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Bambambambambambmambam
There's a loud banging on the glass window outside of Bruno's Barber Shop. It's raining outside but that doesn't seem to stop whoever is at the door. The figure, drenched with rain, is wearing a green hoodie underneath a military jacket. Long black curles dangle damply and drip from the precipitation outside. Seemingly, he will not be denied.
Inside there are signs of movement, but unfortunately for our greyish hero, he seems to have knocked on the wrong door.
"Whaddya want?"
"Hi," Damian says the door opens. He speaks with a thick accent and seems rather cheerful despite being wet. "I'm wondering. Do you know who Bruce Wayne is?"
"Da fuck is wrong wit dis kid?" The door opens a bit farther to reveal about 8 mobsters with machine guns. Damian tilts his head, admiring the weaponry.
"You done came to de wrong place, kid."
*
Ava has been watching the barber shop for most of the night, camped out on the fire escape of the building next store where she can watch people come and go. For all her adventures with people her own age lately, she still has responsibilities to SHIELD - one of which is reporting on actual criminal activity.
When someone comes knocking on the door, she leans toward the edge, trying to see who's interrupted the meeting and quirking a brow when she sees it's not another of the gang sorts. One who is about to be in trouble, knowing them.
Quietly, she swings down the ladder of the fire escape, preparing to intervene.
*
When the man moves to bring his automatic rifle towards Damian's face, the young man takes just a moment to raise his eyebrows before the melee begins. The elbow is pushed up high so that when the man pulls the trigger the bullets go upwards into the sky and the plaster of the ceiling, depending on their angle. Damian yanks the gun free with ease and chucks the firearm into the face of the next closest brute as he goes down low and pulls the shooter in close. "I heard New Yorkers were rude," he says absently. I had no idea," Damian says into the ear of his new hostage who he holds as a shield. The young man reaches into the goons pocket and finds spare change which he begins to throw at the pair of lights that allow sight there in shop."
*
Ava curses quietly under her breath in Russian, swinging down from the ladder and pounding through the rain to the door herself. It's a single, practiced motion to shrug out of the oversized coat she wears, revealing instead what appears to be a white fencing jacket with a red…cross? Maybe? If it is, the bars are all even.
But that's less remarkable than what happens when she reaches behind her back, pulling out a pair of handles that extend into sabers crackling with blue electricity as she rushes to the door of the shop.
*
The room lights up intermittently as the goons begin to fire. Unfortunately for the family of Giancarlo Manucci, the bullets of his friends hit him and not the kid. Meanwhile, Damian sweeps the legs out from another of the men and drives his heel into the throat of still another. But when another aims his gun at him all goes dark and quiet for a moment. When the goon pulls the trigger, though, Damian is nowhere to be found!
*
A fight between a pair of low-lifes probably shouldn't concern Ava. And whoever this newcomer is, he can handle himself. But if things are going to go badly, then she might as well get in some good practice.
The spark of electricity that runs along her blades provides erratic, flickering light to the shop as she slides through the doorway, flashing brighter every time they make contact with a body. Which is often. An upward thrust of the blade, a sweep of her foot, and one is down.
*
The shooting stops abruptly as the back door to the barber shop bursts open and the remaining goons run away. The metal door is old, and it's creaky, and it bangs against the back wall loudly. Aside from the moans of the dying, it is quiet.
"Who are you?" comes the young voice from the shadows. "I like your swords."
*
The blades crackle a few times in the silence behind the men, then the blue-white light goes out, leaving the shop dark. "Who are you?" she counters, flicking her wrist to collapse the blades once more and hooking them at the small of her back. "And why are you looking for Bruce Wayne in a barbershop in the bad part of town?"
*
"Is this a bad part of town?" Damian steps more into the light. She can see his face a bit better now, but his eyes are shrouded behind dark sunglasses. "Do you know Bruce Wayne? Can you tell me where he is?"
*
Ava straightens from her crouch at the floor, head tilting slightly as she looks him over carefully. "This is a bad part of town, yes," she nods once. "And Bruce Wayne is a very famous man. And rich. So this is not the sort of place where you would expect to find him." She purses her lips, thoughtful. "You fight like someone who knows how to track people, but if you were looking for Bruce Wayne here, then someone was lacking when it came to teaching you how to find them."
*
Damian laughs at this and emerges from the shadows. "You are calling me lacking? I'm wounded. I must admit I do not know much about Bruce Wayne. I did not know that he was rich. And I did not realize this was a bad area of town." He tilts his head, "If all that is true, why are you here, then?"
*
A faint smile flickers across Ava's features. "If you are not lacking, then I think perhaps you can figure it out." She steps to the side, half circling him as she takes his measure. "You do not fight like an American, or a Russian. Who else is training people our age?"
