2020-04-28 - Redheads


Lena makes a possible new friend. Another redhead.

Log Info:

Storyteller: {$storyteller}
Date: April 28th, 2020
Location: Scummy NYC

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Lessons were…lessons. The teachings were going well enough, but there was still some side of Lena that was itching to get out. That part of her that was simply her. Or who she use to be. The girl could only take so much tea and clean living - she needed a stiff drink. She needed the darker side of the city. What comes with a darker side of said city? Goons. There's always goons.

A low whistle rolls her way, along with sounds of catcalls and other mocking noises. All it does is cause Snart's pale eyes to roll; her paces doesn't change. "Hey, hey hey…" One man calls out, jogging up to be by her side.

"Didn't you hear me calling you, honey?"

"I heard. I don't care."

"Aww, now, don't be like that. We just wanna talk."

Sighing, Lena pauses in step and turns heel on her chunky boots. "I'm going to make this simple for you three. You don't want to do this. You /really/ don't. First and only warning."

Shayera is flying overhead, because she can. It's faster than walking, less annoying than those horrid Grounder cars, and it's what she's used to. She keeps to just above the streetlights well below where police helicopters and the like would normally fly, and it gives her a rather good viewpoint of the streets below. She's stopped more than a handful of attempted muggings and assaults, and that's yet another reason to be flying about seemingly idly. She keeps her route varied so no one can get used to her presence.

Currently attired in reasonable equivalents of Grounder clothing — it'll never be exactly the same because wings — she's not exactly prepared for outright battle, but really, her mace alone is usually more than enough and that she always carries.

Hearing whistling and catcalls below, she turns her attention downward and frowns, flying past what looks like might be some troglodytes not getting the hint and leaving a young woman in peace and banks in a fairly tight turn before tucking her wings close to dive toward a landing behind the young woman, where the troglodytes will be sure to see her.

Brandishing her mace and flaring her wings to look as intimidating as possible, she grins with an impish gleam that clearly declares that she'll happily put up a fight.

Bring it on, boys.

Lena Snart was not aware of the flying avenger that was gracing the skies of NYC this night. In a world full of supes, it wasn't out of the question, either. At this point, her warning was not being taken seriously. The trio look to each other and chuckles, each bringing out weapons in some show of force and intimidation. Even so, the dark clad girl that was a mix of goth-punk refuses to react. Keep your cool, Lena. Keep it cool.

"Com'on, sweetness. We just want to show you a good time."

"Where's your man? Girl like you should have one."

"Maybe she's a dyke? Shit, too pretty for that. What a waste."

In a one-two punch of show, as Hawkgirl lands behind her, Lena was in the motion of drawing a teched out gun with a triangular barrel. "Warning made. Warning ignored."

The trio blink, eyes growing at that flare of wings and shimmer of weapon.

"The fuck is this?"

Lena quirks a brow but doesn't turn around. "Guess they're not with you." Cold assumes before squeezing the trigger.

Yeah, quiet Shayera isn't. Her wings' feathers rustle quite audibly as she folds them back because she's hawk not owl. Anyone who's watched nature documentaries featuring large birds like eagles would be able to place the sound.

As the strangely clad girl fires… a thing, she steps around Lena and toward whichever of the goons is NOT about to be the ultimate cold shoulder. The mace in her hand gleams gold-like as she hefts it one-handed, ready to clobber any of these morons that is stupid enough to NOT run away.

Lena Snart smirks as that first ray of brilliant blue-white light slows one in motion. Frost spreads across the groun and chills the air between them. The goon doesn't turn to ice, but he does simply stop moving. Grinning, cheshire in delight, she starts walking toward her prey of choice.

One good with tire iron in hand looks to his companion, to the Hawk, and back again. He wants to run, but something tickles at his spine to stay. Stay. Fight. His chest heaves frantically before he roars out and and pounces toward Shayera.

The third? He's gone, followed by the piercing smell of ammonia.

A CROWbar? Seriously? Shayera scoffs more than loudly enough to be heard in response to the troglodyte's supposed roar, and then she takes a few quick steps forward herself to meet his charge. She swats the crude piece of iron away with her mace and then gives the man a nice, gentle kick in the chest. For her. It's just enough to stop his forward momentum and very possibly knock him back on his rear. She knows better than to attack any regular Grounder with her full strength, she'd likely cave in his torso if she did.

