2017-01-12 Gotham Streetside Encounter
This scene is rated PG
Warning: N/A
Players: Raven,Priss,Damian,Weston
GMed by N/A
Title: Gotham Streetside Encounter

Before you stands a boy, looking to be about ten years old. His black hair is dark as midnight and slightly unruly but undoubtedly boyish, with a fringe that never quite seems to be entirely tidy. The boy's eyes are an icy blue and set fairly hard for so young a face, offsetting a deeply tanned complexion. Although his face has many distinctly american features, there is a hint of mixed heritage. Nevertheless he closely resembles his father, Bruce.

Dressed for comfort, he wears a red hooded top with grey lining that zips up the middle, over a black shirt. Blue jeans and red sneakers complete the look, although all of it seems to be of high quality and somewhat expensive. Despite his age, he seems to carry himself with a certain confidence, and his eyes never quite stop scanning the surroundings.

Here stands a dark skinned man of African American decent. He his tall some 6 feet 3 inches tall. He is dressed in what looks like Army fatigues. He has a Crew cut hair trimmed to barely a half inch,. He is clean shaved as his face is hard and serious. His brown eyes constantly on alert. he wears a jacket that has on the back proudly US Army Veteran. Along with the symbol of the US Army. He does not have a name on his jacket, under it is a Camo shirt, as his pants show fold lines creased into them from very exact folding. His boots are black and laced high. He stands straight and disciplined. Around his waist he has a belt with several clips on his waist, and on his right hip under his coat in a holster is a semi auto pistol.

A set of clean pressed military Fatigues black boots, pants, camo tee-shirt, and a jacket that has on the back US Army Vetern proudly on the back of the offical US ARMY seal.

This young woman appears to be in her mid twenties. Black hair is cut to fall a little bit below her shoulders and pushed back from her face, tucked behind her ears. She has fair skin and pleasant features - a pert nose above full lips, light blue eyes set beneath thin, well-groomed brows. She is currently wearing lipstick that is somewhere between "pink" and "lilac" in color. Small hoops glint in her ears, silver against the hair. She is tall but slender, the kind of build that modeling agencies like, although she has perhaps a bit too much muscle for catwalk work, especially on her arms. Her voice is between mezzo and alto, and very soft, such that one might have to focus to hear her, giving a sense that she seldom wishes to raise it.

She is wearing a tight dark purple top, with cap sleeves and cropped slightly to bare a bit of midriff. This is above black jeans supported by a black belt with a small aqua-blue stone inset into the buckle. Around her neck is a silver choker with a black stone in the middle. She also wears black ankle boots. Over this all, she wears a three-quarter length, black, duster type jacket.

This tall, exotically beautiful young woman stands nearly six feet tall, her curvaceous form toned and tightly athletic, moving with flowing grace and a prowling command of her environment. Her features are a stunning blend, with waist-length coal black hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back, framing a face with hauntingly deep blue eyes above high cheekbones, a graceful nose, very full lips and a graceful neck, setting off perfectly the burnished caramel of her skin, final proof of her mixed heritage. Her sultry mezzo-soprano voice has a rolling, indeterminate accent which adds to the air of mystery about her.

Artfully ripped faded blue denim jeans encase her legs and arch low on her hips, emphasizing her curves, while a white short-sleeved half-shirt with a purple-accented golden green dragon coiled over the chest covers her torso, leaving much of her flat, toned caramel-colored tummy bare. A pair of ankle-height black boots with two-inch heels and gold-set purple stones cover her feet.

Gotham. The city that…well…it's got a reputation. Today, it's unseasonably warm, though, the snow on the ground melting slightly as various people trudge through it, and there's sunlight. All wrong for Gotham, and the young woman making her way down the street also does not appear to echo that sense of cheer. Trudge, trudge, head slightly down, she looks…well…just a touch despondent. Or maybe she's catching the mood of the dark city.