*
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Damian says cryptically. But as she circles him, he doesn't move his feet. Instead, he merely tilts his head towards the ground, as if ready to protect himself against what he assumes will be an attack. Judging by her earlier efforts, he knows defeating this one would be a far cry from the goons on the ground.
*
"You would be surprised by what I would believe." There's a note of humor in that, and Ava glances upward as she circles him, looking not just at him, but at their surroundings. "I believe that the Americans had a program known as Weapon X which took mutants and trained them for war. That Russia has the Red Room, and OPUS. That reality can be re-written, and that there are those who have travelled through time and space. I do not believe that even a novice could fail to locate as public a figure as Bruce Wayne, though. And you are not a novice."
*
"It seems that I'm a bit of a paradox, then?" Damian says, raising his eyebrows. He can't help but grin. "If we're about to fight, I hope you'll do me the honor of attacking me from my front rather than take cheap shots." He pauses. "As to those other things, I know nothing about those."
*
"Mmm. Or a liar. But that would not be unique." Ava comes back around to face him, gaze steady on his features. "I think I most likely do not need to attack you. These were not good people, and it's just as well they not meet here tonight. But I will admit that I am curious."
*
"Well, they attacked me, so I don't feel too terribly bad. I just wanted to ask a question," Damian says with a shrug. "Guess they'll learn not to pick on people. At least those who live."
*
"Why here, though?" With the threat gone, Ava moves to one of the barber chairs, falling back into it and spinning it in a circle. "It is also after hours, you know. Though I am not sure why a place that cuts hair would keep normal hours, now that I think about it."
*
"Why not?" Damian asks, clearly being cagey. He's hiding something. Hiding a lot, perhaps. And he seems unwilling to give anything up. As she spins in a circle, he grins down at her. "You seem rather curious. How did you arrive so quickly?"
*
"We have gone over why not," Ava laughs. "Because this is a barber shop in a bad part of town, and there is no possible reason why Bruce Wayne would be here. Did you ask at the bodega on the corner, too? Because depending on how many places you've asked, we should maybe not stay here for when the police arrive looking for the crazy young man looking for Bruce Wayne."
*
Damian falters a bit and then goes quiet. Finally, in an admission, he mutters: "They didn't know where he was either." And then he adds, defiantly, "But no one shot at me over there."
*
Ava groans. "That is because the bodega owner is used to crazy people and has nothing to hide," she mutters, pushing up out of the chair and stepping toward him. "Come, there was gunfire. There will be police." It probably isn't her best idea to reach for his collar - she just means to guide him out of the shop.
*
Damian reaches up to block her hand from grabbing at his collar. His forearm hits with some bone on bone that doesn't tickle, but doesn't do any lasting damage. Still, he doesn't press it. He's not trying to hurt her, only standing his ground. "I am no dog, woman."
*
Ava doesn't flinch at the contact, her other hand starting to come up for a counter before she stops herself. She's silent for a moment, holding his gaze, then nods. "That is true. I am sorry. I have been working with amateurs lately." As if that is sufficient explanation, she lets her hand fall and starts for the door, apparently trusting him to follow.
*
Damian does follow, even as the sirens begin to be heard from not too far away. The rain is oppressive, and, not being so used to it, it makes Damian miserable. He longs for the warmth of the desert and the tranquility of the mountains. He imagined New York to be very different.
*
Ava picks up her discarded coat outside the door, shrugging it on over the more distinctive white outfit underneath before she continues down the street. It isn't until they're two blocks away and well out of the way of any potential police activity that she speaks again. "I am Ava," she offers. "And I am guessing that you are new here."
*
"I am," Damian replies, but he does not give his name. He has been told about who his father is and what his father does in his "spare" time. It would not be good to reveal such a thing, especially to someone he does not know. He follows around dutifully, though, with absolutely nowhere else to go anyhow.
*
Ava's lips twist in a wry smile when he doesn't offer a name - she understands that well enough. "I can come up with a name for you if you like, but you will probably not like it," she says, amused. "Do you have somewhere to stay? I can show you a few places where you can at least stay mostly dry for the night. I doubt you will find Bruce Wayne out right now anyhow."
*
"I would happy to receive a name from you," Damian says with a grin. "I'd also be happy to get any recommendations you have on accomodations. Unfortunately, I am without American money, so it'll have to be somewhere cheap. And by cheap I mean free."
*
"As it happens, I am an expert on free." Hands deep in her pockets, head down, Ava walks purposefully - the walk of someone who's been on the streets long enough to know how to avoid trouble. "I will call you…Lisa," she decides. The accent puts the emphasis on the second syllable, lee-SAH.
