Uneven odds [Oliver]

[Deleted]

Usually when people think of crime, they think of dark alleys on dark nights. However, depending on exactly who a particular gang of criminals is most worried about, that may not be the case. Those who fear Batman are aware that the middle of the night is not a safe time to be doing business. These guys are out at ten o'clock in the morning. Then again, people who are trying to use that tactic are probably either unaware that Hawkgirl is in town, or they simply haven't taken into account that she has extremely good vision and can view what they're doing from above rather than at street level.

That's how Hawkgirl came across this particular group of gentlemen. Or, 'groups', technically. In a small back-alley behind a row of warehouses two gangs conducting some tense negotiations where they figure they won't be spied by bat, cop, or agent. It seems that one of the groups has a cache of weapons that the other would like to purchase, but neither group likes the other very much. Or something like that - Hawkgirl doesn't bother to listen in for very long. Patience is not her 'thing', after all.

However, she does realize that the twenty or so of them are very armed and likely to set aside their differences the moment she appears under the 'enemy of my enemy' theory. Most crime fighters would take one look at that situation and decide on a cautious approach given how severely outnumbered they would be. But this is Hawkgirl we're talking about - she decides that simply charging in will catch enough of them off guard for her to get a bunch of them before they can react and that several of the rest are likely to try to run.

As it turns out, she's only partially correct; when she suddenly lands among them she quickly dispatches the four of them that happened to be within striking distance of her landing site - two knocked aside by her powerful wings, one tripped with a quick sweep of her legs, and one unfortunate punk gets a punch to the face. But only five of them panic and flee immediately; the remainder, mostly belonging to the gang with the weapons cache, apparently had a few concealed automatics - and here she thought that most of the gangs would be nearly out of ammo this far into the embargo. However, though Hawkgirl wasn't expecting that, she's very quick to dodge behind a dumpster just before they open fire. The bullets stop as quickly as they start - this group may not be out of ammo, but bullets are still getting too valuable to waste.

Reflecting on this turn of events, she does some quick calculations - three mini machine guns among about a dozen remaining opponents. She smirks as she loosens her mace from her belt - it won't be easy, but that isn't too big of a challenge for her if she's careful. Just the way she likes it. She'll have to pick them off more slowly than she intended, but based on their confident shouts to each other they haven't a clue who they're dealing with.

As she listens carefully, she hears them hastily organizing themselves into three groups, with two of them holding position and the third planning on circling around the dumpster so that they can force her into the open. Unfortunately for them that she can hear them and is a master of tactics - otherwise that would be a good plan. Concentrating on their footfalls, she pauses to wait for the group that's separating itself from the others and waits for the right moment...

[oliver]

Oliver had actually been sleeping on the roof of the building a half block away when the noise of battle startled him into wakefulness. Snorting and flailing a bit, face and beard streaked with dirt and sweat, the man hauled himself outright and went for the innocuous green walking stick at his side. Within mere moments, he had the disguised bow bent, strung, and ready to go, and by the time he crossed to the edge of the room, the battle down below was in full swing. He considered both sides of the confrontation, quickly ascertained who was probably the 'good guy'- the wings did make her stand out- and decided, right there, he had to help. Licking his lips a bit uncertainly, Oliver considered; he was about a ninety feet away, the targets in question miniscule figurines to say the least. Could he rely on blunted tips...?

No. From this height, the broader heads wouldn't have the pinpoint accuracy he would need; even an inch or two off target would turn a knock-out blow into a mildly painful bop on the head. He would need to rely instead on his staple ammunition, the elegant, titanium tipped razor head. But this was the first time he'd used razor-edged arrows since... the incident. At first, his uncertainty and fear began to rise once more, telling him that he couldn't take the risk of killing another man, couldn't get involved in this conflict, but his sheer stubborness beat the fear back down. Maybe this wasn't any of his business, but he wasn't going to let his cowardice keep him from doing what he could to assist...

The fight seemed to have reached a bit of a stalemate for the time being, with the two sides circling about to try and find a better position. Offered a little time to prepare, Oliver didn't rush, reaching into the inner folds of his jacket and beginning to draw arrow after arrow from the places he had stashed them, setting them almost primly on the ledge in front of him. Before long, he had eleven arrows set in front of him, forming a full row of ammunition; had he been aiming for the kill, he would run out of targets long before he ran out of projectiles, but he had no intentions of causing anyone serious harm today. No, he suspected this mysterious winged woman had things

Selecting the first arrow, Oliver took just a moment to survey the battle below- they still hadn't clashed- and examined the arrow critically, checking for any sign its time under his coat had disturbed its fletching. Fortunately, their superb design won the day, and after another moment of contemplation, he fitted the arrow to his bowstring, drawing it back in one smooth motion and picking his first target down below.

Breathe.

