2017-04-12 Swapsies
This scene is rated Everybody
Warning: N/A
2017-04-12
Players: Mike and Robin
GMed by .
Title: Swapsies

Established in the 50s, Golem Studios has a considerable history serving the music community in New York City, and those making the trip for their services. The building stands at about two stories tall, with the offices set to the front of the building. The back of the building doesn't sport any rooms to the second floor as it allows for the raised ceilings of the recording rooms on the first floor. Recently rebuilt after a fire bombing. The layout is very much like what it was before, but with more firefighting and security features.

With the Tuesday evening hours bordering on the close to morning. Most people have long since headed home from work and are slumbering away in their beds. The streets, much against the rumor about their wakefulness are mostly asleep, with the occasional hum and flickering sound eminating from one of the street lamps. Most of the residential lights are off and the office buildings are as well… But the appropiately named Golem studio is still showing signs of wakefulness. The lights in the lobby and one of the office windows is on. The sillouette of people make their presence known from behind the door of the building but they linger there. Waiting.

In an oddity, there are three people lingering in an alleyway. Not just odd for their placement, but from the deathly silence coming from them. No chatter. Just a silent wait as well.

Up on high, several floors above street level, sits a lonely figure watching the city that proverbially never sleeps. It had fascinated him, that description, knowing from first hand experience how much false advertising can be packed in so short a phrase. 'City of Tomorrow', 'City that never sleeps', 'City of Justice'… it's as if people went out of their way to find the exact opposite of what their city was like and marketed it to tourists. Tsk. Still, many of these cities were new to the figure sitting semi-gargoyle on the edge of a roof, and so it was time to, as it were, export the brand. Damian didn't care what Father said, the efficiency of the Bat was only as potent as the myth that surrounded it. And for that myth to remain intact, criminals had to be pursued in other cities, to show that nobody was beyond the reach of the Night.

Robin has, of course, been to the city before, but after the last incident thought it high time to take some targeted action. His eagle eyes are tracking the group of three outside of Golem Studios, knowing their intent by their body language. Go on then lads… have a go. Make my night.

The hum of an engine disturbs the quiet nature of outside as it makes its way easily down the street before giving a slight squeak as the brakes are applied outside of the recording studio, idling in wait. The figures in the alley step back as the headlights pass by, though their positioning doesn't really give reason to. With the Taxi stopped, the door to the recording studio opens and the three surviving members of The Gotham City based Irish Band, The Curk steps out accompanied by Mike in his Nick Drago 'relaxed' persona. The clothes appear comfortable but more designer than the usual second-hand. Instead of hiding his hair, the now lengthier hair is splayed down, albeit a bit wild looking with the slight breeze caused by the wind-tunnel like effects of the building walls. Slung on one shoulder, he has a backpack resting, opening dangling under the arm within easy reach of his other hand.

In the alley, there is a brief 'clink' that can easily be dismissed as a rat knocking over a bottle, or some other vermin skittering about. It is, in fact, Robin's grapnel attaching itself to the ledge of the nearby roof, after which the Boy Wonder starts to rappel down with a speed that almost makes it seem as if he learned to climb walls somewhere. Behind the three men, where before there was only silence, now comes a voice, disembodied, sounding both cold and … well, young. "Think really hard about what you're about to do. I suspect you're not capable of it, but try." Where before was nothing now stands Robin, batons in hand and a smirk on his face.

The dramatic entrance by the boy wonder seems to have some form of effect as they make no move towards the group in the taxi and just continue standing there. Observing. One turns his head, looking around for the source of the voice before losing interest and turning back to watching the small gathering in front of the studio.

There is an exchange between the musicians, informal, relaxed, a very pleasant air amongst them and yet attempts to extend the exchange outside of the building are cut short by Nick as he ushers the others to the safety of the taxi. Once the doors are closed, he immediately walks back into the building, glancing around. His glance grazes upon the alleyway entrance but if he sees anything he makes no indication.

"Tsk. If that's the caliber of criminals in this city…" the thought isn't expanded on, as the void that once was empty and became filled with Robin once again returned to empty. But does that mean he has given up and let these hoodlums go on their merry way? Oh bless, of course not. He's watching them from the roof of the Studio, because something is odd here. And odd, well, it usually means trouble.

And visually the threat of a kid in a costume is gone! As the taxi drives off and the door to the studio closes, clicking shut with the automatic lock. It seems that all is well in the city THANKS TO ROBIN! But wouldn't you know it? Yes. Things are not as they seem. Minutes tick away. Lots of minutes. One of the office lights in the studio goes out and another person leaves the building on foot, unafraid and unconfronted. More minutes. Tick. Tock. And they're just standing there.