*
"It sounds an excellent name. Lee-sah. Fantastic," Damian wanders along behind, his head down as well as she slipsloshes behind. He hates wet socks. He hates it more than anything. Well, more than most things. "It sounds regal."
*
"It means fox," Ava clarifies with a smirk and a glance over her shoulder, leading the way into an alley. "So that depends on how you feel about foxes." Once in the alley, she heads for a dumpster, pulling herself up over the edge and digging in to start pulling out plastic bags and tossing them his way - full of day-old bread.
*
Damian wrinkles his nose as he catches some of the bags but shrugs his shoulders. He hadn't eaten since he got off the boat this morning. Beggars can't be choosers. "I like foxes just fine. Though I think I prefer wolves."
*
"You are too small to be a vohlk," Ava chuckles, hopping down once she's rescued a few loaves of bread and tipping her head further down the alley way. "But that is good, because this place is more of a fox hole anyhow." Behind another dumpster is a grate, which a few twists of a loose bolt pulls open. It takes some crouching and a little crawling to get inside, but about ten feet down it opens up into a small space where a few blankets, a change of clothes, and a couple cans of food have been squirreled away. Remarkably, it's warm. Then again, it's not far from where the ovens sit inside the bakery.
*
"Do you live here?" Damian asks as he can't help but shiver. There's no derision in his tone. It is not far different than what he is used to with the League of Assassins. He pulls one of the loaves of bread from the bag and tears at it experimentally before he tries it. The sweetness of white bread overpowers his senses and he makes a face, not realizing he may be offensive.
*
"Not any more," Ava answers honestly, sitting against one wall and opening up her own package of bread. "But I did, for a bit. Ownership has changed since then." She nods toward the clothes neatly folded against one wall. "You can probably fit in those, if you want."
*
Damian nods and begins to disrobe. Not modest, this one, he strips down buck naked and goes to the clothes as if they are winning lottery ticket. "You're very kind to me," he says as he pulls one the pants awkwardly. "Why?"
*
Ava doesn't seem bothered by the nudity herself, chewing on her bread without concern. "Because I have been here," she shrugs. "On my own. In a strange place. With nothing and no one. Because I want better for others." She looks around, a rueful smile curving. "This is maybe not better so much, but it is better than under a bridge, at least."
*
"Count me as appreciative," Damian replies after he shrugs into his top. "This is far better than under a bridge. And far, far better than out in the rain." He pauses, munching on some of the bread as he is gradually getting more used to it. "Tell me, do you think Bruce Wayne is far?"
*
Ava quirks a brow at the question, still somewhat amused. "New York is a large city, Lisa," she points out. "If by not far, you mean within the confines of the island, then yes, he is probably not far. But if you mean he would be quick or easy to find, then that may be another matter entirely. Why are you looking for him?"
*
"I have a delivery for him. A message," Damian replies as he sits down upon the floor and huddles his knees close to his chest. "I've come from a very long way."
*
Ava chews, watching him thoughtfully. "That sounds like the sort of thing people say when they are here to kill someone," she notes, though there's a distinct lack of judgment in the statement.
*
Damian chuckles softly, "No, I don't want to kill him." The thought makes him continue laughing, "Instead it is good news. News from far away. At least, I hope he will take it as good news."
*
"You could probably leave it at Wayne Enterprises," Ava suggests. "He is the owner, so there is no certainty that he does daily work there, but if you reach someone who has regular contact with them and can convince them that it is an actual important message and not some sort of letter from a fan, then it might make it to him."
*
"It's really the sort of message you might give in person," Damian says, wincing a bit. He never thought getting a hold of his father would prove this difficult. "I suppose I can figure that out in the morning. Are you going to stay here too?"
*
Ava tilts her head slightly at that question, pausing to think about it. Staying here means a better chance of finding out who this is and what he's doing. It also means a better chance of him attacking her if he isn't on the up and up. Leaving likely means not finding out more or never seeing him again. And if he is a threat to Bruce Wayne…does she care? "If I stay, will you bring me with you?" she finally asks.
*
"Well, to the door, but the conversation between he and I must remain between each other. If those terms are not amenable to you, I cannot change them. I am sorry." Damian replies.
*
Ava considers a moment longer, then nods. "Amenable," she agrees, going back to eating her own bread. "So long as it remains a conversation. I make no promises if I hear something more…animated than that."
*
Damian chuckles, "Are you going to hurt your Lisa, Ava? I don't think you seem likely to do that." His grin grows as he makes himself comfortable. "Tomorrow is a busy day. You do not snore, do you?"
*
"I think you would be surprised at what I am likely to do, Lisa," Ava chuckles, settling down on her side of the little crawl space. "I do not know if I snore, but no one has ever complained. So you will have to find out."
*
"Oh," Damian says. "Well, I do."