Boys and Their Toys
Roleplaying Log: Boys and Their Toys
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Batgirl baits Rocket for a conversation, but really we're just here to watch a friendship bud between Rocket and Frank.

Other Characters Referenced: Groot (in narrative), The Joker (as Showman), Scarlet Witch (vague reference), Daredevil
IC Date: July 07, 2019
IC Location: Hell's Kitchen
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 08 Jul 2019 17:53
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 (Language)
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

It isn't really all that hard to get leads on a talking raccoon. There's plenty of weird stuff between Metropolis, Gotham, and New York City, but some things are extremely unique. Rocket Raccoon is one of those things. So, when Barbara gets a lead on how to get in touch with Rocket, she drops him an encrypted message that reads:

Did you expect that kind of fight on Monday? Could use some intel. Meet me on the roof of 218 44th Street, Hell's Kitchen. Signed, Your Friend in the Arena.

It ran the risk of not baiting the raccoon, but she had to hope that he was just as weirded out by whatever that fight night was as she was. So, Batgirl sits on the edge of the rooftop in her classic crouch with her cape fluttering behind her. She's playing with a little stress ball that is shaped like Iron Man's head — Tony enjoyed dropping these off, perhaps a bit too much. She squeezes it, bops it around on her palm, and then squeezes it again. She glances over to Frank over her shoulder. "You need to stop calling him a Trash Bandit." She's keeping the explicit language out of that. "Pretty sure that's now a derogatory term when the raccoon is sentient."

* * *

"Look, you try livin' in the city and dealin' with the theivin' little shits." Frank shakes his head, settled into a crouch with his back against the edge of the rooftop, a bolt-action .308 rifle cradled across his thighs. He's wearing his skull-painted vest, despite the heat, and has nothing at all covering his face. It's like he's stubborn or something. "Raccoons stop stealing food outta the trash, I'll stop callin' them trash bandits." He keeps his gravelly voice low, quiet, his eyes flickering around the area behind Babs, keeping watch in the areas she can't.

* * *

What can he say? For all that New York's gotten annoying with their stupid new law, they still have better toys to scavenge than Gotham. That might be because of previous alien exposure. Still, it's no cause for being sloppy, and some effort must be put into making oneself blend in. At least when it comes to lying low, Rocket feels better running solo. Groot's too engulfed in another video game anyway.

This city's no place he cares to drive in, sweet new ride or no. But when you have a ship that can cloak, you check off two problems at once. You just had to fly low and not hit any pigeons.

"Huh. Guess this must be the place," Rocket mutters as images of the pair on the rooftop come up on his screens and radar. He brings the invisible necrocraft in at the far, opposite corner of the building, setting down carefully with perhaps the briefest of gusts and a low whine.

And suddenly the air 'opens', a ramp folding out like a portal from another dimension. Complete with space raccoonoids, as Rocket steps on out in… Well, he's actually wearing casual people clothes. Which probably was grabbed from a kiddy section for the fit, but otherwise it works. To note are the pair of oversized pistols of a sort holstered at his waist, and when he steps onto the roof, the ramp folds up and the doorway vanishes.

* * *

"Did you just pull the Holier-Than-Thou New Yorker to Gothamite crap? Do I need to remind you which side of the Hudson you're living on, Castle?" She tosses the Iron Man head from palm to palm as she gives him a look over her shoulder. There's laughter in those blue eyes and in the easy way she smiles at the murderous vigilante. It really is a strange, but somehow companionable relationship these two have. She takes a breath as she waits a bit longer, wondering aloud, "He might not even sh — "

Then Batgirl jumps, spinning off the edge of the rooftop and onto the roof itself with a scuff of her mustard-yellow boots. She's got a batarang out, gripped in the reinforced webbing of her gloves. But then, she blinks, staring at the raccoon for a long moment before she relaxes out of her fighter's stance. She blinks at Rocket, then over to Frank, then back to Rocket. "Frank — he's like a mini you." Beat. "You know, the guns…" No other comparisons to make.

