Come One, Come All [Open to All]

[The Monitor]

[/b][/color] Haly’s Circus. The circus’s tents are pitched slightly on the outskirts of Seattle, near the seas.
Time: Dusk has settled, slowly breaking into the temptress of the evening.
Characters Involved: While this thread is open, there’s going to be a plethora of NPCs thrown into the mix.

• Green Arrow.
  
• Any heroes, or vigilantes, can hop into the chaos.
  
• C.C. Haly.
  
• Haly’s circus acts.
  
• The Dark Arrows.
  
• Seattle’s socialites, and other, less aristocratic, citizens.
  

Mission Briefing: Tonight is a charity fundraiser correlated by Queen Industries’ ‘sister company’ (as Ollie sees it) Q-Core, and Haly’s Circus is receiving a cut of the profit as well as notoriety for an act that’s been soon to die. Its newest act, and so far its most popular, Merlyn the Magnificent, has been the biggest draw—especially for Mr. Queen—due to his claim of being the world’s greatest archer. Tonight, for Merlyn and his Dark Arrows, is the first attempt to challenge Queen and his corporation. Prepare for a few twist and turns.[/ul]

---

CITY OF SEATTLE
... CURRENT VENUE FOR HALY’S CIRCUS

“--Queen’s lost his money. What’s he thinking--”

“--can’t believe that this place still exists--”

It isn’t often that Seattle’s socialites wine and dine in such dregs; something that became the topic of the evening. At this soiree, presented by Queen Industries and its majority CEO, Harold Emerson, the man that hardly even owns the corporation has attempted to showcase what money can do for a person that has almost none. Haly’s Circus, much like this crowd, isn’t what it used to be, and that’s extremely unfortunate; it has, however, existed on the fringes for quite some time. With small towns lineage on its side, it’s continued to thrive, entertaining locals with feats that haven’t changed since the early eighties, but, it’s family appeal has ensured its existence even up until now.

City Hall, art museums, the city’s charity galas, and its collective fundraisers, until this point, had always been set in luxurious buildings. Plush chairs, and fanciful spreads that feature items that most of Seattle’s less opulent denizens could never even dream of affording, and, that’s exactly the thought that Oliver Queen had in mind the moment he pushed Emerson into holding this event. Haly’s isn’t exactly a socialite’s ideal place to be, no matter the time or place, for its uninspired lack of decadence; its boiled peanuts, its cotton candy and candied apples. The only available seating surrounds the three ring, under the big top, and have since become less sturdy over time: slightly rotted benches, treated time and time again, that are truly the heart of any circus and the bane of anyone that feels they’re too good to sit on such dilapidated arrangements.

C.C. Haly couldn’t disagree more. In his hay day, this circus has brought him more pleasure, more money than any one person could imagine. It brought him a family, friends, and loved ones that protected and cared for one another. It was something that most of these money grubbing, heartless people knew nothing about. And the reason for that? It couldn’t be bought, sold, or traded, and so it has no value in their minds. “It’s not often that we get to entertain a crowd like this. Honest-to-God socialites; they all have more money than any one of us could ever think about keeping in our pockets at any one time, but.” Raya, Marc, Jimmy—the mainstays, and the new faces—stood in a small half-circle around Haly, leaning against the crates they unpacked earlier, each baring a smile. Except for Jimmy, at least, busy at puffing away on a cigarette. “They aren’t a family. That makes us rich.”

C.C. Haly laughed, and pat Marc on the shoulder. “Well...” His face brightened, even if it has been weathered by old age and years of hard labor. “Richer than them, anyway.”

****

Emerson hadn’t seen many of these people before. Each and every one of them claimed that they owned stock in Queen Industries, that they believed in the company since it had been nothing more than a small facility ran by George Queen, that it disgusted, and disappointed, them that Oliver had ran the name through the dirt. Years of dry tabloid articles, photographs slinging mud at Oliver, covering every single one of the billionaire brat’s exploits and causing stock to plummet exponentially.

That had been the reason for the evening’s festivities, Queen claimed. Showcase that Oliver, and Queen Industries (his father’s name), have turned over a new leaf. In hindsight, it wasn’t the most awful thought, or so he considered, until he realized the chosen venue that Oliver threw at him. Immediately, it had made him regret that, in George’s dying wishes, he continued to leave that child in some semblance of charge, despite knowing how foolish—how insufferably immature—Queen continued to be. Despite that, Harold continued to wade through the evening’s manure, both figuratively and literally, and try to garner empathy from both press and those that toted checkbooks that busted Fort Knox open, in hopes of bringing his (yes, he said that it was his) company out of foreclosure territory.

Hopefully.

“Ah.” Harold had smiled—one never knew that his facial muscles could even lift in that direction—at both Seattle’s mayor and his lovely, aging, decrepit hanging coat of a wife. “It’s so good to see you, Mayor Karn.” A slightly limp wrist reached out, soliciting a handshake that barely lasted past the two second count, until he switched to the wife. How annoying these outings came to be. “And, it’s absolutely lovely to see you, ma’am.” It’s been some time since he’s endured such.. festivities, at least, and he’s justifying that his best attempt is being made. That is, at least, how Emerson sold it later, during the police reports, after being sequestered of his involvement in the evening.

Ironic.

****

“Ladies!” At his age, C.C. Haly had learned to command the crowd’s attention. “Gentlemen!” Up in the rigging, a lean, young man equally commanded the spotlight’s attention as he drew it upon the elderly ringmaster. “The moment that you’ve all been waiting for!” His clothes clung to him, almost as if they hadn’t fit in years—and, honestly, they hadn’t—though he knew better than to not pull out all the stops for a crowd of this caliber.

The crowd. The lights. Both fell silent, hushed in absolute darkness, and that’s the most anyone saw for the duration of several hours. According to every witness’s testimony, at least.

[The Monitor]

“Fear not, and feast your eyes upon the dazzling theatrics of our marvelous, renowned opening act, Merlyn, the Magnificent!” But a single spotlight flickered on once again, darting about the arena to try and capture its main target. Light filtered through, casting about a bespectacled and slightly awed crowd, awaiting its show in a hush that could be heard across the open bay. “He hails from parts unknown... It’s said that this man is capable of shooting the wings off a fly. That his marksmanship is without err. That none but he can sit in the splendor of the highest mountaintop, and still be capable of disarming the smallest of creatures, the most fierce of beasts, and not bat a single eye-lash!” While they awaited this new face, the true act put on his show, roping in the audience and leaving them to expect even more.

