Why Is A Raven Like A Writing Desk?

[Barbara Nolan]

Barbara scooped up her purse as the vigilante dealt with the flannel wearing fat man, turning quickly with the knife in hand to deal with any remaining troublemakers. The underpass was nearly empty, just the groaning victims of the caped woman (woman?!) remained.

She flipped the knife closed and shoved it deep into her bag. There were a few items scattered on the street, and she gathered them as quickly as she could. The white business card was lying in a puddle, nearly falling apart as Barbara rescued it. She squished it in her hand, the paper pulping easily, and found that there was something still solid in the middle. Questions would have to wait, however, as the vigilante was turning her attention to Barbara.

"Uh, thanks for the help..." Barbara flicked some hair out of her eyes, noticing how dirty her hand was. Maybe this woman wasn't helping her. Maybe she was considering making her the next target for those guns or whatever the things were. Barbara swallowed nervously, her fingers working the strip of flexible plastic out of what remained of the business card in her fist.

[Huntress]

As quick as they'd come, the predators dispersed, forced to acknowledge that an apex predator had arrived. Helena watched and waited until there was nothing in the shadows except shadows. Once she was satisfied that she and the girl were alone, Helena returned both crossbows to the holsters on her thighs. As she secured the weapons into place, she lifted a sharp glance at Barbara.

"You shouldn't be out here in your own. Gotham isn't safe at night."

[Barbara Nolan]

"No shit." Barbara said. She looked around, and then back at the costumed woman. "Sorry if I distracted you from something important."

Something about being told off rubbed her the wrong way. Like she was a helpless child or something. Barbara hitched her purse on her shoulder and turned to stalk back into the rain from under the bridge. How was she going to hide the state of her clothes from Aunt Barbara?