V For Vendetta
Roleplaying Log: V For Vendetta
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Nightwing finds Black Canary in the middle of an interrogation. They decide to have a fun night on the town figuring out new leads to Dinah's own cause.

Other Characters Referenced: Batman, Batgirl, Frank Castle
IC Date: September 13, 2019
IC Location: Gotham City - Miller Harbor - The Narrows
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 13 Sep 2019 20:59
Rating & Warnings: Flirting, mild descriptions of intense violence.
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

** OOC Time: Thu Sep 12 16:32:37 2019 ***

* * *

"Aww, shit, lady, c'mon! I don't know!"

"Not a great answer," Dinah informs the speaker. Sweat beads on the man's brow, possibly due to the five-story drop under his heels. Only the purchase of his toes and Dinah's gloved fist clencihng his shirtfront keep him from falling backwards. He makes a grab for Dinah's arm for purchase and for his trouble, gets a broken finger. Cries of alarm become a shriek of pain and he whimpers repeatedly.

A late summer breeze blows up from Gotham Harbor, dancing between the lean buildings of the narrows and tugging fitfully at her blonde hair. A domino mask partially conceals her identity, but with the leather jacket and fishnet-style leggings she's wearing, there's no confusing her with anyone but Black Canary.

"C'mon, you can tell me," she says with a wholly insincere smile. "I know, you guys talk. Around the water cooler." Her fist shakes and he yelps again. Dust skitters out from under a foot and down the side of the tenement. "I just want a name. Was it the Locos? Is Penguin back in town? Just give me a name and you don't spend sixteen weeks in traction with a broken back."

* * *

Dick Grayson WAS doing some detective work, but after about six hours of listening to the new police chief rag on and on and on about how Gotham vigilantes need to be captured and put behind bars, well, even Grayson despite his patience needed a break.

So, he puts on the Nightwing suit and the domino mask and gets on with his acrobatic vigilante good-looking life.

After about ten minutes, Nightwing flips off of a building, performs a triple-somersault, and lands about ten feet behind Dinah, silent as a mouse.

She's probably used to the Bat antics and skillset from her relations with Barbara.

"You know, when I said I'd love to meet again, maybe get some dinner, or chill out on a nice rooftop, I didn't quite picture dangling a guy off a rooftop." Nightwing says humorously. He knows Dinah won't kill him at least, but he greets her with humor nonetheless.

* * *

Dinah's head twitches minutely towards the voice behind her, but she recognizes it before she does more than flinch in surprise. The motion translates to a loss of a few millimeters of leverage for her prisoner, and he yelps and flails at the air (though he's wise enough not to grab Dinah's wrist again).

She looks back at Dick and then smiles. It's not a terribly nice smile, but then again, she's been through a lot in the last few days. "That's 'cause you lack imagination, sweetheart," Dinah assures the Batling. "C'mon. What isn't improved by a little life-and-death stakes?"

The criminal moans. The drying blood under his nose suggests the interview with Dinah's becoming a protracted one. "Awww, shit, it's Batman," he groans. "C'mon man, don't let her kill me. I heard the stories, man, just /take me in/, I'll do my time, just… don't let her hurt me none!" he begs. Clearly, any dark figure in a mask is as good as another in this case.

* * *

Nightwing walks towards Dinah at a relaxed pace. Was he Batman? No. But he knows that sometimes its better to use the fear and intimidation to your advantage (especially when a lovely cat-calling leather-clad sonic-screaming badass is about to drop the suspect off a building) than openly admit a truth or fallacy.

"Then You'd better tell her what you want. I don't want to tell the cops to scrape you off the pavement. Start talking, and you'll walk." Lying or no, Dick took the serious voice, before he looks at Dinah. "Becuase she will -absolutely- do it." then to speaking to her more directly.

"Oh no, I have the imagination." His tone suggests something flirty and suggestive. "But we both just need to find the time. Now, where were we?"

he looks back to the criminal.

* * *

The criminal's babbling at this point and Dinah jerks him back to reality with a shake of her wrist. "Ohhh shit, c'mon man, please, I…" Sweats beads on his brow and he licks his lips nervously.

"Fuck. Okay. Okay," he says, and jerks his head in a nod. "I'll talk. Just don't drop me. Bring me in. I'll talk."

Dinah pulls him forward just enough that his heels aren't over a drop to the ground. When the criminal starts forward, she stiffarms him in the chest. "Nuhuh. Start talking."