C.C. Haly sold a show like none other, and that reason alone has always kept his circus afloat. Even now, as none could see more than the outline of his slightly rotund figure, the man bore a smile grander than the stages he’s sat foot on throughout the years: Madison’s, Macy’s, the Hedge Garden... He’s been there, and it all manages to come back to him the moment that he’s back in the center of those three rings, under that massive tent, looking past the crowd. Looking through them, into their heart of hearts, for amazement, and splendor that he knows only he can offer them.

“Now, this part of the show, all, is not,” Haly began, surveying those all around to soak in the spotted appearances of dismayed, and otherwise wondered, audience members that the spotlight trailed across. “I repeat, ladies and gentlemen, this part of the show is not for the faint of heart.”

****

Behind the curtain, a man has been seated dormant, observing the old man’s tactics. He’s talented, and it’s the reason that they chose him in the first place. “You have their attention, Haly. I’ll allow you that one.” His face is razor sharp, though barely a thought as it comes to length. It’s easy to see the reason he chooses to command the bow and arrow, nonetheless: the tips that adorn the shaft are nearly as frightening as the looks that he can shoot, leaving a person cold in their step. From the peak of his hairline to the point of his chin--the only part of his face that carries hair, in the form of a tapered goatee--his veneer is a calculating precision. Delightful enough to match his act.

“Hurry up,” he’s mumbled five times in succession now, rampant enough that it could match the rapid release of the arrow from his classically customized obsidian longbow. “I’m here all night, perhaps, but there’s more on my itinerary than sitting here, old man.” His thoughts have, at this point, shifted to the masterpiece at hand, though he’s doing his best to remain in the right frame of mind for Haly’s sake.

It’s a rough gig, landing any type of contract in his rather profound line of work, and he’s always going to be the first to tell you that. Clients are finicky. They’s jumpy, paranoid, and overall trained—by anything popular fiction, C.S.I. be damned—to never trust any person that’s been contracted. Tonight, in particular, hasn’t been any less difficult. His client, even if he’s pretended to be shadowed, is a man named Harold Emerson. His target? A billionaire, or former billionaire (at this point) named Oliver Queen has been a thorn in his side.

This evening, Emerson’s requested that he be the mouse who removes that accursed thorn.

Charming.

****

“Don’t.” Emerson raised a forefinger gracefully, darting it toward a bench seat several feet away from his general vicinity. His nose scrunched as he sniffed the man away, disgusted by his appearance. The man’s stench, evidence that he hadn’t bathed in some odd amount of years (or so it had appeared), nearly caused the current owner’s stomach to perform its own rinse cycle. He retched, pushed it down, and covered his mouth to hide the attempted rise of his bile. “You belong over there.”

The homeless apparent couldn’t make his expression disappear, no matter how much he made the attempt. Yellowed teeth, tarnished by years of cigarette and alcohol abuse, shone radiantly through harshly chapped lips. “Do I?” Bushy eye-brows lifted a modicum, allowing milky hues to size up the opulent, snooty man that practically owned this entire event. “I believe, sir,” he chided in kind, inching close enough to allow his scent to infect Emerson’s personal space. “You’ve lost sight, I fear.”

“Leave,” said the forthcoming corporate executive. “Before I have security assist you.”

However homeless he appeared in essence, it should have been evident that there was much more than meets that eye. “Mister Emerson.” Though it couldn’t be seen behind the beard, or the weathered facade, the homeless man’s expression turned cold. Harold Emerson had suddenly been measured in terms of boon, and precisely how worthy his contract could be considered.

Ultimately, it was far from certain what his fate may have became at that point.

“Funny.” Harold would be remiss if he had not scrutinized the situation. “I expected.. more.”

****

Though considered extinct, the Whēkau—a species of owl commonly referred to as the “Laughing Owl”—belted out its shrill cry.

The evening had only begun.

[Green Arrow]

