Owner	Pose
Dick Grayson	Dick has been taking a rare night off to visit the dumpling shop that the Batlings often visit. It is on his way back to Bludhaven, and so he is making his way over to his motorcycle. He is avoiding the hyperloop for the time being if he's by himself due to the Talons. Dick is thus dressed for it, and the early autumn of Gotham, by wearing a leather jacket and jeans. His helmet is under his arm as he gets near the bike when he hears steps from behind him and as he turns around he sees a man holding a hand under his jacket though the outline of a gun easily visible under the jacket. "Your wallet and the keys to the bike," the gangster says, and nods to a handful of others nearby, each also having one hand not clearly visible and a couple that have a crowbar standing in a nearby alley. Dick does not have time to immediately get to his collapsible baton, so he is really in a pickle.
Meggan Constantine	The Hot Dumpling restaurant boasts one particular attraction overall: lots of food on the cheap. On the Venn Diagram of life, cheap and good can kick quick to the curb. For this reason above all, Meggan braved standing around in the lurking wet and damp of Chinatown, waiting for a coveted seat at the bar to open up, where the hallowed tradition of elbows out, face down, slurping on will be not only accepted but encouraged. It helps to be a relatively slight person by the owner's standards, since the chefs keep shoving dumplings on plates or dumplings in soup at her while she filters through the day's news on her phone and pretends to ignore her homework. It never really ends. Maybe people recognize her and maybe not. With the night wearing on and a wholesome bit of Chinese food tiding her over, all she might want to do is turn into a literal cat and sleep on a pillow somewhere. It occasionally happens. The somnolent, lazy atmosphere created by steam heavy in the air only encourages patrons to slouch out, content in their lot, perfect for being mugged. Really, the idiots outside totally picked the wrong mark. Maybe because those worn jeans don't contain an obvious outline of a wallet, and her purse is so miniscule compared to the rich girls? Who knows. But she might have made it no more than a couple meters before reaching sidewalk, illuminated in the sulphur glow of a streetlamp. Drowsy, she even gets close to yawning into her sleeve, blinking those gentle green eyes in an attempt to slip off the fugue. That's a pretty bike over yonder, one she admires from a distance. Takes time to recognize the rider, and definitely will take time that he doesn't have -- but the friendlies do. "Huh." Eloquent, isn't she?
Dick Grayson	One of the gangsters catches sight of Meggan and says, "Hey, got a spectator!" he approaches pistol now out and says, "Just give us your purse and your phone and you can just go on your merry way." A dark grin visible on his face, "Otherwise, things get messy fast." So much for an easy night to get dumplings and relax. Dick frowns and raises his hands, helmet still in his hand, while the spokesman for the gangsters is not the most persuasive, the pistol helps. The eldest Wayneling snarls and with his free hand chucks the keys directly at the gangster's face causing him to flinch, allowing Dick to swing his helmet like a club and smacks the gun out of the gangster's hand, which Dick stands over to keep his opponent disarmed. The other muggers converge, the bike and their friend cutting off enough shooting lanes for the moment, but the two of them are definitely outnumbered five or six to one. It might not be as profitable to split it that much, but it's reliable and safe money.
Meggan Constantine	Meggan isn't much to look at in her slightly worn, slightly shabby raincoat belted around the waist in a classic trench style. It suits her well enough, the inheritance of her homeland, since 'London Fog' is a thing as well as a brand. Two blinks stir some of the weariness from her eyes as someone marches up to confront her, a man who really ought to know better. Holding a gun on a pretty blonde in most cities gets you nabbed by a cop. In Gotham, much less chance. Here? Here, on the fringes of forgettable and forgotten, she's just another possible victim where people look aside. "Wot?" The phone in hand is hardly impressive, nothing like a StarkPhone or slippery sleek Samsung model to pawn off for a couple hundred bucks down the way on Tricorner Island. It's durable only for being in a neat case with mountains printed in green. Her accent slithers into the thicker hills of her northwestern English home, the Lake Country imparting bits of fluting Gaelic, a memory of Welsh, Anglo all the way. "My phone? My purse?" Slowly she draws out the question to confirm it. They think she's harmless and that melting receptivity makes her smaller, slighter, an easier target almost reflexively while Dick is damn well nothing but. Nothing even close. Being hit with a helmet is like being slammed with a turtle shell, but larger, all that engineered excellence in Kevlar or carbon-fibre with a glassy, road-proof shell more than likely fit to break limbs if applied correctly. She doesn't have that art, but the flurry of momentum over there briefly earns a check of her gaze. Hyenas converging on a lion. In an instant, her pupils turn slitted. It's hard likely to notice, especially in the night's gaze, not something most people know. The gun do wherever it goes, and Dick knows far more about fighting in these quarters than she does. If she's still under threat, then what?