Christmas has come and gone, and with it the sense of good cheer and good will that had briefly hung over the city. Very briefly… an hour or two, at most… Everywhere the festive lights have come down and people return to the daily drudgery that is life in the city of cities, Gotham. A boy wanders seemingly aimlessly through the streets, sticking mostly to the larger commercial streets, but occasionally wandering down a less brightly lit side street as well. His head isn't quite as far down as most other people's, and like most of his age the boy seems to find the snow an endless source of entertainment. With clothes that are warm but clearly expensive, wrapped up in a green scarf, he seems entirely oblivious to the darkness around him. Occasionally people will stop, look, and then decide they must be seeing things. This can't possibly be the son of the richest man in Gotham, can it? Out on his own? That's almost certainly inviting muggers or kidnappers in this city…

Daylight is not usually a time when one sees Priss out and about, but out and about she is. It's not yet time to get to work, and late enough in the day that she's had her sleep. As such, the jeans-clad young woman - looking quite 'painted into' her clothes - is strolling down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, making towards a small community bodega, crossing two blocks from the 'hotel' where she has been staying in town. Suddenly she stops, turning her head as she feels something … different. Something she has not felt before. Purple eyes narrow, gazing across the way towards a certain seemingly despondent woman. She waits a few moments, and then glances both ways and starts trying to sprint across the street, aiming like a human arrow towards the other woman. She catches sight of the very well dressed boy, but she's already wrapped up and moving. Odd to see a kid that well dressed in this part of town …

And, almost immediately, head snaps up, blue eyes shift to watch the other one approach. Raven too makes note of the boy who's dressed very well, mostly because she has already been told that somebody like that is likely to be robbed…and she can probably help if that's the case. But her interest is far more piqued by the other. It probably looks to outsiders like they just recognized each other from…somewhere.

Perhaps something that is more fitting for a battle field begins to come down the streed. The dark grey Hummer is large and built very much like a tank. At least appears like it. Inside is hard to see due to the tinted windows. And as it finally stops just outside a barely habitible appartment buildings in this areas, it parks as it opens up and out comes a large man of dark skin color, He is wearing army fatigues, boots, and all that as he says. "I'll be right there Grandma." and he closes his door heading around the large Hummer, and as he comes around, The Man opens up the passenger side door and he starts to help out an older lady perhaps in her 60's as he says. "Now The place I showed you is a lot better than living in this area." he says as he helps out his grandmother. As he has a US Army VETERN emblem on his back jacket.

A third head comes up for a moment, spotting the sudden drastic shift in movement patterns. Damian glances over to Priss sprinting across the street like a mad thing, identifies the target of her sudden dash and suddenly becomes very interested in a shop front that has incidentally a good reflection of what's going on. Blue eyes narrow at the approach of the hummer, a vehicle distinctly out of place on these streets, and the boy files away some more mental information. Plates, make, details… The link is tenuous, but there is one, his analytical mind already churning away.

"Weston, You have fussed over me for years living here!" She says and seems rather upset at the idea of being forced to move.

But the younger man says. "Yes, I have and you had RATS in your fridge!" he says rather annoyed.

"Can't you just get me a new fridge?" she counters.

And the two keep arguing and fussing. The military man is polite, calm, and very adamant he is moving his Grandmother out of this area. "Now I am spending the night and I have some friends coming over in the morning to help move you out." he says.

Priss has to dodge and weave a bit to avoid traffic, but she manages not to get run over or go splat, as she makes it to the opposite sidewalk. She catches the midnight blue gaze of the other woman, her own purple orbs wide and intent as she approaches, her steps careful and graceful, but vibrating with intensity. There's an energy about her, a jumble of excited, concerned, confused and curious feelings as she walks towards the other woman. It's not that she's unaware of the rest of the street or its people. She hasn't missed a thing, really; she can't entirely. Yet none is quite so captivating. "Uhm … Excuse me." she offers, once close enough she's not yelling. "I … I don't mean to be rude." She extends her lightly gloved hand. "I'm … Priscilla. Priss to most." . o O (Now what, silly?) She feels so foolish. But what else can she do?

And that gaze hasn't shifted. A hand, extended. She's not in costume, of course, not right now, but the name used is the same - because right now she isn't keeping a secret identity per se. "Raven." It's not quite recognition. This woman has power, but it's not, no, demonic power. It's something…else. Meta, perhaps.

The two unknown faces get names now, helpfully supplied by themselves or loved ones. Military veteran is Weston, Young Woman A is Raven, Mad Young Woman B is Priscilla, Priss to her friends. Noted. Damian doesn't glance away from the window, he can see and hear perfectly from where he's standing.

