2009-06-19 - An Uneasy Alliance

From JLU MUX

The information contained within this log is to be considered information gained Out of Character (OOC) . This information may not be used as In Character (IC) knowledge or in roleplay unless it has been learned in-game or permission has been granted by the parties involved. Questions should be directed to staff.

An Uneasy Alliance
Summary: In Metropolis, the Flash and the Pied Piper unexpectedly team up against the Silver Banshee.
Who: The Flash, Pied Piper, Silver Banshee When: June 19, 2009 Where: Metropolis

News gets out. Yes, news always spreads, and this little display was not even remotely kept secret. The Metropolis Book Reserve . . . perhaps.

Perhaps it will be here.

Across the street and on top of yet another coffee shop (at least this spot smells nice) is the Silver Banshee! For once, she's carrying something with her - a simple kitchen knife that she's tapping the flat of the blade against her thigh. It's only been there a minute or two of waiting, but already her patience with her still in-bound flunkies is worn thin. Without hesitation, the black-and-white-clad woman leaps from the rooftop, landing easily in front of the main doors and simply strolling inside.

Oh it's you again. How's it going?

Haven't been around lately? Well let me get you back up to... speed.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

"Man, Metropolis has terrible traffic," complains Wally West from behind the wheel of that 1999 cherry-red Chevy Metro Hatchback. Still looking slightly beaten and sporting Central City license-plates. He keeps having to rent this particular model whenever he is with Hartley, much to his chagrin. Maybe he should just buy the damn thing and save some money. He leans to the right and glances behind him, through the hatch-back window, at the car parked just behind his own. Wally's been trying to slide his car into a decent parallel position and, in the process of it, reaches out to put his arm around the 'shoulders' of the seat that Harley is sitting in. It takes him several seconds of careful backing up when he realizes, with a sudden widening of his eyes.. that he has his arm perilously close to being around the shoulders of a gay man. Oh god. "Oh! Er.. uh.." Wally clears his throat, retracting his arm quickly -- just short of being ridiculously quick and shifts his eyes elsewhere, "..uhh, um.. static electricity. Ouch." He is not so good at pretending to not be uncomfortable about close proximity to a gay man.

I'm Flash. Beside me is one of my enemies, the Pied Piper. He doesn't know who I am and I am pretending that I don't know he is while volunteering at his battered women's shelter. It's a long story. Go read a back issue or something.

Wally coughs again, "...and we're here!" he says with a motioning at the Metropolis Book Reserve less than a block away. This was not an amazingly awkward drive in the least. Oh wait. It was. Wally reaches out, clicking the car's radio off -- tuning out the punk electro sounds of the electroclash band, Alice in Videoland. "So uh.." He says as he reaches back, rubbing the back of his head. "Can we stop to grab something to eat first? It feels like I haven't eaten in a year!" In the back seat resides several crumpled-up Jack-in-the-Box wrappers. He polished off those burgers an hour ago.

"That's fine," says Hartley, who has been politely ignoring the grumbles of Wally's stomach. Not only because it would be coarse to mention them, but a normal person would never be able to hear those gastric complaints. He has an almost prim manner to him, that cool elegance that well-bred people are supposed to exude. He adjusts his glasses before opening his door, adding, "I'm not that familiar with this area of Metropolis. At least, not with the eateries. Anyway, I'm quite ready for a little fresh air before getting to work." He steps out of the car, then, adjusting his ponytail to make sure it does not come undone.

Meanwhile, at the Book Reserve, a few people have turned to look at Silver Banshee as she strolls right into the austere building. Some might assume she is a goth since they are not immediately alarmed. There is a sign just inside the lobby that shows the various levels and what is stored where. The display is up on the second floor, in the gallery area, protected from natural light lest it deteriorate any of the delicate works routinely set out for viewing.

