1964-05-29 - Picking Pockets
Summary: Roy acts the gentleman, Tanya acts the lady — oh, let's be honest, someone gets beat up and someone else ends up pants'd in the middle of the street.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
tanya roy 

Even incognito, Roy Harper travels with emergency gear. It's a pretty discreet kit — it looks like a repurposed guitar case, though it's a little too short for a proper full-sized guitar. His clothing's pretty discreet as well — leather jacket, jeans, combat boots with a low sole. Nothing that'd stand out in a crowd.

But even out of uniform he's on alert, and upon hearing the sounds of a muffle, scuffling dispute down the alley, his neck cranes towards the sounds. With a quick glance around to see if anyone's nearby, Roy starts creeping down the alley on suddenly silently boots, one hand disappearing into his pocket and palming a pocket-sized handgun. Not as effective as a bow, in his hands… but Roy sure can get it drawn and shooting in a hurry.


There's the sound of grunting, both ends of the vocal spectrum at baritone and alto, and a brief cease in sound for panting. Then follows the brutal sickly impact of some hard, bony angle of the body into a giving soft pocket of tissue or muscle and the slow slide of fabric down the alley wall.

The female's voice is low and cold as the grave, words separated by harsh pants. "And if — I catch you — dicking around in — this neighborhood again, Giles — " There's the sound of a body hitting the wall again and a forced cough. The threat is delivered too quietly to be picked up over the hissing of a nearby steam vent and the rumble of a passing delivery truck.

Another sound of impact and suddenly, into sight, is flung a rail-thin body. The man tumbles away from Roy, farther down the alley, splashing through a puddle or two, before finding his feet. He groans and stumbles to his feet, clutching at his lower ribcage. Stepping into view not far behind, placing herself between the fearfully-retreating strange and the Red Arrow incognito, is a very familiar face — well…back. In a go-go dress that flirts with mid-thigh and knee-high boots in brown, Tanya looks incapable of doing much damage.

Except she just handed this man's butt to him and allowed him the pleasure of an overnight stay at the hospital. Flexing hand open and closed, she sighs and half-turns, placing herself in profile to Roy. With chin tucked, she pulls a strand of loose hair behind her ear and has a moment of calm.


Roy steps into the shadows reflexively when the man staggers around the corner, mostly flung and clearly badly injured. He's not truly invisible, but he holds himself to perfect stillness and at a quarter profile to Tanya. Already, he's slipped a domino mask onto his face, too, so there's little of the features of a person for her sharp eyes to pick up on.

He barely keeps surprise from his face at how ably she handles the man solo. Giles is no prizefighter, but no one lasts long the street if they can't handle themselves— and Tanya seems to be handling herself just fine.

Roy stays quiet, though, to see what happens next.


He gets to see her wince and flex those same fingers again. Apparently, she made solid contact with something solid in the process. The knuckles are scuffed and starting to weep blood in places. She's without any form of gauze or bandaging, so Tanya simply glares half-lidded at the minor wounds.

"Stupid son of a bitch…should have nutted him. He deserves it." Her mutter isn't too loud, but the acoustics of the alley help it to reach Roy's ears. "Gotta let Mazie know her girl is safe now." This seems to bolster her spirits for how her shoulders relax a bit more.


"Well. If you're gonna put them down, put them down hard," Arrow remarks, from the shadows. He turns slightly towards Tanya, one hand still resting in his jacket pocket. "Half measures don't get their attention."

Roy walks past the injured man as he crawls and moans into the shadows, clearly badly regretting most or all of his life decisions up to that point. The fellow gets a kick to the shoulder that sends him sprawling, in passing, and Roy stops an arms-length from Tanya, giving her a once-over. "Looks like you don't need rescuing this time. Nice boots, but you're overdressed for the slums," he points out. "People see you here and they might get the wrong idea about what you're up to."

"Though that doesn't seem to bother you much," he concedes, looking at the injured man.


The sniff and spin about, hands up and ready to brawl again, brings Tanya to see…a man wearing a domino.

Christ chex — someone's messing with her karmically.

With a huff, she watches him approach with arms now folded and those bloodied knuckles hidden away. She doesn't mind the additional trauma dealt to the bedraggled Giles, who at this point has truly had enough. He regains his feet and stumbles away from the two strangers intending to do him more bodily harm if he even so much as breathes wrong. Tanya watches this one go, olive eyes gimleted and cold, before looking back at the man in the mask.

"You have no class," she mutters, " — and let me guess: The Lone Ranger today, hmm?" She finds his eyes within the domino's mysterious covering and holds them, arching a slim brow. "You're missing the Stetson. And the charm."


"Left them in my other pants," Red Arrow rebuts, blandly. "Little girls like you shouldn't be picking fights in a dark alley," he tells her. He walks a circle around the woman, just outside of arm's reach and keeping his right side bladed away from her. "But I'm starting to think you aren't just some innocent bystander, huh? Pretty girls who blunder into side streets don't stay pretty for long, and this is the second time I've caught you somewhere decent people don't have any business. Something you wanna tell me, lady? You some underworld kingpin and I'm just a patsy who doesn't know it yet?"