[atrb=valign, top] Oliver Queen hasn’t been to a social affair like this in long enough to count on both hands, his quiver, and possibly his toes if he decides to take his finely crafted Italian leather shoes off. Tonight, he’s decided to prolong the inevitable and make it a little bit longer that he mingles about the socialites and sycophants. There’s been threats on the mayor and his cohorts, and that’s brought out Green Arrow to patrol the grounds of Haly’s Circus. At least, that’s how he’s planned to make the fine people of Seattle feel safe. He’s monitoring the perimeter of the grounds, also, picking up any sign of activity and trouble that’s trying to rear its ugly head. “Naomi, baby,” Arrow mumbles into his communicator, resting a finger against the tinny button that opens their shared line. “Talk to me. There’s bound to be someone making some noise out here.” It’s been painstakingly quiet thus far. He’s not afraid to mention it, complain a bit about it, and let his teeth busy at chewing on his bottom lip. “Unless I was wrong, and nobody’s interested in trying to take out the city’s mayor. Or, at the least, try to hold up a tent full of Seattle’s richest.” “Wouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Naomi replied in a sultry tone. “There’s a lot going on out there,” she teased, “and, from what I can tell, you’re right in the thick of it.” Ollie held back the need to shake his head, instead letting a smile float across his lips. He’s half-cocked and nestling that bow in his hand. “I think I’m probably needed back at that three ring circus,” he replied. Both arms stretched high above his head, one at a time. He rolls his shoulders, popping the bones, and lets out a yawn. “Even if I’d rather stay out here... Looks like it could be more fun.” **** It’s already been a long night. Out there, in the concrete jungle, and coming back almost entirely empty-handed. Unfortunately, he has no choice but to make at least a minor appearance at the event that he—not Harold Emerson, despite his claims to the media—orchestrated to garner Queen Industries and Q-Core some righteous publicity. If that’s even possible. He can’t possibly call himself at a hero, not at this point, but, he is someone that’s out, at night, hoping to put an end to the very people that he helps get money in the hand of. Difficult to justify, admittedly, but that money keeps him above the rest in terms of technological influence: the one factor that allows him to effectively combat these horrible crimes. This evening isn’t for Green Arrow, however. Tonight, in the thick of these bloodthirsty sharks, he’s nothing more than Oliver Queen. He’s the rightful heir, the one to claim the throne, so they say, to one of the biggest corporations in the country. His father, the tycoon that built that conglomeration with his own two hands, also set up a fail safe to ensure that Ollie couldn’t get his fingers into the pot until he could run it properly, unfortunately. Not that, in complete honesty, the heir apparent cares all that much. He’s not going to admit that upfront, but it’s obvious. “--he’s here--” A few people have already started their hushed judgments, clinging to their significant others and brothers-in-arms. Tabloids fueled these conversations, and Oliver has been scrutinized more than many in those rags. Hell. He’s even put Courtney Love to shame, if at all possible. “--can’t believe he actually showed his face--” “--you see him with those girls? Were they even old enough?” Emerson caught him by the arm mid-stride, tugging him close enough to let his mouth hover near the boy’s ear. “I told you,” he lets out a throaty growl, trying to keep his intensity at bay, “that it was best you not come here. You cannot keep yourself out of trouble. Doesn’t matter how poorly it reflects on the company that your father built. That I assisted your father in building.” Justifiable, the archer felt the need to admit. He’s nervous—Emerson is, at least—and he has the right to be. These men of the silver age, and the ladies that they must be seen alongside for the camera, seek out one single sign of weakness. They feel the need to plunge their teeth into anyone that shows blood. To them, to Emerson, Ollie’s nothing more than an injured, single fish out in the sea. He’s floating, hurt, bleeding into the salt, and they’re hungry. That’s the reason that the company’s stocks have plunged, and it’s unfortunate. They can always make more money, though. That’s all it is to him: money. “Relax, Emerson.” A comforting hand rests on the man’s shoulder for a moment, offering a genteel squeeze, before Ollie departs to mingle. Just seconds before, however, he’s leaned over to trade his own comments to his current business ‘partner’. “Wouldn’t matter if all I did was vote Democrat. They’re bored. They can’t think of anything else to talk about.” He leans back, offering Harold an honest smile, even if it is slightly laced with sardony. “I’m their book of the month. That’s all.” **** She’s late. He can’t believe that she’s late. Well, honestly, he can believe it. That’s how she’s always been, unfortunately. He told her earlier today that it was tonight, and she agreed to be there. “Come on.” Ollie moved from his current perch, directly outside the tent’s main flap, and stood in the muddy, slightly gravely parking lot the circus has modified for the evening. “You should have known better, Ollie.” He’s switched from looking at his watch to palming his face, and finally took to stepping inside. Alone. That hadn’t been in the cards. Guess that’s the reason that even card castles seem to topple. Tonight, he’s sort of feeling how that might hurt others, and that’s a slight bummer. He can handle these people on his own, however. It’s not the first, and it won’t be the last. “Hey there, studly,” came a soft, sensual coo, “I’m sorry that I’m late.” She’s good. A pout’s already been pasted on her lips, painted a rich crimson, as she looks into his eyes. Oh, she’s real good. “In case you’re trying to figure out where I was...” His expected date, a lustrous red-headed female, slightly taller than him in her obsidian heels, currently has a slinky lilac dress with a dipped cleavage. In his defense, her leaning over to address him gave him the sort of view he can’t help but milk. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll leave it at, I spent a little extra time getting ready.” Her hand rests on his cheek, silky smooth, and strokes across it, those painted lips stretching into a bright grin once more. “Just. For. You.” “Well...” He’s let out a slight gulp, trying his best to catch his breath. There’s a hitch in his voice, but he’s staving it off the best that he can. An arm lifted, bent at the elbow, as he offered a slight smirk. “Let’s get to it, Miss Cutter.”

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[Talon]

[atrb=valign, top][style=border-left:4px solid #b5a642; font-size:12px; padding-left:8px; text-align:justify; padding-right:8px;] Whose right was it to judge a man for all that he was worth? Those who were in power of course and those who could maintain that strangle hold on not only a single individual – but an entire society. They were a domineering force of individuals who were part of this secret organization that set the cogs and gears of the finest cities in the world. Specifically what they sought to control were the most powerful business organizations each city had to offer. Embezzled deep in Seattle was the righteous seat of Queen Industries; untouched and infallible to the Court of Owls when it was in the hands of George Queen. That all changed now, in the absence of its former owner, Queen Industries was now in the hands of more ambiguous individuals. Oliver Queen, the heir to the empire was far from present in the business’ operation. He only acted as a face. Harold Emerson was the acting CEO who made the decisions for Queen Industries and who at the end of the day – had complete control. He was – like any other man: jealous, power hungry, spiteful. He was the perfect puppet for the Court of Owls. There was after all nothing better than a man who simply yearned for power. “Can he be trusted?” “It’s not a matter of trust; it is a matter of manipulation.” “Can he be manipulated?” “Of course he can, he is a silly little man seeking absolute power. He can be easily corrupted; absolutely destroyed.” The court seemed to hover around a circular marble table as their masks faces look to one another. They were illuminated by the bare luminesce of lights that filtered from the walls. White owl masks and elegant clothing were a shared feature amongst the members and while they were somewhat sure of who stood behind the mask, they did show any signs of familiarity or intimacy. Their façades were never lifted, never exposed – this ensured all their secrets. “Queen provided a massive donation for Haly’s circus. Perhaps we should focus our resources on him.” “No, if he is anything like his father he will not falter.” “Then what is our resolve?” “We remove Oliver Queen from his standing as head of Queen Industries. Relinquish that power and give it to Emerson.” “He will be in attendance at the Haly’s Circus event.” Send the Talon.” * * * Loud noises, the crowds and the lights were all vaguely familiar to her. In some past life she was very sure that she had once lived here. Existed here. Thrived here. Haly’s Circus was a lot more lavish tonight that she remembered it being. It had more than just its typical crowd of families with their children and couples. There were socialites here, people of higher standing that looked out of place in their evening gowns and suits and ties. In a way, it was almost comical – not that Talon would know anything about that. Her memory served her quite well in reminding her of where the better hiding places were. The large tent’s metal skeleton was a good place to lurk from the shadows. From there, she looked down at the scene below, her grey eyes following the many bodies searching for the distinguished individual that she was responsible for. People talked about him, with great disdain, it made her think that perhaps taking his life would not have a huge impact. He was not favored, what would it matter if he was gone. It was like she would be doing everybody a favor. Ironic, because that was never the case. Talon’s eyes fell on Emerson who looked as if he were completely uncomfortable in this scene. It made sense, when was the last time anyone had come into the circus? Entertainment had changed in the past few years to her understanding – and Haly’s circus was one of few – a dying breed. The Court only kept it afloat because it was still the most inconspicuous methods of obtaining children of her caliber; children who could fly through the air unaided by wings. Everyone’s attention refocused, and she finally laid her eyes on the dashing fellow that was Oliver Queen. Long gone were emotions or specific thought processes that would have commented on his appearance. He was merely a walking target now, in a flashy suit and snarky grin on his face. He entered the tent, looking about and then left once again. The man was waiting for someone. Her eyes narrowed, and Talon easily pushed off her perch and leaped onto another solid holding structure. Her hands gripped the metal and she silently began to swing her body and then pushed off to the next beam. Her body curled and extended allowing her a dynamic positioning through the air. She caught sight of him once again, just before he moved out of the tent and into the darkness of the night. Her heart began to race, observing that perhaps this mission would be complete in a matter of seconds. She moved quickly now, grabbing onto a loose rope and flying over the heads of many socialites before letting go and silently landing behind the crowd. She was unnoticed, unimportant to the rest of the audience. A soft thud from her boots echoed back to her as she landed, and she quickly sprawled flat onto the floor and rolled under the tent’s flap. Once outside, she heard the crunch of gravel and mud as Oliver’s expensive shoes walked across the poor excuse for a pathway. As she rolled out, Talon pulled a small dagger from her hip, and rose up on all fours – then into a crouch. Utilizing the shadows and the large vintage truck that stood between her and Oliver Queen, Talon moved forward, silently and cautiously as she monitored the ground. The beating of her heart filled her ears and she began to practice breathing exercises as to not let the sound drown her out. Eight feet… Six feet… Five feet…. She edged closer and closer her dagger raising and catching the gleam of the moonlight. “Hey there,” An abrupt pause, her body froze as she curled up attempting to make herself as small as possible. The sound of her beating heart did not allow her triangulate the source of the sound. For all she knew, it could be behind her. Talon slowly moved forward, pressing against the rubber wheel and feeling the wet mud seep against her boots. “studly. I’m sorry that I’m late.” A woman, beautiful and sensual approached the heir of Queen Industries. Talon peered under the truck, staring at feet as the two conversed, caught up and made notions to move back to the circus event. Her face scrunched in slightly annoyance as she watched their feet move and gather toward the direction of the tent. The woman was an unseen variable, and her presence would prove a problem for Talon – now she would have to work meticulously and monitor them very precisely. She only had one shot. One shot to make Oliver Queen’s death look like a complete accident. [/style]