Dick Grayson	"Hey wai..." the gunman facing Meggan turns to the chaos around Dick, giving an opening. Dick now has the opening to reach into his pocket and pulls out his baton and with a snap it extends. He has a permit, but still not something he flaunts too often. He chucks the helmet at another gangster approaching and drops into a defensive stance as another converges and is greeted with a smack to the shoulder, and another to the knee. Dick moves to take cover behind a postal drop-off box and is kicked from behind, whirling around to block the attack with his baton. It's not a fair fight as the others continue to move closer, knowing that the longer this goes, the chance of cops stepping in or other risk factors increase.
Meggan Constantine	The simmering shadows come alive with the scraps of a fight, brewing up into a proper storm. Even a neophyte can see that, and Meggan may be no veteran, but she recognizes the danger. Five on one in normal circumstances goes ugly; too easy to slip a knife or get a stray shot and take the balance down. "I don't like you," she states with a sharply factual tone, edges whetted on the brutal application of a smart smack of the batons. "Priggish bullies." Cats eyes flash in the dark, picking up a broadened range of details. Enough to know her part in it. Dropping the phone, she jerks to the side in a leap hanging suspended in the air like a wuxia star. Except there are no wires, and no need for a camera swivel, since her immediate reaction is lashing out with a booted foot to kick the gangster away. Maybe with a lot less force than she normally would, her body rebelling against the impression of hapless victim compared to angry huntress on the urban savannah. But it'll do; even at a fraction of her usual strength, she is no slouch. It all takes a few seconds as she drops down to the ground, and seeing the opportunity, will bolt in the Wayneling's direction at a run. Security in numbers? Or ambush predator using speed and guile to take down hyenas and wildebeests by the throat? You decide.
Dick Grayson	While Meggan might not be applying her full strength, it is enough to knock the gangster out cold. Dick catches sight of the gangster going down, but is focused on the group around him for the time being, another smack of his baton knocks a knife out of one's hand. One would-be mugger goes running, as the baton is capable of real damage, even if Dick is not going for permanently disabling strikes, preferring to disarm. This changes when he sees Meggan run forward, though he blinks as he thinks he sees her somewhat fly? There is not time to fully ponder this, but he is surprised to see her. "Meggan?!" he says with surprise. "Honestly surprised to see you out here," his worry is evident, but after seeing her kick the other guy, he'll take all the help he can get. The muggers still mostly feel confident as they loop around, the gunmen starting to move into positions to try and start firing, but they aren't quite there, yet. Dick says, "Great, I just wanted dumplings, and I get stuck with muggers," he jokes and flashes a grin to Meggan, "Though it seems you got invited to this party too?", landing a strike on an approaching mugger, knocking him to the pavement with a punch to the gut.
Meggan Constantine	Oops. Next time, less feline fury. Meggan throws a look over her shoulder, stretching some sense that the gangster isn't dead, just mired in unconsciousness for a moment. Her worry paints over her face, not exactly the most expected expression for an activist to have. Dick's focus, certainly; maybe some kung-fu experts defending themselves, sure. But few stop to concern themselves over hurting someone. Which makes hitting her awfully easy, really. She isn't protecting herself against it, a fist being better than a knife, but still impacting. The mugger's victory to feel that crunch will stand unanswered as she backs away from the gun, swiveling a little with Dick caught in that circle. Oh, not pretty, not at all. "Invitation for two, fight before your dumplings," she replies, cracking that half-hearted smile rather than the fierce one. A glimpse of sharp teeth passes quick, and finally someone grazes too close for her raw nerves. Black pistol awash in steel can hurt them, bad, but the hands holding it are only -- mostly -- mortal. Here, though, here she is markedly human, and so limiting. Don't know who watches, don't know who judges. She drops down like she intends to cower. It makes the poised kick easier to tangle up, since shooting down might be easy, but doing so when trying to avoid being grappled by the legs, less so.
