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[There's always a wrench in the machinery. There's always something to go wrong. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, like tonight, everything goes as well as Oliver could possibly hope. There's no body count - minor injuries, sure, but nothing the victims won't recover from.

And there's several large caches of weapons that will find their way into the hands of the cops within the hour, thanks to a phone call placed by one one of the thugs held at arrow-point.

It's going swimmingly, which is exactly what has Oliver on edge as he makes the roof of the warehouse, half-way to an exit -

And there's the wrench. Upwards of a dozen more armed men waiting, pouring out of the shadows like he didn't feel the air on the rooftop change when they started to move.

The first two are down before they have a chance to raise their weapons.

Lower the body count. Diggle keeps getting after him to lower the body count.

Oliver grits his teeth and ducks out of the line of fire, using the same shadows to get behind two others, stupidly close together. He looses an arrow between them, killing a third man and getting the two armed idiots to turn on each other and open fire.

He didn't kill them. They did it themselves.

Wrench half-way extracted.]

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[He considers ignoring the questions, but that's not going to get him much further. So instead, he answers one of them sideways.] Starling City, California. My city.

[Superman, Batman, Green Arrow. None of them names he knows. Metropolis and Gotham, though. Those names he recognizes. Something is off here. Definitely and extremely off, and she seems too... level-headed for the off thing to be her mental state.

Not that he's the best judge of mental stability.]

Edited 2012-11-13 06:06 (UTC)

[Okay, and that... Actually freaks her out more than the masked, armed men and the trick arrows and the whole letting a stranger take her to his secret base thing.

...Which, in retrospect and in light of this revelation, may have been extraordinarily stupid of her.]

...There's no such place as Starling City. Who are you? Seriously.

[He does not shot upset girl. Oliver is really wishing he'd had Dig stay, but between the conspicuousness of the motorcycle and the precarious position they're in with this already, it's just as well.

He can't keep his voice from gentling. He might have become a much, much better liar, but he hasn't stopped caring about people or showing it, in his own small ways. Ways that most people he knows miss, because they aren't a part of the frat boy they lost at sea.

Half of Oliver's life these days can be summed up with How do you people.]

There is no Star City or Green Arrow. [A very vivid, complex delusion? God knows he thought he'd gone crazy on the island more than once. Bits of it are so close to right.] I've been to Metropolis and to Gotham. There is no Superman, or Batman.

[And that news is enough to make Cissie really wish she were sitting instead of standing. The blood drains from her face, though she's not aware of it because she's so preoccupied with what she's been told. No Superman or Batman means no Superboy or Red Robin. And it probably means no Wonder Woman or Wonder Girl, either. Which means her entire emergency contact list is useless. Even when she'd been stranded on Myrg, she had at least been in the same reality as her friends, or people she knew could help her.

This... this is outside even her realm of experience.

Cissie shoves a hand into her hair and just... shakes her head. It's the best she can do right now. And there's really just one thing she can think of to say.]

...That's impossible, though. Green Arrow's my father.

[Well.

That's.

Different.

He doesn't know what to doooooooo. Except if this is a delusion, maybe the name of her father... isn't.]

What's his name? I can contact him.

[Cissie gives an edgy little laugh, fighting back a wave of hysteria--unless it's just a continuation of the hysteria she's already feeling, in which case... Well, it's a thin line anyway.

She shoves both hands through her hair and presses her mouth shut in a tight line. What if he's lying? If this is some trick to get information...]

You really are new at this. You don't just... ask people for someone's secret identity and expect a real answer.

[Except that then she pauses and considers, because... Ollie's ID isn't a secret. It hasn't been since he was Mayor of Star City. It's been public knowledge. Which means he should already know his name, unless... he's telling the truth. She clears her throat and shakes her head.]

Except that his name hasn't been a secret in years, so I guess it doesn't matter. Oliver Queen.

[That sure is a ringing silence greeting that statement.

Okay.

No one is going to believe this story anyway.

So.

--Diggle is going to kill him. Oliver isn't sure that he'd blame the man.

He draws the hood down, slowly, wondering again if this is all just an elaborate trap to force him into admitting his identity post-trial.] That's impossible.

[No way he has a daughter his own age.] I'm. That's. [It's like having Dig wake up in his hideout all over again. He has no idea what to do or say.

