Her dark brow went upwards, his ex, hm? “I can see why they’re an ex then,” she said, “It’s not one of those things they warn you about when you take up a costume, but I haven’t met anyone in this line of work who doesn’t have an ex who’s tried to kill them.” She said, “I dated the Punisher for a while,” she said, “his attempt on my life was more than a little pathetic, but he did attempt,” she said, as if she were offering up her condolences.
Matthew would probably say she was an ex who had tried to kill him, but if she’d been trying to kill Matthew he’d be dead. He never seemed to factor that into his complaints.
There’d be no showing off for her, the Hand never presented much of a challenge any more. This was all routine at this point. She slipped into the building and he shorted out the power giving her silence and darkness. Good, she worked best in silence, and darkness. They were a ninja’s truest allies.
Elektra melted into shadow, the fear in the room was a living, breathing thing. It hummed and pulsed, undead and afraid to die the soldiers of the Hand looked and looked. They should know her tricks, were they not ninja too? The hand had been pumping out second rate goons lately.
She struck, fast, like a snake. And then she moved, dancing from target to target. There was no blood, only quickly disappearing bodies, and the stink of sulfur. For fun, every once in a while, she’d kick a goon in front of the window, to see if Roy could make the shot before they got out of the way again.
“Beats having a current partner who’s trying to kill you,” He suggested as if that was fairly run-of-the-mill as well; and truthfully, it kind of was sometimes. He liked to think he was someone who would cut bait when the murder started but . . . well -- it was important to know one’s own weaknesses.
“I’ve never heard anyone describe the Punisher’s attempt on their life as pathetic. Surprisingly, hot?” Though, that really wasn’t that surprising at all. She clearly was a woman who knew her own mind and wasn’t afraid to back it up -- he liked that; there wasn’t anything wrong about that.
His shots were fast -- he didn’t get the nickname Speedy for nothing, after all. In the time it took one body to pass in front of the window, three arrows were protruding from the limbs -- one in each arm (to discourage gun play, of course) and one in the thigh to keep them from fleeing. This performance was repeated each time a body made its way across the window -- until Roy finally got bored of the target practice, and shot a zip line across to come crashing in through the window, boots first.
“I got bored.” He said by way of apology, already setting an arrow to the string of his bow.