Spoiler Alert: The Other Bird

October 04, 2014 Spoiler and Ibn al Xu'ffasch nearly collide…literally…as the pair team to give some arms runners a beat down. Much snark follows.


Dingy. Dirty. Crime Filled. You know, Gotham.



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Mood Music:

Night time in Gotham and you practically can't move for tripping over masked crime fighters these days. A good perch is hard to find, and Spoiler has found her own, watching the loading of a van with the type of curiousity that cats were killed for. Her own disguise maybe home made but it has been done with a dash of style and ability, the eggplant cape matching the highlights in her otherwise black suit, the mask covering her lower face, leaving the blue eyes and blonde hair showing as she leans forward, her lips curving into a broad grin. Who moves stuff in the middle of the night here, wearing - as her stalkees do - weapons and balaclavas? Nobody good, even if their van declares them to be painters and decorators.

Her hands reach for her belt, drawing out a grapple, and she crouches, spinning the end over her head, hurling it at a fire escape. A swift tug and she launches herself into the air, swinging down, her booted feet extended in front of her, aimed directly at the chests of two of the men, her grin broad beneath the mask. Wait for Robin to show up before she fights crime? Naaah, not so much.

Robin is not far behind, but it is not perhaps the one she'd have hoped. He narrowly avoids her stride towards the evildoers, having to twist out of the way at the last second. He too had not anticipated another. The twist takes him up over the side of the wall, which he easily walks on the side of, leaping into a back flip where he is able to begin beating guys down.




Men everywhere fall at his punches as he sneers-Spoiler will almost be able to hear him over the rumble. "Tt," he mutters, clearly not impressed with these scum. On one he unleashes his gleaming katana, pointing it's blade at the thug's throat, eager-perhaps-to end the man's life. At the end, he thinks better of it, and merely slices the man's cheek.

In the speed of movement, well, perhaps you could not be expected to know which Robin you have. Spoiler moves like a gymnast, not a fighter, but her hands and feet happen to end where body parts are, her kicks landing neatly in faces. The hood stays up, mostly covering her blonde hair, as she spins, crouching low to avoid a strike, rising hard and fast, ending with her chosen victim face down beneath her. A cable, tugged from the useful belt of bits she made and acquired, ties his hands and she sits back, her eyes showing the grin, a grin that fades slightly, puzzlement entering into her eyes. The speed of movement deceives but now, …"You aren't Robin." The words are an accusation, and she rises, none too gently for the man beneath her, who utters a mumble of protest, "Who are you?"

"I'm called many things. Robin is one of them," Ibn al Xu'ffasch says as he sheathes the katana. He smirks at her, "I'm better than Robin. The imposter, anyways. And by the looks of it, you are too. Extremely efficient." He gives an upwards nod, "Runners of some sort?" He kneels down and begins to frisk one of the unconcsious men.

She rises, folding her arms, her baby blues narrowing at him over the mask, his assertion apparently disagreed with. "Runners, for friends of the Cluemaster." Her particular nemesis, currently in jail, put there alongside his buddies by Midnighter, Vorpal and Spoiler, a couple of weeks ago. "And you aren't better than Robin, and he isn't an impostor." She too kneels though, searching the man, a fully conscious and distinctly unhappy man.

"You seem to have a pretty high opinion of him. To each their own, I suppose." Damian grimaces as he kneels, thinking about where to search next for clues. He moves over towards the back of the vehicle and looks to the cargo. On the way he reaches into his utility belt, looking for a tool to open a crate should he need to.

A notepad is palmed from the man she bound, and she follows him towards the van, leaning against the side, watching him. "I do." The smile in her voice is obvious, as are the emotions in the blue eyes above her mask. "So who are you? You dress a bit like him." She circles the van, heading for the front seat, to perch there and flip through the notepad.

"Romantic. Perhaps you should discuss with him his plans earlier this evening." Robin looks to her with a raised eyebrow and shrugs. He's returned from checking the back. "I've already told you. I'm Robin." He changes the subject. "Looks like weapons? What does the notebook say?"

