Gotham's Nightingale

???

???

A night when even vigilantes decide to go inside to brood.

And this Gotham has so so many more of them then home. Damian thinks with a grimace.

A green tarp lit up in a corner of one of the more run down warehouses by the docks.

A lone figure working under it to avoid the growing leaks.

Damian swore as the flash tablet let off a sharp crack of lightning and blue smoke. Again

“Of course I have to find a Gotham with even worse weather than normal. And the recall is on the Fritz. I'm going to strangle whichever flash built this stupid thing!”

Maybe she should've gotten more sleep the previous night; her movements wouldn't have been slow and she wouldn't have gotten stabbed. Though, she did want to put much more of the blame on the idiot that did stab her—and had clearly wanted to.

That had to hurt. It didn't sound like bane or any of the big guys.

Damian tucks the tablet under the table and pulls his hood up.

Let's see what idiot needs help tonight.

His grapple snaps up to the fire escape with a quiet wrr. He easily lands on the railing barely rattling the steel. He leans into the shadows as he observes.

"Nightwing?"

"Common misconception—we have the same first name, after all. But he's much more flippy. It's Nightingale, actually. And I may look like I'm in no condition to fight, but I just need a reason, so square up, jackass." The words came out bold, for someone who was slurring each vowel, and barely had any coherence or strength left in her.

"Well you were definitely trained by the family. Only a bat would be stupid enough to start a fight with a gaping knife wound."

Let's see if it's stitches or Hemostatic Spray.

"At least some things never change. Nightingale Ts We never were very original with names."

Damian holds up the red and white spray can with a shake as he squats next to the impertinent woman.

"Man, I don't fuckin' know ya or ya family. And no, the bats didn't really train me, or name me. Nor do most of them know I exist."

She took a breath. Compliance was seldom better than death, but she was willing to give him a chance.

Damian says with a sigh annoyed he won't be home anytime soon.

"Hood is probably still green eyed and snarling. So I'm probably still in the Himalayas."

Damian subconsciously scratches at the scar on the back of his neck.

Might have to try to get him out early.

"Heavy gloves and assuming The patient is going to be pissed off enough to bite you."

Damian makes a quick motion pressing the applicator into her side. knowing the sealant is going to hurt and hoping to distract the young woman.

Please note that all vigilante’s will be attending a meeting and having a stern lecture about proper behavior.

Sincerely and regretfully,

Vigilante HR

A night when even vigilantes decide to go inside to brood.

And this Gotham has so so many more of them then home. Damian thinks with a grimace.

A green tarp lit up in a corner of one of the more run down warehouses by the docks.

A lone figure working under it to avoid the growing leaks.

Damian swore as the flash tablet let off a sharp crack of lightning and blue smoke. Again

“Of course I have to find a Gotham with even worse weather than normal. And the recall is on the Fritz. I'm going to strangle whichever flash built this stupid thing!”

Maybe she should've gotten more sleep the previous night; her movements wouldn't have been slow and she wouldn't have gotten stabbed. Though, she did want to put much more of the blame on the idiot that did stab her—and had clearly wanted to.

That had to hurt. It didn't sound like bane or any of the big guys.

Damian tucks the tablet under the table and pulls his hood up.

Let's see what idiot needs help tonight.

His grapple snaps up to the fire escape with a quiet wrr. He easily lands on the railing barely rattling the steel. He leans into the shadows as he observes.

"Nightwing?"

"Common misconception—we have the same first name, after all. But he's much more flippy. It's Nightingale, actually. And I may look like I'm in no condition to fight, but I just need a reason, so square up, jackass." The words came out bold, for someone who was slurring each vowel, and barely had any coherence or strength left in her.

"Well you were definitely trained by the family. Only a bat would be stupid enough to start a fight with a gaping knife wound."

Let's see if it's stitches or Hemostatic Spray.

"At least some things never change. Nightingale Ts We never were very original with names."

Damian holds up the red and white spray can with a shake as he squats next to the impertinent woman.

"Man, I don't fuckin' know ya or ya family. And no, the bats didn't really train me, or name me. Nor do most of them know I exist."

She took a breath. Compliance was seldom better than death, but she was willing to give him a chance.

A night when even vigilantes decide to go inside to brood.

And this Gotham has so so many more of them then home. Damian thinks with a grimace.

A green tarp lit up in a corner of one of the more run down warehouses by the docks.

A lone figure working under it to avoid the growing leaks.

Damian swore as the flash tablet let off a sharp crack of lightning and blue smoke. Again

“Of course I have to find a Gotham with even worse weather than normal. And the recall is on the Fritz. I'm going to strangle whichever flash built this stupid thing!”

Maybe she should've gotten more sleep the previous night; her movements wouldn't have been slow and she wouldn't have gotten stabbed. Though, she did want to put much more of the blame on the idiot that did stab her—and had clearly wanted to.

That had to hurt. It didn't sound like bane or any of the big guys.

Damian tucks the tablet under the table and pulls his hood up.

Let's see what idiot needs help tonight.

His grapple snaps up to the fire escape with a quiet wrr. He easily lands on the railing barely rattling the steel. He leans into the shadows as he observes.

"Nightwing?"

"Common misconception—we have the same first name, after all. But he's much more flippy. It's Nightingale, actually. And I may look like I'm in no condition to fight, but I just need a reason, so square up, jackass." The words came out bold, for someone who was slurring each vowel, and barely had any coherence or strength left in her.

Nightingale sat on a high rooftop, feet swinging leisurely—dangerously—off the ledge. Her back curved over her breathes as her body formed barely a shadow on the Gotham streets down below.

It was clear from her posture that she was distressed. Tired, perhaps. A dagger twirled in her hands, as if it were just a motion she did without even noticing.

His mouth opens, and then closes. What can anyone say in this situation?

Evan supposes it's just another thing that fell through.

He pauses, at her next words. He knows that he looks different, he can tell when people he doesn't remember look at him, at his scars. It's...weird. But. He does know that the more he stays around them, the more he remembers caring for them, and...even if he doesn't know this person, he knows he wants her to be safe.

"I'll stay wherever, maybe I'll pull an all nighter patrolling!"

"Maybe...Beau and Artem could help you?" He words it like an offering, fumbling over the words without giving them titles.

"I... They say I got kidnapped, or gifted, or--" He goes quiet, thinking. "I was under service to a presence, for a while."