Silver Banshee eyes the sign inside the door, her eyes narrowing briefly as she scans for her target. There. Second floor. Smirking in faint amusement, she actually just continues to stroll on in - when the flunkies arrive, then she'll start sacking the rest of this place. If the book isn't in this . . . exhibit. Ducking slightly as she heads upstairs (what a curse, being so tall in an old building!), she quickly makes her way to second floor gallery.

And had almost reached it when one of the patrons just had to speak up (since when is pink plaid fashionable?). "Hey babe, you new in town? I could show you th-AAUGH!" Cheesy pickup lines deserve getting thrown out the nearest window. And after picking the cheeky man up by his shirt, the Silver Banshee does so.

Wally West slides out of the car, swinging the door shut behind him. "So, what're you in the mood for? Pizza? Chinese? Greek? ... Tacos?" He winces. Not tacos. "... Sausage and peppers?" He winces again. "..I mean, Italia--" The sound of glass shattering catches his attention. He swings his eyes over and looks, in horror, as someone is hurtling out. Even at the second floor. Oh god. Oh god oh god the Pied Piper is like right next to me and someone is being thrown out of a window whatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo..

"Hey! Look!" Wally shouts to Hartley. He points up in the air, away from where the man is falling. "Up in the sky! It's a bird! No, it's a plane! No, it's Superman!" Hoping that he'll fall for it, Wally shifts to his left and becomes a blur of cotton and denim. Catching the man in his arms, he sets him to the ground in the blink of an eye and runs right back to where he was standing prior. A few seconds later, tendrils of white smoke rise up from his feet. The soles of his shoes are on fire. "Ohsh---" Wally gulps, doing a quick dance to try to put it out. "--boy I just loved that song on the radio!" he adds as he does his hip-hop-hoppity-hip dance.

"I wouldn't mind Ita--" Hartley pauses, because the shattering glass has caught his attention as well. Wally's shouting is sharp enough to make him wince, however, the distraction serving its purpose, at least for a second or two. But that is long enough for the Flash to do his thing. Hart is looking back towards the building by the time Hot Foot West has returned. As he is used to coping with and ignoring nonsensical behaviour, the impromptu dancing gets little reaction from the young man. He is more interested in what is going on over at the Book Reserve, pointing and saying, "Did you see that? Did someone get hurt?" And then he is running that way, looking concerned.

At this point, inside the Reserve itself, people are now clear that Banshee is not just making a fashion statement. When the man is flung through the window, other patrons start to scream and flee. A very annoyed librarian strides out from one of the side rooms, shushing people for being so loud. "Don't you know this is a library?" she snaps.

Apparently librarians can't be threatened by the inconsequential thing of a supervillain in the library. First irritated, then rather amused, the Banshee gives the woman a little wave before heading into the gallery. Ignoring the panicking patrons, she heads for the first of the books, pausing only by the edge of the wards to examine them.

This may be tricky.

Crouching down, she finally gives a hint as to why she's been carrying a kitchen knife around. With the great ease of the inhumanely strong, that knife is turned into a tool for carving runes into the floor around the ward. Or into the air above the lines of the ward.

I cannot believe that worked.

Wally thinks to himself as he watches Hartley run toward the Book Reserve. At least he's providing him with an opportunity to make a quick clothing change. "Yeah!" he calls after him. "HEY, I'M GOING TO GO FIND A PAYPHONE AND CALL THE POLICE. I'LL MEET UP WITH YOU IN A SEC." Nevermind that he has a cellphone in his pants. And nevermind that phonebooth is only a few feet from where he parked his car. He can always say he overlooked it in the hurry. "Phew," he whispers softly to himself as he runs his hand over his brow. That was close and almost horrible.