Dick Grayson	"Man, I thought I only had to pay with cash, today," Dick says as he turns to face the others, though he snarls when Meggan is punched and smacks the guy in front of him in the gut and knees to take him out, stepping on his wrist to remove the gun and kicking it away. Meggan's opponent was not ready for the surprise attack, having not paid attention to her wrecking his comrade's day. He finds himself falling back, his gun goes off into the air, the bullet lodging in a building's brick facade, though he soon drops it, working to try and take control of the grapple.
Meggan Constantine	Meggan doesn't particularly reply, focused entirely on not being a threat but still being a threat, that convoluted role of playing bait. It doesn't come naturally to her. With fists and guns and trouble abrewin', Dick can shine in whittling them down one by one. She just happens to be full of happy coincidence. When the shot goes off, though, maybe the cup shifts to half-empty. "What are you doing?" is a question without expectation of answers, the hooked legs and brawnier arms of the thief pulling them up close and personal. No need to know about the preferred bodyspray (Old Spice) or sweat-thick shirt begrimed by nervousness. Just flipping him over and pounding him into the pavement isn't her style, and that abundant blonde hair, braided or not, is awfully convenient as a handhold. Yanking it as a method of controlling her has its limits, and the guy grabbing her can exert that, but he's face to face with a girl who stares at him for a moment through narrowed, slitted eyes bright as leonine gold. She headbutts him. Like you do, when you're an irate hooligan from England. Like you do. Hurts him more than it hurts her, given the cracked noise.
Dick Grayson	Dick snarls as he engages one, though this one is a little more competent in melee, and also has a knife for Dick to keep track of, and takes long enough for Dick to be caught off guard by the man behind him with an axe handle that is swung into Dick's back, nearly dropping the Wayneling, cushioned only by his heavy leather jacket. Dick goes down to a knee, though kicks out the leg of one of his opponents and strikes the knee of the knife-wielder with his baton. He winces in pain as he gets back to his feet and sees the only remaining threat facing Meggan and moves to cover the ground, but not before her opponent can act. The mugger being attacked by Meggan does go for her golden tresses and yanks hard, but her headbutt dazes him, causing his grip to loosen a little. He didn't intend on fighting fair, so it is fair play for her to respond in kind.
Meggan Constantine	Pulling hair, headbutting, it's kindergarten for violent people taller than five-year-olds. The prolonged fight, even over seconds, isn't good. Most battles can be decided in under a minute, maybe about that, given the number of combatants. Melee and firearms only add to the confusion, especially with a near shot splashing into the pavement. Fragments fly into the air, ringing sounds popping out as no attempt on using a silencer drives home just how risky this business is. With the Wayneling down, Meg isn't exactly paying close heed, being nose to collarbone and fully prepared to give herself a ringing headache by endorsing unpleasant outcomes. She growls low in her throat, the rolling platitude of the savannah, something that might twig the lizard brain to imminent danger. Ancient instincts ought to flare in the presence of a hunter lurking in the dark, rusted and depressed by centuries of civilized living, but risky all the same. Plenty risky. He hauls tighter and she doesn't wait for a kiss of blades or the slug to do the damage. Slender fingers rip free of his shirt and go straight for the neck, closing around until the tips of extended claws prick into flesh, slipping through cotton. "Call them off," she hisses hoarsely, the chaotic bounce of English through modulated vocal chords intentional. He might not be able to say it, not being one inch from choked. Choking, an often fatal condition, is nothing to play with. They can roll around all the thug likes, she isn't letting go, fingers prepared to shift and find his cervical vertebrae. Not to kill but to... scruff? Yes, if she must, she'll scruff while being barred, pinned, anything. Advantage where you get it. "Tell them //stop//."
