[sup][h1][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b7205-4b10-7119-93b6-2c37aca13393.webp[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] G R E E N   A R R O W[/color]
[color=67a383]G R E E N   A R R O W[/color][/center]
[/b][/h1][/sup]
[sup][sub][h2][b][center][color=black]  HUNTER-KILLER[/color]
[color=darkgray] HUNTER-KILLER[/color][/center][/b][/h2][/sub][/sup][center][sub][sup][H3][color=darkgray]Part Two[/color][/h3][/sup][/sub][/center]
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[color=silver][indent][center][sup][h3][i][b]Here is a memory of home.[/b][/i][/h3][/sup][/center]

Beyond the city’s outskirts, between the redwoods and the mountains. Gentle scratch of needle on vinyl, smell of sirloin and fresh peppers wafting through ornate hallways; Monk and Rollins the soundtrack to chaos in the Queen estate kitchen, the house staff banished to another day of paid relaxation. Blends and spices knocked asunder over marble countertops, stew spilling over from full-to-brim pots by the dozen. Roy stirred the last one on the stove as Ollie added more seasoning, their aprons sauce-streaked paintings. The first time they did this, he’d toned down the spice in the other batches at Roy’s insistence — they were trying at charity, not torture, after all — but for this last pot he let himself run wild, napalm blend stinging their nostrils just the way he liked it. 

[color=#67a383]“Alright, kid,”[/color] Ollie grinned,[color=#67a383] “I think that does it.”[/color] He patted Roy on the shoulder, gently squeezing. 

Moments like these meant the most to Roy, just him and the music and Ollie. It’s when he felt like he belonged the most, no common cause forcing them together, no high-flying action, no danger. Hanging out because they could, because they wanted to, not because Ollie needed someone to watch his back. It made him feel like Ollie truly wanted him around. Like he took Roy in as more than just a favor to Cheii. 

Roy wanted to believe this more than anything.

[color=#67a383]“What’re you thinkin’ about?”[/color] said Ollie.

[color=#eb6464]“Nothing.”[/color] Roy stirred the chili a few more times and placed the lid on top, discarding the spoon into their overcrowded sink. [color=#eb6464]“Home, I guess. Back at the rez I mean.”[/color]

Ollie’s smile softened. [color=#67a383]“Yeah? You miss it?”[/color]

[color=#eb6464]“I miss Cheii.”[/color] He shrugged. [color=#eb6464]“I don’t know about the rest.”[/color]

[color=#67a383]“What about Ella? Your cousins? We could visit, y’know. They’d love to see you.”[/color]

[color=#eb6464]“Nah. I wouldn’t wanna bother them. They’ve got it hard enough with Cheii gone.”[/color]

[color=#67a383]“It’d just be a visit, Roy. You wouldn’t be moving back.”[/color]

[color=#eb6464]“I know. Look, let’s drop it, okay? We have to get this place clean before Gina sees what we did to her kitchen.”[/color]

Ollie looked around at the disaster they’d made of the place and grimaced. [color=#67a383]“No truer words, kiddo.”[/color]

Roy could tell he wanted to push the issue. He was glad he didn’t. The truth was that outside of his grandfather, he rarely thought of the rez. He never felt at home there, not really. Cheii was his home; stories under the desert sky, dééh with honey around their hearth, archery lessons on makeshift targets, sandpaper hand guiding his aim. As Cheii grew older and sicker he spent more time at Ella’s, yes, but it was born of necessity. He had nowhere else to go, and she had not enough to give. He knew he burdened her, there was no other word for it. She had two kids of her own to worry about, he didn’t blame her, but she struggled not to show it. He burdened her. Hell, he burdened the entire chapter.  

Until Cheii made that call. 

Until Ollie.

[center][sup][h3][i][b]He scooped the stew into a bowl.[/b][/i][/h3][/sup][/center]

The old man thanked him and shuffled away back to his tent. The lines were getting shorter now — between Speedy, Green Arrow and the volunteers they’d scrounged up, they made good time, handing out chili to the hundreds that made up Plesa Park’s tent city in the span of an hour. This was the fruit of their labor, the finale to an entire day spent toiling in the kitchen; a coordinated effort with Blumebury community organizers to bring food to one of Star City’s oldest and most enduring homeless camps. Barely anyone was left who remembered a time before it — eighty years ago the first tents went up, and despite the city’s best efforts, here they stayed ever since. A patchwork of tarps and cardboard held aloft by sticks and string, wedged into a roiling network of tangled lives and filth by long-neglected thickets of bramble and maple and evergreens. It was a place of terrible hardship and frequent misery, and these days even the city was reluctant to come near; and so it was up to the few that cared to pick up the slack.  