Wally looks around, trying to find a suitable place to change his outfit. There's no dark alleyway or secluded spot to do it. Damn this wonderful city. And then, the idea hits him. From out the corner of his eye, Wally just blinks. That phonebooth mere feet away from him. "....Well, Clark does it," he reasons to himself. Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, he jogs over to the phonebooth and slides open the door. Stuffing a hand down his pocket, Wally fishes out the golden ring that he's kept away from Hartley's eyes and slides it over his finger. "Here goes nothing!" The ring flips open, ejecting a tiny red swatch of polyester into the phonebooth that rapidly expands in the air. Dashing in and swinging the door behind him, Wally West becomes a blur of motion as he dons the costume of..

The Flash, the Fastest Man Alive!

There are people running out of the Book Reserve, and the screaming is making Hartley wince. His super-keen hearing manages to pick tiny morsels of data out of the chaff of panic, however, giving him a vague idea of what is going on upstairs. Well, Wally has run off elsewhere, so that is one less thing to worry about. Taking a tiny pitchpipe from his shirt pocket, something easily concealed by his hand, Hart brings it up to his lips and plays a few barely audible notes. The stream of people divide enough to allow him to stroll into the building.

When the Silver Banshee carves at the floor and air, the protective sigils begin to flare a dangerous flame-blue. The colour starts off as a rich cobalt but as she works it slowly begins to fade to a sky blue as the runes are overwritten and cracked. The air tastes like burning tin, now. There are footsteps rushing up, then, as a handful of security guards converge, drawing their guns and pointing them at the Banshee. One of the shouts, "Drop that knife! Hands up!"

Silver Banshee savors that tang in the air - this is working just fine. Her concentration is strong, but not so strong that she doesn't smile, just a little. Glyph by glyph, the ward comes down, until it goes out with a whimper. A tiny flick of thin white flame, then nothing. Just as the guards arrive. Almost boredly, the Silver Banshee rises to her feet, absently tapping the flat of the blade against her thigh again by the time she turns to face them.

And grins. "AahheeeEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Hey, it's the boss! C'mon! Move it!" Down the street a moderate flock of hefty, heavy men with nifty silver skull helmets and heavy, harness-to-them-guns start jogging towards the Book Reserve. "Gary, pick up the pace already!"

The parting of the people sea works in the Flash's favor. When he comes rocketing out of the phone booth, stopping only once to stuff his clothes into his car, he simply zips right through the clear path in the middle. He passes by Hartley, his only greeting a hard gust of wind and the blur of scarlet and gold running past him. A quick run-around of the first floor of the Book Reserve reveals nothing, so he ventures up to the second floor. The glimpse of a tall woman in nothing more than white and black is his first hint -- and it earns a grin on his lips. That is, until he runs into the brick wall that is the piercing sound coming from her mouth.

"D'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" The Flash screams as he slows down to a stop, falling to his knees and skidding a few feet across the floor. Harsh, sharp pain jabs from his ear-drums and inward, near scrambling his brain. His hands are up to the lightning bolts over his ears, trying to shield them from the supernatural sonic assault that her cackle delivers. "WHY ARE YOU SO LOUD!?!" The Flash shouts in agony. The latest spin on his sex life and his latest encounter with the forces of evil have lead him to cry out in agony, "OH WHY ARE ALL THE HOT ONES HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE SCREAMING TYPES!? AAAAAAAAGH!"

Moments ago. Could it be? No--that would be ridiculous. But he's fast enough to be anywhere, right? Hartley is far too familiar with that dreaded super-speed whoosh. This is only a split-second pause, however, and he decides that it doesn't matter what that wind gust was. People are probably in a lot of trouble, and that needs to be dealt with.

The guards are all bowled over from the scream, the force of it like a physical blow that has them clutching at their ears in pain. One has simply passed out, and all have dropped their guns. A few decorative glass wall sconces shatter, raining sharp dust down to the floor.