* * *

"No. I'm just pretty sure all the raccoons in Gotham are in gangs. Probably led by some dude with a puffy tail named the Ringed Robber." Frank shakes his head, then grunts, "And that was a low blow, Red. And your fault." His own brief smile arrives — and is promptly flattened away at the sounds of the stealthed engines. One hand pushes him away from the wall, and he moves low and quick over to cover, the butt of the rifle snugging against his shoulder. He's stopped by the appearance of — "What the fuck?" Babs told him, but he didn't believe, not really. He pauses, then slowly rises to his feet again, glancing back to Batgirl and then back to Rocket, "I don't see it." There's a pause, and he adds, "I don't shop in the kids' department." Also, the pistol at his right hip and his ankle, and the knife at his back are a little more subtle than two over-sized pistols on a space-raccoonoid.

* * *

Rocket makes approach slowly before halting some several yards from them, and he folds his arms as he sizes the two up. Teeth bare with a faint snarl at Frank's comment. Yeah, he totally heard that. And he doesn't exactly scream subtle, being what he is.

"Didn't know they sold stuff in yer size at Hot Topic," he shoots back.

Glancing between the two, his red-brown eyes fix on Batgirl. "Yeah, the fluffy hair wasn't doin' a thing for you. So. I thought your people haunted Gotham." A furred brow arches as he says this.

* * *

Batgirl's mouth tightens with barely suppressed laughter as she looks between Rocket and Frank. She has to clear her throat, and in a smooth motion, she tucked the batarang back in her belt. Nope, she's not going there. But there is a lot of comparison to make between Rocket and Frank. When Rocket mentions her hair, she snorts. "Took forever to get the glitter out." Then, with a bit of a quirk of her smile, she shrugs. "I like making Daredevil get all fluffed up and territorial. He looks cute when he thinks someone's moving in on his turf." She steps forward a bit, crossing her arms to lean into one hip. "Besides, I figured maybe you wanted to stay out of immediate range of the clown mobile."

* * *

"Goddamn it." Probably not the reaction Rocket was looking forward to with the Hot Topic jab. Frank looks over to Babs, "They haven't started selling my shit at Hot Topic, have they?" He snorts at the mention of the glitter, glancing down and picking at a shiny flake somehow on his goddamn pants after they were washed. "All the Masks and Capes and their territory. Where's yours?" He pauses for a moment, then looks to the doorway into nothing, "Lemme guess. Up there?" He pauses a moment, "You a voluntary fighter or you get nabbed?" A faint grimace twitches across Frank's features, and he shifts the rifle just to his left hand, "Frank Castle. They shake hands where you're from?"

* * *

"They come in immediate range, they're gettin' incinerated," Rocket promises, grinning ferally. He looks back up at Frank and shrugs. He's only ever gone in one of those places because of Groot. Treenagers and their weird emo phases.

He casts a brief glance over his shoulder despite there being nothing to be seen of his ship. "Who needs territory when you got a ship and can go anywhere in the galaxy? …or a rich friend who lets you freeload?" With another shrug, he then snorts at the questions that follow, but he steps forward and extends his own, if perhaps freakishly humanesque if furry and clawed hand to shake the one Frank offers. At least he doesn't lick it.

"Name's Rocket. An' they like taking you apart and slapping you together where I'm from so take yer pick. Anyway. Kinda both, 'bout the fight thing? I heard there was a fight club thing and thought I'd see how they handle things on Terra. Thought I'd give it a shot, except when I showed up I can't remember nothin' except just before we were ushered out in them stoopid costumes."

* * *

Babs shrugs her shoulders almost helplessly. She spares Frank from the nitty-gritty details of his Punisher fan club — half of which he would probably hate knowing were fans of The Punisher. So, she happily moves on to brighter topics — like killing clowns, kidnapping, and terribly costuming choices. Then Rocket is making introductions, and she lets Frank lead the charge. Then she nods her chin slightly. "Batgirl." She rolls her shoulders a bit. "I was snatched. Some woman in red." Then Rocket mentions not being able to remember parts of how he ended up being ushered out. "Yeah… sounds about right." She takes looks aside toward Frank. "How did you hear about the fight club? Do you remember where it was?"

