Vigil's Aftermath

July 17, 2014: After a few days standing watch over Etrigan, Sara tries to find her way back to New York.


A wretched hive of scum and villainy.



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Mood Music:

It's the middle of the night in Gotham. Sane people aren't out at this time of night. Granted, there are plenty of insane people in Gotham, who don't pay much attention to the hour or what they're doing. And at the moment, Sara could fit right in with them. As she steps out of Jason's antique shop, the door locks behind her, leaving her…Well.

Sara's clearly seen better days. Better nights. Her hair is tangled and greasy, but that's less of an issue than the rest of her. Her clothes are ripped and torn, which is only partly hidden by the fact that she seems to be wearing some sort of armor. If it can be called that. It doesn't cover everything, focused more on her right hand and her legs, with a few tendrils at her abdomen and temples, almost organic in nature. It doesn't cover the wound on her side, just above her hip, which doesn't seem to be actively bleeding anymore, but there's still blood on her. And then there's the Roman-style spear in her left hand, on which she leans heavily.

Rough night.

The middle of the night is playtime for those aligned with the Batman. Nightwing is one of those few who could maybe be considered 'insane' as he's out and about at this hour, scaling rooftops and keeping an eye on the city. One usual part of his patrol is checking out Blood's shop and home.

Of course, he pauses upon seeing a strangely armored and armed figure stepping out of the shop — that's not Blood. Crouching in the shadows of a neighboring building, he watches the woman a moment before he lifts a gloved hand to activate the binocular lenses in his mask. There's a frown as the woman is recognized and he easily and silently makes his way down to street level, slipping into the shadows once again.

Checking pockets gets complicated when you're armored. Sara pats at hers, and if Nightwing is watching closely, he may even notice that the tendrils of the armor move out of her way on command, before settling back into their normal shape. Unfortunately, when she manages to find her phone, it comes out…looking almost as bad as she does. One corner is actually melted, and the screen is practically shattered. She groans, a sound that is precariously close to a sob, as she falls heavily back against the wall of the building. "Come on. I seriously just-" Taking a deep breath, she scrubs a hand over her face, eyes closed tightly.

"I'm not sure that's covered under the warranty," Nightwing quips from the shadows. He pauses a moment before stepping out into a little more of the light. "I have to say, you're a bit of a contradiction. I'd say that perhaps you're in distress, but…" he looks, very obviously, at the armor and spear. "Strange dichotomy."

At the sound of a voice, Sara lashes out without even looking, leveling the spear at the source with her left hand and dropping her phone to draw a revolver in her gauntleted right. As soon as her eyes focus on the shape, though, she sighs, lowering both. "Well, that clinches it. God is most definitely fucking with me," she murmurs, eyes narrowing as she tries to get a better look through the shadows. "I am somewhat in distress. Yes."

Nightwing keeps his distance on purpose…he estimated the length of the spear so that he wouldn't have to dodge out of the way. It's a stronger stance that way. He also doesn't move at the sight of the gun, "You should put that away before we get company and it gets taken away from you. If you don't draw on me again, -I'll- let you keep it." As if it's some sort of privilege. He doesn't take his eyes from her, watching her carefully. "I'm not entirely sure God has anything to do with this. It is, after all, Gotham."

"Buddy, I spent the last…I don't know. I lost track. The last forever and a half making sure a demon didn't wander out and destroy the world," Sara says wearily. "Between the Witchblade and the Spear of Destiny, if you want the piece, you can have it, but I'm really pretty fond of it as a backup, so I'd appreciate if you mailed it home for me. Like the TSA. Are you Gotham TSA?" She does look pretty loopy, dark circles visible under her eyes at this distance. And as she leans back against the wall, the streetlight catches with a gleam on the blood at her hip. "Shit," she murmurs, looking down to pull her shirt carefully away from the wound. It doesn't come; it's scabbed to the skin. "I'm going to be lucky if that's not infected."

Oddly enough, Nightwing seems rather nonplussed at the explanation. "It's Wednesday," as if that means fighting off demons is nothing strange. "Witchblade and Spear of Destiny?" Eyes narrow behind his mask but something is murmured about an ambulance to the location. "We have a few minutes until the ambulance gets here for you, so let's start with those."

"I'm not getting in any ambulance," Sara says quickly, looking up with a hard glance. "Not in Gotham, at least. Look, do you have a phone I can borrow or something? I'll call a friend for a ride." She tries to push off the wall, though it turns into more of a sway that she has to catch with the butt of the spear again. "And maybe something to eat," she adds, woozy.