It's very possible to scream and continue with what one's doing, but in this case she needs to keep her eyes on her targets. Silver Banshee is just about to start backing up to go around the podium when - ! The Flash! - appears out of practically nowhere! She hiccups in surprise, breaking up the scream for a few seconds. And then wastes a few more precious seconds eyeballing this red-garbed superhero. He's not got the blatant 'S' . . . Snatching the book from the podium, she takes a quick glance at the cover. "Tha' Black Storm? Mingin' useless book." Without a further care she tosses at one of the few semi-standing guards like a frizbee. "AaahheeeeEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEeee!"

Downstairs the skull-themed thugs are starting to pour in the front doors. Some are beginning to go through the shelves, tossing books or even holding onto a few. One is prodding a display with the barrel of his gun. "Hey, Greg? This your mum's book?"

"Uuunnnahh.... nnh.." the Flash groans in the few moments of silence that Silver Banshee affords him. He lolls his head back, eyes blinking profusely under the cover of the lenses sewn into his cowl. Only his speed-enhanced physiology allows him some way of trying to get a grip on things, his recovery that much faster than the average man. He stares at the Banshee blearily, his upper-body drifting forward -- his palms hitting the ground to stop him. "Lady, I showed you my butt once.. can't we ... uugh... just put aside this screamy-hurty-craziness and go hit a nightclub instead?" the Flash asks. He's got to at least try, right?

When the tall she-ghost occupies herself with the cover of the Black Storm, the Flash takes this moment to move. He's stuck -- personal preference, he'd rather not take a swing at Silver Banshee. He's on his feet, completely wobbly and near-crashing against a bookcase as he goes for a nearby fire-extinguisher. Swiping it off the hook, the Flash launches after Silver Banshee -- a flurry of scarlet and gold, unfurling the hose of the extinguisher from its canister. Pointing it at her, he squeezes the grip and gives her a blast of frothy sodium bicarbonate*. That is, until she starts screaming again. "AAAAAAAAAGH," comes the tortured yelp of the Fastest Man Alive. He crumples to the ground, the extinguisher falling out of his hands and hitting the floor with a loud clang. "SURELY WE CAN ACCOMPLISH THIS WITH MORE BANTER AND LESS PAINFUL SCREAMING," he wails.

*Freud can eat it -- there is nothing unconscious about this symbolism - ed.

There are police cars on their way, as a few people called for help when the chaos erupted. However, the skull-helmeted thugs are bad news for your average cop, so this situation bodes ill for Metropolis' finest. There are still civilians in the building, as well, mostly on the upper floors. The majority of people on the ground and second story have fled, by now.

Something odd happens to the Banshee's scream; or, at least, it is nothing to do with the Silver Banshee herself, or how she is emitting the sound, but the air is rippling strangely and the shriek suddenly seems oddly muted. "Oh, Flash," says the Piper, in a tone of weary patience. "By now you should know that your banter causes painful screaming." He has a white vaguely pistol-shaped gadget pointed at the Silver Banshee, trigger pulled, and the sonic waves are causing an odd interference. He is not, however, dressed in his usual Rogue polka-dotted attire; this costume is a dark green catsuit with a few white stripe accents, green wrap-goggles and a hood that is currently down. "She has back-up goons downstairs, by the way."

Painful, life-stealing scream? Meet sodium bicarbonate. Not even a Banshee can keep screaming after a bit of that lands in her mouth! The scream - which she had been increasing in volume, trying to overpower the interference with a dark frown - breaks of in a gasping gag, followed by several unlovely noises as the silver-haired-one tries to either hack up or spit the taste out of her mouth. "Ye -" Hack. "-numpty-" Spit. "-dozy sook!" More gagging followed by a loud 'ptooie!' "Ye donnae do tha' tae a lady, ye wee bastirt! Havin' a cute butt don' excuse tha'!" Another spit, and she gives the Piper a sour glare. "Keep aut' o' this, ye fauwsty gawk."

Downstairs goons are not only downstairs, but causing mass havoc! Bulletfire and a great deal of thunking as books go flying.