After that first shot, the motion became smooth and simple; his hand would dart down and grab an arrow by the shaft, giving it a quick twirl to fit it to the bow. He would nock the projectile, aim, draw back, fire, and then snatch a second arrow before the first had even reached his target. Time and time again he did this, and to the poor wretches down below, it might have seemed like an entire group of archers had descended upon their poor heads; the very air whistled with the hum of the deadly projectiles as, for just twenty five seconds, the sky seemed filled with them. Each and every one found its mark, and what had been confident shouts soon turned into panicked screams as the men scattered in some vain attempt to find cover.

Before half a minute had passed by, Oliver's contribution to the fight was over; his eleven arrows had been expended, scattered throughout the battlefield. Most of them never even touched flesh, pinning men's sleeves to the metal dumpsters, titanium heads punching right through the metal and trapping them there. Three of the shots struck the firearms the men carried, packing enough kinetic energy to knock them right out of their hands and leave long, deep gouges in their barrels. Only two of the arrows were intended to wound; the first had gone through the leg of a man who had just been about to turn the corner of Shayera's cover with a sawed-off shotgun. It was a flesh wound, nothing serious, but the man's leg was now pinned to the dumpster, and from the way he hollared, he was in no small amount of pain.

Good. She could no doubt mop up the rest; he was done here. Slinging his bow across his shoulder, Oliver wasted very little time crossing towards the other end of the roof; there was a fire escape there he could use to get down to street level. From there, he should be able to blend in with the rest of the city's wretches easily enough, especially when he turned his bow back into a simple walking stick.

[Deleted]

Concentrating carefully more on her what she's hearing than anything else, she finds herself distracted from the sound of footsteps to a quieter but unfamiliar and unusual sound. What is that? It sounds like something being pulled tight. Her eyes shift quickly to locate the source and she tenses for a moment when she spots an archer taking aim, his face partly obscured by his weapon. The sound was of the bow being pulled back - she probably would have missed picking out such a subtle sound if it had been anything normal. But she just as quickly notes that he isn't aiming at her even though he'd be able to see her from that vantage, so she supposes he's not an enemy.

Still, she is not pleased. She'd have this situation under control quickly enough without his help, thank you very much. And whatever he's planning will definitely mess up her strategy for these punks. And if he kills any of them, so help her... If they didn't have so much deadly firepower on their side, she might even have risked confronting the archer first, but she doesn't have that luxury at the moment. Instead, she watches where he's aiming carefully and prepares to take advantage of whatever he does.

After he unleashes the first arrow, she eyes him for half a second to memorize his briefly unobscured face - she'll be finding it again in a moment - before her attention goes to the results of his work. Well, either he's a truly terrible shot, or he's not trying to kill them. And that's about all she's able to note before she takes advantage of the confusion the swarm of arrows causes and launches herself into the fray.

Careful, she reminds herself as weaves through them, making full use of all six of her limbs as she disarms the distracted and surprised men. She could easily kill them if she used her full strength and fighting ability, but she keeps it down to merely hurting them badly enough to convince them to give up - knocking them out if she has to. Humans are so fragile, especially the brand of criminal that prefers to hide behind a gun.

And she reaches the end of them before she's even breathing hard. "Too easy," she mutters and she glances back up at the rooftop, only to find that the archer has left. That observation causes her to snort to herself - he's not going to get far. But first, she'll clean up her mess. She knows that the FBI should be making their regular rounds nearby and will be attracted to the commotion, so all she has to do is make sure that none of these guys will be able to put up a fight for them when they arrive. She doesn't need to worry about the ones that got knocked out, but a couple of the others get their arms tied behind their backs. And a few she doesn't have to bother with because the arrows have them nicely pinned. Okay, so she's impressed by the archery - it doesn't mean that she's not still irritated by the unwanted help.

Satisfied that they'll all be taken into custody, even if she has to feel sorry for them because of who will be taking them into custody, she turns her attention back to the rooftop that the archer was on. He'll not be there, but that's the place to start and he's only a couple minutes ahead of her - which is practically nothing given the sharpness of her eyes and the speed of her wings. She launches herself into the sky and immediately begins the search.

Technically, Hawkgirl is not a bird - she's an alien that happens to have many of the traits of a bird. One of them her her particular type of eyesight. Humans don't generally need such sharp eyes because they lack the ability to go extremely fast and, until the advent of buildings, weren't often in a position to see very far anyway. Someone with wings, on the other hand, needs a good pair of eyes because they're often going fast and are usually in a position to see that far. But it isn't simply a matter of being able to see sharply for miles, but the ability to pick out the one thing you're looking for among that miles-long view. Like, for example, a particular face among the city's wretches.

Spotting the man she's looking for, she speeds ahead to catch up with him, though she wisely waits a few moments for him to reach a spot among the sparsely populated warehouses before she descends, landing quite abruptly right in front of him. "Who are you?" she asks, her tone flat. Clearly, she is not pleased, and it certainly doesn't help that her helmet tends to make her look angry when the harsh lines aren't softened by a smile on her lips - and she certainly isn't smiling now. On the other hand, she isn't attacking so it can't be all bad - this is what passes for 'neutral' to her.

