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Summer in the city. In the land of Tony Stark and empire building, in a place where the uneasy meeting of money and state collide in all the worst possible ways. There's a good reason for Scarlett, bohemienne and someone who doesn't fit at all, to lightly mosey instead of tread commandingly. It helps she wears sunglasses and a large hat that sing of European chic at a time when those capitals buzz with opinions about a war that was unpopular from the start and other matters besides. She doesn't slink, not after what the world has thrown at her. She does, however, stalk a kind of quarry hard to find. It's probably not a shawarma. Probably.
People dress teh same, walk the same, look the same, feel the same here. Except for people like Scarlett, or like Tigra. The latter is not hiding her female form today, as she sits in an outside eating area near the Shawarma Kingdom, waiting for it to open for an early lunch. A broad brimmed green hat helps keep the sun out of her eyes, a lighter green poet's blouse billows about her torso while still clinging in places, and darker green very loose fitting pants, tail tailored, combine with sandals to complete the outfit. So she's not hiding, but is perhaps downplaying a bit, as she indulges in people watching with her feet propped up shamelessly on an iron fence.
It's a city full of all sorts. Tall and short, fat and thin, dark and light. In the end of the day, one more redhead should not stand out. Pretty young lady, chic fashion, ability to devour each and every one of those souls closed around her on the sidewalk: what's not to like? Except that long gauzy sleeves and tights stop that from happening immediately, from the risk of danger being so apparent. She swivels around past a food cart, wrinkling her nose. Hot dogs? Never. Only her children might want that, and it's not at all her nature to indulge. She instead cuts over the street, ignoring the cars that might be slowed by her presence, and lands upon the sidewalk lightly enough. Nothing to indicate she can fly, and outstrip the best jets in the air force at the moment. Instead there is a quickened two-step getting her to the rail, which she promptly manages to knock over by resting her hand on the corner. It lands with a clang on the ground, and the diners cut off from the street now have no such flimsy barrier. Scarlett stares at it blankly. Then anyone else, cat-like. She meant to do that, totally. "This is a building violation, I'm sure." God help her.
The fence goes down with a clatter, and yet somehow, Tigra's feet remain in the air, held up where they had been. She tilts her hat back a bit to look at Scarlett, her tailtip giving a small little twitch. "You know, I thought I saw some rust on it," she says as she casually lowers her feet and sits up straight. "Such a shame to see that in our fair city."
Feet still in the air, woman still holding out her hand. The metal has given way beneath the black paint, at least, the banister showing at least a bit of rusting. Nothing like open proof of misdemeanors performed by the weather. Now if only they had Ororo or Thor, this problem wouldn't exist at all. "Terrible, isn't it?" Her gaze flickers too green, hypersaturated, and the upward lift of her smile is a dangerous little addition. Where were they? Right, trouble. "How have you been? I may have to buy you another drink, for interrupting your poor lunch."
"I've been well, thank you," Tigra answers with a smile in her own, unnaturally green eyes, if differently unnatural. She pivots towards the table and gestures to an empty chair. "Join me. No tribute is needed," she says with mock-pomposity, "for your presence is never an interruption, but a pleasure."
"Tribute is always necessary, especially when not called for. Otherwise it's an expected present, and giving gifts out of the blue is always enjoyable." Scarlett drops down into that welcome seat after brushing off the glares from other pedestrians and diners. It's a suit your own self kind of place, though they might come out for an Avenger. If, somehow, they clued in the girl in the big hat is one at all, though they look just about identical. Her outfit is practical rather than costumey, like so many of their kind. "The interruption wasn't quite intended. It looks as though the city isn't afire or falling down, so I can worry about it later."
"For the moment, at least," Tigra says, looking wry. It's New York. If it's not afire on falling down, that means it's on the verge of doing so soon. "I'm a little concerned, though. Someone with ray guns around, even if it sounds like they're pretty shoddily made. Have you heard about those?"
"For now is the best we can hope for." Laughing softly, the redhead sits back against the chair and crosses her legs, adopting a comfortable position. More comfortable than something different, at least. Her heel bounces slightly, giving an impassioned tremble of motion that never leaves. Something brings out a curious look from the girl, though. "Ray guns? Who on earth would want to make something like that? Never mind, I can name like ten different groups. But, no. I was on a sabbatical in the high country near Four Corners. Did you know how beautiful it is?" The faintest smile follows. "But unfortunately we've got something a little more exciting."
Tigra casually sets her elbows on the table, laces her fingers, and rests her chin in the mini hammock thus created as she listens to Carlett. She grins at the mention of how many groups might make ray guns, and of course very carefully doesn't look at the Stark Industries building. "Four Corners? I'm not familiar with that. What's this about exciting?"
There isn't any hint of Scarlett ordering food, but that's no surprise. "The Four Corners, where Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah meet. Beautiful country. I went to some of the Navajo Nation's sacred lands wth permission. The four mountains of creation. It's breathtaking to see. Nothing much exciting there, I fear." She gestures at the street. "Ray guns, though. Who and why? What the heck happened there?"
"Oh, I tihnk i've heard of that place," Tigra says. "Place where you can stand in all four states, something like that?" she asks, and thens hrugs. "Don't know who, let alone why, other than why anyone wants bigger, better weapons. I'm going to go the pawn shop later, see if I smell anything interesting. Speaking of interesting, wat's the four mountains of creation? I don't know much about the Navajo."