"See!! I knew my butt was cu--" The Flash shouts at the closest person -- who just happens to be his nemesis, the Pied Piper. Who is into men. "..I.. uh.. YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW THAT," he scowls. He then realizes right after that he should pretend to be surprised that the Pied Piper is here. "Why are you even here!?" Oh, right. I drove you here. Duh. "..and what is with this!?" He motions at Piper, indicating his choice of outfit. The Flash has not seen this before. As he gets back up to his feet, he looks to Silver Banshee and erks, "Er.. sorry. You were screaming. I was trying not to go Deaf. One thing lead to another.. this doesn't normally happen to me." He turns his head and coughs into his fist, trying to look innocent. He doesn't.

The Flash looks back to Pied Piper and turns his chin to the side, casting a skeptical look at him. "You're not in cahoots with her, are you?" Because he would like to be in cahoots with her. Preferably with ear-plugs. The mention of Banshee having goons downstairs leads him to think that maybe, the Pied Piper has sided with the angels for this day. "Well.." His expression softens. "D-do you mind if you.. y'know.. handle them?" He asks, the look on his face imploring. "She's kinda.. y'know," the Flash motions at Banshee, forming an hour-glass shape with his hands. "Va-VA," he emphasizes as he forms the curve of her chest in the air, "-VOOM," and then once more as he shapes her butt. Then, there is the sound of gunfire. Superman is not the only one faster than a speeding bullet. The Flash's broad, red-clad shoulders slump forward in disappointment. No va-va-voom for him. "...I'll take care of it," he says, sounding mopey. "..but so help me, you better not be part of this heist," he waves a red finger at the Piper.

"I don't do crime outside of Central City," The Piper tells the Flash, in withering tones. "I've even told you that." He stops firing that sonic interference, although he is poised to resume it if he must, as he says to the Silver Banshee, "You know, I would stay out if it but I just have this... oh, let's call it a peeve about miscreants who harm innocent people. Anyway, I've been yelled at by far nastier Scottspersons than you, honey." Turning to go, he snaps at the Scarlet Speedster, "You're a disgusting womanizer, and I'm better at crowds than you are. Try not to objectify her too much. I'll deal with her goon squad." With that, he is dashing downstairs with a sonic gun in each hand.

The gunfire has the arriving cops taking cover rather than entering into the building, as there is no safe way to just march into that kind of weaponsfire without significant protection. In a city where foes often challenge Superman, the police are not foolish about their chances with costumed criminals.

"Hey, Greg? Is that your mum's book? C'mon, is it?"

"Shut up about my mum already!" More gunfire. Two goons in the back tossing CDs to use as target practice. Then, creaking as one of the goons peers out the window at the police. "Wait . . . Mum? Is that you?"

"Gae back ta yer boyo's bauby an' get aut' o' me business." Silver Banshee snaps back at the Piper, turning towards the next set of podiums. Thankfully taking down that first ward also freed up more than just the one book. By the time Piper's heading downstairs, she's already checked and discarded the next three of the old books. "An' if ye get anywhere near me arse, ye'll be gaein' aut th'winda too."

"Wh-- you-- I'm not disgusting! And I move faster than bull--" The Flash tries to defend himself against the Pied Piper's verbal attack. The man turns and dashes downstairs, ready to take on gun-wielding thugs while the Fastest Man Alive shouts after him. "HEY! I ... YELLED AT.. ZOOM FOR.. YOU... I WOULD'VE PUNCHED HIM BUT-- oh forget it," he sighs. His head shakes, letting those lighting bolts on his head wobble slightly. "There is just no pleasing some people," he confides into Silver Banshee. "Don't mind him. He's .. y'know, swooshy. And completely confused. Well. Not about being swooshy. But about the whole line between good and law-breaking criminal." He waves his hands, "Long story."