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[Green Arrow]

[atrb=valign, top] It was painful to be present, to be counted among the masses that filed into the circus under his family’s banner, but Oliver managed it. Not to say that he managed it smiling, or that he found solace in the fact that Harold suffered alongside him. He managed based purely through Miss Carrie Cutter, though he knew nothing about her. They had met out in the city, one night during a charity benefit that the city threw to raise money for the arts and almost instantaneously clicked. After that, it was ultimately balls to the wall as to who she was. “I know. It’s terrible that I know nothing about anyone here. To be honest, I’m not sure that I remember my own name.” He plastered on his most innocent smile, looking around in the pretense of finding anything that might have hinted at his identity. ‘Queen’ hung across the most massive banner inside the big top, but he pretended not to see it. “Does anybody know my na--” His buxom escort smacked him playfully on the arm, even though she found it impossible to stop smiling, and urged him to stop making such a scene. “Would you stop it? You’re embarrassing yourself.” Okay. Now that was comedy. He had to admit she had him beat. In fact, his expression even sobered up at the sheer mention of embarrassing himself, until the laughter overtook him in a few short bursts. “Oh, that’s right. I guess we haven’t met.” Ollie hung out his hand in offering to his date, never allowing that smile to drift off his lips. “I’m Oliver Queen. It’s almost impossible to embarrass me, considering tabloids do that for me on a weekly basis.” When she didn’t take his hand, he let it fall to his side. It wasn’t her fault. All the laughter in the scene had left her the moment he mentioned those gossip rags, and the effect they had on his everyday life. To her, it wasn’t fair. That was life, though. That was life if you happened to be Oliver Queen, the billionaire playboy that squandered his family’s legacy, at least. “Y-you’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Ollie had already put a smile back on, even if it wasn’t that same real expression he bore mere moments ago. “I understand. It’s my fault. I...” His voice had become a shadow of its jovial self -- dulled by the tinny roar of a hundred more like-minded conversations being carried out around the circus’ vicinity -- as he collected himself. “I don’t let it get to me that much. There are moments, though.” It was difficult to clear his head surrounded by so many people, so many ass-kissers and people that had no real grasp on the true Oliver Queen. “I sometimes forget that it’s more than someone trying to sell a paper. I’m flesh.” He had gotten lost in his self-pity for a brief period, as he turned to look around the crowd and he hated himself for it. He tried to hide his expression, to mask his shred of weakness, and maintain some sense of dignity. “To them, and these people, I’m a ten photo spread and a mug shot. It’s tiring, trying to save face all the time.” She had no clue how to improve the situation, or even make him feel the least bit better. It could be difficult to lift someone’s spirits on their own, but the moment they’re crushed by an entire city’s opinion of them, that proved nearly impossible. What she was able to do, and ultimately did, was place a hand on his shoulder and offer a reassuring squeeze. “Forget about them. There’s something more to you, Oliver Queen, and I know it. Even if they don’t.” Again she allowed her cleavage to be displayed as she pressed a slight kiss to his cheek. Lips lingered there, hand squeezing his shoulder, until she moved a small breadth apart to catch a glimpse of the boy billionaire. “You’ll show them one day. I can only imagine that I’ll be reading about that in the papers instead.” Her mouth quirked upward, slightly, revealing a radiant smile that he honestly had not been prepared for. “I take it that you have experience brightening peoples’ days?” Elegantly sloped shoulders raised in a toying shrug as the thin, fiery beauty returned a playful stare. “You could say that.” *** Lights dissipated into the evening sky, leaving a hungry spotlight to seek out its intended target. The main attraction’s announcer, the circus’s ring leader, C.C. Haly, took center ring and immediately brought the masses to him, carrying their earlier roar to no more than a tinny display. “Ladies! Gentlemen!” That bright, defining light spun about the center stage for a few brief moments until it encircled Haly, washing him in its heavenly glow. “The moment that you’ve all been waiting for!” Only seconds later, the spotlight faded into nothingness, and left the crowd that surrounded the three rings to whisper back and forth in confusion. “He’s right. I couldn’t wait for all these people to finally be quiet.” He couldn’t be seen, as the lights had fallen equally silent compared to the arena, and that was not a problem to him. If anything, his tone spoke volumes for the jovial lilt that had finally returned from its earlier departure. Though, the shadows that enshrouded them meant he couldn’t see his lovely date’s laughing eyes either. Damn. Each and every guest, however many stuck around following their opportunities to rub elbows with one another, filed to the musty bleachers. The seats, it had been obvious, hadn’t seen much care in years past, though they stayed both sturdy and defiant against age in the time it took them to travel from place to place, each and every year. The slats resembled closely enough an old auditorium, or gymnasium bleachers, allowing space for a human to sneak in underneath those seats. Ollie and Carrie had slowly made their way to one of the back, more high rise platforms, allowing for a more superior vantage that they could view the entire three ring from. And allow Ollie to make a few moves of his own, in the process. “I should probably warn you: I like to make out during movies.” He was kidding, admittedly, even if she took him as being nothing more than a chauvinistic pig for saying it. Hopefully, however, she didn’t. There was more to him than that. Even his reasons for the charity that he’d invited her to. Ollie hadn’t been entirely honest about his motives in bringing Haly’s Circus into the fold on this benefit, and even though his intentions had been true in the matter, he knew that Harold would not respect his actual reasons. These tabloids spreads, newspaper headlines, blog articles, and everything else that was mocked up about the Queen heir in the past few years had put a damper on not only his spirits, but his family’s company, and it started to grow tiring. Haly’s made him remember better times: the one day that he managed to convince George to take Alice and him out here, the last time it was in Star City as they visited it. The Flying Graysons had been their headlining act at the time, nailing each and every soar across the sky like it was their true home, and touching Earth was no more than a friendly visit. The sideshow acts, like the Bearded Lady, and the World’s Strongest Man. All typical to any circus, but somehow it all felt more.. at home in Haly’s Circus. To be out, for his father to actually take time from the office, made that place all the more magical to him. Tonight had been more than a benefit... It was a remembrance. “It’s been my pleasure to take you out tonight, Carrie.” In the shadows, Ollie grasped for the opportunity to lean in for a slight kiss. He couldn’t see her, or how their newly found first name basis may have affected her, but it felt somehow.. right. “I’ve been hurt. Which, I know, is difficult to believe coming from the billionaire playboy that picks up women like toothpicks. Truth’s truth, though.” She wasn’t able to see him shrug, but it was there. Something that he wasn’t interested in thinking back on. “Let me know if I’m being too upfront. Sometimes I like to lay all my cards out on the table, even if it’s not the smartest move.” That spirited young lady cupped a hand, squeezing it lightly to reaffirm that she was earnestly interested. “I like it. Not enough men bare their souls to a girl these days. They’re too busy keeping every secret they can close to the chest, and it comes back to bite them. I’ll tell you something, though...” Carrie leaned close enough to skirt her front teeth across his cheek and let out a teasing, throaty chuckle. “I’d rather be the one to bite.” Tonight, even if it wasn’t the wisest move, Ollie left his guard down. Things could not go the least bit wrong, could they?