Those eyes narrow further, lined in their dark lashes and the perfect smudging of smokey shadow.

"You're a patsy alright," grumbles Tanya, rolling her eyes. "I could be some pretty girl who just doesn't take anyone's bullshit. However, yes, you're right. I'm not decent and trying to make this city more so." She waits until he's within clear sight before stepping away from the shark-like circling, walking loose-limbed for the far exit of the alley as if she has an agenda that includes those hips that don't lie.

"You coming, Silver, or what?" she calls back over her shoulder. It's an art, stepping around and across the puddles as to not muddy her boots any more than they currently are. The gum will take forever to get off the soles, ew.


"If I'm the Lone Ranger, that makes you… Tanto?" Red Arrow asks, slyly jiving at Tanya's back as she walks (sways) away. She's a pleasant enough sight to follow, so he makes no great effort to catch up to the woman, moving with his hands still resting loosely in his pockets as she moves to leave the alleyway.

"Somehow I doubt you're working the dealers just to clean the city up," he chivvies her. "Not in that outfit, anyway. Skirts aren't really good crimefighting gear. Cute," he concedes. "But not practical."


"Ah-hah. Ah-hah-hah," is what he gets over her shoulder again. They reach the end of the alleyway and, of course, are the recipients of many a disapproving look once reaching the sidewalk. The dress, in its current cut with ample…assets on view, does Tanya no good in convincing the general public that she was, in fact, beating the hell out of someone who desperately deserved it. Roy's presence doesn't shift this view any further either.

She speaks sotto-voce, face turned towards him, "I normally wouldn't hunt child molesters in a dress, no, but I left my full-body leathers at home. Bastard's lucky that I didn't reach for my boot knife." Very lucky, in fact. The blade itself is laced with a rather deadly neurotoxin. "I've got to speak with Mazie." Her lips thin in a momentary show of worry before she schools her face to passivity once again.


Red Arrow pauses a step when she faces him, listening, and his face grows flinty. He glances over his shoulder down the alley. "Hmm. Should have done something a bit longer-term than a broken arm," he grunts at Tanya. "Guys like that don't tend to wake up and see the light. Bury him in a dumpster, it'll be two weeks until the cops find him — if anyone even reports the body," he advises her.

A moment passes, he gives her a speculative look, and something dry enters his tone. "Full-body leathers, huh?" he asks, a suggestion of something bantering in his words.


Holding those inquisitive eyes, Tanya gives him a flat look that slowly melts into something utterly provocative, curled lips and all.

"Sometimes I even need help zipping them up," she murmurs with a brush of a sizing look from his knees back up to his face. She quickly switches to business again even as she suddenly takes his arm. They're now the couple out for a stroll in the sunlight, enviable for their poise — even if the domino mask is a little weird. She leads the way, heading down the block and towards a slightly-more monied part of the area. It allows her to continue speaking quietly to him. "He has a floating rib set to puncture a lung if he even laughs. I told him that I'd kill him if I saw him again anyways. He knows the risk and I always get what I want." She seems to take a rueful pleasure in telling Red Arrow this by the little wrinkle of her nose. "If I want him dead, he will end up dead."


"Should have killed him," Roy admonishes her, bluntly. "Or left him with a permanent limp. Something that'll ache in the winter and remind him the error of his ways."

He accepts Tanya's companionship easily enough, but there's clearly a hard streak in the man, with his casual preference for extreme violence. He walks with his hands loose in his pockets, letting Tanya guide him towards the better part of the city. If he is distressed by the odd looks, it doesn't show.

"So, what. This personal for you? Or are you just one of those people with nothing better to do on a Monday night?"


"It becomes personal the moment someone lays hands on a child like that."

He doesn't get much more out of her after this. Tanya strides on, guiding him around the corner and down yet another block. The houses are small here, tucked between larger buildings, and the apartments are cramped even if they're nice. She pauses in front of one particular building, an apartment complex, and looks up at her companion-in-arm. "Wait here a moment. Please," she adds with noticeable discomfort at having to ask. Damn you, social nicities.

Red Arrow won't have to linger any more than two to three minutes. She disappears inside and returns shortly afterwards. A bit of a flush colors her cheeks, giving them a glow, as if she had just run up and down steps in those boots. Closing the main door behind her, she indulges in a little stretch before folding her arms again. "Ow," she hisses, bringing forth the buffed knuckles into view. "Stupid…I should have asked." Recrimination for herself is barely audible.


Weirdly, the vigilante is still there when she returns. And he's removed his domino mask, tucking it into a pocket. Seems that the walls have come down just a little — perhaps some professional respect at play, seeing her handle a criminal as ably as she did? Or maybe it's the 'please'.

Either way, his thick shoulders rest against the stairwell to her building, one boot propped up next to his knee as he waits for her.

At the hiss of pain, he glances down at her hands, and deftly catches one slender wrist before she can tuck it away. He's strong but doesn't put overmuch pressure on her skin, examining the wound with professional detachment. "Shouldn't have punched him with bare hands," he advises her. "You need some rubbing alcohol on those, or they'll get infected. Use your elbows, or better yet, a piece of rebar if you're gonna hit someone," he tells her, eyes flicking to the ruddy glow on her high cheekbones.