She starts checking books and discarding them, which the Flash catches at superspeed and gently sets aside. "Hey, hey, hey!" He says, trying to stop her. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I try not to make my moves while crimefighting. I do that on the first date. What do you say? A little bit of Greek. A little bit of dancing. Maybe a concert. You strike me as the kind of girl who'd be into the Cure. Maybe Depeche Mode. Enjoy the Silence was kind of a dark song, right?" The Flash happens to glance at just what he's catching -- they're books. "Oh. Maybe you're into reading. Uh. You're not into Laurel K. Hamilton, are you?"

"Hello, boys." The Piper strolls in, guns akimbo, firing hard-punching sonic blasts at the skull-helmeted thugs. Unlike most heroes, he does not offer a chance at surrender; he just calmly shoots palookas. "Normally, I'd be much more gentle," he explains, as he advances. "But it occurred to me that you probably have protective sonic filters on due to your boss-lady. So we need to get a little rough." For someone attacking a bunch of armed thugs, he seems calm. This is because he has a protective field of hypersonic force around him--it is meant to deal with speedsters, but it slows and stops nice, fast bullets just as handily.

Silver Banshee is still going through the ancient tomes as Flash attempts to flirt with her. "Dae ye always gossip sae?" Not this one, not that one, not this . . . nearly growling in frustration, she pays the patter of flattery and flirting less and less mind. Until the 'Laurel K. Hamilton' bit. "Dae ah look crazy tae ye? Naew shut up! Ye look bettah when yer jaw's naet flappin'!" A pause. Another toss of a book over her shoulder. "An' sae ye don' make yer mooves while daein' this? What dae ye call what yer daein' naew, ye bastit? . . . curse it, it nae be here!" The last book is actually easy to check, despite the extra wards - it's actually closed, showing the binding and cover.

Downstairs, the goons are falling rather quickly, despite some general panicking on their part. Bullets don't work on this green-clad man! "Greg! What did you do to Greg?!"

The Flash catches the last book. "Flirting? Trying to skirt around foiling you by a nonviolent means? Trying to get you to go out with me?" He just shrugs his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'm just not the type that goes around punching women. The guy who wore this suit before me did it and it's just -- well.. not the road I want to go down. And I'll have you know my mom had me after getting married to my dad!" The Flash needed to point out he is not a bastard. Even if his father is a real jerk.

"I don't even punch that guy you just saw," the Flash adds. "He's swooshy. It's kinda effeminate."

The swooshy, effeminate guy in question is downstairs, stone-cold shooting skull thugs in the head. It would be a horrifying massacre if he used lethal weapons, but even so, this is not gentle. When the shots connect solidly, they are sending men crashing into walls or through shelves. Piper's reflexes are quick because he is used to compensating for someone who can move faster than he can even see. And he can hear the conversation going on upstairs. Rolling his eyes and holstering one gun, he idly fires at another thug while he manipulates another gadget, temporarily making a connection to Flash's communicator. "I've got the situation under control down here. Just so you know."

Silver Banshee gives the Flash a long, unreadable look. But then again, his not-punching-women-ways did give her long enough to check the last book - and find that the grimoire of the Crone isn't here. Disappointing, really. Her lips curl up briefly in a not-friendly gesture. Stepping closer, she wags a finger in his face. "An' tha'll get ye killed, an' wha' a waste o' man that'll be." Bringing her legs up off of the ground, the Banshee briefly hovers there before she's simply . . . gone. No puff of smoke, no flash of light, just a whisp of white and she's gone.

Leaving all those goons behind to just be captured.

The Flash beams! "She digs me," he tells no one in particular. "At least I can remain secure in knowing my butt is that much better than Booster Gold's." Seconds later, he's down on the first floor. He's leaning against a bookcase, arms folded over his chest. "You totally just wanted to play cowboy. Or... tall, well-developed goth-horror chicks scare you." He quirks a brow, "Is she not Streisand enough for you or something? Or... wait... who looks kinda skeletal..." The Flash fingersnaps, "Cher."