"You do realize that the ambulance won't be taking you to Arkham. We have excellent hospitals here," There's even a little tone of offense at that dig on his city. "Where would you rather go? Going home without being looked at is probably a very, very bad idea." Nightwing steps out into a little more light, "Does it look like I have place for a phone?" The costume doesn't really allow for pockets.

"Unless you called the ambulance psychically, you've got something that makes calls," Sara drawls in return, dry. "I don't have time to go to the hospital here. I have two bodies to explain back in New York." She pauses, pressing a fist to her brow. "That came out wrong. I don't mean in the- Wow. You know, maybe I should wait for that ambulance," she admits, sliding down the wall until she's sitting on the sidewalk, spear braced against her shoulder. "Except I've got the spear. I can't bring the spear to a hospital." Head bowed, she presses the heel of her hands to her eyes. Is she…crying?

"I have some-ONE that makes calls," Nightwing points out but he quiets as she continues and sort of sinks to the sidewalk. His expression softens and he agrees, "Yes, you -should- go to that hospital." He lifts his head some to look at the spear, "Can you leave it here? I'm sure it'll be well-looked after inside the shop you just left."

Well, this is awkward. He wants to help more, but…identities are sacrosanct.

Sara barks a laugh at that suggestion. "No. No, it really wouldn't," she says ruefully, shaking her head and looking up with a sniffle. Wiping a hand across her nose, she looks back up at Nightwing, staring for a long moment. "I really am a mess. You're starting to look familiar. You're wearing a bat mask, and you look familiar." She braces her feet on the sidewalk, grip tightening around the shaft of the spear. "S'fine. Just give me a minute. I'm sure I can make it to a pay phone."

Nightwing steps forward and holds out a hand to stop her, "At least I'm wearing a bat-mask. Be glad of that and that you didn't meet ones wearing clown masks." At the 'starting to look familiar' bit, he frowns, "Fine. Give me the spear…I'll look after it and get it back to you once you're out of the hospital. Deal?" There's a brief snort, "All the payphones in a three block radius have been busted up. Better than busting heads, if you ask me."

"I'm exhausted. I'm not dead." Sara's hand tightens on the spear once more, her armor spreading over more of her limbs. Sharp barbs appear at her joints and shoulders, and for a moment, there's an amber glow in her eyes. Oddly, though, the armor won't go anywhere near the spear. In fact, as the armor spreads, she actually winces slightly. But she manages to start pushing herself up all the same. Just so she can go and bang on the shop door. "Jason! Jason, I need to make a call! Let me in for just a minute!" There's no response, and she gives the door a kick before dropping her brow against it.

Nightwing sighs, "Ma'am, I'm trying to help you." Why do they always have to be so difficult? "You need medical attention, spear or no spear. I've offered to watch the thing for you…believe me, I don't want to keep it. Besides, I don't even think he knows what a telephone -is-."

"You have a valid point about the phone," Sara sighs to the door. "Look, it's not personal. It's just complicated. See, this is the Spear of Destiny," she explains, turning back toward Nightwing. "The Spear of Longinus. The spear that pierced the side of Christ on the cross. It's supposed to be carried by the Magdalena. One of the descendants of Christ and Mary Magdalen. Except earlier…I don't know, I think it's been a couple days. But she was going after Jason, so she tracked me and my partner to a crime scene. And when we called Jason, and he showed up, she showed up too. Except she said she killed Gerry." There's a flicker of sorrow across her features, through the shock. Like she just hasn't had a chance to really process that yet. "So things with Jason went…bad, and long story short, the Magdalena is dead, and so is my partner. I mean, my partner is…I don't know, maybe he's not dead. Maybe we fixed it. But I don't know yet. But you see what I'm saying, right? She's dead, and so is the priest who helped me get to the demon, and I don't know who to give it back to, so I can't just go passing it around, because it's sort of a big deal."

A sharp look is given to the spear when she explains what it is, "Seriously? That's the actual spear?" It's not like the Shroud of Turin…which turned out to be a fake…as this really could have happened. Almost like the Grail. "I'm sorry about your partner and…all you went through." She does seem to have valid concerns. "If it can be left any place, it should probably left here…" with Blood. "Although…I'm sure that if you want to keep it within your sight, arrangements can be made for you to have it at the hospital. Isn't it rumored to have…mystical properties? Bad luck or something?"

