Summary: Black Cat robs a jewelry store; Renee Montoya happens to be nearby.
Location: New York City
Rating: PG (Comic Violence)
Oh, Air Kahndaq. Thank you ever so much. Nobody on that plane spoke English /including/ the pilot and co-pilot, to whom Renee could not have access, anyway. So she wasn't aware she was in the wrong place until she woke up and saw the different city limits and the different city lights. She should've listened to Tot. She saved him a few bucks, sure, but at the cost of a sudden reroute, landing in LaGuardia rather than the initially planned Gotham airport. Sure, she has a strongbox at a bank in New York; it's a big city, an important city. But. Uh. Not only was the flight redirected; it got in late. It means all she has is her carry-on, which at least contained a lead-lined, cleverly constructed, security-confounding box to hold some important items -- namely one of her guns -- and so, after a little hitchhiking, she finds herself in the restroom of a McDonald's in Queens, and slides the familiar shoulder holster into place. Then she heads toward the nearest subway station, meaning to get someplace interesting; the Outer Boroughs are not so much. She'll be strolling on the streets tonight since she has next to no cash on hand -- certainly not enough to pay for the cab ride from NYC to Gotham, nor even a hotel room. She's not quite at the level where she'll masquerade as homeless, so she simply walks, having made sure she's armed and dangerous. The MTA has reduced security lately you know. She tries to make the best of it. It wouldn't be the first time she's pulled an all-nighter, and she tells herself it's a good idea to become familiar with the Big Apple. Maybe she'll even tell Tot she planned it all along. Yeah. It's a stone's throw away from "home" and it has a similar pulse, although to Renee this is somewhat disorienting. It's like an arrhythmic heartbeat, a sister city, Gothamesque but not. Ah well. There's similar criminal element here; doubtless Intergang has its claws sunk in somewhere. Best make use of the time so it isn't wasted. Renee slides her hand over her face, then finishes off her third, fourth coffee. She has no desire to carry it on a train.
And while the thief known as the Black Cat usually roams Manhattan (and more specifically the Upper East Side), she knows the city well enough to know that even the boroughs have some nice places. Jewelry stores, even. It's one of these stores that Black Cat has already poked inside via a skylight, filling up a little bag. The problem, however, occurs when a rent-a-cop comes by - the store cannot afford its own guard, so shares a rent-a-cop with several other local businesses. Spying the burglar through the door, he bangs on it before fumbling with his keys. Uh oh.
It's true. Gold is gold; diamonds are diamonds. Renee is not usually inclined to windowshop at such places, particularly not late at night, but certain things do tend to catch the attention of a vigilante -- even one who is off duty. Frantic pounding on plexiglass, jingling keys, a wildly flailing flashlight... yeah. Maybe the Big Apple /is/ a little more like Gotham than she thought. She doubles back toward the jewelry store, a quick look up and down the street scanning for a likely getaway car. She frowns a little, not spotting one. This is either one stupid robber, or a clever one. Leaning toward the pessimistic side of things she assumes the latter, and so moves around back to assist. The (former) cop instinct is strong; it's on the tip of her tongue to call to the guard and let him know he has a little backup, but (un)common Questioning sense kicks in and she decides the element of surprise is even more important. To the nearby alley she goes, caffeine and adrenaline a steady, humming fizz in her veins. "Huzzah, stimulants," she mutters, looking for a side entrance, any evidence of breaking in through it, or perhaps a fire escape. Hell, even a rope, who knows.
The jewelry store itself is only a one storey building. The store next to it, however, has two storeys and includes a fire escape. And both buildings are fairly close to each other to leap across. On the inside, Cat is well aware of the guard (how could she not?). With a Cheshire Cat-like grin, she' using her grapple to escape through the skylight when the man is looking for the proper key. Hey, where'd she go? The activation of the grapple has a very distinctive noise, as does the sound of the metal end digging into the rooftop of the building. "Rent-a-cop zero, Cat, one..."
No car in the alley. Not even a motorcycle. As it dead-ends, and as Renee has already checked length and width, now she is left to deal with height. A short running leap brings her to a low rung of the fire escape, and through sheer upper body strength she hauls herself up until she can hit the platform and make her way up the tightly zig-zagging stairs. She pauses, glancing over at the audible tink-scratch of the grapple hook, her position about level with the height of the shop. She will not pause there, however; gravity pulls /down/, after all so she'll need the diagonal. Preparing for a few bruises, she jumps. She's a rough and tumble type, not yet the acrobat that Bat-types are. She hits the lower roof with a grunt, somersaulting to blunt the impact, rolling to her knees and letting the momentum carry her to her feet.
"What the hell?" she says, as the Black Cat rises through the skylight, some kind of odd, dark variation on the theme of Aphrodite on the waves or something. Also: accents of 'fur,' claws, a definite feline grace (and arrogance)... all she needs is ears and a tail, although the latter would, admittedly, be a distraction and partially block the view of...
/Stop/ that, Renee.
"New York has a Catwoman?" About that: yeah, sorry. Gotham girl biased.
