Melinda May Asks

Summary:
December 5, 2014: Melinda May debriefs Vorpal on the whole Joker mess

A quaint cafe

It is terribly quaint


Characters

NPCs

  • Cafe staff

Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]


Having spoken with Oracle several days ago about Robin and how he's doing, May had for the most part put the entire situation out of her mind. But, as things are wont to do sometimes, she sees someone who reminds her of the entire unsavory situation. Vorpal.

Vorpal is sitting at his favorite little sidewalk cafe. Any time a patrol ends successfully (read: no bleeding, broken anything, etc), he comes here to decompress and write his reports if anything of note happened. Gar was very insistent on the Titans keeping logs of important happenings. Unaware that he is being watched by the Cavalry, he is biting down on a butter croissant, a small capuccino by his side as he scribbles a draft of his report on a sheet of paper, later to be transfered to the main computer.

It was a rather boring patrol, at that. Only two muggings and a streaker.

May only occasionally plans to sneak up on people, and this is one of those times. She moves to step up RIGHT behind the cat, and if she manages to do so without him noticing, she announces her presence by saying, "You misspelled 'streaker'." She's wearing her usual attire, which means she's likely concealing an array of bladed weapons.

It's usually hard for someone to sneak up on Vorpal in the field because of his ears, and the fact that in a field situation he usually expects to know if there's a team-mate behind him, and if there isn't then it means someone is trying to sneak up on him. But then again, Melinda's training was the kind that would make her more than capable of sneaking up on Keith in the field… in the middle of a cafe, where he expects people all over the place, though, he's not even trying to detect anyone.

Not that he would have. Detected Melinda. Because it's May, and her Martial Arts training, among other things, means that she can sneak up behind Vorpal without him being none the wiser.

The paper makes a streak, hilariously enough, as he is startled, and he turns over to look over his shoulder at May.

"… er… hello?" His inner monologue, though, goes more like 'Uh oh.'

"I've been wanting to talk to you," May starts as she steps around to claim the chair across from Vorpal. She even settles into the chair with minimal noise, though now that he's paying attention, he can probably hear the metal objects in her jacket faintly knocking against each other as she moves. "I heard you put that clown into Arkham."

Oh dear. Was she here to do something potentially unpleasant to him? Vorpal's a little paranoid… Oracle had not been happy about the fact that he went after the Joker alone. Gar had been less than thrilled, either. Keith made him cry. He still felt like a heel about it.

"Um… yes, that's sort of what happened. Is… um, what did you want to talk to me about? About that, I mean. You know what i mean…"

"I want to know if you think that facility can actually hold him." Yes, May went for the likely not often asked question. "And if not, I need to know what you think the weaknesses are." Because he'd know that. Yeah. But hey, it's worth asking at least.

"Please," Vorpal shakes his head, "Arkham has a revolving door policy. It's easier to escape from there than a paper bag, apparently. I don't know the situation of the whole place… but with everything that's going on, and so many escapes? I'd guess systemic corruption, poor security, and the facilities not being adequate to hold the caliber of people. They might be fine for regular patients with mental problems… but for the Batman lot? No. Striker would be a better place."

Melinda May nods once curtly. "As I suspected. I'll see what I can do." Which, in this case, likely means she's going to try to call in a favor from Barton and have him put arrows through that clown's eyesockets. Now, outsider opinions are sometimes useful, and this person seems a bit more observant than some. "Tell me about Striker."

"High security, usually equipped to deal with super-powered criminals. On that aspect alone, they're more prepared for Akrham. Even though the Joker doesn't technically have 'super powers', he's deadlier than many people who do. Granted, Striker had that great escape about a month back, but that was notorious for the fact that it was the first time in a long time that it had happened." Keith leans forward and sips from his coffee.

"The problem is an issue of jurisdiction, though. You'd have to convince the bureaucrats in Gotham to allow Metropolis to have jurisdiction. The Commissioner isn't likely to agree to that- wounded pride and the admission that they can't handle their crap. Or I assume, anyways, I've never had dealings with the Commissioner."

His daughter, on the other hand… oh, if only he knew who the voice in his ear was. "Just to make sure… I'm not in any trouble over the Joker deal… right?"

Melinda May stares at Vorpal for a long moment. "I'm extremely disappointed in you." She lets that hang for a moment. "You should have at least removed the clown's tongue before handing him over." Or something something more … private. May has no qualms about being petty and vindictive in her own mind. But only in her own mind.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Keith says, sipping his coffee. "That's not how the Titans work. I can't go down that path. I went out to hunt him because I wanted revenge for what he did to Robin… I walked a very dangerous edge there. That's not who I am… and besides, that would put me on the Batman's hit list."

Nick Fury comes into East Side from Midtown Manhattan.

Nick Fury heads out to The Triskelion.

Melinda May nods at that. "Good." Maybe he'll think it was a test, and that he passed and that she doesn't really want the Joker's tongue ripped out. That'll work, right? "Next time you go after someone that dangerous, make sure you have backup ready. You were lucky."

"A fact of which I am painfully aware. Even if Oracle and Garfield hadn't drilled it in. It was an impulse, one that I will ignore in the future in favor of sound thinking."

There was a little to be proud of, though. He had done it, succeeded where many hadn't. But as everyone who plays with cards knows, the same Joker that smiled on you to bring you good fortune was the same Joker that grinned at you on your way down to your downfall. He wasn't going to gamble again, not without some good cards on his side.

Melinda May nods at his explanation about getting scolded by others already. She knows that Oracle — who or whatever Oracle is — has a decent amount of common sense. She doesn't know anyone named Garfield so can't comment there, but that's not really important anyway. "One last question."

"Shoot." Of course, most people didn't know a 'Garfield' with the Titans. Gar Logan, Beast Boy, Changeling. He probably had never, or very seldom, stated that his name was 'Garfield' in the open. Even most media reports referred to him as 'Gar Logan.'

Gar often joked that the only people who referred to him as 'Garfield' were Keith and his graduate comittee advisors. "Unless the question is whether or not you can shoot me. Then that'd be a no," Vorpal says, trying to lighten the mood a little. And failing.

Melinda May just gives Vorpal that unimpressed look again. But, the cat is about to find out he's not the only one who can try for a joke. She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms, then lifts a chin at Keith's mostly finished croissant. "The food here any good?"

The cat is caught with the croissant halfway up to his muzzle when she asks the question. Then he puts it down on the plate and hmms. And then waves at one of the waitresses. This is one of those shmancy Euro-style cafes, after all. He is known there. He even has hand signals with the waitresses to communicate, which he uses now.

A few seconds later, a plate with a butter croissant is placed before Melinda by an eager waitress.

"It's to die for. Trust me. It's on me," Keith says, gesturing to the croissant and grinning.

Melinda May raises an eyebrow at that, and then samples the croissant. Okay, damn. That's her weekly allowance of junkfood right there in one bite. "Mm. Not bad." Maybe this is the place where Coulson sometimes gets some positively sinful pastries. The place he refuses to name to her, maybe for fear that he'll no longer have that monopoly. "Thank you."


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