Hopefully she'll try to punch him, because that he can respond to easily.] I'm Oliver Queen.

[...So this is what an aneurysm must feel like.

Cissie just kind of looks back at him blankly, because there's no way for her brain to comprehend this. There's no way he can be telling the truth, but she can't figure out why he'd lie either.]

That's--you can't be. You're only... You don't have a goatee.

[Yeah. Focus on the important things, Ciss.]

[Annnd he looks appropriately lost. There's an attempt to find words, one that ends in a soft exhalation that's not quite a cough.

Oliver moves to the fridge, keeping his distance, though he's not sure if he's doing that for himself or for her.] No. I don't. And I don't... have a daughter.

[He pulls one of the bottles of water from the fridge and nudges it over her way before claiming one for himself. All of what he says now is public knowledge - nothing to risk. Besides, there's something in her reaction that says she's not lying. At the very least she doesn't think she is.] My mother's name is Moira Queen. My father's name was Robert. He died five years ago. My sister is named Thea.

[Another bout of hesitance.] My friends call me Ollie.

[And drinking that water now, while he tries to keep himself from analyzing her features, looking for similarities. This is impossible. Utterly impossible.]

[Cissie accepts the water because that's what you do when someone hands you something to drink. But she has no idea what she's doing, and what to do now. She sits, abruptly, right there on the floor.

She takes a sip of water, taking in what he's said. It lines up, except... She looks up at him with a frown.]

You have a sister?

[He crouches, to keep more or less on her physical level. It's only polite.

Oliver ducks his head to hide what might - might - be a smile.] Yes. She's seventeen. I call her Speedy.

[When he looks at Cissie again, it's with a carefully guarded expression.] Your... father. He doesn't?

[Cissie stares at him, because she's really not sure she heard him right.] Speedy, [she repeats, then gives a surprised laugh. Of course. Why not.

It takes her a moment, but she pulls herself together.] I don't think he does; he's never mentioned a sister. But--his parents both died when he was a kid. His uncle raised him.

[She pauses, and adds,] ...Speedy is his partner. There have been two of them. His adopted kids.

His kids? [He can barely say it.] He made his kids do this?

[It took five years of brutality, torture, training, and loneliness to make Oliver a capable defender of the city. Having a man, a friend, around who challenges him to be human - it's the only thing that keeps him from becoming a well-practiced killer. It's been hard to even think of his first fatalities in this fight as murders, hard to think past names on a list he's memorized to see the faces of the people he thought he'd never see again.

He can't imagine having a child next to him, landing an arrow in a target's heart. For the first time in a long time he feels properly sick at the thought.

Oliver looks away, getting to his feet and offering her a hand up.] I can't leave you here.

[He believes her. He actually believes her. It's a shock to realize it, and once he has, he knows he has to keep her safe until they can find out what's happened.]

[His reaction actually startles a laugh out of Cissie--it's a quick, slightly hysterical laugh that she contains as quickly as it escaped, clamping her mouth shut. He made his kids do this? If only he had half a clue.

There are a lot of things she could say about Ollie, but at least he has never asked her to put the mask back on.

Cissie pulls herself together and lets him help her up.] ...That's kind of complicated. But I don't think anyone makes Mia do anything she doesn't want to.

Edited 2012-11-15 11:55 (UTC)

[It's different for her Oliver. He has to tell himself that. It's different for her Oliver, somehow. Instead of answering, he nods, moving to the sink to wash the green paint off of his face, and then to the little cot to pull a change of clothes in a plastic bag out from underneath.

He looks sidelong at Cissie.] I'll get changed and call a cab. I can put you up at one of the hotels in the city.

[Though he'd really rather have her close by, in case of what, he's not sure.] Or you could stay at my family's estate. You'll need a cover story.

[Cissie manages a laugh that's a little harsh and brittle.] You don't think they'll buy that I'm your long-lost daughter?

[There's a bite to her tone. It's all just... too close to home and at the same time, so completely wrong. She's just not sure what to do with it all right now.]

[Oliver's expression goes neutral - the reaction is an automatic one at this point. His own hurts are irrelevant and deserved.] I can get you ID and generate a paper trail once I have access to my system again.