* * *

Frank shakes Rocket's hand warily, but at least he doesn't crouch down. That would be offensive, right? "I got no problem with whoever drugged those people and dumped them on you guys getting two to the head." Shaking hands with a raccoon — or something like it — not the sort of thing you ever expect to be doing. He glances over his shoulder to Babs, then steps back out of the way so that they're three points of a triangle again. "Rocket." There's a hint of a grin, and then it fades away again, "Freeloadin's never been my thing, but the rich friend sounds good." He grunts softly, "The door down was in some warehouse in Downtown Gotham. Off to the west. Stupid fucking hidden door."

* * *

Rocket nods at Batgirl when she introduces herself. Not that he couldn't take a wild guess. He scowls just at the reminder of the so-called fight night, not that confirming he wasn't the only one who had gotten pulled into things unwittingly makes him feel any better.

"Hey, if said rich friend says to make yerself at home then is it really freeloading?" He too looks back up at Frank, arms folding once again after they've finished making nice with handshakes and stuff. "If I had just one of my grenades back then, we wouldn't have to worry about that place any more."

* * *

The Bat glances slightly toward Frank, and then to Rocket, and she's starting to make more comparisons. She shakes her head, holding out both her hands — one to Frank and one to Rocket. "Whoa there… we're not shooting or blowing anyone up… until we know who exactly we're dealing with." Though, she still won't let them shoot or blow someone up without good reason. "And I want to know who we are dealing with, because either someone connected to that fight club nabbed me or someone who at least knew it was going down did." She glances back to Rocket. "You want some pay back, help us figure out who is behind this."

* * *

"There's rules in Gotham," Frank complain-explains to Rocket. "No shootin' the bad guys. Not to death at least." Rules he's broken a couple of times, but only a couple. "And it depends on if they're still sayin' that a week later." He shrugs to Babs, "Or it could've been someone who brought you in special 'cause they wanted to see you fight — Batgirl." He already used 'Red' once, even if it might have been before Rocket's arrival. "People do crazy shit when it's personal. They always take the grenades away. Gotta be careful as shit with them in a city anyhow. Too much chance of collateral damage."

* * *

The look Rocket gives Batgirl suggests that he didn't understand this concept of not shooting or blowing anyone up. He glances at Frank as though to see how he feels about this, then tosses his arms up when the guy goes on about rules. Pff. Who ever follows those?

"-wait, so maimin' is free game. I'll keep that in mind."

He rolls his eyes a little when Frank talks about taking care with grenades. "Um. Yeah, you gotta be careful with 'em. I guess I should make sure no one needs a city block if I use one," he mutters to himself as he scratches his head, seeming to deeply consider how very much these humans seem to not understand his destructive capabilities.

"Okay. You make a fair point." He's looking back at Batgirl again. "You got a plan for this or are we all just keepin' an eye out an' doin' our own thing?"

* * *

Batgirl glances between Rocket and Frank, and then she presses her lips together. "Are you sure you two haven't met yet?" Then at Rocket's clarification to the Bat Code has her rubbing slightly at the bridge of her nose — which is more for show because the structure material of her helmet and mask makes it hard to actually rub there. Then she intakes a breath, glancing slightly to Frank again before she looks back to Rocket.

"If you're up for a team-up, I think we can find out what's going on. Grabbing vigilantes in Gotham to put them into a fighting arena — I think that this could turn ugly fast." Though Dinah had volunteered, so there's that. "If you're up for a team-up — "

* * *

"The Bats get a little annoyed by that shit." Frank's eyes flicker over to Barbara, and he smirks faintly for a heartbeat before it fades away again, "Me, I figure I don't need the hassle of the Bats comin' after me." He makes a little back-and-forth 'so-so' gesture at the question of maiming. "Never met him before." His head snaps back to Rocket at the mention of a city block being the threat radius, "Jesus Christ. That's a goddamn bomb, not a grenade." His brow furrows in the start of a scowl that clears for… "do you really call them team-ups? Seriously?" He shakes his head, "Combined Operations. And she's pretty much always got a plan, Rocket. So what've you got?"