As he closes and Locks the hummer he turns on the security system. And it beeps loudly. Moving around the area of course, with a powerful looking vehicale of course it is gonna attract attention, including from a group of punks known to steal cars and trucks and break them down. Of course they are known to just take keys from people. So single military man, old woman, awesome looking car? Easy mark. And they begin to approach Weston and the old woman, "Nice Truck." one says. "Nice night for a Drive don't you think?"

Weston turns to face the punks as he puts his hands on his hips and on his belt holds a gun. In a holster, several clips of ammuttion as he says. "Yes it is a nice night, let's keep it that way." He saws glaring at them, Hand is dangerously close to that weapon, the He stands there holding h is ground as he holds his hand ready to draw the weapon. "Why don't you three take a hike while I take care of my grandmother." he says. Ok military man, Armed. Now confronted with an armed man who has a look that says he will shoot them if they start anything.

Of course criminals being cowards and bullies decide to take a hike as he watches them leave. "James Weston," the old woman says. "What has gotten into you?" She says.

"Grandma, They are punks and cowards. You stand up to them, and they slink away. Try to gather reinforcements and come back to cause problems." he says and then pulls out his Cell phone and makes a Call, "Hey jack, it's me James. I hate to do this but can we move the time up to tonight to get my Grandma outta here?" He pauses, "Locals causing problems. Ok thanks." he says. And the older woman looks indignate.

Interesting name. Priss inclines her head a bit towards Raven, shaking the hand when the gesture is returned. "I … I hope you won't mind me saying this. Uhm. You … you feel different?" Priss offers, tense. She's worried about how this will go. But she's trying. She's never had a conversation like this with anyone who didn't know her, her ways, her talents. But then she feels tension; anger; fear and the bitter resentment that follows. "Sorry." she murmurs to Raven, head turning, watching the scene unfolding on the street. That's not good. Her hand goes to her jacket pocket … but then the men back off and depart. She considers the other man, still on the street, and his grandmother. Mmm.

Make that a positive tick on the psychological profile. Damian's eyes follow the action through the reflection of the window, turning his head slightly to watch it first hand from the corner of his eye. It's not easy keeping track of several conversations at once, but he's had a great deal of experience. Enough to see that Priss clearly had some sort of weapon stashed in her jacket. Or would that be her phone to call the police? Probably the former, the boy decides, turning his head to face the window again. Given the time he has spent watching the street from this particular point, and figuring that his current target may very well be enough of a professional to spot such things, Damian starts to move along again, a bit closer to Raven and Priss, turning to look into a different shop window after a short while.

Raven nods. "Different, yes." Then her eyes flick to Weston. She can sense that conflict - the grandson's determination, the grandmother's stubbornness. They would probably be mad if she pointed out that they were most similar. She too relaxes slightly as the men back off. "Cowards," she says, quietly. "Cowards and troublemakers."

Finally managing to get his Grandmother settled down he wil help her upstairs like a good grandson should. Watching her steps as he smiles. He is so gentle and tender with her considering her age. But she's not some old crone. She moves healthy and up the stairs. Looking around the place to get an idea of who or what is in the area he takes note of the two women, and the boy who is dressed so well he stands out like a sore thumb. He doesn't linger his gaze, but he doesn't stay too long helping his Grandmother into her home.

Priss cannot help herself; she glances at Raven. "They are cowards. And they're angry at being driven off. They have every intent of getting help and coming back, with dark intent." She frowns, an expression that is not natural to her lovely features. She worries at her lip a bit, considering. "I don't mean to upset you." She can tell the other is sensitive to emotions, and her own are powerful - far beyond what any one person's emotions should be. And she is tensely watchful, and a bit angry. She hates bullies with a fierce passion. She starts towards the edge of the sidewalk, considering crossing the street. There is a ferociousness to her will.

"Then perhaps we should at least warn them," Raven says. Her accent, by the way, is completely unplaceable, although her English is clear. She does not *seem* bothered by Priss' emotions - and her own are under good control now, she's *focused* and watching the young man helping his grandmother.

There is, perhaps, only one person left on this street who would register as being nigh entirely emotionless. Watching the man watching him, Damian knows he's been burned and moves away, eyes now locked on the thugs who'd just tried to carjack Mister Weston and his elderly grandmother. Perhaps a touch of emotion there… Going to get help and coming back in force? Not on his watch. He picks up the pace just a little, shadowing the hoodlums and then… slips into the shadows. Just gone. Solid gone.

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