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It's too damn hot in the city. Too damn hot means bad things, as any cop knows. Boiling tempers accompany the mercury peaked out around the mid nineties. Fierce words become punches and hot lead.
The simmering discontent in Harlech is one reason Diana is here. She can taste the tight, acrid flavour of violence on the air and see it curled in every tensed muscle or suspicious look. Nor is she really exempt as a target of misplaced anger, but there are bigger problems on her plate.
A man in a leather jacket careening past Amsterdam Avenue on an Indian motorcycle makes short work of stalled land yachts and buses. The bike growls like a caged predator ridden for the savannah's edge, throttle pulled to kick up the noise a notch. Weaving recklessly up onto the sidewalk puts pedestrians at risk. Not that the rider really concerns himself with that. He's got worse problems. His getaway screen isn't doing a great job of actually stopping the two heroes (and then some) in hot pursuit. Backup plan b isn't going very well either.
Chasing a man on a motorbike isn't all that different from chasing one on a horse or on a biplane for that matter. She's going on foot at a dead sprint, slowly closing the distance. Thank God for flat boots. Her shield remains on her back, the golden rope at her waist bouncing along wildly. Diana is closing that distance, but she shouts "Sorry!" to one of the pedestrians at risk of a squashed foot.
Perched atop a sign of a pizzeria, Captain America is looking on towards the oncoming motorcycle. The perpetrator doesn't even realize it at this point, but he's caught in a vice between an Amazonian Princess and the Sentinel of Liberty. As the motorcycle driver gets closer, Steve calmly puts away the binoculars and reaches the railings of the sign-awning. Holding the railings he somersaults downward into a swing, before he drops the rest of the way to the ground and steps out into the street, readying his shield.
The Themysciran princess has her advantages; a lack of lactic acid in her muscles, for example. She dodges past a bus stop while the motorcycle rider veers for an alleyway, getting his foot down and sharply swerving left to cut through a narrower street lined in delis, record stores, and barber shops. She has to praise Hermes under her breath, jumping out of the way of an alarmed driver behind a Chrysler last cool in 1939. His brakes squeal. Diana springs along the sidewalk and keeps after him, reaching for the golden cord at her side. Nothing quite so risky as a bike going down, she unhooks it and sweeps the loose golden edge around and around. This gives Captain America the advantage of advancing from the front and giving her a means to handle that bike. A snap of her wrist sends the free end flying forward, bright as a sunbeam. She aims at the handlebar, wrapping around it in a tight spin. That means time for her to rock back on her heels, trying not to be dragged too far forward.
Steve knows that if he hits this guy in the chest with his shield then he is dead easily. Can't risk it. Once he's sure that he won't be rammed, Cap lowers the shield and pulls into a run. As Diana is yanking with the lasso he is leaping in the air in an attempt to catch the motorcyclist mid flight and pull him away from the vehicle!
|ROLL| Diana +rolls 1d20 for: 18
The tug on the lasso proves skilful, snapping the bike around with momentum bleeding off in a brilliant sheen. More of the cord stretches out and snaps taut, pulled back. Her back curves and shoulders flex, hauling on the bike as she slides across the ground and gets her footing better established. Diana's face hardens with the effort, her lips bleached out.
The rider frantically tries to disengage but he's not getting much help, flung airborne. Already he starts to curve protectively inward to spare his head and neck from a fall. Though he's going to end up in a bear hug or some fate worse than death. A real American hero, oh no!
Mid air, Steve catches him in a barrel roll. The pair circle round and round before landing on Captain America, with his back to the ground. Well, more specifically, his shield which takes all of the momentum from the jump. In a split second, however, Captain America is sliding around, putting the thug on his front and holding him down with a knee. "Diana," he calls. "Did you remember the zipties?" He sighs, "I always forget the zipties."
Diana drags the motorcycle to a stop, though its paint job needs some love afterwards. Another snap of her wrist releases it to lie on its side near the curb, and she smartly races up to the struggling men. Her run becomes a jog, the implacable force of movement drawn to a halt. "Zip tie? What is that?" Her inflected voice is unmistakably something Mediterranean, Greek to the unseasoned ear. She shakes her head slightly, and gathers a length of the cord. "This will do." The poor, struggling fellow is about to receive Hestia's personal blessing, forced to truth but also not getting free of her take on it.
"It's like a plastic handcuff sort of thing. Disposable." Steve looks at her, clearly seeing she doesn't follow and shakes his head. "Nevermind." He backs his knee off the spine of the evildoer and lets Diana get to work. "Nice job on that lasso. That's a pretty good trick."
Plastic handcuffs are lost on Diana for the moment. She shakes her head slightly. "We can look for them later at a store. I will bring them if we need them." Cord clinched tight, it radiates a bit of light but otherwise sheds no heat or gritting discomfort. "Thank you. It's easier to encourage a willful colt than catch a motorcycle." Her mouth widens into a smile. "Still, we have him without too much damage. Would you take off that helmet?"
Mr. Angry Rider snarls and glares at them, but he's not free from the influence of the frosty, cold light of truth.
Captain America nods and reaches down in order to pull the helmet right off of the man's face. He winces a bit, looking downwards, wondering what sort of mother would raise a child who grew up to look that way. Bless her heart, she must have done the best she could.
Her dark hair falling over her shoulder, Diana blows at her bangs and stabilises her position by widening her stance. Her weight is settled in case both of the men try to pull away, though short of three Sherman tanks at full bore, she's not moving at all. "I wish this were unnecessary. It's never too late to change the course of a life." Her expression is mildly saddened, pensive.
"I…I didn't mean it. It just got carried away. Freddie, well, he slept with my wife. And that's why I killed him. That's why I done it. Please don't hurt me!" exclaims the man accused of murder. Captain America lolls his head towards Diana and nods, "Well, at least he admitted it." Seems he doesn't really understand the power that Diana wields.
Murder by broken hearts. Diana's frown is faint but steady, her fists closing a little tighter around the cord. It's not reactive to her in a visible sense, not tightening around its prisoner caught in captive spirals of gold. "Harming another in a fit of rage and passion…" Her expression cools into a measure of sorrow. "Did the man — Freddie — have a family or children? Anyone else who will be impacted by this loss immediately?" She can think of women without roofs, children without food, and the process of justice depriving individuals of more than livelihoods. So much is awry in this. "This is something for the policemen to worry about, now, isn't it?"
"Well yeah, he got his ma who lives in Queens. I'm sure she'll be pretty upset. Din' really think of that before hand," Ralph admits. Steve nods to Diana, "Yeah this will probably be up to them." A small crowd is beginning to circle around the group and the faint sirens of police can be heard in the background.
A sigh would be appropriate right now. A thousand years of distant observation and still, the best Diana can come up with is a pained look to Steve. "Let's turn him over then. I do not see any signs he is working for a great enemy of the people. He made a poor mistake. Justice will be done if he can make amends for this, and find a better way to live rehabilitated in society." Oh, how naive she is, and yet hopeful in the quest way of a woman who sees the personification of justice at the courts and portrayed freely therein. Her expression softens a little at the crowd of folks around. "We can turn over the motorcycle, too."
"Sounds like a plan, right Ralph?" Steve says as he looks down. The captured man just sighs and decides to say nothing as the police begin to pull in. "I hope you're right," Steve says. But he isn't saying he'd bet on it. The cops begin to file in, taking over for the Avengers, giving them their thanks, and Steve and Diana begin to depart from the scene.