[oliver]

Though only human, the vigilante's weapon of choice did leave him with fairly sharp senses, and he sensed her impending arrival moments before she landed less than half a foot away. Drawing back instinctively, the Archer considered the flying (rude) woman for a long, silent moment, leaning slightly on his unstrung bowstaff. That Oliver wasn't wearing a mask, however, didn't bother him in the slightest; the man standing before her was probably two steps below that of a homeless person, with blond, ragged hair almost brown from sweat and dirt, his beard bushy and lacking even the slightest attempts to trim it. Determined to get back to the roots of his existance on that deserted island many miles and years from the present, he had spent his time in a few hostels and other small establishments, without the little army of stylists that had always followed Oliver Queen, billionaire playboy around. Truth be told, he was beginning to think he was going overboard just a little, (though fortunately he had decided to keep showering as part of his routine,) but as this strange woman's hawkish gaze settled on him, he couldn't help but be thankful for the fact that even when he returned to the public eye, he'd be trimmed, coiffeured, and almost unidentifiable.

At first he considered the rather noticeable pair of wingsWho was he kidding. He had come across people who flew around just by willing themselves to go up. Why was someone with actual wings on their back so unusual?

Of course, any curiosity about her identity, to say nothing about her origins, was quickly replaced by mild irritation at her attitude; whether or not she had needed any help from him was, as far as he was concerned, completely beside the point. There had been definate crime-related activities down below, and even if she thought it to be 'her' fight, he wasn't about to let anyone drag him back into that sort of mindset... he would appreciate help with an errant purse snatching if it came right down to it. So though she gave him a glare that probably suggested many bad things, he stood his ground, matching her expression with a level stare that radiated just the smallest bit of mischief. Whether or not she intended to take things beyond angry words was uncertain- she certainly looked ready to throw him through the nearest wall- but he wasn't about to go simpering at her feet any time soon...

"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?" He asked, tone a bit wry despite his obvious unease; "You know, we could start with 'Hello.' Follow it with 'Thanks For Making My Job Just A Little Easier.' 'Nice Beard.' 'What Brings You Around Here?' Leaping right into the 'Who Are You' seems particularly hypocritical since, when we get right down to it, my dear, between a guy with a bow in his hand trying to lend a hand out of good faith, and a woman with a big set of wings on her back trying to take him to task for daring to poke his head up..." His head tilted, fractionally, beneath the hood before he continued, his voice a little more cheerful. "But hey, why not? The name's Green Arrow, so to speak, and yeah, just Green Arrow... probably haven't heard of me, because I can almost guarantee I've never heard of you..." Glancing at the wings again, the Archer looked surprisingly relaxed, leaning on his bow stave casually as he gestured; "And you are...?"

[Deleted]

While Hawkgirl would certainly like to throw him into the nearest wall, that's only the impulsive part of her. The rest of her realizes that he probably thought that he was 'helping' and therefore violence would be an extreme response on her part. Words, on the other hand, are fair game.

Her eyes narrow and she folds her arms across her chest as she comments, "I'm not skipping ahead any further than you already did. I'd have preferred 'Hi, would you like some help?' so that I could say, 'No, thank you for your kind offer, but I'd very much like to handle this myself'. And I'm Hawkgirl - normally I'm not used to having to introduce myself, because you'd think that after how many times I've helped save the planet people would remember me." Yes, based on the amount of irritation in her voice alone, he's obviously managed to touch a sore spot on an already easily upset alien woman. But who wouldn't be? Everyone always remembers Superman and Wonder Woman - why not her? She works harder than they do! (If only because she isn't quite as strong and indestructible.)

In the meantime, she tries to wrack her brain trying to remember anyone named 'Green Arrow'. She tries to keep herself apprised of her fellow heroes and vigilantes, and with a mind that's a bit sharper than your average human's it isn't actually that difficult. But there are, admittedly, some gaps - there are a lot of them in the world, after all, and some of them keep out of the larger 'community' more than others. And she's only been on this planet for so long so she's much better at recognizing anyone who is 'current'. (But not too current, as Nightwing found out.)

On the other hand, given the sheer amount of experience she has in fighting - more years than he's been alive, in fact - she can read much into not just his skill with his weapon of choice but the way he uses that skill. Definitely not a novice, even if he's still impossibly young by the way she measures time. But then, so are the vast majority of the people she works with. So, forcing herself to be just a bit more civil, she keeps the sarcasm out of her voice as she adds, "And no, I've never heard of anyone named 'Green Arrow' - coming out of retirement or are you having a hard time making it stick?"

That's one thing that people don't automatically assume about her, given her temperament. It is, in fact, possible to be a hot-headed and reckless but also intelligent. His skills, which don't seem to be suffering from lack of use, mark him as someone who should be on her mental list, but his absence from it and his current wardrobe seem to indicate that he's not been 'working'. It might have also been possible that he's one of those who like to remain strictly anonymous, but she's met a couple of those and they never give you any name at all. Which leaves only a couple ways to account for him.