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[Talon]

[atrb=valign, top][style=border-left:4px solid #b5a642; font-size:12px;; padding-left:8px; text-align:justify; padding-right:8px;] The new arrival of a date would prove to be a hindrance for Talon. Unnecessary deaths were not part of the agenda today, and her utmost goal was to stay under wraps. The Court did not want their movements to be public as to not catch the eye of the Bat again. Not that they wouldn’t be able to deal with him, but that he and his entire army of affiliates proved to be quite a thorn in their side. Why bring unwanted attention to themselves? Their conversation went deaf to her ears; she had no interest in their relationship or what they were doing together. It was quite clear through their body language – the way she swayed and the way he slowly moved every fiber in his body to accommodate her movements – they were lovers, casual or serious she was not sure. Talon’s body remained taunt and small as she watched their feet move and they returned to the circus tent. Into the shadows – that’s where Talon would have to return. Rising from behind the vehicle, she no longer cared about hiding – there was no one in sight. She moved swiftly, bounding from her original position and towards the tent. As she grew closer, her body dropped and she slid across the ground and right under the tent’s loose flap. A lack of structure would leave Talon to use the bleachers as hiding place. As soon as she slipped under the tent and returned into circus’ inner circle, she quickly slid underneath a bleacher, searching for the familiar mud pattern on Oliver’s expensive leather shoes. It took a few moments, but she quickly found it and though cramped and with limited space the Talon quickly followed after the couple as they ascended – gaining quite possibly the best seat in the house. Her body folded more into itself as she was pressed between a tiny crevice of the bleacher and the tent’s beam. She listened to their banter, her ears not peaked in interest at all. Instead she focused on making her first goal to take out the woman referred to as Miss Cutter. The lights dimmed, and she relaxed her body knowing that the shadows would aid her greatly. Her muscles rippled as she shook the stiffness out of them and the couple before her drew closer. The darkness did this to people; it either brought them closer together or apart. Funny how the lack of sight did that to people. C.C Haly’s familiar voice echoed throughout the arena and Talon felt her heart jump as memories long past filled her mind. This had been her home once, the circus her roof and the performers her family. In her entire life, the circus environment was all that she had ever known – and even to this day she still returned to it. She shifted uneasily as painful memories seemed to flood her mind, but by focusing on her mission she merely pushed them aside. Irrelevant, long past; what had already happened did not matter anymore. She was the Talon now and any previous life that she did have was long forgotten. The presentation started and it looked like the bill had not been changed since she last recalled. They began with the acrobats, all coordinated by the ringmaster. The slim figures bounded out onto their circular stage and began the show with simple pile ups, testing the limitations of man’s strength and their courage. Flips and leaps from heights as tall as four men caused the crowd to gasp and squeal in awe as the feats were accomplished. What looked impossible to the everyday person was seamlessly and effortless for these performers – Talon knew that. The bench above her groaned and she tuned back into Oliver’s and Carrie’s conversation. It sounded like Carrie was shifting in her seat, then the inexplicable sound of her weight coming off the bench told Talon she had risen. “I’m parched darling-“ The rather sensual woman began as she leaned her face close to Oliver’s, “Let me get a drink… promise you’ll be here when I get back.” Talon could see her lips form into a small as the light caught onto her glossy lips. She seemed to lean in for a kiss, but on last minute she pulled away a rather coy smile on her face. Talon sprawled to the ground, making her body as small as possible as Carrie walked down the bleacher stairs and brushed past her toward the tent’s exit. Talon’s nose wrinkled and she considered taking care of Oliver here and now. But if she did that, there was always the risk of Carrie coming back just in time to catch Talon – or possibly even worse, Carrie returning to Oliver’s mangled body and creating an entire scene. She should take out Carrie first. She nodded, and with as little noise as possible the Talon slipped out from behind the bleacher and followed Carrie’s indistinguishable body down the stairs and out of the tent. The woman made way for the concessions, and Talon immediately moved forward, following only a few feet away from her off the side. Carrie passed under a few lights, and when she finally got caught in the shadows, Talon leaped forward, tackling her from the side and sending the buxom woman straight to the ground. She prepared to knock her out, but with great surprise the woman pushed Talon off with great strength and threw the rather lithe figure in the air. Talon caught herself, brushing the shock aside and flipping gracefully into a fighting stance after she landed. The woman rose from the ground, brushing mud and dirt off her dress as she grimaced at the sight of Talon. “Who the hell are-“ She was cut off as Talon moved forward with impressive speeds and attempted to jab her in the face. Carrie quickly evaded and sent a leg sweep to throw her attack back to the ground, but Talon merely leaped into the air and quickly latched onto Carrie’s body. Legs wrapped around her waist and one hand holding her vibrant red hair, Talon sent her right hand forward, effectively punching the woman in the face. With a roar, the woman spun and attempted to pry Talon off her body. The assassin did not leave room for any flack however and Carrie’s resistance only made her tighten the wrap she had with her legs. Blood spewed from Carrie’s nose and covered her eyes, rendering her momentarily blind. Moving with seemingly inhumane flexibility, Talon released her legs and pushed off Carrie’s body. Talon’s body rose into the air, her legs perfected point sky wards, and with her left hand on Carrie’s shoulder, she pivoted her body, twisted it so that her fingers pointed forward and that as her body began to fall past Carrie’s head, she was already facing her back. Using the momentum, Talon bent her right knee and sent it flying forward. Like a blunt blade, Talon’s knee connected with Carrie’s spine, localizing on a point that would put her out for several minutes. Maybe not enough time to take out Oliver, but for now she was out of the way. A groan escaped Carrie’s lips and Talon pushed off her body with both feet and performed an aerial flip backwards. They two landed on the ground at the same time, Talon on her feet and Carrie on her face. The woman’s body was sprawled out, looking almost peaceful. Not hesitating or taking any chances, Talon quickly bound the woman’s hands and feet and dragged her body behind a pile of haystacks. She prepared to step away, but then bent back down, stuffing some hay into Carrie’s mouth and the tying a cloth over it. She kept her nose open and accessibly for breath – Carrie did not need to die tonight. Sighing at her work, Talon stepped back to survey Carrie’s bound body, then turned back to the tent filled with roars and cheers of enthrallment. The wind picked up, causing her owl mask to flap slightly in the wind. Oliver Queen is next. The Talon took to the shadows, her body moving slightly through the foliage and returning for Oliver Queen's head. [/style]

