04-08-2018, 02:59 PM
Crouched on a rope strung between two glittering skyscrapers, a hundred feet above 110th Street, is Batgirl Skywalker.
The eight-year-old orphan Twi’lek was once known as De'ialia, but upon the untimely murder of parents years ago she donned the mantle of Batgirl Skywalker. She made herself a purple cape and mask, and trained herself in lightsaber combat via Omnitube tutorials, and has been striking fear into the criminals of Tier-5 ever since. Well, some of the criminals anyways.
De'ialia “Batgirl Skywalker” is a member, and currently Acting President, of the Westside Deathblades, a gang of deadly orphans with a penchant for anime. President Shadowkill himself had recruited her after hearing of her heroic exploits. With Princess Hellstabs’ untimely death, and President Shadowkill arrested, the Presidency falls to Batgirl, at least until Shadowkill breaks out.
A frown crosses the bright red Twi’leks face. She is a lone wolf, uncomfortable with leadership in any capacity. She only joined the Deathblades for access to new targets, anyways.
Batgirl stays crouched on her taught rope, balancing as perfectly as she balances her inner conflicts. A hundred feet below her the Westside ghetto is alive, seething with human and alien detritus even in the darkest hours of the artificial morning. The poor and the hopeless shuffle into corners to die, the drug-addicts veering pushing forward as their desperation grows, and the ruthless predators slink in the shadows eager for their next victim.
It all makes De'ialia sick.
She longs for the days when she could stalk the predators without considering the bigger picture, without the complex gang politics and long-term strategies, when she could kill a pimp instead of letting him operate for weeks so they could find his boss.
The tiny Twi’lek lets herself fall backwards, hanging onto the rope with just one foot, swinging above 110th Street upside-down, brooding. As she swings back and forth, she notices a squirrel made of shimmering silver start to cross her rope.
De'ialia sits up quickly, crouching on her rope again as the squirrel scurries over to her. She recognizes the squirrel as a Patronus, the primary means of contact among the Westside.
“Hey Batgirl,” says the squirrel. It speaks in the deep voice of Lil Peevz, the wizard who has summoned it. Lil Peevz is a Westside Hufflepunk, but De'ialia requested him for her team specifically. They had worked together before, and De'ialia liked him because he was sober, a claim few Hufflepunks could make with a straight face.
“It looks like there’s some Tuskies in the alley’s behind the Pokemon Center,” the squirrel continues, licking it’s silvery paws quickly. “We got one of them identified as Gorrgush the Finesser. They’re probably scouting out new spots to sell heroin. The bad kind of heroin, not like you. Anyways, if you wanna go introduce yourself, Jacket says it’s a green light light for any orcs west of Hover Ave.”
For the first time all night, the little orphan Twi’lek smiles.
***
The eight-year-old orphan Twi’lek was once known as De'ialia, but upon the untimely murder of parents years ago she donned the mantle of Batgirl Skywalker. She made herself a purple cape and mask, and trained herself in lightsaber combat via Omnitube tutorials, and has been striking fear into the criminals of Tier-5 ever since. Well, some of the criminals anyways.
De'ialia “Batgirl Skywalker” is a member, and currently Acting President, of the Westside Deathblades, a gang of deadly orphans with a penchant for anime. President Shadowkill himself had recruited her after hearing of her heroic exploits. With Princess Hellstabs’ untimely death, and President Shadowkill arrested, the Presidency falls to Batgirl, at least until Shadowkill breaks out.
A frown crosses the bright red Twi’leks face. She is a lone wolf, uncomfortable with leadership in any capacity. She only joined the Deathblades for access to new targets, anyways.
Batgirl stays crouched on her taught rope, balancing as perfectly as she balances her inner conflicts. A hundred feet below her the Westside ghetto is alive, seething with human and alien detritus even in the darkest hours of the artificial morning. The poor and the hopeless shuffle into corners to die, the drug-addicts veering pushing forward as their desperation grows, and the ruthless predators slink in the shadows eager for their next victim.
It all makes De'ialia sick.
She longs for the days when she could stalk the predators without considering the bigger picture, without the complex gang politics and long-term strategies, when she could kill a pimp instead of letting him operate for weeks so they could find his boss.
The tiny Twi’lek lets herself fall backwards, hanging onto the rope with just one foot, swinging above 110th Street upside-down, brooding. As she swings back and forth, she notices a squirrel made of shimmering silver start to cross her rope.
De'ialia sits up quickly, crouching on her rope again as the squirrel scurries over to her. She recognizes the squirrel as a Patronus, the primary means of contact among the Westside.
“Hey Batgirl,” says the squirrel. It speaks in the deep voice of Lil Peevz, the wizard who has summoned it. Lil Peevz is a Westside Hufflepunk, but De'ialia requested him for her team specifically. They had worked together before, and De'ialia liked him because he was sober, a claim few Hufflepunks could make with a straight face.
“It looks like there’s some Tuskies in the alley’s behind the Pokemon Center,” the squirrel continues, licking it’s silvery paws quickly. “We got one of them identified as Gorrgush the Finesser. They’re probably scouting out new spots to sell heroin. The bad kind of heroin, not like you. Anyways, if you wanna go introduce yourself, Jacket says it’s a green light light for any orcs west of Hover Ave.”
For the first time all night, the little orphan Twi’lek smiles.
***