* * *

"I'd remember a guy this decked out in skulls that wasn't under eighteen," Rocket says simultaneously with Frank's response that they'd never met before, granted his runs longer. He hides a smirk at Batgirl's reaction, something he sort of expects to see from people who don't know him. No, scratch that, he gets it from his own crew half the time.

"Bah. Wha'ddo these Terrans say? Something with produce. Tomeeto-Tomayto? Anyway. You don't wanna know what my bomb radius is." His grin at that can't be good.

A curt nod is given in Frank's direction. "I'm with Smiley here. Combined ops sounds way better than team-ups." He'll give Batgirl the benefit of the doubt with the claim that she always has a plan. "Me? I got weapons an' some hot tech."

* * *

Again, Babs tries very hard to not smile at Rocket's quip back to Frank, and she rubs slightly at the side of her nose while she looks away. Then she shrugs up her shoulders a bit. "Symbols are important." Then she crosses her arms, resting into her hip. "You two both make me sound like a patient mom, but… let's not blow anything up." Beat. "Unless it's an empty building." Or with only the bad guys in it. When the two join forces, she holds up both hands again at both of them. "Hey! Fine. Combined operations." The next word is muttered under her breath, "Jerks." She hooks her hands on her hips now. "First step — learning more about the venue. Then, I want to try to see if we can ID this Showman guy. He's new to Gotham, but he… definitely fits in." She says that with a bit of a breath.

* * *

"You know how hard it is to spraypaint a fuckin' unicorn?" Frank's sense of humor is unique. And crooked. At the Terran expression, Frank snorts, "Bullshit, Rocket. Bomb's a fuckin' coward's weapon. You can't be sure a bomb's just gonna kill the guy you're aiming — " he cuts off as Babs goes all patient mom on them, grumping and shrugging a little, "I prefer the more personal approach." But 'Smiley,' he's had worse, and he lets it go. "I meant what kinda plan you've got." He gestures over to Barbara, "Intel gathering sounds solid to me. Violent improvisation only gets you so far. So you've got an invisible ship. How 'bout following him whenever we find him? You heard about this fight night… when you hear about the next one, you two go into the ship, and I go in with a tracker." He glances to Babs, "One they won't get out. You track me, make sure it's the same guy, follow him — assuming I can get close enough to tag him with something your sensors can follow."

* * *

"Fiiiine," Rocket sighs with another roll of his eyes. "I'll leave the grenades at home."

He mutters under his breath at Frank and his finer points of destroying things. Another killjoy here. Well, no one said he couldn't shoot anyone so that's a plus.

"Oh. My suggestion for plans. I thought you already had planning slotted with Batgirl here." He glances at his invisible necrocraft again. "You want us to follow in the ship." By the way he squints, it seems he's trying to work out if this is a stupid idea or not. "This sounds like a lotta unnecessary steps. Either you find someone you can stick a tracker on or ya don't. Maybe put out multiple ones if we got an idea of who'd catch wind of that sorta thing. There was an audience in that pit, so there hadda be some sort of advertising for the thing."

* * *

The comment about spray-painting unicorns has Babs choking back something like a laugh. It takes her a second to recover, shaking her head. Look, Batman is a lot better at the stoic; Babs has always been Team Mom. "Frank just doesn't want to admit he has the capacity to be a planner." Babs flicks a look toward The Punisher briefly before she casts a crooked smile back to Rocket. "No. Gotham's airspace is hard to navigate." She tucks her hands into the side pockets of her dark violet jacket sporting the yellow bat insignia. "Strangely enough — while I appreciate your attempt to go high tech, Frank — I think we need to go low tech. The advertising angle is a good one." She says this to Rocket. "We find how the info gets spread, we find its source, and that's another step closer." She looks at Frank, and then at Rocket. "You two up for that?" Which means she's throwing Frank and Rocket into a partnership.