"God. Okay. Okay. I don't know much— much!" He squeals when Dinah grabs his shirt again. "I know some stuff! I know they're here in the Narrows!" he admits. "Down at Rudy's Bar, I heard someone talkin' about it. Lotta guys were passin' on the job, they didn't wanna piss off the cops with a hit like that. Ain't no one dumb enough to do that, bring the whole effin' GCPD down on 'em?"

He glances towards Nightwing, fidgets, and tries to shuffle around Dinah to get closer to the somewhat-less-unsympathetic vigilante. "That's all I know, I swear. I just heard rumors. I don't know nothin' beyond that!"

* * *

Nightwing crosses his arms. Dinah has the eye for this stuff. Nightwing could do it, but Nightwing won't crush your balls if you give him an answer he doesn't like. "Better get talking."

Then boy oh boy does he start talking. Rudy's bar? He knows the place. Went undercover and done stakeouts a few times in his vigilante career. He was right though. Nobody wants to piss off the entire police force.

Nightwing stares at the crook for a second. He was scared. Dinah was scary. Reasons to lie, zero. He subtly touches Dinah's upper back very quickly, touch gone as soon as it arrived. A message.

He's done.

* * *

The crook stares at Dinah. She stares back. He whines, animal-like. Whimpering. "Aww, c'mon, I told ya," he groans in a near-whisper. "Just… just lemme go."

Dinah's weight almost shifts and then Dick touches her shoulder. Her head tilts minutely to regard the Batling in her peripheral vision, then she looks at the crook again.

"You're leaving Gotham. Tonight. First bus," she bids him. "If I see your face in town again, I'll break your spine and throw you into Riker's myself."

Her head tilts violently to the rooftop ladder. "Go. 'fore I change my mind."

The criminal starts walking away, obligated to cringe away from Dinah to avoid the least physical contact. She doesn't make it easy for him and he walks a tightrope path a few paces on the roof's edge before he's clear, and shuffles down the ladder with a whimpering haste that grows to a noisy clatter as he takes his leave.

Dinah turns to Dick and shoves his chest. "Why're you interrupting my investigation?" she snarls up at him. There's no good humor in her eyes behind her domino mask. "I don't need your help interrogating him, boy scout. I got this." She turns and stalks off the other direction, towards a fire escape on the other side of the building.

* * *

Grayson looked so happy and proud that Dinah let the poor soul go. Now they can chat, stare at the stars, talk about fa-

Nightwing finds Dinah's hands applying large force to his chest, and he stumbles just a step. Loudest record scratch ever. Then she's chewing him out, and he only stopped by to say hi!

So rude.

"You sure don't look like you got this." Dick quips, but doesn't follow.

* * *

Dinah stops six strides away and rests her hands on her hips. Blonde hair tumbles as she looks skywards, presumably praying for strength and restraint, then downwards, as if gauging how far of a drop it'd be into hell for giving in to her anger.

She turns on her toes, neatly as a drum majorette. "Is that your 'professional' opinion?" she asks, rhetorically. "Like, just to be clear— is this your opinion as a vigilante who totally wasn't around when my house burned down? Or a civil servant who— also!— wasn't around when my house burned down?"

Her hands extend to her sides, make weighing motions. "I'm super curious to know what your whole goal is here, right now, aside from criticizing my investigation. Criticisms would have been welcome— hmm," she glances thoughtfully aside, "oh, I know, -when my house was burned down-."

* * *

Dick takes it all in stride. He stays right where he is as Dinah decides to go off. He was helping in his own way. She's talking, which is good, even if she's currently angry at him. He just..watches and doesn't talk. She's salty. She's vulnerable. She's vengeful.

Maybe she does need to see a therapist, but the doctor was not in today. But the Grayson was.

"Try 'emotionally compromised'." He answers her clearly. "I'm upset too. But you can't let it get to you. You do that, you make mistakes…then eventually, you're going to do something you're going to regret. I've been there, I've seen it. My goal is to help you, even if somedays you can be a bit of a tough pill to swallow." he smirks just a tad.

"Anyway, I know the place he was talking about. Lots of scumbags in there, so if you go in gung-ho, your chance will probably escape, considering they'll all probably have amnesia from the brain damage." Dick is working towards a point, surely.

* * *

Dinah's eyes roll. She flips Dick the bird midway through his Reassuring Speech, but remains otherwise impassive. Her hand drops and hangs from her side, the other resting on her waist again.

