Owner	Pose
Meggan Constantine	Sometimes a girl needs a break from the leering, the jeers, the grotesque whistles and comments. In Gotham's less pleasant corners, the young men - usually - throw them with impunity, most of the time. When the odds are five or six toughs to one English girl, it's better to walk on. Sadly, a parade of raunchy descriptions and rude gestures goes a step too far. After three days in a row of the same smirking jerks shadowing her and saying things better left unwritten, patience wears thin. So now, day four, Meggan's devised something of a setup. The greasy spoon Arcade Diner probably never enjoys a high reputation but it's close enough to the Urbarail Station to be on her usual path. Plus, it's cheap. Cheap is good for a starving university student. One sad excuse for a sandwich and soup later, she emerges from the doorway. Coat pulled up to give her some shelter from the persistent breeze, she steps into the grey and frozen world of Gotham in the winter. It's even gloomier than usual, if gloom has a misery index. Here, maybe, it does. But no mistaking that blonde hair, no hiding the profile of her face behind a scarf. She slings her bag over her shoulder and picks a path that slides by the tiny excuse for an urban park where bored young men with a crude habit of shaking down youths for cash and bugging anyone they find worthy of their unwanted attention is often at its highest. There are other favourite haunts possibly to check. The tired Old Greenwich Bar with its sagging green door. The shabby smoke shop probably dealing in more illicit stuff for those who ask. What to do if she finds them is another story.
Selina Kyle	As if Gotham isn't gloomy enough in summer, just wait a couple of months and you might just want to kill yourself. No wonder crime runs rampant here, especially in the winter. But somehow, it's still home to some, Catwoman among them.l And while she is guilty of criminal work herself, at least she keeps her acts to low level thievery, while making a point to avoid harming others if possible. However, she really can't abide by muggers and especially when the odds are against the victim, often outnumbered and overpowered. That's just low.. Maybe that's what caught her attention more than anything else. The young lone woman stepping out of the diner, clearly being leered and trailed by a few punks. What nerve. For now she follows them from the nearby rooftops, keeping an eye on them, sticking to the shadows but not intervening..Yet.
Meggan Constantine	No doubt the city has the highest depression, anxiety, and self-harm rates in the US. At least in the Atlantic Seaboard states. The Big Gloom ought to be another nickname for the place. No surprise it's home to someone English, the place is about as bright as the grey skies of jolly olde England. Greedy hands and unkind words make short work of any vulnerable target willing to walk alone. Groups of two or three hustle through Crime Alley. So Meggan stands out. She's not in fancy clothes or wearing a designer purse, which makes her a lower priority target than some. But her over-the-shoulder bag is large enough to tease away. Her head down and sidelong looks exude a kind of nervousness. Nerves from anticipation or that shiver of fear are hard for some predators to distinguish, the human bully kind, at least. She doesn't note Catwoman on the rooftops, the slithering curve of the street speaking to how old Gotham is. They don't design straight in cities past a certain age. The spiderweb of alleyways makes an enticing selection of places to haul a startled woman with a hand over her mouth. The first of the watchers gives some signal. The second up the street leans out from the chilly entryway to a brownstone and gives the time-worn, "Hey, baby, where you going?" as the entry to something much worse. Wolves' eyes, hooked smiles. They're all profoundly unsettling to someone, let alone an empath. When she can feel their intentions simmering away, it's hard for the blonde not to stumble. Her hands go into her pockets, hastened along. The prowl's on as they follow her like a deer, three behind, four ahead, alerted maybe to that quickened step on the icy path. The first to fall in is Mr. Hey-Baby, trying to nudge her arm. "No need to be rude. Who you think you are?" Bait's set.
Selina Kyle	Catwoman has never been to England, but surely nowhere could be as gloomy as Gotham. But certainly there must be another reason aside from the weather that attracts the criminals. Whatever the case is, Catwoman has no time for pondering as she continues to shadow the nervous girl below, well aware of the wolf pack closing in on her. Three behind, four ahead. She glances around to make sure there are no others following her. But as it is, seven against one are not good odds. "Who do you think YOU are, all seven of you picking on one girl?" she clicks her teeth in disapproval, leaping softly, silently on the ground between the men behind and the girl they are following. "I mean honestly, do you really think she's interested in a bunch of thugs like you?" she makes a dismissive waving gesture with her hand. "Run along now, little boys, before I lose my patience.."
Meggan Constantine	Money, handsome dangerous men, an appreciation for gargoyles? Gotham's got a lot going for it for those of a darker persuasion. Meggan is probably just lost, too sunny, the balance of daylight hours summed up in her person. When the first hand closes around her upper arm, sinking into an autumn-weight coat that's probably two sizes too big for her. Not really a fashionable look! No stylish, glam example of London runways here. Janet Van Dyne would hang her head if she were fighting in a van Dyne original, though. One is already holding her back, two trotting up the snowbank with a look like someone called him to dinner. He's about to open his mouth to unleash some ear-burning comment when someone jumps down. Certainly that gets a look from him, but the faster to respond is the startled tag-along trailing behind in the three behind set. He whirls, almost losing his balance. His friend steadies him roughly, shoving him back, both facing the statuesque woman in black. "Who the hell'er you?" he spits out, covering shock with indignity. It might just work as he puffs up, dressing Catwoman down and up with that lurid glare. Friend beside him isn't quite so naked in his regard, but his shifting posture means spoiling for a fight. "None of your business, move on. She wants some fun, she'll get some fun. Less you're jealous? Enough of you to go round for a bit, you think?" Meggan resists being tugged towards an alley, the one adjacent to the ugly, war-scarred brownstone that somehow survived the past decade's violence and varied strife. They pull harder and she turns her head, blonde locks falling over her face. Green eyes flash slightly, her brows knitted. Worry sketches its marks, though the sharp tension in the two manhandling her might make it possible to overlook only her toes touch the ground. Walking around like a ballerina in Gotham is pretentious enough. In winter? That's another story. She mouths something, 'careful', as the brewing interest around them tips towards a feeding frenzy. No one pays gangs to be smart. Usually.