There had been many food drives before this one. Over time grew a tradition of sorts, those who dared gathering around, having had their fill of stew, ready for the night’s challenge: Hell in a four gallon pot. 

Green Arrow’s signature chili.

As the last of the homeless got their dinner, Green Arrow nudged Speedy with a conspiratorial smile. Already there stood a small crowd around the row of collapsible tables they’d set up for tonight, brave souls believing themselves up to the task. Loud enough for them to hear, he said, [color=#67a383]“What do you think, Speedy? Is it time?”[/color]

Speedy grinned. [color=#eb6464]“Oh, I think it’s time, G.A.”[/color]

[color=#67a383]“You hear that, Joe?”[/color] said Green Arrow, [color=#67a383]“Speedy says it’s time.”[/color]

“Well, gee,” said Joe, “I guess it’s time, then.”

Joe Smiley was a relatively fresh face in Plesa Park, having shown up three months ago with nothing but the clothes on his back and an old beat up bivy cover. Twenty-three years old, all scruff and muscle and haunted eyes, his was a familiar story: idealistic teen enlists hoping to make a difference, takes part in the horrors upon which the American empire was built, returns a hollow shell of himself, a man without home or country. His friends didn’t understand, his family didn’t want to. With no one to support him, his life collapsed in on itself in a few short months, and before he knew it there he was, full of regrets and trauma beyond measure — yet somehow, still smiling. He was well-liked throughout the camp, known for his jokes and the way he stood up for his neighbors. He’d volunteered to help with the food drives the first chance he got. His name suited him.  

He was also, as it happened, the only person in Star City who seemed to match Green Arrow’s taste for spice. 

[color=#67a383]“You heard the man,”[/color] said Green Arrow. [color=#67a383]“That first course was the warm-up. It’s time for you to taste the best damn chili you’ve ever had.”[/color]

This was it. The last pot. An unholy mixture of peppers and spices, feared by all but the fools who’d abused their tongues into thinking they shouldn’t. One by one the would-be challengers held out their disposable bowls for a refill as volunteers prepared paper cups of milk and water. Many were returning challengers, convinced that this time they could handle it; some were new, and knew not what awaited them. 

Speedy scooped a helping into Joe’s bowl.

“Ah — ahey — ah, hell,” said Joe, “How do you say it again?”

[color=#eb6464]“Ahéhee',”[/color] said Speedy. 

“Uh-hyeheh,” repeated Joe. Kind of. “Well. Uh-hyeheh, Speedy. And thank you, Arrow. Really. I know I keep saying it, but this… this means a lot. It gives us all something to look forward to.”

[color=#67a383]“Hey, you got it,”[/color] said Green Arrow. [color=#67a383]“It’s the least we can do. Now let’s dig in. I’ve been waiting for this all day.”[/color]

Joe laughed. “You and me both.”

[center][sup][h3][i][b][color=#fbdf8a]“It’s cool you guys did that kind of stuff.”[/color][/b][/i][/h3][/sup][/center]

Mia takes a sip from her glass of milk. [color=#fbdf8a]“So early on, I mean.”[/color]

[color=#eb6464]“It was always something Ollie aimed for, I think,”[/color] says Roy. [color=#eb6464]“I mean, you’ve probably heard him say it a million times. He tried to use his company to do it, but the board always blackballed him. Philanthropy looks good on paper, but profit looks even better. The shelters, the food drives, it all came out of his own pocket. And as fun as shooting arrows at bad guys is, Green Arrow’s—”[/color]

[color=#fbdf8a][i]“‘—Nothing without community.’”[/i][/color]

[color=#eb6464]“Yeah. Like I said, a million times.”[/color]

From downstairs comes booming laughter, two different registers twisting together into the study. Warmth fills Roy, hearing it. When Lian’s with Ollie, she laughs like him.

