NINJAMEME MASTERPOST 8|

[whatfriendsdo]

I have nothing to say here DEAL W/I.

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[cowled]

Thank you.

[The words are stiff. Unaccustomed. But he means them.

And then he's gone.

Disappearing acts are kind of his thing.

He's absent for some quarter hour, and when he returns he's fashioned a sled out of the helicopter's door (it was blown off, he found it embedded in a wall of ice nearby) and is dragging several dozen kilograms of equipment. Emergency rations, flight manuals (charred, but still burnable) and anything else out of the helicopter that could hold a slow burn. The first aid kit, salvaged from under the pilot's seat, has a space blanket. The electronics are piled neatly at the centre of his little bounty, and he pulls the sled to a stop beside her.

The sun's nearly down, but he has night vision and can work perfectly well in the dark. He's more worried about the cold. In this part of the world, it rises at three AM in this time of year, but that's still a good five hours, and the temperature will drop considerably in that time. Bruce cracks the seal on the first aid kit and digs the blanket out, shakes it once and then puts a hole in it approximately halfway down. These blankets are designed to cover people quite a bit bigger than Murphy, so this is the most efficient use of its size as relative to her.]

Put this on like a poncho. Cinch it around the waist with this.

[A charred scrap of harness from the pilot's seat.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She's been singing quietly to keep herself company, and to try and stay alert. She stopped as soon as she heard the grind of the makeshift sled, and drags the blanket over her head as soon as it's offered. Belting it is trickier. She drops the harness twice. But as soon as it's tied, she offers him the cape.]

How long until sunrise, d'you think? [She's watching the horizon, watching the sunlight leak out of the sky like orange ink being drawn out of dark water. Murphy snaps out of it, picking up one of the flight manuals.] This fuel, or did you need it for something?

[cowled]

Keep it for now. I'm not cold.

[It's true. Sitting by the fire is good enough for him.]

Five hours from now. We'll be fine for the first two. We'll probably both be moderately hypothermic by the time the sun comes back up, but with any luck we won't be out here that long.

[The beacon in the batcave. Someone will come. But just in case, he has several other contacts in mind. Bruce is far too intelligent to gratify his stubborn nature by refusing to ask for help when he needs it.]

Burn it.

[He starts building a framework with some of the scrap, lashing pieces together with parachute cord. Too bad they were lacking in actual parachutes. The heavy nylon would serve them well right about now.

Still.

When he finishes the frame, he tugs the cape gently from her shoulders and props the cape up on the framework. It's not quite a loue, but it's close. He stakes the edges of the cape down to the ice, securing it against the wind. The cape is heavy enough that it won't buffet them about, and the way he built the loue has their backs to the worst of the wind. It will take some of the immediate warmth away from her, but it'll create a cradle that will reflect it back once the fire builds up a bit.]

Do you see these components? [He holds a chip up between his fingers.] We need ones that look similar to this. Their designation will be 37-A-1889-CB. That helicopter was state of the art, you'll find them.

[He, however, is going to go a short distance away, break apart some magnesium flares and melt lines into the ice that can be removed and stacked as shelter. Because boyscout.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She does find them. Some look damaged, but she scavenges them anyway. She can't feel half the tiny cuts that stipple her hands from sorting through the debris. Anything that looks like it will burn gets set aside, anything survival-related gets moved to the edge of the little shelter. It's fully dark and she's two-thirds through their cache when her hands start shaking badly enough that she drops one of the chips and it vanishes. There are little freckles of blood across the snow, dark spots making it impossible for her to pick out where the chip fell.]

Goddamnit. [Murphy stuffs her hands under her arms, willing them to be warmer. The shelter helps - but the cold hunkers and snaps around the edges of the fire, squeezing slow claws between Murphy's ribs and making it hard to breathe. She slips her hands out from her blanket poncho long enough to rub sore ears. She's fine. She's one-hundred-percent okay. If the Bat can do it, so can she.]

[cowled]

[In that time, Bruce has got half a dozen blocks, roughly 2x3, carved out of the ice, and he packs them one by one to their makeshift shelter. He adds them to the front, near enough to the little fire, which he shifts closer with his boot. There's enough fuel to keep it burning a few more hours. All night if they're frugal with it. The cape's natural insulation is the best windbreak they have short of building a wall of ice to huddle behind.

He blocks off the sides of the loue and enters himself. There isn't much room, but Murphy takes up hardly any space and Bruce has endured worse training with Zatara.]

You're bleeding.

[He can see it, with the cowl's night vision. Little dark spots on the snow.]

default icon woo

[whatfriendsdo]

[She tucks one hand back under the blanket, sifting through the snow with the other to try and find the chip. She switches hands after a few seconds.] I'm fine. Do you make a habit of getting lost in frozen wastelands? Because I'm starting to think you've done this before.

[cowled]

It pays to be prepared for any scenario.

[short answer: 'yes'. He shifts until they're shoulder to shoulder.]

Let me see your hands.

[He has small, slow-burning flares in his utility belt. Two of them. Each will last for an hour, and they put out a few BTUs of heat each. He cracks one, and then takes his gloves off. His fingers are stiff from the cold and old injuries. His knuckles ache. He accepts the pain, uses it to sharpen his mind, and then boxes it away, its usefulness spent.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She reluctantly uncovers both hands and holds them out, glaring at him like she's waiting for him to construe the fact that she bleeds as some kind of weakness. Pain isn't the thing keeping her sharp - it's the rabid need to keep up, to outdo, to perform above and beyond the expectations of her peers.]