"I know the place too. I've lived in Gotham as long as you have. Longer," she points out. "Circus boy."

She turns and heads to the fire escape and hooks a grapnel into it. Looks like she stole one of Batgirl's rappeling guns. Dinah hooks it into her belt and stands like a professional rapeller, looking at Nightwing with the cable held loosely in her hand.

"Well? You coming? Lord knows I can't stop you without breaking your collarbone or something. You've got that 'I'm gonna go be helpful' look on your face," she says, sourly.

With that Dinah kicks off the building and rappels down the side, the line whirring in her hands as she effortlessly descends the brick sidewall.

* * *

Dick watches as she continues to get sassy with him with a little bit of genuine angst, but when she calls him a circus boy, he grins. "You're just jealous because unlike you, I'm flexible." Yes, he's just crapshooting, but he's clearly having fun with it.

Then she tells him to come along, or rather, asks him to and when she's gone, Dick just sighs. "How are you Dick? How was the travel? Work Good?" Dick mocks under his breath a little bit. "Women."

Then he fires his grappling hook, pursuing Dinah as she goes on her own vendetta of vengeance.

* * *

Dinah's bike is parked nearby and she doesn't wait around for Nightwing to catch up. Super-fly Circus Boy is gonna have to keep up as best he can, and Dinah lays down some rubber with more acceleration than even her usual reckless abandon allows.

Still, it's not far enough to the bar that she'd gain any advantage by taking highways. There's only so much latitude that the laws of physics allow. She parks her bike a half-block away, down a convenient alley for fast escapes. By the time Dick's caught up, she's digging in her saddlebags. Her jacket's tucked away and replaced by a bodice-style armored vest with deltoid guards, and she whips her hair back from her face and starts binding it up with a rubber scrunchie around her wrist. Eyes are intent on the bar, watching through the windows to get a feel for who's coming and going.

* * *

Well, good thing Dick had a flightsuit his own mode of transportation. As soon as Dinah zooms off, Dick pushes a few buttons on the inner forearm of his gauntlet, a high-tech looking motorcycle rides itself around the corner and Dick quickly mounts it, pursuing Dinah fervently.

Dick even goes into the same alleyway as Dinah. "I never understood the scrunchy thing. Guess the past really is coming back in style." He leans his bike against the wall and stretches his arm out a little bit. "Okay, here's what we can do. I can come in through one of the high windows when nobody's looking. You can take the backdoor in. There's usually only one guy anyway. OR I can go in and do some very sublte talking to get what we need to know. Your vendetta, your call."

* * *

"I don't like my hair in my face when I'm kicking ass," Dinah explains, tersely. "And having seen some of your haircuts in action, I'm not gonna take any criticisms, thank you."

She evaluates the bar with a careful eye, consdiering, then nods at Dick. "Right. Okay. Here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to go in the front door and kick people in the teeth until I get answers. You have two choices. Option A: You're my sidekick, and your quiet participation is limited to throwing punches and some quippy Ahnuld impersonationa." A plastic smile stretches across her face.

"Option B, you babysit the bikes. Coming, sidekick?" she asks— and without waiting for an answer, she starts a direct path down the alley towards the street and the bar on the other side of the limited midnight traffic.

* * *

"ONE time, man.." Dick comments as she talks about his haircuts. "I wasn't criticizing, I was observing. Not everything anyone says is actually against you, ya know." Dick defends himself with a deadpanned look at Dinah. "Besides, shoulder-length for me is perfectly fine, thank you very much." Dick smirks at her then.

Then she says she's going to just kick the door open and kick the crap out of everyone. "Do you ever actually thi-Canary!" Nightwing says with a whispered shout so that he doesn't alert everyone.

"Dammit." Dick then chases after her, moving with speed as he pulls the escrima sticks off of his back.

He knows she's going to come in like a literal sonic wrecking ball.

* * *

Dinah opens the door and just walks in.

It's a good steel security door, it's not like she's going to just kick it out of the frame. She's not Jen Walters.

But the effect of her arrival is immediate, and the bar goes dead silent. A couple of drunks give the blonde some speculative leering, her leggings and casually unzipped jacket definitely showing off some female curves. A few others start reaching under the table for concealed weapons.

Two guys coming out the back see her, blanche, and immediately sprint for the exits. They're the smart ones. Even the bartender starts moving the expensive liquor out of harm's way and slowly ducking behind the counter.