"This isn't even a challenge," she says to Crowbarman with a derisive sneer. "You're getting beat up on by two /girls/. Come on, /honey/. I thought you wanted to play."

He no longer wanted to play. There was no want to play if they're on the losing side. Where's the fun is that? Crashing, once his body meets the ground the air is knocked out of him. He sputters and coughs, gasps ragged as one hand comes to his chest, the other claws at the ground. Eyes wide, he shakes his head, attempting to scramble back away from the feathered warrior. "N-no ma'am! No!" He yells.

Lena continues her stride until she reaches the figure that is sticking to the spot. Gun down, she cants her head, studying him, circling him. "I should let her break you, y'know that. I think she'd like it, too." Eventually, she exhales and steps back away from the duo. "Follow your friend. Apparently not all of you are idiots. Get out of here." Mercy? Who was this girl? Allowing her gun to clip to its maglock around her thigh, she watches after Hawkgirl to see what she'll do next.

"If I ever see you out showing anyone anything less than the full respect you'd show your grandmother, I will not stop at leaving a boot print on your sternum. Got it? Now run home to your mommy, /honey/." Shayera watches Crowbarman flee then turns to the guy that Punky Wednesday has somehow stuck to the street.

"Better hurry. I get bored easy," she tells the stuck man, lifting her mace to rest on her shoulder as if promising to use it as she steps closer to him and Punky Wednesday. Despite the gleam of the weapon's gold-colored metal, it's clearly a VERY real mace, designed to inflict actual serious damage.

"Mmm, that's not fair. He'll be here for a sec. His atoms have to warm him back up before he can move. Sleepy babies." Lena murmurs, glancing toward Shay and then back down the street. Eventually, the man finally starts to move. His teeth chatter as life returns to normal for him. Stiff at first, his body starts moving, but eventually he's gone the way of his friends.

"Why did you do that?" Lena finally questions to the redhead. "I'm thankful. I think."

"Why did I do what? Stop those jackasses from being more assholeish at you than they already were?" Shay watches the last moron flee, then steps over to kick the crowbar out of car or foot traffic paths so one one is as risk of tripping over it. "Let's just say I'm not fond of bullies."

She finally gives Punky Wednesday a more evaluating once-over as she lowers her mace again and hooks it to the sturdy leather belt strapped over her jeans instead of through the belt loops. It's kind of renfaire, kind of 80s weird.

"I'm Shay. And you are?"

"Sometimes you get use to it. Very…kind of you to help a stranger." Maybe it was better she was there. Lena didn't get to let her rage out. "Mmm, I'm not fond of the either. Honestly, I'm just not fond of dumbasses. Some people just want to get hurt, y'know?"

Hair down and flowing with vibrant sweeps of color, dark lined eyes, snow-pale skin, a few piercings here and there, the girl stands in dark clothing, designer ripped and stretched in places to hang off her body here and there. Snug pants, thick-soled boots, and a blue flanny tied in the middle under her modest chest. Punky Wednesday is a compliment she'd accept. "Lena. Nice to meet you." A painted finger up, she points toward the woman's back. "Those natural?"

"It's kind of my job, both here and in my hometown," Shay comments offhand as her wings fluff out briefly before settling again. "And yeah, I don't tolerate dumbasses either."

She chuckles faintly as Lena introduces herself and then promptly asks about the wings. "Good to meet you, Lena. And yeah, they are." As if to prove it, one wing unfolds and reaches forward as if to lightly swat at the kid. "Don't even have to bleach 'em." Honestly, just the thought is shudder-worthy, but eh. It's a joke anyway.

Lena Snart quirks a brow at the thwap. The joke at least causes her dark lips to smirk. "Your job? I don't think someone like you would owe anyone, well, anything honestly. Self imposed job then?" A glance away, the trio of thugs fully out of sight now, Lena turns and thumbs for Shay to follow her. "If you drink, I'll get you a drink. If you need to fly off, that's fine, too."

"Pity, didn't even get to break any bones tonight…"

Shay's wing settles back again as she shrugs lightly. "It's kind of an exchange program. I'm here working with your local police and I mostly focus on things that are a smidge above the average beat cop's purview. And, as much as I'd like to take you up on that drink, I do have to get going."

She takes a few steps away and calls back before launching back into the air with several strong wingbeats, "Next time don't stick 'em to the ground so fast, maybe you get that chance to break a bone or two."

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