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[The Monitor]

[/b][/font][/size]hroughout the evening, several socialites had regaled (or, rather bored one another stupefied) with stories of false grandeur and ideological lives in the heart of the city. Cocktails, though out of place in a setting such as this small circus, swished about in otherwise expensive crystalware glasses, as their fables were tossed this way and that, uttering expectations that would not ever be fact. Continuously, the faces peeled into riotous, almost overacting laughter in spite of these lies; the rich pretending to be richer, and the poor being shunned for their stations in life. It was sadly something that certain crowds in under the circus tent shared: be it that one had no money, or new money, neither could be considered one of the ‘elite’ if they tried to swim in these circles. It disgusted a few, irritated a couple of others, and, for others, it made them feel as thought they truly mattered. If only for a few moments, that fleeting evening.

***

“Pious fools.”[/b] Merlyn cinched his longbow tighter, adamantly making the attempt to ignore the goings-on inside the main sigil of the big top. “They have enough money to own this city, and for that...” The archer sniffed in disdain, airing out his general vicinity in to dispel such haughty auras that fleetingly swelled about him. “Look down on the rest. You and I. We are naught but their stepping stones, cordially lining the cobblestone path they tread.” Disdain could not be hid from the tone of his voice, nor the creeping rise of his nose as it scrunched upward. However the fact, the circus act leaned forward in his dressing room, hunched over his bow, letting fly something of a dialogue that rendered close to a war epilogue. “It’s most unfortunate that you, that I, that the ninety-nine continuously must wage these battles to merely live through the evening.”

A small kerosene lantern—the only light in the room—threw almost neatly constructed darkness across the tinny expanse. Among those shadows danced the throng, Merlyn’s Arrows, tucked within the corner to avoid sight, as their orders were meted out. “We are not of the privileged, I fear, and,” the Dark Archer released a harrowed sigh, “to those self-righteous bleats, stuffing their faces into the trough of their selfish billions, the likes of us shall never be.” Many had entered these ranks throughout the years, and many had captured publicity for both themselves and their illustriously enigmatic leader. Those that have (aside from a few mishaps that otherwise benefited them) created these episodes have been removed systematically, and left to illustrate their mistakes for the others. The Dark Arrows, as their liege explained once upon a time, rarely suited out in the light. It was not their place, nor their necessity, to be in the public’s eye.

“For the ninety-nine percent, my Arrows...” Unlike his former counterpart, this Merlyn, to himself, served a much greater purpose: these tools benefited the unspoken mass. If it involved the matter of removing the wealth from individuals that would otherwise not require it, then such as it would be. Those fools need not have so much for themselves and leave so little for those that needed it. “We are going to obtain their survival this night. Out there, handed to us by one of their own,” unknowingly, admittedly, the archer believed best to remain steadfast in this omission, “the cattle will be stripped of their meat to feed the village.” For his following, Merlyn proudly announced their justification; to complete the tasks they were given, they needed to know their motivation was just. “We...” Briefly, his rage quelled into a simple tide of solemnity, as obsidian eyes cast under furrowed brows. His head fell in disparagement, yet he continued.

“Children. My children. Our,” he boomed out in a startling whisper. “Children. We must protect them. The ninety-nine percent.”

***

The show had come and gone for its main acts, bringing alongside them the cheers and hushed awes of few crowd members, while others merely continued to ignore those below them in their own minds. With the masses unsurprisingly unentertained, their interest in remaining on the grounds slowly waned. Withal, despite their dissipating necessity to keep about, people continued to stay on, trading back and forth their thoughts and opinions regarding the circus—regarding the entertainment’s host, no less—burying themselves in their own slovenly drunken ignorance. “Perhaps,” one of the socialites beckoned to her escort for the evening, “there is more to the show than expected. I would surely hope that the young Queen could not embarrass himself more by throwing such a tragically dull event.” Like she had room to even speak. Clearly past her prime (and most automobiles’ primes), the elderly lady could have possibly been around the day this circus was even born.