[color=#fbdf8a]“How long ago was this?”[/color] asks Mia. [color=#fbdf8a]“From the disappearances.”[/color]

[color=#eb6464]“Oh, right.”[/color] Roy thinks, scratching the stubble on his chin. [color=#eb6464]“About a year, I think. Joe really settled into the camp since then. It was pretty common for people to come and go from there, but not him. His friends were worried enough without having to figure the other disappearances into it, so Ollie and I went back.”[/color]

[center][sup][h3][i][b]Back to Plesa Park.[/b][/i][/h3][/sup][/center]

They found Joe’s friend at his tent, reading a book on top of his sleeping bag. They’d spoken to a few others already, all giving them the same answers as the first time around, I don’t knows and sorrys and please find hims. It became clear pretty quickly that their best shot at new info would be Raf.

Raf was Joe one year ago: adrift, wracked with guilt, with no one and nowhere to turn to. They’d made quick friends, commiserating over shared experiences. Not too long after Joe had arrived at the camp, G.A. put him in touch with an old college buddy of his, an activist involved with multiple antiwar organizations and veteran support groups by the name of John Diggle. Joe had done the same for Raf, and they’d been going to meetings together since, every second Friday at the Smith Street Education Hall. Joe missed the last one.

Under a layer of trash was presumably a ground tarp. The trash crowded around a loose assortment of belongings: a bivy cover, some books, a portable stove, canned foods — Joe’s. He’d been gone nearly a week now and never came back for them, just like the others. Everyone at the camp respected Joe, but Raf held onto his things anyway. Respect didn’t count for much in a place as desperate as Plesa Park. And besides, Green Arrow and Speedy were on the case. Joe would be back in no time.

The crunch of leaves and glass beneath their boots alerted Raf. He looked up from his book with sad, startled eyes. 

[color=#67a383]“Hey, Raf,”[/color] said Green Arrow. [color=#67a383]“Sorry to interrupt. You doin’ okay?”[/color]

Raf relaxed a little, his shoulders slumping. Despite himself, he managed a small smile. “Oh, hey, Arrow. Speedy. I’m doin’, I guess.” A deep breath. “Please tell me you guys have some good news.”

[color=#67a383]“Well, to tell you the truth,”[/color] Arrow said, crouching down to his level, [color=#67a383]“We were hoping you do. Is there anything you can remember about Joe around when he disappeared? Anything he said or did? Anything at all?”[/color]

“No, man, I already told you… fuck.” Raf ran his fingers through greasy unkempt hair, a week’s worth of frustration and nerves threatening to boil over. “You really haven’t found anything?”

G.A. shook his head. [color=#67a383]“We asked around. No one remembers anything out of the ordinary. He hasn’t been at the shelter recently — the last time Diggle saw him was weeks ago, with you. If there’s any trail to pick up, we can’t find it, for Joe or anyone else. So if there’s anything you do know… it’d be a big help.”[/color]

“I… goddammit, I don’t…” Raf trailed off. He sat there for a moment, hands in his hair and eyes far away, searching through a scene some weeks gone. “… He did mention something. A few of the guys have, actually.”

Arrow and Speedy perked up, looked at each other. Here it was: their best shot. 

[color=#67a383]“Yeah?”[/color] said Green Arrow.

“Yeah. It’s been getting colder lately, and not everyone has the gear to handle it out here. A lot of us like to go to the Queen Foundation Shelter those nights, but it gets full sometimes. Joe’d been looking for other places we could go. He said he’d found one he was going to check out, at… Parks and Hester, I think.”

[color=#67a383]“Did he mention a name?”[/color]

“No, don’t think so. I don’t remember. Sorry.”

[color=#67a383]“S’okay. Thanks Raf, that’s plenty. We’ll check it out. You stay safe, okay?”[/color]

Green Arrow stood up, turning to leave, patting Speedy on the shoulder on his way past. 

Speedy lingered for a moment. [color=#eb6464]“Hey, Raf.”[/color]

“Yeah?”

[color=#eb6464]“We’re gonna find him. We’re gonna find everyone.[/color]

[color=#eb6464][center][sup][h3][i][b]“I promise.”[/b][/i][/h3][/sup][/center][/color]


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