Another night in Gotham

[femme-du-chat.livejournal.com]

There was something satisfying about kicking that man in the face.

It probably had something to do with the girl he'd been assaulting. Technically, Catwoman wasn't sure what, exactly, he'd planned to do to her but she wasn't going to wait to find out. He was the sort that thought he could shove women around because they were typically smaller and weaker than he was. He was huge.

Now he's on the ground. Bleeding. Likely missing a few teeth. The girl is gone and knowing what she does for a living it didn't seem likely she was going to want to stick around to press charges. It was the last thing she'd wanted when she was in a similar situation not all that long ago. Crouching down, next to him, Catwoman has a few hissed words for the man before she leaves him.

A crack of the whip and she's on her way back to the top of the buildings, headed back toward Crime Alley. Leslie's clinic is always a hot spot this time of night. It normally doesn't get ugly, as the people going there need help, not problems, but sometimes people do stupid things. Stupid people make her life more interesting.

A snap of her wrist and the whip releases just before she lands on the rooftop, her thick soled boots impacting with the concrete with a soft thump. It brings a smile to her face, a low pleased sound eminating from her for just a moment.

Some nights, simply getting place to place is the best part.

And a beer....in a tree

[flame-of-green.livejournal.com]

'Tis the season to be with family. If you had some. Any family of hers are in Rio and she doesn't have the means to get there for the holiday celebrations. She has the money, sure, but she's wanted by some very unsavory members of the Las Vegas mob. Being stuck on a plane is not her idea of safety, and flying all the way to South America would be exhausting.

So...she sits in a neighborhood bar, kicking back a couple of beers with a tonic and lime chaser. She rarely drinks, but this is the holidays. It's a time for indulging a little bit.

Back at her apartment, Santa Self has been rather good to her. Presents are wrapped, surrounding a potted pointsettia, waiting for her to rediscover what she bought herself on a crisp Christmas morn. Meanwhile, she is decidely not feeling even the slightest bit sorry for herself. Nope. Not one bit.

"Gimme another, Ed. Add a round for yourself while you're at it."

Nope. Not at all.