Selina Kyle	Catwoman is certainly glad she had the foresight to line her costume with a thin layer of wool, which makes it both oozy and sleek when travelling about in blustery winter weather. "Tsk tsk. You boys just won't take no for an answer, will you?" she sighs, clearly disappointed. Unfortunately it seems the men in front of Meggan make a move first, and she swiftly hones in on them first, quickly stepping in front of the other woman to face them, bringing her arm down in a swift forearm strike over the nearest man's arm, right on the inside of his elbow, weak points are crucial. "Back off punks, she's not interested!" She doesn't wait to see if they will comply, but follows with a good stiff jump kick to the guy's mid section, aiming to shove him against the other two men standing nearby.
Meggan Constantine	Isn't everything so much better with cozy wool? Smart cat. Better than trying to stay warm in ceramic, leather, or stretchy superhero tights material. The keeper of the light at Cape Carmine isn't even bothering with gloves, which speaks volumes. Either too proud, too poor, or too unprepared for Gotham winter, that's probably the case. None of the thugs have quite caught on to who they have, though they might regret hitting on someone with a social media presence like the blonde. The black-clad feline vigilante? She's another matter, and they probably will regret this as much as it adds to their street cred to be taken down by someone of Catwoman's stature. The first kicks land with hard smacks, the grunt following after the foot sinks into lean muscle and the limited cushion of a winter coat. The first thug slams back, crashing into the one holding up Meggan and the other guy so eager to pull the cat-burglar down for fun. He gets thrown against the building, the third shaken into the alley. Meggan doesn't really give the four surrounding her from the front much of a chance to converge before she breaks away. She doesn't run straight for the street, either, where freedom on another sidewalk calls. An arm wrapped around the remaining thug trying to haul her by the sleeve locks them both together, and then despite him soundly punching her in the side, he's used as a battering ram to run down at least one of the others nearby. His boots scrape and scrabble on the ice, whereas her feet come down at most twice, that third bound slamming the pair over like bowling pins meeting the force of a throwing axe. "Bloody chav, keep your hands and tongue to yourself!" English through and through, though it has the music of an angry Celt behind it. Welsh, Scottish, Irish Gaelic, if they all melted together, it'd sound something like that.
Selina Kyle	Catwoman arches a brow s Meggan seems more than capable of fending for herself. "Mmm, not bad..Seems I underestimated you, Miss.." however, idle chatter can wait til later. For now, Catwoman focuses on the remaining punks who slipped in behind them, pulling out her whip and snapping it against the ground with a loud satisfying ' crack ' as if in warning as she stalks towards the three. "The name is Catwoman..And if you know what's best for you, you'd be well to flee..Now.." but, she doesn't mind having a little fun first. She smirks as she pulls back her whip, this time aiming to fling it out again at the nearest thug, trying to snag it around his ankle and pull it in quickly to trip him and fling him at another punk if they aren't wise enough to take heed and flee first.
Meggan Constantine	Capable enough to knock people over. None of the finesse that Catwoman herself shows, not in the technique to strike precision blows or guard herself against the sound-barrier crack of the whip. The slither of leather tearing the air apart gets a wolf whistle from somewhere up there. Always someone watching in Gotham. What else do they have for entertainment when the street's so much more interesting. "Meggan?" answers the girl reflexively. She has to pull herself up as another of the bowling quartet lurches her way, trying to grab her in a bear hug. He just about achieves it, too, squeezing and toothy and unwelcome, stinking of a bad aftershave and malice. Or maybe he's happy to use her as a shield against the whip, though he may come to regret it when she half-turns and bares him to Catwoman's strike. His feet aren't quite so useful an inch off the ground of the most desperate kicks and scrabbles. Yanking the one out who just got up and the other trying to flee into the alleyway - for a friend or not - isn't so difficult and they go down, swearing.
Selina Kyle	Selina Kyle sighs, watching as the remaining men either go down or flee. "Cowards." she spits at them, before taking her time to straighten out her costume, carefully folding her whip and replacing it at her hip. "Meggan, hmm? Maybe next time be more careful of your surroundings. Always good to cover pepper spray too although it looked like you could handle yourself.." she looks her over thoughtfully,"Did they hurt you?"
Meggan Constantine	Cowards it may be, for the ones running. The man in the alley hides, and the one grappled by Meggan is held up off the ground with her fingers clamped around him. With a frown on her face, she glances back at Catwoman. "Give me just a moment, will you? I need to put this where he belongs." The protest of 'What!' is a lost cause, especially when she bounds over to the overflowing dumpster and heaves the thug in there among the rotting food and dirty plastic bags. He lands with a yelp, cushioned at least, whereas she stalks out with her hair a bit wild, her jacket askew, but not too worse for wear. "Just dignity and feelings, not much else. I might have a few marks. Better, thanks to you." She sketches a faint smile, though her gaze flits back to the retreating men. "They've caused enough trouble for people as it is. Seemed a bit reasonable to put the fear and some healthy respect into them." She's back down onto the balls of her feet, on tiptoe, but enough to offer a smile. "Pepper spray? That's legal here, innit? Maybe I should. Sight better than leaving them stranded in a rubbish bin. Don't fancy having to scrap with them again, though better me than someone a little more delicate." She smiles brighter still. "Thank you, ma'am. You're as impressive as the rumours and stories say. If our paths cross again, I'll count myself lucky indeed."