"His plans?" The question comes with a sharper glance, the blue eyes narrowed, and she shakes her head, "Grocery lists mostly. But a date…tomorrow, and a place." She glances at him, adding quietly, "Does Batman know there are two people calling themselves Robin? I know he told me there was another one…" No doubt as to which he, her tone changing slightly when she talks about TimRobin.

"Some dark haired woman. Covered in makeup. Sexy, some would say, but not as classy as you. Anyways, they shared ice cream. She was hanging all over him." Robin shrugs his shoulders, "Guess you should keep track of your bird, lady." He leans down to check beneath the seat Spoiler sits upon. "Yes," he says offhandedly. "He knows. I'm one of them, but unfortunately the job doesn't come with identification. I thought the suit would be enough. Mine doesn't come with green slippers and underwear. I hear that's popular."

Spoiler glances up, her eyes sharp, and she replies, with that touch of snark that the other Robin is so familiar with, "Trust is this thing, see. I like to use it. Maybe you should give it a try sometime." She turns pages in the notebook, "Initials…" The murmur is soft, and her eyes harden, "CM." The tone of her voice suggests anger, matching the sudden fury in her eyes and she slides down from her seat, past him. "You don't wear underwear? Not sure that is hygienic…" Snark..

"If you'd like to see, that could be arranged," Damian responds as he narrowly avoids her descending from the seat. His gloved hands come across something under the seat. "Looks like they left us a present." He pulls out a handgun from underneath and peeks, seeing if they were smart enough to scrape off the serial numbers. "As far as trust, I have plenty for those who deserve it. I'm not sure what I've done to get under your skin and gain your rancor. It wasn't me who's off having relations with some buxom brunette bimbo."

"Rancor? This isn't rancor." The look over her shoulder is brief and she glances at the gun, her lips tightening under that mask. She leans against the side of the van, turning her head, "I trust him." It sounds like he might actually be the only one at this moment in time, and she considers it, adding thoughtfully, "So, gun runners for Cluemaster but why… he is in jail, he usually shuts up then." Thinking aloud, and her tone suggests she knows the nemesis, knows him well, and the emotions there are strong. "Bimbo. Are you stuck in the seventies or something?" Snark, but absently done.

"English is a second language for me. Lay off," Damian says, giving her a grin. "If you trust him that's all that matters. As far as why, I'm really not sure. I don't know much about this 'Cluemaster'. From what I understand he was put away rather recently, correct?"

"Nope." His grin is returned though, her eyes creasing at the corners before she folds her arms, a sigh escaping. "Yeah, Midnighter and Vorpal helped me do it." Her grin vanishes, and she pockets the notepad, her intent obvious. "Tomorrow. I guess I'll find out tomorrow." She narrows her eyes, "So what's the deal? With you two and Batman?" Few details about Cluemaster, and a topic change.

"I'm torn," Damian says as his eyebrows over his mask come together in confusion. "First, I'm surprised that the other Robin even likes girls. Second, I'm not sure how he obtained the affection of someone like you. He must be a smooth talker. Tt." Damian chuckles to himself, "Apprehended the Cluemaster? Very nice." Two can play at the game of just not answering questions. It's easy. You just don't answer them.

Blushing comes easily to blondes and she is no exception, his compliment raising one, worsened by the distinct association between the Robin costume and certain memories. "He is a nice guy." The quiet reply lacks the customary snark and she lifts a shoulder, "It was easy to find him with inside information." She dismisses it, her blue eyes narrowing, "I'll just ask Robin, I'm sure he'll tell me alllll about you." Snark is back, and safer to do.

"I'm sure he is. I wouldn't know. We don't talk much. As you've surmised, we don't have anything…we don't have much in common." Robin chuckles, "Oh, I'm sure you both have a lot to talk about. Give him my love, of course."

"Nothing in common? Gee, I thought you guys shared a wardrobe. I know I wouldn't share my clothes with a best friend." Admittedly, those are few on the ground… "I guess this is done." The crime stopping at least, and she takes out her grappling hook, hurling it upwards, adding lightly, "Onwards and upwards."

"I said almost nothing. And these aren't /his/ clothes. That much is for certain." Tim Drake was not the first Robin. He certainly will not be the last, of that, Damian is sure. As far as this business with the Cluemaster? Well, there are more questions than answers. He lets Spoiler leave, eager to get down to some real investigation.


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