* * *

"Fuck that. Bring one. Just don't use it unless you're sure it's just bad guys around." Frank's only a partial killjoy. At least he got Babs to laugh. "And make sure it doesn't end up in the wrong hands." When Rocket questions the plan and Babs nixes it, Frank shrugs, "I'm just figurin' we put the person who got kidnapped last time somewhere it can't happen again." But there's Babs with a plan, "I can plan just fine, Batgirl. But I'm not the supergenius." He looks between Rocket and Babs in a wary sort of manner, "I can backup Rocket while he finds out who's puttin' out the invites. And unless you," Rocket, "got some fancy tool for it, I can find out what they know."

* * *

The little Guardian fingers his chin as he eyes Frank, given Batgirl's proposal that they work together. He grins just a tiny bit when Frank allows for a grenade. "To be honest, I was gonna bring some anyway," he admits. This is what you're dealing with, Babs. Are you prepared?

Rocket looks at Frank and nods then. "I'll see what I can throw together. Whipping up a tracking device's the easy part- just gotta figure out the best approach for a tracker is the trick. Specific frequencies to home in on that won't tip anyone else off. Eh, I'll come up with something."

* * *

"Particularly if the plan involves an M4, flash bangs, and zip ties." Batgirl tips Frank a look. Then she shakes off Frank's concern. "I won't get nabbed again. I don't think that's the play here. This wasn't about the crowd watching Batgirl battle it out; he didn't even announce who I was. The costume had some hints, but really, I don't think anyone in that crowd really put it together. So, that means this is something else." The wary look from Frank is met with a gentle, easy smile. Playdates are good for you, Frank.

Then she looks to Rocket and gives him a short, quick nod. "I can help with the frequencies around Gotham. I know which ones are in frequent use, and where the holes are." Now she steps forward, and she tugs a little square, about the size of a quarter and almost just as thin, from her thigh-strapped utility bag. She hands it to Rocket. "My contact info. Frank's, too." Rocket will find that it's a tiny hard drive that carries just enough info to create a secure line to Batgirl and Frank through the vOS system ('v' for vigilante, of course).

Now she steps back. "Good meeting you, Rocket."

* * *

Frank smirks for a moment at Rocket's retort, "Yeah, I figured." Look, Frank's going to go most anywhere geared up too, if he's expecting a rumble. Batgirl's description of his 'plans' draws a snort of amusement, "Look, just because that works — even if I haven't been able to get more flashbangs — doesn't mean that's all there is to a plan. It's about where the other guys are gonna be, and where you're gonna be. And where your next weapon in." He shakes his head a moment, then updnods at the mention of the tracker, "Compressed burst instead of steady signal maybe? Make it harder to track. We'll have to have a way to get it on the guy too." Then Babs is stepping back, and he shrugs, nodding over to her, "This is where just waits until we're distracted and disappears." And him saying that… might actually be a coincidentally-nice distraction. "Me, I'm gonna take the fire escape down. Lemme know when they reach out, I'll come on down."

* * *

Brows arching in instant interest of tiny techkery, Rocket takes the little square carefully between his claws. "Hmmm." He nods and slips it into his pocket. "All right. I'll hit you guys up once I get anything together." Frank's suggestions are also taken note of. "Makes sense. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Laters, you two."

He waves a hand and turns to start towards the other end of the roof again, smirking. "Typical. Well, I'll do my own disappearin' and you can pretend you're cool and go down your way."

He's laughing as he steps up the ramp that once again unfolds from nothing, and then as good as disappears once it goes up and the hatch closes behind him.

* * *

Babs steps up onto the rooftop edge while still facing Frank and Rocket. She gives Frank a smirk as he calls her out on her usual departure. "Well, now he's expecting it." So, what does she do? Without adieu, she just casually backward swan dives off the roof. There's the sound of the grappler gun firing, and then off swings the caped vigilante down into the heart of Hell's Kitchen.

Bats, man. I tell ya.

* * *

Luckily, Frank has a healthy sense of self-esteem, because alongside being called out for being lame, flying away in an invisible ship, and falling neatly backward off the roof only to swingline away, Frank slinging his rifle and heading down the fire escape is definitely lame, "Need to remember I've got Owen's grapple-gun next time." Nope, he never gave it back. And he's definitely giving Babs crap for that departure.

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