That could explain the boredom.

It felt like he would always be the talk of the town in Seattle. Even here, as he attempted to create events that could benefit those that couldn’t fend for themselves. That was the point of the charity, but, that didn’t matter for the foolish—those that already have more than enough money for themselves—so, whatever other reason could they have for even being at an event such as this? To complain. To stab one another in the back, have a few laughs at each other’s expense, and to get so sloshed that they must stumble back into their limousines with what little of their dignity might be left in tact. Pity that, in situations such as this, not even could they be left with that. It was a simple assessment, from those that lacked the currency to overlook the idiot masses’ insincerity and for that... For that reason, it was very easy to comprehend they had no support from these loaded, bumbling oafs. Contempt. That was the name of the game.

***

Not only were the owls out that evening. For aside from a global scale takeover, the much more localized gang of thieves, the Dark Arrows, sought to enact their own brand of mistaken justice. “Ladies,” the archer began in a far more theatrical voice than one could expect. “Gentlemen.” Unlike C.C. Haly’s feats that caught and mystified crowds alike, Merlyn had a much more eponymous tone regarding his sinister intent. “For your undivided attention—and unexpected patronage—” continued a sarcastic retort, “Haly’s Circus is offering you a rare, and special treat. An encore, featuring Merlyn the Magnificent and his bandit troupe.” About the bleachers, strewn throughout the crowd, hushed whispers splashed between clinks of glasses and misinterpreted chuckles involving the archer’s absolutely ridiculous namesake. “--can shoot a bow, but, such a godawful name--” carried in dozens of murmurs and jeers, laughter peppered throughout.

Lights fell once more, yielding unexpected hushes and mixed emotions from the crowd. Little could they steel themselves for the small storm that prepared to roll through, as a hail of feathers and arrows rushed through the city.[/justify][/ul]

[Green Arrow]

[atrb=valign, top] With the night’s transgressions at a constant flit, drifting endlessly through a sea of ne'er-do-wells, snobs, chauvinists, and trophy wives, it wasn’t difficult for Oliver to lose track of all that was going on. His entire focus had been concentrated on Carrie, the luscious red-head that fell into his arms this evening, and it wasn’t looking as though that should change any time soon. Not, at the very least, if Carrie continued to show off certain amenities that he grew to enjoy, but found proper not to list off.. even if it was inside of his own head. “Ollie,” she interrupted the flow of his thoughts, smiling that dazzling expression that nearly shook him at the knees, “mind coming back to planet Earth? We’re all out here.” Finely manicured nails snapped thrice in succession, trying their best to result in bringing the young billionaire back to reality. Try as they may, withal, Oliver let out a mild chuckle and flashed a lopsided smile to Cutter. “Ground control, reporting in.” Carrie’s painted lips parted in a mild separation as she let out her own laugh, and lifted a hand to settle her open palm on the billionaire’s scruffy cheek. “Good,” she replied in amusement. “That’s great to hear. Wouldn’t be much of a date if you fell unconscious.” Her laughter continued, however muted, staring into Oliver’s azure hues. She patted his cheek once, and began to rise. “You know… Before the real fun started, at least. I’m thirsty, though. Would you like anything?” Oliver couldn’t let out the faintest of laughter and shook his head, lifting a hand to stop her. Pulling her hand to his lips, he left a faint kiss against the back of it. “Sit tight,” he mumbled against the flesh, “and, I’ll grab something to drink.” Unless, he should have mulled this over, she put him at a halt first. Her hand slid out of his, pressing that palm against his chest now. “Calm down there, killer.” Her lips furled once more, leaving him stalled in his seat. “I promise that little old me can handle a couple of cups. “Let’s hope I don’t break a nail on my way back.” “OK. You got it.” In the meantime, completely alone once more, Oliver let a small frown drift across his features. He wasn’t such a fan of that notion, especially surrounded by these hungry sharks. Their eyes, even now, bored into him. Those glorious whispers that carried on the lips of others, traveling from ear to mouth, from mouth to ear, only to reach the true subject of their scrutinizing: that Queen orphan, as most thought about him. “Don’t forget to write. I’ll be here… Trying not to be ate alive. I hope.” To say that he was afraid of them, that would be a lie, but he was not, to say the least, interested in keeping company with people that lacked the soul to even think positively in life. It was depressing, and he could go without that. Not that it got much more uplifting the moment that the show came on. Between the acrobatics, the strongmen, and the archer, he had expected to be more dazzled than he ended up being. Even if, admittedly, Merlyn had been better than he thought some lackluster circus act could be. To see someone put a classic longbow to use personally brought its own level of commitment to the show, and that alone had made the night more than worth the investment. Arrows flew throughout the circus, controlled each and every time, to land at either Point A, B, or C, and never once had its artist appeared to break a sweat regarding it. A true master of his art, he took licenses with how he illustrated his pieces; between the sprawling leaps the acrobats took, an arrow pierced the small breadth of space. Each time it brought out a long gasp from crowds, looking out to see how much these people might risk for their own level of entertainment. “All right,” Queen mumbled to himself, trying to invest his interest in the Magnificent’s feats, “color me impressed.” If Ollie felt like being courteous over the matter, he could almost say that Merlyn was as good at handling a bow and arrow as him. Almost as good, at least. If he thought about being nice. He couldn’t continue to invest himself in the act forever, though. He had a date, and she wasn’t the least bit accounted for. Not that she’d been gone forever, but, it shouldn’t have taken that long to get something to drink. “Excuse me.” Ollie moved to stand up off his bleacher seat, and make his way to the refreshment stand. A plethora of champagne, and an open bar stood firmly rooted near the rear of the tent, but, the billionaire felt more akin to having something like a simple bottle of water. Ever since he began his patrols, his body became a temple to him. Of course, that hadn’t meant he didn’t pay rites, like meat, and a few romps in the sack, but, it was a temple nonetheless. It was unfortunate for him that he couldn’t find that newest attempt at better paying tribute to aforementioned temple, but, he’d seek her out. If he didn’t, he could always assume that she ran off after tugging on his strings a little to write the newest tabloid article that he’d hear about from Emerson in the morning. That could only be his luck. He couldn’t push his way through the crowd barely, nudging past them with a few earnest apologies until he reached the actual circus floor. “Not… Definitely not the highlight. She might have been knocked out,” he tried to laugh about it, not honestly clinging to the thought of her returning, but instead perturbed that she could disappear on him. He got tired of that—people managing to vanish on him—and how old it started to make him feel. OK. This could be an issue. She ran off to get some refreshments. It’s not like she packed up and moved to Maui. He tried to get a grip (if he could ever manage that, without a real issue as it regards the female species) while he meandered past the circus’ main tent. I’m not crazy. Not even obsessive. It’s an unfortunate truth; I’m more lost than I have ever been. Being lost, the thought hadn’t really come to him, but, the truth is, it had been a tragic turn the moment he returned. The moment that he lost his Skylark, that she betrayed him, for her depraved and twisted father. A man that, named after the prophetic King Leer, appeared to be more akin to the “Fool in the Storms,” took his blood to add to the beast’s collection. His tale, no matter how sordid, best remained unspoken. Now, more than ever, he thought best of Hélène Cixous, feminist writer extraordinaire, and her muses regarding love. “Only when you are lost can love find itself in you without losing its way.” As he strolled past the few stragglers, unattended children, and manure that belonged to animals he’d rather not cross paths with, Ollie tested that line. He spoke it aloud once, enunciating every syllable as though its meaning had become lost in translation. “Well,” he briefly mused, “I lost love.” Across the beaten path, he could have sworn that he saw Carrie, but, that turned out being someone else entirely. A clown, by chance. An extremely attractive clown, though still a circus clown. “I lost my chance at love.” He had told himself upon his return that he’d swear off females entirely… It hadn’t panned out as he expected. In the case that someone like Carrie Cutter fell into his lap, there were guidelines on how to adapt to the new plan. Such as the point that, even to this snorefest, he proudly asked her out. Too bad he managed to lose her. The more he looked around, it looked like the circus grounds still, it felt like he might have lost himself too. “So. Inner monologue checklist: lost blond bombshell. Lost the fiery red-head that stumbled into my life. Aaaaaaand,” he mumbled, looking around, “I think that I’m lost now.” Were it possible, Ollie would pat himself on the back.