Maybe some small child came along and asked him why he was walking about like the Lone Ranger. Kid probably stood there and stared up at him with wide-eyed, prying curiosity and didn't scram until Red Arrow raised his voice that third time.

Or maybe not, who knows.

Tanya pulls back at first, all instinctive escape in mind, but stills her reactions once she realizes that he's not causing her harm — rather, he's at least acknowledging it and offering advice. She scoffs quietly at the comment involving rebar, slouching to rest weight on one leg in a classic demi-contrapposto stance.

"I normally wear gloves and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. He looked exactly like Mazie described him, down to the scar over his left eyebrow." Her expression grows detached, nearly reptilian in its lack of emotions, but this passes as she brings herself to the present again. "I've got rubbing alcohol at home. I'm a big girl, I'll make it." Dry humor inserts itself into her tone along with a wry little self-congratulatory smile as she meets his eyes again.


Roy releases her wrist just a second before the twitching discomfort under her skin would incline her to pull it back, letting her fingers slide away before returning his hands to his pockets. He looks at Tanya, levelly, one brow moving a few hairs upwards when she insists she can handle herself.

"Suit yourself," he says, rolling one leather-clad shoulder in a shrug. "You've still got a lot to learn about street fighting if you wanna go toe to toe with the scum out here. Giles is a lightweight and drinks," he admonishes her. "Trying to deal with some of the hardened criminals — the ones who've done real time at the State penitentiary — you're gonna need more than harsh words and some girly punches to scare them off."


Tanya folds her arms and gives the man, now…unmasked — huh — an unimpressed look.

"Look, buddy. Girly punches? I feel like you're asking me to lay the whammy on you and I don't want to do that. You've been a perfect gentleman so far and I'd hate to ruin that pretty face of yours." Another wince for how the fabric of the sundress catches at her knuckles, but she stubbornly keeps him away from the space between them now. "I can handle myself just fine." A little lift of her chin to accent the statement, for all that she's five feet and seven inches to his shy of six feet.


"Lay the — " Roy looks amused at the bluster coming from the girl, as she is forced to both get on her tiptoes, and look up at him to try and stare him down. He folds his arms across his chest with lazy confidence, one brow hiking just a bit. "Don't get me wrong, you're a knockout dame, but you need to pack on a few more pounds of muscle if you wanna start going toe to toe with the guys outta your weight class," he advises her.


"I could go toe to toe with Captain America and bring him to his knees."

And isn't this the statement of the century?!

"I ain't — am not afraid to take on anyone outside of my weight class because it's not about weight. The bigger they are, the harder they fall." Her grin is more snarl than anything else. Dear me, he's pricked her pride something good at this point. "At least tell me your name before I drop you where you stand. You took the mask off, after all." A familiar single-finger point from the safety of her folded arms in that direction before it hides away again.


"Sure you can," Red Arrow says. "I mean, lookit you. He's got all the height, the weight, the combat training, the super-serum thing… who knows? He might show up overconfident… and drunk… and you might get a good lick in."

He brushes past her as he speaks, half turning, then steps as if he's going to just walk away from her entirely.

"Tanya, huh? That's a pretty name," he says, holding up her ID card— which he'd neatly lifted off of her. He examines it front and back, then expertly flicks it just outside her reach, so she'll have to lunge to catch it.

"Guess I'll see ya around, Tanya," he remarks— but he takes advantage of the distraction to step smoothly into the street, deftly avoiding traffic as he heads towards the sidewalk opposite her abode.


"You — " Stepping into her personal space and glancing along her body gives her reason to retreat again, putting necessary space between her and the man now most definitely pegged for a possible whammy. Her olive-green eyes go wide momentarily at the sight of her ID card between his fingers — how did he get it out of the insert of her brassiere?! — and then she's grabbing at it, absolutely needing to drop to one knee to pick it up from the cement.

"That's it," she growls, rising to her feet with card tightly clutched in her hand. Her sclera flood black and the skim of Darkforce rises from her skin like a shadowy mist.

Swish, away it darts towards the confidently-striding man in the middle of the roadway deftly dodging cars, and with all of the delicate deftness of his petty theft, the end result is unequivocally a pants-ing.

Tanya curls a pleased smirk and calls out sweetly, "You definitely left your charm in your other pants."


"Shit!" Roy yelps, almost tripping and stumbling. Cars blare and honk at him, and someone laughingly swerves around a corner. Tanya would learn a few things about Roy: primarily, that he wears boxers. Two, he's surprisingly agile, because instead of faceplanting, he rolls, grabs his pants, and hikes them up securely. With a quick leap, he's out of traffic, and inspecting the neat slash in his pants that bisects his belt and opens a two inch hole in the waistline.

He turns to look at Tanya with narrowed, irritated eyes, but there's hardly a good rejoinder to -that-. The archer gets his clothing settled, and with as much dignity as he can muster, he ducks into an alleyway— presumably to get out a sewing kit and mend the split in his trousers.


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