The junk has edges. [The statement comes out as much a flat challenge as the glare. Tell me you could have done better. Prove that you could have gotten it done differently. It's not even that the cuts matter one way or the other, or that she cares how he would have sorted through the helicopter remains; the anger is a shield. It keeps her wired, ready to push herself that much more should the need arise. Dare me to do better.]

[cowled]

Mm.

[He takes her hands gently. Any damage done in the cold can be made worse by rough handling. She's cut the tips of her fingers to ribbons. She probably doesn't feel much, but he does take a small bottle of saline out of his belt, tears the tab off with his teeth and douses it sparingly over the lacerations.

He doesn't speak while he works, or look at her at all. If she lets him, he'll bandage them as well.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She lets him, watching him work with a sense of deja vu she can't shake. She didn't expect the Batman to be capable of gentleness. It's not really something that comes to mind when talking about Gotham's resident criminal-scaring bogeyman. As soon as he's done she pulls her hands away and tucks them back underneath the blanket.] You should put those gloves back on. If they do anything for the cold.

[It's Murphyspeak for thank you.]

[cowled]

Later. Dexterity is more important at the moment.

[He offers her one of the emergency rations from the helicopter.]

Digestion raises your body temperature. Try to eat something.

[Meanwhile, he's going to jury-rig his communicator for long-range calls. He's Batman. Don't ask.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[The thought of food makes Murphy feel sick, but she eats it anyway, watching him work in silence until the rations he handed her are polished off with a minimum of gagging.

If she had to be stuck here with someone, she could definitely have done worse.

The firelight makes the world around it black with shifting fits of gray as the flames lean one way or another. Murphy closes her eyes and curls in on herself, shaking, humming again to occupy her mind. She wouldn't be missed back home for another day at least; she had tomorrow - maybe today, now - off. And who would be looking for her here? Absolutely no one.

She manages a few shuddering words:] Who're you going to call?

[cowled]

Ghostbusters.

[It's said with a perfectly straight face and the bare minimum of Batman sarcasm. In fact, he almost sounds serious.

Damn you, Dick.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She stares, waiting for the pieces to click, and when they do she's not sure she heard him right. Even if she did hear him right, she has no idea what to say to that. That's a Harry answer. A Thomas or a Molly answer.

Sense of humor: another thing she doesn't associate with Batman.

So her expression shifts from blank stare to hard stare, and she focuses on the air past the fire, not looking straight at it to try and keep the brightness from leaving spots on her vision.]

[cowled]

[It's not Batman that has the sense of humour, it's Bruce Wayne. And Karrin brings out that side of him more than she should.]

I have friends in the right places. They'll come.

[Ollie owes him a few favours anyway.]

[whatfriendsdo]

When? [There's a little irony in it, but not much. Adding before or after we freeze to death doesn't feel like it would be in good taste.

She presses her thumb hard against one bandaged fingertip, searching for the pain, wondering how badly a finger has to be damaged before it gets cut off.] You're not what I expected. ...Not sure what I expected, but you're not it.

[cowled]

Soon.

[His fingers are stiff and cold, but he types out a message on the communicator. Better that Karrin doesn't hear Ollie's voice unless he's prepared to disguise it.

He stops midway through it, though. He isn't quite sure how to address her second statement. So he simply chooses to ignore it, finishes his message and sends it off.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[The pause is telling, in its own way. At the very least it invites her to keep talking.]

Informative. [Murphy holds her hands out to the fire, hoping proximity to the heat will return some sensation to her fingers.] Are we going to speak in film references and monosyllables until then? You should eat something too. You're no good to anyone frozen, either.

[cowled]

[Do you want to know how many people tell Batman that he really should look after himself more, and how many of those people he listens to?

None. That's how many.

Alfred has taken to drugging his food when he wants him to get a good night's rest. He watches her trying to warm her fingers, and shakes his head, tossing a non-working piston out of the helicopter into the fire. It's solid steel. He gives it sufficient time to warm up, and drags it out again with care, brushing the back of his hand against it. It's hot, but not quite enough to burn. He holds it out for her.]

Wrap your fingers around this if you can. Hold it against your body if you can't.

[Also known as: he's not hungry.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[This time she doesn't listen. Just glares.] Eat.

[cowled]

[He also takes directions so well.]

Between the two of us, I'm the one who hasn't worked himself bloody to prove a point. Trust that I won't.

[whatfriendsdo]

[She jams her fingers back under her arms rather than take the offered piston.] The junk. Has edges. I got what we needed, didn't I?

[Murphy scowls out into the dark, wriggling her fingertips against her sleeves underneath the blanket.] It won't kill you to have some food.

[cowled]

No. It wouldn't. But I don't need it at the moment. Should that change, I'll eat something.

[Gosh.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She makes an aggravated noise and balls in on herself, turning into nothing but a blonde crown and furious blue eyes locked on the shadows beyond the fire like there's something there to see. This way, at least, she keeps her body heat tucked close, and her hands sandwiched between chest and knees.]