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[Talon]

[style= font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; padding: 5px; width: 445px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px] Her muscles rippled as she sprinted the short distance her mind intent on the mission at hand. Now that Oliver Queen’s distraction had been taken out of place she was free to unleash her wrath on him. Wrath was perhaps not the proper word, moreso Talon was prepared to finish her mission for the evening and return to the Court with good news. Closer is where they be in their steps to taking over the world.

Seattle was a small and insignificant city but what was the real gem within it was Queen Industries and if they could get their hands on it – well the rest of Seattle would go with it. On top of that, everything that Queen owned or even dabbled in was completely fair game for the Court. Not that Talon was completely aware of this, her purposes wasn’t to know the inner workings of the Court, but merely to get her hands dirty for them.

The entrance of the tent came back into view and there was an ominous atmosphere that radiated from it. If she was seeing correctly, it looked as if the lights had been turned out –perhaps a part of the showing she was sure. Her focus had been lain on the tent that she had almost lost sight of the emerging Oliver Queen. Her body jerked suddenly and she skidded to an immediate halt and flipped off to the side soundlessly falling into the bushes.

His concentration seemed to have been focused elsewhere, beneficiary on her behalf as she hid within the brush. Peering through the leaves she watched as he began to walk off no doubt on a search for his date. This was the moment to strike.

Stalking him in the shadows, she watched and listened not registering anything he said as he made his way further and further away from the tent. Further away from civilization. Her eyes narrowed as he paused looking about a rather perplexed look on his face as he stared into all corners of the darkness. His gaze lingered on her specific area for a few moments and she narrowed her eyes wondering if he saw her. Then his eyes moved and Talon knew that she was still safe from detection.

His back now settled in her direction and taking the moment she silently snaked her way out of the brush and in a low crouched position began to itch forward, her right hand pulling out a blade from her thigh. She took her aim, thinking to go for the back of the head to make it seem as if the face of Queen Industries had taken a fall and merely died from blood loss.

Leaping into the air her body arched and her weapon poised she descended slightly upon Oliver Queen a slight shadow forming before him as her body and blade came mere inches from his body. [/style]

[Green Arrow]

[atrb=valign, top] Now could not possibly get any worse, no matter how difficult someone tried. He was ditched by the most delicious woman in the entire city, the charity event that his name was pinned to ended up a bust because of it, and some awkwardly-dressed person that could have been a Power Ranger stunt double launched a knife directly at him. “What--” Eyes widened brightly, displaying luminescent blue hues. Ollie couldn’t think but to react naturally and extended his right forearm to settle at the attacker’s gut. Leverage took priority as his momentum allowed him to push the Owl overhead, hopefully far enough away that he could put distance between the two. This isn’t what I’d call a great day. Either someone thought they needed to push him out of his seat for Q-Core, possibly to liquidate the minor company into its parent corporation… That, or he really pissed off one former girlfriend. Now I’ve got Cirque du Soleil trying to take me out. How he had even caught sight of the assailant launching their assault from behind seemed to be no more than a stroke of luck to the untrained eye. In truth, the slosh of mud that allowed her slight traction also let out a heavy enough squelching sound that it alerted him to basic movement. Oliver turned around entirely based on instinct, found someone flying at him with a knife brandished. While he reacted in time enough that he wasn’t struck in the back of the neck—hemorrhaging and possible vegetative state came to mind near immediately—the knife still nicked him across the right cheek. It was a clean enough slice that blood let free, and caused him to flinch in pain. “Damn,” he muttered, cupping his cheek. Ollie shed his suit’s coat and rolled up his sleeves, to access the tinny crossbow that he had affixed to his upper forearm earlier that evening out of precaution. A new toy that Jax had shelled out, the archer hoped that he wouldn’t need to put it to the test this early. He had also hoped that no one from a Michael Jackson video might try and kill him either. By the moment that Queen could be considered ‘prepped’, Naomi had started to buzz in his ear. “I heard something. You alright over there, Ollie?” Three crates, stacked atop each other and capped on either side by two more, provided him enough ground cover for the time being. Hopefully, whoever it was that attacked him hadn’t seen his movements. His finger pressed to the in-ear comm’ system. “I’m… “I’m a little preoccupied.” With trying not to be killed in my civvies, he thought to add. However, it was best to keep that part to himself for the time being.

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