"That would explain so much," Sara says ruefully, giving the spear a long look. "Honestly, though, I don't know. I just know it does a number on demons. So no, I am not leaving it with Jason. And with all due respect, I'm not leaving it with a stranger, or traipsing it through a hospital. Are you kidding? What if something comes after it? How many innocent people in the hospital are going to get hurt?" She sways again, dropping her head and closing her eyes to try to stop the world from spinning. "Look, can you have whoever makes your calls just call someone for me?" And she starts rattling off a number. Dick's number.

There's another sigh but he finally nods, "All right. Just sit there and I'll have that number called. What do you want me to say?" No doubt anyone on the 'other line' is already hearing this as he's kept communication open since the ambulance call. Surely whomever is manning the other lne will know the -real- person to call…Alfred.

Because Alfred can solve anything.

"Come pick me up down the block," Sara mumbles, leaning heavily against the wall. A trickle of blood starts to run down her hip again, the activity of assaulting the door having torn it open. "And tell him no ambulances. I just need…" She pauses, wincing. "I just need to lie down for a little bit. Without the spear."

Yep. Alfred will definitely be able to help with this. The call is made and brief words are exchanged…he relays the message almost exactly. "You really should be seen by a doctor, you know. You don't look good." There's word on the line that a car will be there shortly. "Is this person you had me call a doctor?"

It really won't take Alfred long to get one of the cars and make his way to the indicated address. He's easily there before the ambulance…which may have been detained or detoured…or never actually called upon hearing the conversation.

Nightwing will stay with Sara until the car approaches and he slips into the shadows once more. As the car stops in front of Blood's shop, it's not Dick Grayson, but rather Alfred who steps out. "I'm sorry, Ms. Pezzini, but Master Grayson is out and he left his phone behind. I hope you don't mind that I intercepted. Please…allow me to help."

"I don't need a doctor," Sara shakes her head. "I need food, and sleep, and not to be holding this spear." She's in and out a few times, clearly close to passing out, but manages before he slips away: "Thanks. Owe you one." When Alfred pulls up, she looks up from the wall, blinking a few times. That doesn't look like Dick. It doesn't sound like him, either. That's because it's not, it's…More blinking. "Alfred, hi," she says quietly. "I didn't mean to- I just need to get somewhere I can rest for a little bit. Can you drop me at a hotel or something?" At least she doesn't think she's going to make it back to New York.

Alfred crouches down to help lift Sara up and guide her back to the waiting car, "No, madame. I'll bring you back to the house. We have food and plenty of places for you to rest there." He'll also see if he can attend to her wounds, even a little bit. He barely even looks up but catches Nightwing's slight nod.

For his part, Nightwing makes certain Alfred has Sara all right before he ducks into the darkness all together. He's going to have to book it back to change really quick to keep up the ruse.

How does Superman do it? Oh, right…super-speed and flight. So not fair.

Sara tries not to be weird in front of Alfred. Really, she tries. When he drives up, there's hardly any armor. The spear is weird enough on its own, not to mention her current state. But she doesn't make it more than about three minutes into the car ride before she passes out, the spear falling away from her shoulder. And as soon as it does, the armor appears in full force, a complete suit that looks like metal but fits like a second skin. And this time, it's smooth, no threatening barbs anywhere. So much for not being weird.

Alfred is definitely going to notice that and pass on the information. It doesn't take too long to get back to the Manor and Dick is back, changed, to help Alfred take Sara from the car. The spear is lifted with a handkerchief so that bare skin isn't touching it…just in case. He also notes the armor and lifts an eyebrow at the butler who merely meets the younger man's gaze.

If Sara doesn't wake up and if the armor allows, Alfred will see to the wounds, cleaning them and dressing them. She'll then be left to sleep, but when she wakes, there will be hot broth waiting for her.

Sara's armor isn't going anywhere. At least not until she wakes up, after a solid ten hours or so. By the time that happens, the wound is mostly gone, needing little more than some butterfly bandages to keep it closed. Her clothes, on the other hand, are not in great shape. Her pants are mostly shredded, her shirt isn't in much better shape, and she's just generally…filthy. "Oh, god," she groans, skipping the moving part to start.

The spear is left in the room, but in a corner, out of the way. Dick's gone to training and has come back again by the time that Sara awakens and he brings in a tray of tea just about the time of her groan. "Hey there…don't get out of bed. Alfred told me that when you came in here, you were a wreck…what happened?" The tray is set out on a bedside table, still in reach.