"Closing time, boys," Dinah declares, confidently, and strolls inside. The tables closet to the door promptly vacate as people flee or take up better tactical positions. She walks with her hands on her hips, lookign around. "You all know someone put a hit out on a couple of cops a few days ago. Burned down a house. Almost killed the kids inside. Shouldn't have done that," she advises them. "Capes and cops, we got a good thing going. I wanna know who was on the crew that burned it, and I want to know now. And ain't no one leaving until I get some answers," she explains, and her eyes narrow behind the mask.

* * *

Nightwing shakes his head a little bit, but he follows in from behind her and the sight of the former Boy Wonder makes some more smart crooks try and leave, but then he speaks. "Didn't you hear the lady? Now, I'm no expert, but I'm sure she'll be mad at me AND you if you try to leave. Only difference is, I won't have broken arms." Nightwing says a little sing-songy.

Then he just lets Dinah do her thing. He knows full well that she is just unshakeable in her convinctions and this was just one of those moments where he was just going to be supportive.

* * *

"Aww, shit, there's two of 'em," someone mutters. If there was a jukebox playing, it'd shut off. Or turn on. Either way, the bar's paralyzed by indecision.

Abruptly two of the guys nearest the door rush the duo. Escaping? Trying to buy time? An attack?

Dinah turns to the first one and barely resettles her feet. A boot goes up over her head and slashes down in a perfect axe kick onto the bridge of the guy's nose. He goes down like he got smacked in the face with a baseball bat, almost cracking the hardwood underfoot. Number two runs right into Nightwing's open arms— er, sticks.

"So. Gonna be like that, huh?"

With cries of defiance, rage, and fear, the bar explodes into motion and a half-dozen criminals kick chairs and tables aside to rush the two vigilants blocking their egress.

* * *

GOD DAMN SHE GOT LEGS!

In the…totally normal, axe-kickery kind of legs. Honestly though, Dick is a little impressed with how quickly she snapped it off too. Guess that just means he should just spend more time with Dinah.

Either way, Dick throws that escrima stick straight at the forehead of the guy coming after him, the force knocking him out immediately as Dick hit the sweet spot, the escrima stick bouncing back to his hand after the impact. "Next! Okay, nice and orderly ladies and gents!"

Dick looks at Dinah. "I'm telling you, they just don't like pretty blondes. Sexists, amirite?"

Yes, Dick is still going to quip even as he immediately gets into the fray, kicking ass and taking names.

* * *

Dinah gives Dick a /look/ at the quippy banter. "That's one," she promises him, and then turns and launches herself into the charging mass with an ear-splitting KIYAA! Even without her superhuman talents it rattles teeth and cuts the air around her.

This is a dance Canary and Nightwing have done more than a few times. Lots of years of stylistic cross-training and teamups like this. Dinah takes her first thug in the knee with a roundhouse kick, hard enough to sweep his leg out from under him. The next one gets grasping fingers bent back in a grappel that turns into a spectacular flip, his feet up over his head as he's cartwheeled into the ground. Dinah grabs the third in a guillotine as he charges her and twists in midair to re-distribute his forward momentum, sending the criminal bumbling right into range of Nightwing's escrima sticks.

* * *

Dick looks at her and gives a nervous smile. One What? One punch? one kick in the nethers? One point-blank Canary cry? One free meal? She should be specific! But considering she gave him a /look/ before she said it, he just automatically assumes he's in trouble.

Might be the same song and dance, but that doesn't mean they can't make a new work of martial art whenever they fight baddies together. Nightwing doues a sweep under the arch of Dinah's leg, so when she kicks her thug in the head, Dick breaks the leg of his crook. Escrima sticks both swing and smack the criminal that Dinah sends his way right in the face.

"Come on guys, can we just ta-" NOPE! Dick dodges a overhand swing of a chair and proceeds to kick that thug in the nuts. "See, should've talked."

* * *

Contrary to Nightwing's nimble style, Dinah more or less stands in one spot and shuffles her feet. And yet, no one seems to land a hit, much less get a hand on her. Grab, twist, pivot, flip, and she flings a charging brute right back into the arms of his allies. Another rushes her with a lead pool cue in hand in a brutal overhand swing and for his trouble, abruptly ends up being flung into the table behind Dinah with a little topspin for good measure. He bounces off the wood table and hits the ground with a wheezing moan that smacks of cracked ribs.