Dick Grayson	"Fine!" the mugger says hoarsely, the air barely escaping his mouth, "Fine!" he drops his gun on the pavement, and stops resisting, "Everyone get the hell out of here!" The rest scatter. He does not appreciate the claws being anywhere near his neck, "Let me go and I will just go away..." his fear is about as clear as day, as is his sincerity. No more bravado from him or the others, who take to their feet to get out of harms way. No sirens in the distant, but they realized that they bit off a little more than they could chew. Dick finally makes it over to where Meggan has her enemy by the neck, "Woah," Dick says as he suddenly regrets not being Nightwing right now with his cuffs and zip ties, "Want some help?" he inquires as he moves closer, interposing himself between the mugger and his dropped pistol, his baton still in his hand, just in case the guy gets a bad idea.
Meggan Constantine	Will he just go away? Lies can be pulled over Meggan. Sincerity of spat words, though, she has a bead on those like the links tying her to the Earth. She wriggles in reaction to being twisted around, yawing back and forth until the mugger comes to a stop. The gun doesn't even register until it hits the ground; she immediately looks down at herself, checking for blood or some blossoming red flower on her coat that went unnoticed. Enough he might pull away with a few scratches. Enough he could clock her if he tried. The adrenaline screams fight, but she rolls back onto her heels, scrabbling as they end up disentangled. It's a moment to find herself wrapped up in her own arms, squeezed close to the mailbox. Ew, no need to tell if it's ever been washed under there. "He makes me feel sick. All of this." No, no need to think about the dumplings, the broth. Her eyes half-close and she nods to Dick, his shadow flowing between them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting them."
Dick Grayson	The mugger sees his chance to escape. He is outnumbered, outmatched, and quite frankly terrified. The man takes his opportunity and beats a hasty retreat, even with a few scratches, disappearing into a dark alley. Dick collapses his baton and returns it to his belt. "Are you all right?" he asks, his own pain in his back definitely not helping his cause, but he has a habit of worrying for others before himself. "And don't apologize for anything, they attacked us, we were only defending ourselves and we did not escalate the problem." The two of them were not using lethal force, unlike the gun-toting would-be muggers. "Hopefully they learn their lesson and don't try that again." He tries to give a smile, "Thanks for the help, by the way."
Meggan Constantine	Meggan gestures at the fleeing fellow, the others gathering themselves to hasten away to safety and another victim easier to shakedown. Not like they leave their opponents unscathed; scratches, broken skin, bruises all tell their own tales on Dick and her. She sits back, shoulders against the good ol' blue mailbox. Her brow hurts, her side hurts, nothing so aggravated she cannot rise. Cannot consider it, anyway. "It'll heal. I have to apologize, getting in the way." A weak flit of her hand betrays only the uncertainty. "They attacked you and after that, it was just not sitting right. You might've been shot, though, and I am sorry -- I owe you that to say it, know it's said."
Dick Grayson	Dick also takes a seat on the sidewalk, the adrenaline keeping most of the pain at bay, but he is going to hate life tomorrow. "Well, glad to know you're all right, at least," he takes a deep breath. He may be well conditioned, but a fight still takes a lot out of ya. "That's fair. Fortunately, they didn't shoot anybody, but you probably saved me from some serious injuries, so I owe ya one, or several, not sure how it adds up." He grins, "Though I'll make a note to not scrap with you, definitely made a few of those guys regret their life choices."
Meggan Constantine	A loop of golden hair comes unravelled from her braid and Meg is too tired to really care. She hasn't gone into any shutdown mode, but her eyes close for just a moment. His pain is her pain, all said and done. "Too many of them to be good and I don't see anyone rushing out from the restaurant to save us. Had to come up with something. We're both lucky not to be shot." Dick's final comment earns her eyes opening. "Aye, that. You being the face of a movement the corporations and their security don't like, you get pushed around a lot. Good people I went protesting with taught me a few moves to keep myself safe." Close enough to the truth, but it's definitely not all of it. "After things went right to Hell, I had to fallback on that more than I wanted. Fists are the last resort." Not a lie at all, that.
