Chapter Text
Gotham was, as far as Rose could tell, the Crime Capitol of the world. Vigilante capital of the world too, more days than not, but they were necessary to stop the rising tide of death and fear. Sure other cities had problems, but despite the fact the nights were lousy with Bats and Birds and various other heroes, it seemed the problems were getting worse. Rose wasn't a hero. She wasn't exactly a criminal either, not in the traditional sense. She looked out for number one, stayed out of her father's radar, that was all that mattered. The real question was, with the whole world to choose from, why did she keep returning here? There was enough drama in her life without sinking into the madness that came with the doomed city.
As was her habit, once she had settled in she'd immediately cleared her little corner of town of petty crime, and with a couple well-placed warnings convinced the major players that she was Not to be Fucked With, not an easy feat in this brooding metropolis. Perhaps the name Ravager didn't carry the fear that Bats and his brood had spread through the criminal element, but her reputation was enough to keep the common crooks down other alleys. Or at least it had been. She sighed. Time was that the shadow of her father over her shoulder would keep most out of her path, but those days where in her rearview. She tried to tell herself it was a good thing. She wasn't really here to be another threat that stalked the night, if anything she was trying to take a vacation from her life. She took the odd small job so that she could keep paying rent on her shitty little flat, but other than that she was just keeping her turf clear and calling it a day.
Of course, this particular evening she had deviated from the script, and immediately regretted it. The job she'd worked tonight had gone south faster than lesbians on a lunch date. Not only was the target not there, but there'd been a whole greeting party for the masked assassin. Rose could normally sniff a setup out a mile away, but she'd gotten careless since ... well since the Incident. Tonight may have cured her of the drink and kill method of contract completion at least. Hell, her head still had that spinny sensation that told her not all the alcohol had worked through her system despite the adrenaline of the battle. She'd barely gotten out of there without a few extra holes in inconvenient places.
She winced, tugging the bandage on her left arm tighter as it slowly soaked crimson. All right, she had a few extra holes, but not as many as those assholes had. You try to get the drop on a Wilson, and they're the only ones walking back out of the room. That was a firm rule, and one she stuck to. It didn't stop her from being pissed off at herself, the fuckwad who had shot her, his buddies who thought they could surprise someone with fucking precognitive abilities, and the alcohol that had proven them almost correct. Maybe the superior fucking asshole who had stopped by the other week to lecture her on self-destructive tendencies was correct and she was letting the booze and adrenaline kill her. Then again, who the fuck really cared?
Damnit, she wasn't really into that emo shit, suicidal ideation or whatever the big brains called it. She wasn't trying to get herself killed or destroy herself or anything like that, she just wanted to be left alone. Tugging the mask from her head, she shook out her curling white hair, adjusting the eye patch over her scarred face in a practiced motion before tucking her mask into the back of her pants. No need to be all intimidating down here, her neighbours were already terrified of her, after all. She wasn't even sure why. Just like them she was an alcoholic and a druggie. Her temper might be worse than most, but she had long since stopped sharpening her tongue on everyone that crossed her path. Civilians just couldn't handle her. Civilians couldn't handle her, the heroes mostly thought she was a half-cocked gun who killed too easily, and the crooks only spoke to her because of her father, who she hated. Best to keep to herself before she killed someone out of irritation and regretted it later.
She was about to turn onto her street when a flicker of movement caught her eye. Shadows on shadows. Curious, she crouched low, pressing against the wall and drawing one of her katana before peering along the row of shops. There, in the narrow alley between two stores, was a figure, all bundled up against recognition to the casual observer, but not to her. The figure was small, smaller than her and that was saying something. Not shorter, but so scrawny it was almost like he wasn't there. Young then, and male as far as she could tell. By the way he was hunched over, he wasn't up to anything lawful.
Rose let out a quiet breath of irritation. Hadn't she taught all the thieves in Gotham that this street was off-limits yet? Youth was no excuse for stupidity, she thought, completely disregarding the litany of stupid mistakes she had once blamed on her own lack of age and experience. She didn't want to kill someone young just because he was stupid, but with the adrenaline still buzzing and the alcohol still affecting her she wasn't 100% on her accuracy. Ravager dropped the dagger from her left wrist sheathe into her hand anyway, judging the heft for a moment before tossing it. The blade sliced through the night air, embedding in the mouldering stone work beside the boy's head with a soft 'thunk'. She'd meant to pin his jacket to the wall, but she could play it off as a warning shot. The one-eyed young woman strode up quickly behind the blade, pulling her other katana from it's sheathe as she did so.
"I swear to fuck, you picked the wrong fucking night to be fucking up shit on my street, asshole."