Initially, Piper turns and has his sonic gun pointed at the Flash, although this is simply a reflex action. He lowers the weapon. "If I'd known you were going to just let her go, I would've dealt with her myself. Look at this," he gestures around at the unconscious minions who are strewn around the room. Some are inverted. One is draped over a shelf, groaning faintly, but not reviving. "Don't you put this on me, Flash. You're the one who was va-va-vooming over her." Pulling his hood up, he then folds his arms across his chest and says to the speedster, "And I heard your entire conversation, by the way."

"Hey!" The Flash says as he holds his hands up to defend himself. "I said I was going to do it. Besides, she could scream at you and you could've ... done some kind of.. sound.. stoppy-thingy. Plus I could've run around, disarmed everyone and then tied them all up in five seconds." He then pauses, when Piper mentions that he was va-va-vooming over her and listening to his conversation. "Aw!" The Flash says with a widening smile, "You do care about me enough to at least help out in my love life." He then folds his arms back over his chest and looks away, "Hey. There are two schools of crimefighting. The punch-everyone-in-the-face-and-leave-them-battered-and-bruised or the non-violent-let's-talk-it-out kind of thing. I tend to use the former for guys and the latter for women. And you. Because I just refuse to be the Flash who is known for punching women and gay people because that is a terrible use of one's powers." He looks back, "And it was true that I yelled at Zoom because of you. I was going to punch him, too, but then he kind of anti-climatically got shot by a Legion gunman that inexplicably stripped his powers and memories. Go figure. But I swear if he didn't, I would've popped him one in the jaw for what he did to you."

"This isn't about caring for you, we were in the middle of a situation and you were talking about her curves. I didn't want to waste time arguing." Piper holsters his other sound gun, taking a small silver flute from a pouch on his belt. "There's no need for you to punch Zoom on my account, but I appreciate the sentiment. Anyway, trying to talk through a situation doesn't work on most criminals. It might work in Central, because we like to talk, but it's not something I'd advocate in Gotham. As an example." He turns his head, peeking out from under his hood to see if the police are on their way in, yet.

"Well it wasn't just your account. It was a collective owed debt of a knuckle-sandwich," explains the Flash. That debt is now deliquent. "We all have our own way of dealing with things. I prefer words over fists when I can. There are people out there that, if they had my abilities, would do far worse things in the name of 'justice.' You should consider yourself lucky!" He then quirks a brow, "..and you should also consider our working relationship hereby weird. Do the rest of your friends know you do this? Does the guy you're sleeping with know you do this?"

The Piper makes a quiet, faintly exasperated sound. "No, the rest of them don't know, if you mean the Rogues. Except for him, yes, he knows. I've told him, he doesn't approve of it. He'd freak out if he knew..." The young man gestures between himself and the Flash, silent for a moment. "He'd probably try to keep me from leaving the house for a week. Anyway, this is why I don't do it within our territory. Some of them, you know, they might understand. Maybe. Some of the others would just kill me for being a traitor."

The Flash snickers at Piper's plight. "Hahaha. That's adorable. Well. Sort of." He tilts his head to the side and offers, "So I have the distinct advantage of letting this slip to Captain Cold, which might put you on ice and remove you as a thorn in my side. Or I could tell no one and we could continue this crazy game of you calling me a nasty name every time I try to get a phone-number off a girl. Gee. Decisions, decisions!"

Piper folds his arms across his chest. "I don't think Cold would kill me, that's not his style. I think Mirror Master and Captain Boomerang would. Cold just wants us all to get along with each other. So yeah, you could tell on me, and take me out of the picture that way by getting me killed off by my own, except... I don't think you'd do that. That's not your style. And I don't care if you're flirting with women, Flash, it's your attitude and methods that leave a lot to be desired."

