Special assignment (Nightwing/Open)

[Alice]

Life had been quiet; way too quiet of late if someone would ask the gal pulling up to a stop beside a watering hole on the outskirts of Gotham City. Whether the lull in assignments had been because the skipper herself had hit a lull or because Zinda Blake's redheaded employer was feeling a lack of trust toward her pilot of late. As she climbed off her Harley Davidson, stretched and cracked her knuckles, the light breeze that was blowing scattering her long blond locks, an out of uniform Lady Blackhawk figured and hoped that option number 1 was the winner, not that she should probably not blame her if the second option was more to the point.

Threats from the government that they still somehow had the power and the means to force her back under their thumb should she choose to continue her anti stance against the registration act weighed heavily on Zinda's mind lately but so did her loyalty to her teammates and the skipper. She just hoped Babs knew it and appreciated the difficulty Zinda was having in try to officially pick a side. No matter where she ended up, things would never be the same.

Trying to take a little time off from thinking about it is what led her away from the base in Metropolis and back to Gotham tonight. This had always been one of her favorite watering holes since the skipper first hired her and she never got tired of frequenting it when the time and opportunity presented itself.

Smiling broadly and tossing a wave at the barkeep, She inconspicuously ordered her first round before grabbing a pool cue from the wall, chalking it up and letting off a little excess steam as she made the break and sent 2 stripes and one solid colored ball into various pockets.

[Laura Kinney]

Kneeling on a stone gargoyle head protruding form the side of a building a good thirty feet above the nightime street below, Laura frowned. What had happened to the world did not make sense to her. Mr. Mccoy had tried to explain it, but she had only become frustrated. She understood that there were more people now. She understood that this very city she was currently in, didn't used to be here.

What she did not understand was how something like this could happen, nor why it seemed so important to everyone else. Really, what did it change? Everything seemed to be operating by the same rules as far as Laura could tell. However, when she voiced this opinion people at the institute tended to look at her like she was crazy for being so cavalier about it... it was a similar look to the ones she'd recieved in her early days at Xavier's before she'd learned not to talk about her past to others.

She could beat all of them in combat. At the same time. Yet somehow they often managed to make her feel inferior sometimes. How? Why? She wasn't was she? She was a better fighter and a better killer.

A better weapon. Laura grimaced as it dawned on her exactly what it was; it made her feel inhuman. Kimura's words came back to haunt her, telling her she was just a thing, not worthy of a real name... or a real life. X. Not Laura: X. The memories, these thoughts, siezed her with the irrational desire to flee; from what? To where?

The pain brought her thoughts back into focus, as it always did. She watched drops of blood fall like raindrops towards the cars far beneath her. But no... this wasn't right either. She'd promised herself and her comrades, 'friends' still tasted strange on her tongue, that she wouldn't do this anymore. Reluctantly, Laura removed the blade of her right hand from the skin of her left wrist and watched the cut heal as she retracted the claw.

So if not cutting, then what? What did others do to deal with tumultous thoughts and feelings? She did not, after all, have anyone she needed to kill right now. Then a thought occured to her; Logan, the original Weapon X, drank! He went to bars and consumed large quantities of alcohol whenever her felt moody. And she definitely felt moody.

***

Only a few minutes later, Laura strolled into a small establishment on the outskirts of this city; Gotham, it was called. There weren't many patrons here, just a few people sitting in corners and a woman knocking balls around a table with a wooden stick. Laura had forgotten what this game was called, but she knew that it too was a pastime of Logan's.

Walking up to the bar, Laura cocked her head curiously at the man who served the drinks and the smirk playing across his features.

"I want a kers," she stated bluntly.

"You talking about a Coors, as in a beer, little lady?"

The man chuckled as he asked the question. She did not know what he found humerous, but the name sounded right. Laura nodded mutely. He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"And how old are you?"

Immediatley, she tensed. Why was he asking questions about her? Moreover, the tone of his voice suggested that he already knew. Was he baiting her? Confirming a theory of some sort? Perhaps he was from the agency? Or was she just being paranoid, as some of the other X students had accused her of being? No, Laura decided, that was one thing she was not. She'd found a dictionary and looked up the term after the first time someone had used it to describe her; it wasn't paranoia if there actually were people after you. Cautiously, ready for anything, Laura responded honestly;

"15."

He seemed surprised at what she had said for some reason, and gave her an incredulous stare.

"Not even gonna try and lie to me, eh?" Why would she lie about something like that? Laura was feeling increasingly uneasy.

"Well this ain't that kinda bar girlie. We don't serve minors."

Minor? That meant small, didn't it? Insignificant? Was he insulting her? Laura wasn't entirely certain, but he was refusing to serve her based uppon his assessment of her as 'minor'. His obstinence and her own confusion were only serving to further frustrate Laura and it was beginning to become hard to keep her anger in check. She glared at him and spoke in menacing tones usually reserved for interrogations.

"It is irrelevent what you think of me as. You have two options; give me the... Coors... and be paid, or force me to take it and be hurt."