Black Cat is quite surprised that someone else is on the rooftop. A few weeks ago, being compared to Catwoman might have upset her. This time, she just gives a little smirk. "Gotham girl, are you? You're a little far from home." With a snap of her wrist the grapple line retracts. Below, the guard manages to get inside the building, which leads to Felicia moving away swiftly (and silently) from the skylight.
"Sorry to disappoint," Renee says, no little bit dryly. She also flips back the not-really 'lapel' of her sweatshirt for easy access to her holster, and draws her pistol. It's a normal 9mm, not her Apokoliptian little friend. The safety comes off; bolt is slid. "And hold it right there." After a pause: "Please." Her stance is picture-perfect; the Black Cat must be dealing with an off-duty, vacationing cop. Who is a night owl.
Black Cat stops. Her back's to Renee at this point. She was ready to flee. Without lifting her hands, she turns around, her gaze fixating on the cop. "A scruffy looking lady cop," she comments. Her tone of voice is somewhere between exasperated and amused. "Better than the severe bunlook, I suppose." She holds her hands up, slowly, though her small bag remains clutched amongst her claw-tipped fingers of one hand.
"Yeah, well," grumbles Renee, a tad irritable. "Look. Jet lag is kind to no woman." The former detective subtly adjusts her grip on the gun, finger lightly poised before the trigger. For all her coffee her arms are steady; she's certainly not /nervous/. There's distance, at any rate. And surely Catwoman-lite isn't as much a threat as Catwoman herself would be. Right? "Drop it, kick it toward me. I'll make sure you get a scratching post in your cell." Just /how/ she'd bring the Black Cat in is kind of problematic. Perhaps she's hoping the guard gets around to climbing up and joining this little tea party. She's listening for him, in fact, but she doesn't dare glance away to check.
Black Cat sighs. She does not drop it. Instead, she tosses it at Renee. The way she swings the bag, however, allows for some of the bigger pieces to roll out and into her hand; she palms both of them. The sack lands neatly at Renee's feet. She edges backwards when the bag is arcing in the air, until the edges of her minute heels are on the edge of the building's rooftop. "I'm claustrophobic," she lies, smiling thinly. "Jail wouldn't be any good for me."
Renee sidesteps as the Black Cat's arm comes up to throw, assuming it is meant as some kind of distraction tactic. Her eyes do not waver from the thief and her arm does not falter. She's used to holding a piece. The glint of jewels in the cat burglar's hand does make her smirk a bit, though. Points for you, pretty kitty. "Maybe house arrest if you're a first-time offender," Renee drawls. "Somehow, I doubt it. But if you're nice I bet I can work something out for you. Minimal destruction of property, no assault, more or less complying... keep being so agreeable and maybe you could even walk." Now, finally, she begins to advance, gun still trained on the criminal.
The cat-burglar watches. "Do you have a name then, officer?" she asks, curious. Just honestly curious. "I like knowing who bested me so easily before I get led away in cuffs." Somewhere in the distance, sirens echo. But how unusual is that for New York? It could be the cops coming for this store, if the rent-a-cop managed to make a call. It could be for any number of things out there this night. Up close, she smells like lavender. And leather. When she gets the name and Renee is close, she smiles. "I have to give you credit, Officer Montoya. You've gotten a lot closer than New York's finest. I guess they just train the cops in Gotham better, don't they?" Without warning she falls backwards, towards the ground. But then there's the *thwock* of her grapple line activating, digging into the next building over. She swings low, but the next grapple activates, pulling her higher and into the night. At least most of the items are recovered?
"Montoya," Renee offers. Since the Black Cat is honestly curious. The corner of her mouth quirks as the sirens sound; security guards /are/ hired for a reason and they can't be /entirely/ stupid, even if they don't have a cop's training. "Just a matter of time, now, Catgirl..." And then: the Black Cat is falling. To give Renee credit her reflexes are good... but they're not /great/. Not after the day she's had. It's an abortive lunge; she doesn't want to pitch /herself/ off the roof after all. She is honestly surprised and horrified, and then her head whips at the 'thwock' of the grapple hook deploying, attaching. She abruptly straightens, lips pressed together firmly. For a second or three she tracks the thief with the muzzle of the pistol following, but then lowers her arm. "Enh," she says, tiredly, flipping the safety in place and holstering the pistol. Turning away, she shuffles to collect gemstones and precious metal fallen or thrown. "Not bad for someone with no jurisdiction," she mutters. There's a glance over her shoulder to where the Cat had been standing, and then she shakes her head. And then she sits, heavily, to wait. Shit. She just made her night a whoooole lot longer in a completely different way, didn't she. "Probably should've jumped too." She punctuates with a snort of self-disgust. And for the record? Renee smells a little like cigarettes and a lot like coffee.
She swings up and around, landing on the top of the higher building. From above, Black Cat looks down at Montoya, smirking. "For the record, Officer Montoya -- the name's Black Cat, not Catgirl." She waves (or is it salutes?) and disappears from the rooftop, the telltale thwock echoing in the night air.
Renee lifts her head, dark eyes, narrowed, following the swinging Cat's -- swinging Cat, weird -- progress. Then, as before, she slides a hand over her face. There's no more coffee to imbibe, so she just settles for a lengthy muttered string of less than complimentary Spanish phrases.