The Flash makes a face. "For all you know, I might be a very nice guy with an unflappable air of confidence and a sense of playful mischievousness. I might be someone who, when he isn't running around foiling criminal capers, might spend his time doing volunteer work and also enjoys spending time with well-endowed super-villainesses. God forbid I am some kind of multi-faceted, complex person who just happens to be a force of good in the world." He sighs and tilts his head back, resting it against the side of a bookcase. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "What would you know about my style? Sure, I could rat you out. Then when you've been killed by your so-called friends, I'd have the evidence I'd need to put the Rogues away for good. Life without parole. And two cities without its major source of costumed crime. It'd be a nice life, you know. Just having to stop the occasional purse-snatcher. And Grodd. I think even the old man would dig it, since his wife wouldn't be worrying over him breaking an old man hip every time he runs after you guys. But. You know what. I have this bizarre feeling that you are all able to turn new leafs and stop all this mayhem. So I guess I will not rat you out, because I believe you and your friends might end up playing on the right side of the law rather than the wrong one." The Flash makes a face, "..well, except for Mirror Master, I guess. He's kind of a creepy jerk. Ughh." He shudders at superspeed.

The Flash pushes off the bookcase he leans against with a press of his foot. "I've got some leads to.. uh, chase after. Feel free to take credit for stopping Silver Banshee from.. whatever.. crazy book thing she was doing. And for saving that guy she probably threw out of a window." He rolls his eyes underneath his mask, causing it to wrinkle a bit at his forehead. "Man. Letting someone else get solo credit for busting the bad guys. You're right, my attitude and methods leave so much to be desired! Later!" He runs off.

"Are you nuts? I don't do this for credit," refutes Piper. "And I sure don't wait around for cops to talk to me..." But then the Flash has zipped off. Shaking his head, the Rogue brings his flute up and starts playing, vanishing suddenly from sight as far as the incoming police are concerned. He needs to pick up a few things he'd left behind during his quick-change, before he can leave the building.

On his way out, he slips a rather hefty bundle of unmarked bills into the Reserve's donation box with a little note in green ink that says, 'For repairs and restoration'.

A mere minute later, Wally West is standing outside with the rest of the crowd. He's doing his best to look worried as he tries to make it seem like he's looking for Hartley. Where oh where are you, you big jerk.

"I almost went to look for you by the car." Hartley's voice is quiet, not far behind Wally. The young man is suddenly there, looking unruffled as is typical for him. "It's okay, the police came quickly. No one's dead, or anything."

Wally turns around. "Oh there you are! I was looking all over the place for you! No one got hurt? That's good! Do you think Superman was there? Boy, I'd love to get his autograph! He's like.. the Second Fastest Man Alive!"

"Oh, well people got hurt, but they'll be fine once they get proper medical treatment," Hartley waves his hand a bit as he explains this. "No, it wasn't Superman. It was the Flash." Hart shrugs a little once he says this, lightly parking his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Wow!" Wally says with surprise. "He's my favorite hero, ever! I wonder what he's doing so far east?" He raises a brow at Hartley. "Are you alright? You seem a little muted for having just shared the same air as the Flash!"

"Oh, I'm fine." Hartley's brows rise then fall again. "I was born and raised in Central City, I'm used to Flashes. So uh. Yeah it was a surprise that he'd be here, but he can be anywhere, right?" His eyes roll a little bit behind his glasses. "Sorry, I'm more into music than superheroics."

"Oh." Wally says at Hartley's origins. "I came from a little town in Nebraska. Hey, did I ever tell you that I was the President of the Blue Valley chapter of the Flash Fan Club?" He still is. "I'll tell you it over lunch. Let's go find something to eat while the police get this place settled down."

That makes Hartley pause momentarily, and he seems genuinely surprised. "I didn't know he had a strong fan following outside of the twin cities. Although I'll be honest, I don't follow that sort of thing. It's like sports." His shoulders lift in another little shrug and he grins faintly. "Alright. After you do, I might tell you about being rescued by Flashes when I was a kid."

".....!" Wally's brow lifts as he begins venturing across a Metropolis street. That took him by surprise.