Some people would think this is only mildly more entertainment than watching paint dry, but for an assassin observation is absolutely critical. That means Damian never had any trouble sitting still and observing a target for hours or even days, a skill that has come in handy as Robin on more than one occasion. Slowly the pattern is starting to become evident. People leave, they don't move. So sooner or later they'll confront their actual target when he or she is alone… probably /inside/ of the building when everyone has left. After watching body language for a few more moments, Robin is certain of his assessment and skulks away from the edge of the roof, making his way to other side of the building and lowering himself to one of the upper floor windows. If laying a trap means breaking in, he'll happily break in.

There is much waiting and it appears that Nick Drago, who has not been seen leaving the building, is pulling an all nighter. If Robin was having fun watching what was going on outside, inside is much better. The window Robin chose is actually a skylight of sorts for one of the recording studios. The occupied one where Nick Drago is seated inside, strumming away on a guitar, over to the side, his bookbag rests open. During the long wait, it appears that Nick has switched to the more relaxing, cheaper clothes and has pulled his hair back. Seemingly more situated for the gym than for hobnobbing with the musical elite.

Three more people walk down the street, nonchalantly before glancing into alleyway at the lurkers. Unblinkingly, they nod to them before turning. On some unspoken cue, all six of them burst into an unnaturally rapid run. The first of the ones in the procession actually using their own body as a battering ram for the door. There is a crash and at the cost of the first's mobility, the other rapidly running ensemble enters in to the building, quickly overpowering the quite justifiably surprised security guard.

Skylights, the eternal favorite entry point for Batman and several generations of Robin… quite frankly, Damian is glad New York has them at all, you couldn't take anything for granted in these new cities, and they didn't tend towards the Gothic Grandiose of Gotham so chances were that skylights just weren't a thing. Good thing they are. First thing through the skylight is a smoke bomb, thrown towards the entrance of the studio itself and likely setting off the smoke alarms. Next thing through is Robin himself, dropping lithely to the ground and giving the seemingly very relaxed musician a glance. "Looks like you were expecting company. Mind if I join the fun?" Out come the batons… and clearly the boy intends to use them as Eskrima sticks.

The noise is loud and sufficient enough for the guitar playing to stop. The smoke, is more of a hassle and makes locating the guitar stand near impossible to start with. Without any regard for the instrument, it is dropped unceremoniously to a nearby chair as a result. Mike quickly reaches down to retrieve a pair of ornately carved escrima sticks from his own bag. Seeing Robin's stance and holding of the batons, he gives a smirk, holding up one of his own sticks, "If it is what I think it is you'll want to try a mix and match." He gestures to one of Robin's batons.

There's a knowing smile when Robin sees the other man reach for his own weapons. He knew it. Nobody, absolutely nobody, would choose to attack someone inside a building the target is familiar with when there is a golden opportunity to do so elsewhere. That was the kind of things assassins did. Which means that, inevitably, this man is worthy of such attention and therefore most likely not all he seems. Another crusader for justice? That would be a welcome change of pace. "I only have these because I believe in giving the riff-raff a fair chance. Only one, mind you."

Mike is not smiling and instead is holding out one of his sticks towards Robin, "Use THIS one. Move fast. I want it back later."

Not much is given in means of explanation as for WHY the instructions because the moment Mike hands off one of his sticks, whether one is given to him in exchange or not, he is turning towards the door as it bursts open from yet another of them using their bodies as a battering ram. In a blur the remaining four are entering in.

"Swapsies it is." Robin jests, tossing his baton to Mike in the same instant one is tossed at him, turning to face the attack with the unfamiliar weapon in his right hand. Hmmm… well balanced, should do nicely. And in an instant, he can see that this is going to be different from the usual fight. For one, they were just crazy enough to use one of their own as a battering ram. And the bigger clue, the one that really sets alarm bells ringing, is that they move so fast that if he reflexes were any slower, he probably would have trouble seeing them at all. They are, in fact, moving so fast that Robin has to fall back to his assassin reflexes. And that's the kind of muscle memory that, well… tends not to be pretty. In a moment he has interposed himself, dropping his left shoulder to meet the charge head on, determined to show that surprise and lethality are inversely proportionate to size.

With the sudden breaking down of the door by a fast moving body, several of the chairs are displaced, forming an unsteady pile in which invading casualty number 2 serves as a cornerstone. It also ends up serving as a temporary sanctuary as Mike jumps behind it to avoid one of the fast moving invaders' slash at him with what appears to be nothing more than a kitchen knife. Spinning around, Mike smacks one with Robin's baton to set him off balance, hopefully buying him time for the move that would probably make Robin cringe. He throws the ornate one at the back of number three's head. Did he just throw away one of his weapons?

