants her shoulder to stop feeling like someone has a red hot poker pressed against it. "Either. I don't care."

* * *

Elbows locked out, Dinah exhales heavily and hangs her head. "Yeah, yeah. Listen, I'm not dropping cash on a hotel again, and you need to rest somewhere that ain't getting a car alarm and a hooker fight every ten minutes." She taps on the bike's electronic display, just in case— on the remote chance— that Huntress left her GPS unlocked.

"Look, I'm headed to Crest Hill. Either I drop you at your safehouse or I park this bike in front of the Gotham PD call station and tell them you're a stabbing victim. Hold on," she advises Helena, and kicks the ignition over. With a surehanded skill she twists the throttle and launches the bike into the late-night traffic, weaving through traffic at unsafe speeds as she follows Huntress' directions— or lack thereof.

* * *

The bike does have GPS, but there is no 'home' set in it. No destinations at all, actually, as if it goes unused. Huntress sighs again, sounding exhausted, and finally offers an address. It's a fairly non-descript part of town, as close to quiet residential as any place in Gotham gets. She yelps faintly in both surprise and pain when the Ducati leaps forward and very quickly wraps her good arm around Dinah's waist. It's less than a mile before she's got her face pressed into the blonde's back.

Either she's offering Dinah a very large amount of trust, or she's truly hurting badly. Or both.

* * *

Dinah's sturdy. Beach-blonde hair or not, she's built like a gymnast and there isn't a glut of cosmetic muscle on her. Her waist provides a solid attachment point and she flies through traffic with her blonde hair streaming behind her. One cop sees the Ducati flying by— blonde in bike leathers behind the steering column, purple-clad vigilante hugging her from behind.

He doesn't even flip his lights on. Just reaches for another doughnut and sips his coffee.

Dinah drops to a lower gear as she drops into the offramp and pulls into residential housing. It's impossible to make the bike *silent* but she feathers it along with a sipping reserve of gas until she pulls up to the property Helena points out. At least she's savvy enough to pull the bike around back instead of just parking it in front of the garage.

"Christ, this is your safe house?" she mutters, enviously. "This is nicer than my *actual* house." She slips her shoulders under Helena's arm and starts walking the Italian woman towards the side door. "You got a key or am I kicking this down?"

* * *

Wordlessly, Helena lets Dinah park her bike around the back rather than insisting on the garage — she'll deal with it in the morning — and isn't very communicative until there's mention of kicking down a door. THAT elicits an unhappy mutter. "The hell kind of heathen are you?" She's keeping her voice low, likely to keep any neighbors from hearing.

Pulling away from Dinah, she fumbles for a moment at her belt, then produces a key on a small bit of ball chain. "Doors're a pain in the ass to replace."

* * *

"The kind who's on the wrong side of the island hauling around a friggin' Ducati owner. Jesus, how much do you *lift*," Dinah grunts, juggling Helena around so she can unlock the door. "Breaking my frickin' back here."

Despite her bellicose complaints she is moving Helena with the best speed and gentle touch she can manage, and gets the leggy vigilante inside the house. They don't go far; there's a room with a large couch, barely illuminated by the low ambient lights of exterior Gotham city. She guides Helena to the sofa and helps her sit, rolling her on her side away from the wound in her shoulder.

She touches Helena's back near the wound site, and her fingers come back damp. "Yeah. Busted your stitches," she confirms. Dinah looks around. "You got a trauma kit? I can at least slap some superglue and Neosporin on it but you're gonna scar up bad if those stitches keep ripping."

* * *

It is the most disconcerting thing ever to be led around one's own home. Helena tries to make it seem like that's not the case, but considering she knew when to sidestep to avoid banging her shin on the low table in front of the couch…

Hearing that she did indeed fuck up the stitches in her shoulder, she can only wince and mutter curses as even that light touch was VERY unpleasant. "uh, yeah. Bathroom, down the hall first door on the left. Under the sink."

In the time it takes Dinah to find and return with the only slightly better than standard first aid kit, Helena has seemingly fallen over face down on to the couch cushions.

What? It's HER couch. She can faceplant if she wants.