"Longest story ever," Sara murmurs, reaching up to scrub a hand over her face. She doesn't look like she's planning on getting up any time soon, either. "The short version is that case I brought to have you look at is the gift that doesn't stop giving. Thanks, by the way. Did you-
Alfred came and picked me up, right?" she asks, frowning slightly. "Everything's kind of fuzzy still."

Dick pulls up a chair and sits closer to the bed, "You're welcome? I didn't do too much. Alfred said that you called…I can't believe I left my phone here! He told me what happened when I stopped by to retrieve it. You can stay here as long as you need to, all right?"

"Thanks, but-" Sara slowly starts to sit up. "I hate to do this to you, Dick. The least I owe you for this is an explanation. But if I don't get going, the department's likely to show up with a search warrant and an arrest warrant. I need to call in a report, and I need to get out of here so you don't get the blowback on this. What is today anyhow? Oh god, I'm going to be so screwed."

Dick Grayson offers his cell phone for Sara to use, "Call away. It's the least I can do. I'll even have Alfred drive you back home. Are you sure you're all right? Maybe you should at least eat a little something before you go? I mean, you sort of look like Death warmed over."

"I sort of feel like it," Sara admits, rubbing the heel of one hand at her eyes. "Might have to go with that. Or something like it. I'm so screwed." She eyes the broth, then the phone. "Call first. Then food. Then back to New York." She makes a call, but the story that comes out is…complicated. There's an arsonist, a couple of assailants, probably meta's of some sort, Paul's dead, and she was captured, but she got out and managed to stumble to a friend's before passing out. She'll be in to report shortly. When she hangs up, she shoots an apologetic look at Dick. "I'm so sorry to have dragged you into this."

He actually gives a grin and a shrug, "Hey, what are friends for if not to pick you up at 3 am and let you and your weird spear sleep over." The grin fades some, "You'll probably need different clothes. I'll see what I can scrounge up for you, but…we don't tend to have a lot of women's clothes hanging around here." Dick takes his phone back and sticks it into a pocket, as if to not forget it again, "I'm happy to help all I can."

"Sweats are fine, really," Sara assures, slowly pushing up from the bed. "The spear's…" She grimaces as she eyes where it leans against the wall. "That is so many complicated things. I'll tell you about them later." Pausing, she gives him a look for a long moment. "You're taking this really…well. But I promise I'll explain when this is over."

Dick Grayson chuckles, "I grew up in a Circus and lived for years with Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne. Seriously. I've seen a lot of weird stuff. Besides, what good would freaking out do? Cops have to stay calm in all sorts of situations, right? Consider it practice. Maybe you can write me a recommendation to the instructors." He also looks back over to the spear, "If I can help make sure it's over sooner, just let me know, all right? Do you need that thing coming with you or do you want to leave it here? I mean, no one comes into this guest room…I don't think Bruce's guests hang out here."

"I'd like to," Sara grimaces. "But I'm sincerely hoping that the rightful owners are going to come looking for it, so I can get rid of it, and I doubt you want those sorts of guests." She sits up, pushing the covers aside and letting out a slow breath. "Mind if I wander into one of those two dozen bathrooms and clean up?"

Dick Grayson stands and offers a hand to help her out of the bed, "Can you make it? I mean, of course you can…the closest one's an en suite in here…" because why wouldn't the Wayne manor have en suite bathrooms in their guest rooms? "Just be careful, all right? I think there's even a seat in the shower so…don't fall down. I'll be back in fifteen minutes to make sure you're not dead or something."

"I will do my best," Sara promises with a rueful smile, taking the offered hand and standing carefully. "Yeah. Definitely eating after, or I'll never make it back to New York." She pauses once she's standing, pushing a hand through her hair. "Thanks, Dick," she says quietly. "I owe you. Big time."

"That's what friends do, Sara. Besides, I'm sure I'll make some rookie mistake one day and I'll need a respected cop to help bail me out. Just paying it forward." He helps her into the bathroom but then allows her privacy. He's true to his word though and checks in after fifteen minutes. A pair of 'Gotham University' sweats are set out on the bed and the broth has been replenished or reheated.

Sara isn't too long in the shower, much as she might want to never come out. But at least when she does, she looks almost human again. Still exhausted. Still stiff, limping, and not in great shape. But at least human. "It's going to be a long couple of weeks, I think," she says quietly, downing as much of the broth as she can manage. "But when it's over, I'm calling you. Then you get the whole story."

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