There is little time for the niceties of civilised combat as Robin reverts to tried and true methods. His attention on Mike is only so he would have an indication of where his potential ally is and thereby be aware of when he might infringe on the man's fighting arc. Or to fend off sudden betrayal, which is at current still equally likely. The rest of his attention is focused on the attackers, singling out number Four for some personal attention. This comes in the form of a vicious swing of his own baton to the man's weapon arm, aiming not to disarm but to shatter bone… which is like disarming but tends to let the assailant know about it in the most direct way possible, while also precluding any chance of them picking up another weapon in the next six to eight weeks. This is followed up with a rapid overhand strike of Mike's baton to Four's head, because nothing says 'stay down' like a severe concussion.

As five starts to recover and slash at him, Mike dives away from the knife, rolling over towards where his discarded baton bounced off to after hitting number three. Number three turned out much better than number four. Still concious but horribly confused to how he got inside the building and in a considerable amount of pain from overdoing it in his *ahem* exercises that day. Baton in hand, Mike flings it at number five's face while readying Robin's baton should he spot a six coming his way.

As four tumbles down and starts to slip into unconciousness, there is a mild look of pained confusion flashing upon his features as he falls to the ground. "Wher-" THUNK. Taking note of the diminishing numbers, number six makes for a quick run towards Robin, bloodlust very much in his eyes as he is brandishing the matching knife to what three had.

It's always fun when the bad guys suddenly seem to lose grip on reality. Robin has no idea why number Three has stopped fighting, and with Four down is about to turn his attention to the man when Six makes a bold move to work his way up the list of priority targets. The man may not know it, but he has just made the top of that list with room to spare. Considering it to be bad manners to damage a weapon on loan, Robin moves his own baton in a blocking pattern to deflect the knife, turning his body so he can simultaneously deliver a vicious kick to the man's abdomen. It might not be a part of the fighting style, but who said he had to fight fair? The intent is very much the same as before… block, retaliate, break arm, knock senseless. Really, the longer the man resists, the more he's going to end up hurting when he wakes up in his cell…

Boop!

As Number five is hit, his fighting actions stop as he looks blankly around, "Where a-"

Okay good. Rolling to his feet, Mike glances around for any other threats before seeing Six about to get damaged more than necessary. "One hit from mine is all you need!" He barks out to Robin as he locates the stick's sibling on the ground near five.

As Robin attacks with his own weapon, six continues attempting to be on the offensive. Broken bits and all. No pain registering. Just driven. As Mike shouts, six's attention shifts towards the musician.

And indeed, one hit is all it takes. But, of course, Robin isn't clued into the mystery of these sticks, and uses them for their primary purpose rather than the one which seems to be having a more unusual effect. As such, Mike's baton is once again aimed at knocking Six out, in the understanding that a man who can't distinguish up from down is unlikely to pose a threat. The momentary distraction is all Robin needs, the baton descending like the wrath of the gods themselves.

As Six thunks to the ground, Mike looks down to unconcious figure and then around the room for anyone they missed. The still awake numbers five and three look over towards Robin and Mike wide eyed but beyond that, no more attacks. Giving a sigh, the musician moves over to the fallen number 2, giving a solid whack with the ornate stick. "Sometimes you just know it is going to be one of those weeks…"

"Being attacked by a multitude of assailants who move faster than most people can think is usually a good indicator, yes." Robin agrees, kneeling down by Six and pulling the man's hands behind his back. Several moments later, a pair of ziptie cuffs makes sure he has been rendered harmless and fully gift wrapped for the police. This action is repeated with each unconscious attacker, before he rounds on Three and Five. "Both of you, on the ground, now. Hands behind your backs. I will not give you this opportunity twice."

Three and Five are rather submissive as they are ordered to do so. "What the hell happened?" Five bemoans, "I have a headache."

As Robin is forced to deal with the confused remainders, Mike does a quick run through of the building, pausing to whack Number one and check on the security guard who appeared to be just out cold. Shaking his head, he zip ties the out cold battering ram and walks back to the studio, talking on his com link. "Requesting a pickup over at Golem Studios. Demon Infest. Building cleared. Medical needed."

All bad guys subdued, check. Ziptied so they pose no threat, check. Laid out in a neat line… well, check after a bit of work. By the time Mike returns, Robin is nowhere to be found, although the skylight remains partially open, letting in a bit of a breeze. The borrowed baton is sitting neatly in the guitar stand, and a Batarang buried halfway into the sound insulation, pinning a note to the wall. All it says is 'The Bat is Everywhere'… Hmmm…

And on a nearby roof top, Robin stands, smiling, light one baton but richer in knowledge, staring out over the city that never sleeps with his arms crossed… So many criminals to catch, so little night time.

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