[He ducks into the bathroom, changing into a button-up shirt and jeans. The burner phone in the bag gets one use - calling the cab company - and he pockets it to toss once they're on the road. Paranoid, yes. But it makes him feel secure.

Oliver finishes buttoning his shirt over his Bratva tattoo and the stippled scar on his collarbone as he enters the main room again.] Ten minutes or so until the taxi gets here. The drive isn't long. If you need anything once you're settled, you can talk to Raisa. She isn't the type to ask a lot of questions where I'm concerned.

[She is really going to hate that masked expression before too long. She can tell. For now, Cissie scrubs at her face.] A paper trail. Damn. [If only Tim were here.

Of course, if Tim were here, she wouldn't need a paper trail. She sighed and dropped her hands just in time to catch him buttoning up his shirt.

A tattoo. Interesting.

And then his words sink in and she frowns, but nods. Right. Direct her needs to someone other than him. Dryly, she asks,] Get a lot of visitors from the multiverse, huh?

[He blinks, caught off-guard again.] No. But she... knows me. Not everything, not.

[Oliver looks away instead of down.] This. But I trust her. You can too.

[He hesitates again.] My body guard is named John Diggle. If I'm not around, you can talk to him. About everything.

[And then he stands there, caught in that awkward silence he's become so acquainted with since the island. He knows he should say something, make conversation somehow, but he has no idea how to do it. There's no faking his way through it. Not at this point.] Who's your mother?

[It's out before he realizes that's probably a terrible thing to ask.]

[Now it's Cissie's turn to be caught off-guard. People he trusts, even with this secret. She thinks of her Oliver Queen, which his children and Dinah, and the Justice League... But no housekeeper or body guards.

It's an interesting, if subtle, difference and she's not sure what to make of it. But for some reason, it makes her feel a little better, knowing this Oliver has, for lack of a better word, people.

And then he asks who her mother is, and she's startled out of her thoughts. She blinks.] ...Bonnie King-Jones. Well, I guess she'd probably still be Bonnie King.

[She should have thought of her mother before this. But on second thought, she's really not sure she can handle her mother not knowing her.]

[He doesn't expect to recognize the name.] Archery. The Olympian. She took bronze this year.

[Oliver can't keep the surprise out of his voice. There's a whole lot to catch up on after five years out of the world, but one thing he has paid particular attention to (in private, in the warehouse where no one who doesn't know the truth will see) are the top archers and competitions, their gear and their trainers.

If someone starts copy-catting him, he wants to have a potential list of suspects ready to go.]

[Cissie doesn't even try to hide her surprise. At least it gives her some context, and maybe a little hope--maybe it's not that heroes don't exist here, but that they don't exist yet, or as much.]

This year? But that was... [Years before she was born.

Oh crap, what if she is in the middle of creating some kind of paradox that could erase her entire existence?

That would seriously suck.]

Edited 2012-11-16 05:13 (UTC)

[Ollie is not sure he wants to add 'sleep with 2012 Olympic medalist' to his current to-do list. But if he has to - if continuity requires it -

No, not thinking about that, not right now.

The sound of tires on asphalt saves him from trying to think of something else to say.] Cab.

[He doesn't quite dive for the door, holding it open like the proper gentleman he occasionally can pretend to be.]

[Cissie follows him out to the cab; she doesn't know what to say, or what to think, so she doesn't say anything. She'd like to turn her brain off so she doesn't have to think, but that's kind of impossible. She at least manages not to cry in the cab, even though every single possible solution she can think of involves people that might not--probably don't--even exist here.

She's lost in thought, looking out the window without really seeing anything, when the cab begins to slow. That's when Cissie clues in and starts to register her surroundings--and spots the house.

...He wasn't kidding when he called it an estate.]

You live in a castle?

The Queen estate. [He watches the building as it looms up over the drive, pensive, tensed. If he can get her upstairs without running in to any of the household's other main players, they can work out the details of a story without anyone to overhear. Given that it's the wee hours of morning, he's hoping the legacy of Queen family insomnia hasn't kept his mother and sister awake.

He gets out first, paying the cabbie with a chunk of money from the safehouse, and opens Cissie's door. He offers her a hand, voice low.] If anyone's up, I'll do the talking.

[A pause, and that damnable uncertainty again.] Please. I know what to say to get them to stop asking questions.

Edited 2012-11-17 05:28 (UTC)