"Aww, c'mon fellahs, I'm looking for a good fight," Dinah says. She's almost /pouting/. Another thug charges her with a footballer's tackle for her waist and Dinah deflects him aside with a brushing of her palms and a slap to his eardrum for good measure.

* * *

Nightwing smirks a little bit at what Dinah's doing, her smacking and twisting and shuffling earning a nod of approval from Bludhaven's defender. But, A thug gets a swing in as Dick was distracted by Dinah, though a quick reaction time allows him to dodge it, grab the arm, and snap it like a twig over his shoulder. A kick to the inside of the knee dislocates it, because TWO broken bones just suck. He then throws him at three others and they get knocked down like bowling pins.

Putting his escrima sticks away, Dick leaps over Dinah like a 10x better leap frog just to kick a thug in the face like he was Bruce Lee. "WWoooooaaaaaaaaaAAA." Yes, Dick makes the chicken noises that Lee makes in the movies.

Just…ugh.

* * *

"Jesus, Nightwing, would you take this seriously?" Dinah can't prevent a smile breaking her scowl, like she's in the first good mood she's seen in days. Another comes in trying to shoot for Dinah's waist in a wrestler's hold, and for his trouble gets a one-two three combo to the face that breaks his nose and lays him out cold before he can sink a grip. The guy falls to the ground, arms forming a loose circle around her feet.

"I should record this. Get it on tape." An ashtray is picked up and hurled with deadly accuracy, knocking out cold one thug armed with a handgun. "I can make it my cell phone ringer."

"WHOOAH! HAAAIYAAA!" she screams, imitating Nightwing's bad Lee imitation.

But she kicks another one in the face all the same.

* * *

"Course not! Then you wouldn't smile!" See, Nightwing has an agenda with Dinah, dammit. But when she makes a comment about making this her ringtone, he laughs. "After we beat the bad guys." He quips back with a wink her way, but then he's kneeing another man right in the throat after a solid jump. Another is judo thrown into the bar.

God, its like they're kids again.

Not that they technically arn't kids. Old people would call them kids, probably. Or anyone over the age of 40.

But, you know how it is.

He looks around then to see if there are any left after Dick and Dinah literally just put boots to asses.

* * *

There's not a lot left standing after Nightwing punts their final contestant over the bar with a crash of glass and splashing liquids. Dinah vaults the bar smoothly and reaches for a bottle of whisky, uncorking it with her teeth. The stopper's spat aside and she takes a few chugs, then lifts her hips onto the bar and sits on it with her ankles on her knees in a lazy slouch.

"Phil. Hey, it is Phil, right?" Dinah inquires of the bartender on the floor. "Listen, Phil, I'm kind of in a shit mood," she explains. "Right now, Nightwing's the only thing keeping me from just blowing the roof off this place. So how 'bout it, Phil? Tell me what I want to know, and I'll walk away."

She turns and hurls the bottle at someone staggering to his feet. The missile's hard thrown, and accurate. It bounces off his temple without breaking and down he goes.

"Nasty Canadian whisky anyway," Dinah mutters, and reaches for some bourbon.

* * *

Nightwing had to dodge that one. He shifts his head to the side, watching the whiskey sail through the air and smack a guy right in the head and he whistles. "Eyyy batter batter batter swing batta." He then rests his arms on the bar next to Dinah, looking at the bartender.

"Come on, Phil. How many times have I helped you keep the gangs you owe cash to off your back? Help us out this once?"

It was an honest plea. Yes, he's pulling the 'come on, Phil' card.

* * *

Phil's pale. He's a skinny wretch of a guy who struggles to stay off the dose, and his balding head is not helped by the ponytail hanging down his back. Pockmarks on his face suggest a lot of substance abuse problems.

"Look. Look. Okay, just… don't fuck my bar up anymore," he mutters. Phil looks around. No one seems conscious enough or alert enough to be paying attention. "I'll tell you, but then you gotta go, I can't let no one see me hel—-!" He yelps as Dinah grabs him by the ponytail, leather gloves creaking with the effort, and hauls him closer. The twist of her wrist forces him to bend his knees a little and look up, whimpering.

"Name, Phil, before I tell Nightwing to give me one of his beatin' sticks and I do a number on your skull," she growls.

"Awwww goddamnit! Fine! Fine! Villagomez, okay? Ronny, Ricky, whatever the fuck his name is. He was in here getting a drink with some guys. I don't know their names, they're new!" Phil grips his head, trying to relieve the pressure on his scalp. "Fuck, you're gonna tear my hair out! That's all I know!"