* * *

There is the feel of displaced air and a slash of crimson smoke by the dining room table. Charlie is still in her Misfit gear but she has a one of those heavy duty military duffle bag first responder kits over her shoulder, it says property of The Titans on it by the first aid symbol Balanced in her other hand are three pizza boxes from Prince Street Pizza in New York City.

Ah great, not in the street or in a roof top, in a house, which means they must have got to whatever safe house Dinah picked. "So um.. I thought you could probably use a medical kit and some food…. I got meat friendly and vegetarian friendly." which is being set on the dining table.

There are a lot of disturbing implications here, the young lady went to New York for one. Secondly how the hell did she find you two in your safe house. Thirdly… hopefully Helena doesn't pop another stitch.

Also Charlie kind of violated Rule #2, don't pop into people's lairs it gives them aneurysms. That is a Batman rule. She may be yelled at later. Hell she is probably going to be yelled at now.

* * *

Dinah drops the medkit and reaches for the first weapon she can lay hands on— an antique bronze statuette. She almost hurls it at Misfit's head but her brain catches up to her reflexes and she sags her shoulders instead, head shaking.

"Christ on sale," she mutters, and sets the stautette down with a *clunk*. "We've talked about this, Misfit," she tells the girl with a level tone. "The 'just popping in' thing? Little disconcerting." Still, she curls her fingers into the bags' straps to relieve the pressure on Charlie's shoulder, and uplifts her chin at a nearby table for her to set it down.

Dinah moves to the sofa and kneels down next to it. She is clearly not a doctor but moves with a paramedic's calm, practiced assurance to start laying out sutures, alcohol, and silk thread. All are unwrapped from sanitary pouches and she tugs gloves on. "My stitchwork isn't as pretty as Christine's, but it'll do," Dinah advises Helena. "Better than bleeding all over the sofa cushions."

* * *

While Dinah's reflex was to reach for a random throwable object, Helena's is to pull her crossbow and fire it mostly blindly in the direction of the unexpected voice. Misfit and Dinah both should be VERY glad that her decided lack of a proper vantage point means her crossbow bolt just thunked into a bookcase on the wall behind the Batkid. Two inches to the right, though…

Mostly mumbly because of having her face pressed into the couch cushions, Helena still manages to sound indignant and irritable. "The hell, Honda?"

Thankfully, for a vigilante costume, Huntress's outfit seems rather lacking in the secure closures department. The cape is attached at the shoulders and straightforward enough to remove, and there's a zipper up the back of her costume as if it were a cosplayer's work instead of actual bodyarmor.

* * *

Not the first time things have been fired or thrown at her, probably won't be the last time. Also to Charlie's credit she leans to the left putting several more inches between her and the bolt that hit the bookcase. Catlike reflexes and a lot of practice with people surprisedly shooting at her really. Ahem.

Misfit hands off the tactical first aid kit, and finishes putting the pizza on the table. "Sorry I know but you looked like you had your hands full with Grumpy and could probably use the assist." with that Charlie plants her back to the table and opens one of the boxes idly while Dinah goes to work, eating a slice of fresh pepperoni pizza wile she watches the impending operation. "Oh hey the funny looking patches in there are zip stitches… no suturing required. I can show you how it works if you want?" she is just so gratingly helpful.

It definitely smells like the best neapolitan pizza in New York City.

* * *

Dinah watches the quarrel fly past and lifts a brow at Helena. "Nice shot," she says, dryly.

She gives Misfit a look of sour jealousy, digging out the (very nicely arranged) medical kit. "God, you Bats always have the best shit," she mutters. "I learned how to do this with fishing line." She starts unbuckling and unzipping Huntress' cloak and leather top to expose the upper quadrant of her back and shoulder, and sets about carefully cleaning the wound and replacing the old stitches so the rapid-application bandage can replace the fragile silk threads.

* * *

As much as she hates admitting weakness, she knows that Dinah is truly trying to help. WonkyBatling, not so much. She's REALLY not happy that the kid somehow followed them here, but there's fuck all she can do about it at the moment. So, she does her best to stay still.

Repairing the pulled stitches goes smoothly enough and Helena reluctantly accepts some painkillers, and then is out cold before she can get any of the pizza Misfit brought.

Maybe also before she could say thank you, but what were the chances that was going to happen?

* * *

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License