[This city hurts Diana in a way that is almost familiar, yet still new. Many streets are dirty, many of the buildings broken, and it's hard not to think of the villages they'd passed through on their way to the Front, especially Veld. But there's something darker at work here, with a stranglehold on the deepest parts of the city that the "Guardian Alliance" has not been able to break. It isn't our problem, Kafka isn't a metahuman.
Not their problem, perhaps, but it's certainly the people's. Which means it's hers, too.
She wears her armor, the red and gold metal shining and so at odds with the neon-lit gloom of this place. The goons aren't difficult to find; they seem to be at every other street corner, harassing people for money, jewelry, anything they think they can get their hands on. The first few, she tries reasoning with; asking them to leave the frightened couple alone, to go home. They respond with knives that snap against her bracers. Very quickly, she realizes that words will not serve her here, and it breaks her heart a little.
Diana methodically makes her way through the streets, grasping collars, flinging men across roads, against brick walls. Enough to scare them, to send them fleeing. She only offers a word or two to those she rescues before moving on. Eventually, she finds a bigger group, and that is where Arthur finds her.
Her arms are already raised defensively, ready for whatever they think to throw at her. But her head whips around at his call, and it takes her a moment to register what he's said. Her gaze quickly scans the men around her, before finally resting once more on Arthur, brows drawn together.]
What does size have to do with anything? [She sounds baffled, and not frightened at all, despite the looks of her situation. The goons seem just as stunned that someone has dared interrupt them a second time, and have yet to move.]
seedy underbelly
Not their problem, perhaps, but it's certainly the people's. Which means it's hers, too.
She wears her armor, the red and gold metal shining and so at odds with the neon-lit gloom of this place. The goons aren't difficult to find; they seem to be at every other street corner, harassing people for money, jewelry, anything they think they can get their hands on. The first few, she tries reasoning with; asking them to leave the frightened couple alone, to go home. They respond with knives that snap against her bracers. Very quickly, she realizes that words will not serve her here, and it breaks her heart a little.
Diana methodically makes her way through the streets, grasping collars, flinging men across roads, against brick walls. Enough to scare them, to send them fleeing. She only offers a word or two to those she rescues before moving on. Eventually, she finds a bigger group, and that is where Arthur finds her.
Her arms are already raised defensively, ready for whatever they think to throw at her. But her head whips around at his call, and it takes her a moment to register what he's said. Her gaze quickly scans the men around her, before finally resting once more on Arthur, brows drawn together.]
What does size have to do with anything? [She sounds baffled, and not frightened at all, despite the looks of her situation. The goons seem just as stunned that someone has dared interrupt them a second time, and have yet to move.]