* * *

Nightwing looks at Dinah with /that/ look again. Like he's being honest. "Phil's a cheat, sometimes, but he's not a liar. Got no reason to, because he'll know I'll rat him." Nightwing has his resources! But hek nows that Phil's given all he knows.

Phil's a nice guy, even if he's usually in bad company.

"Congrats Phil, she'll probably let you keep your hair. We appreciate the help."

* * *

Dinah considers the guy, levelly. Her brow starts to crease at Nightwing's words, and Phil cries out as her grip tightens. "Ow! Shit! He's right! I ain't lyin, I tell you, that's it! Just don't hurt me!"

Dinah thinks about it for a few more seconds, then releases Phil and shoves him backwards against the counter. "You better take a sick day tomorrow, Phil. Go to New York for the weekend. If I find out this asshole got wind I'm coming— I'm blaming you."

Dinah pushes off the bar with a smooth motion and lands on her boots. With a brisk stride she starts back towards the front door. "Comin', sidekick?" she asks of Nightwing.

* * *

Nightwing is always right! (tm).

But he crosses his arms when she seems to maintain the grip, but smiles when she finally lets Phil go. "Sorry about the bar phil. But I know you'll get it straightened out." He pats the old fellow on the shoulder and walks out with Dinah.

"Not your sidekick. I was doin' this gig before you were. Get grandfather ruled." Dick quips at her with amusement as he shoulder-nudges her (unless she moves). But, they have a name. Looks like their mission is done (for now)

* * *

"Old man," Dinah says. She doesn't evade the nudge but it barely deflects her. A useful part of having a lower center of gravity. "You got two years, tops, on me'n Batgirl. And I didn't need a bunch of fancy gadgets to compensate," she reminds him with a flickering, smug look.

They get back to the bikes and Dinah starts removing her fighting jacket and shrugging into the biker leathers, an embroidered gold canary on the back catching the light of the streetlamps overhead. "And if you're helping me with this, then you're definitely in a sidekick role. Babs too, if it makes you feel better. It'll be just like old times, you two can flirt awkwardly at each other while I do the actual ass kicking."

* * *

"I was nine."

Grayson tells her with a grin. "You were still crushing on Justin Bieber when I was kicking ass of highly trained killers." He smirks at her, though when they get onto the bikes, Dick doesn't put on his helmet. "Not. Sidekick. But I'll remember that the next time you need something."

But when she tells him it'll be like old times, he smirks. "Eh, mostly. 'cept I'll be flirting with you."

…did he just make a move on Dinah?

* * *

Dinah snorts at the word, smiling tight. The adrenaline and endorphins of the fight have her feeling good and she starts to zip up her jacket when the smirk catches up to her awareness. "Flirt all you want, you're still stuck in the support role. Me big hero, you goofy sidekick," she assures him.

Dinah swings a leg over the bike and settles her weight onto it, but doesn't kick it over yet.

"I'm serious, Dick," she says, her tone more level. "I'm already putting up with two nannies and an ex-Marine with a control complex. I don't need someone else nagging me and telling me 'I'm too close to things'."

* * *

Dick chuckles. "Me too. Speaking of which, I still need to have a talk with this Ex-Marine." He shrugs. "But I was serious about the flirting too, you know." Dick smirks at her. They just got through a fight, like…three fights, technically. One of them was a verbal bout between each other.

Endorphines were up, hearts were beating fast. This is usually where bad ideas come into play. "I'll race ya though, either way. Besides, I'm not the one to tell you your too close to stuff. Babs is your best friend. She'd know about it before you even did something stupid." he teases her.

Her codename is Oracle for a bloody reason.

* * *

Dinah gives Dick a flickering look, trying to read past the gregarious charm and the smile with it. "If you go to have a 'talk' with him, I'd do it somewhere neither of you can pull a weapon on one another," Dinah suggests. "He's not the sort of guy who you want to have a beef with unless you're prepared to put him in traction first. Old man or not— either of you," she taunts Dick.
d Dinah tugs a helmet onto her head and flicks the visor shut. "I've got other leads to look into. I don't trust Phil to be completely honest. I'll call you, /if/ I need you. Sidekick," she says again. There's a sense of a grin from behind the visor and Dinah kicks the bike over with a roar, drowning out any response. She sketches a two-fingered salute at Dick then peels off with a squeal of rubber in her wake.

* * *

Dinah Lance goes home.


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