Dick Grayson	"You're right on that account," Dick says, "Fortunately a lot of them tend to be cowards when people fight back. It's easy to be brave if you don't intend on pulling the trigger, though I think a couple of htem would have, given the chance." He listens a little more. "Yeah, I probably should travel with security more, but I value my independence a bit too much, in that regard, also the bike isn't exactly great for dragging around guards," Dick notes and points his thumb back at the motorcycle, "I am sorry that it probably was not how you wanted to spend your evening." His sincerity is evident, "And whoever taught you taught you well, then. Though I do agree with not using violence unless it is absolutely necessary." He exhales and takes a deep breath.
Meggan Constantine	"That gun's a gun. Shoot right and the argument ends," Meggan says. She combs her fingers over her tangled bangs and looks down at her jeans, marred by dirt and who knows what. Oh, that's a mark against her. Could be worse, of course, but it could also be terrible to bleed everywhere. Loosening up her shoulders is going to take a few hours. Too much adrenaline. "You regularly get jumped or this part of the Gotham welcoming committee?" A half-hearted joke is still a joke, cracking the veneer. "It's a lovely bike, though. No wonder they wanted it instead of asking you to give them rides round and round." See, the world hasn't ended. She slips him a smile anyway. "What, you wanted to spend your evening beating up criminals and getting kicked about like a football? Don't try to pull the wool over my eyes, I doubt that was what you had in mind. Probably escaping a double dose of classes and finding the right broth to perk you up. You don't look too bad, long as you sneak in and find a corner spot. Are you going to be all right?"
Dick Grayson	"Never was a huge fan of them," Dick says, "Even when I was on the force." A sigh. He takes the moment to do an inventory of his own clothes, the jacket is scuffed a bit and the knife guy did not get a good cut in, but a couple of glancing blows definitely cut into his jacket a bit. "Not that often, just wrong place at the wrong time, tonight. Though will definitely have to give them a low rating on Yelp," Dick chuckles, and it double at the joke, "Yeah, it's my pride and joy, worked hard to get it up and running to where I like." He nods to Meggan, "You got me, there. Hiding from class work because of course everybody has something due on the /same day/. But I'll be fine. Going to need all the ibuprofen and rest, but I'll recover. Bout as bad as falling when I was training for the circus. Though at least no bones broken this time," he nods, "You eat already?" Dick did not see her come out of the shop.
Meggan Constantine	"Attacking a copper, even worse." Meggan grimaces a touch at the thought. "Best they run before the department comes after them, that won't be pretty." She slowly gathers herself up to stand, not having a great deal of trouble in the process. Benefits to being linked to the earth. "No, don't blame the poor restaurant. Their food is fantastic. Cheap places with good food are hard to find." A protest for the harmless dumplings! "I ate, but burning all that energy, I probably need to go ahead."
Dick Grayson	"OH, I don't blame the restaurant at all, it's one of my favorite places in the world to eat," Dick says, having had many a dumpling there. "Was more commenting on the local chamber of commerce greeting we just got!" He grins, "Well, if you'd like to join me, you're more than welcome to." Dick relaxes his posture and rubs his back, definitely going to have a nasty bruise tomorrow, "The great thing about this place is you can never make a bad choice off the menu."
Meggan Constantine	The slip of a smile gets wider. "Ah, in that case... I shouldn't be smacking people with my head and expect to keep it all straight. Hard enough to keep up as it is," Meggan admits with a sheepish grin, though her eyes close a bit as she feels around for a goose egg. None, of course. "Let's call it fair and square. Tea and a bowl of soup or whatever sets it right. I could stand just to sit for a bit." And that is that.
Dick Grayson	"Yeah, best not to use your noggin' that way!" Dick says and grins back, "But your terms are acceptable. But hopefully nobody snagged the good seats in there!" With that, Dick leads the way to the dumpling shop.