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Despite her loud and aggravated protests to Dinah and Zinda about 'wasting her time', with the exception of the first ten minutes in the club to get oriented, Babs has spent the entire time out on the dance floor. She's currently working on her fourth dance partner, the previous three all having ~~been wimps~~ taken a breather.

There are few things Barbara Gordon likes more than dancing, and even fewer things that she can still do in the chair. And her enjoyment is evident in the absurdly large grin on her face.

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"I've not been in town long," 'Robyn' admits, and wonders if she should be slurrier. Hmmm. "Jus' got in t'day."

Better?

His grin grows a little bit wider, and he rubs a hand over his freckled face.

"Really? Cool. Where are you from? I heard things are really nasty outside of Kansas. You could've been hurt."

Lucky he met her, really! He is a Big Brave Protector.

Or something.

"Gotham," says 'Robyn'. "'Scept it's all in ruinsh now. So I came here."

Woe! Angst! is poor defenceless 'Robyn'.

"Aw, no!" He's SO SAD for her.

"Do you need a place to stay? I could help you out, if y'like."

It's probably meant to be a charming, helpful grin.

Nestled innocently in her lap, Sparrow's hand clenches into a fist so tight the knuckles turn white. She really wants to smash that irritating grin into next week.

"Would you really?" she asks, saccharine sweet.

"Well, sure." Gringringrin. Kind of like a shark sensing blood in the water, really. "We're all in this together, y'know? It's the end of the world, the least I can do is help you out. My friend over there, he's staying with me too, so you wouldn't even be alone. I wouldn't want you to feel weird about being the only one."

The 'friend' nods and gives her a wave that isn't at all creepy. ... well.

Sparrow hasn't the slightest idea how sweet, naive and drugged 'Robyn' should respond to that, so she bluffs.

"Oh, that's a relief," says she. "That's really sweet of you both..."

She leans against the bar, trying to appear woozy.

"We're just nice guys, what can I say?" Sam says, sliding an arm around her waist in a gesture that's surely meant to be suave. "Hey, you look kinda tired. Wanna head off now?"

Sam is the most pathetic attempt at a human being Sparrow has ever encountered, she decides. And that's really saying something.

"D'you mind?" she slurs. "I don' wanna mesh up your nigh'..."

She adds in a lolling of her head, and leans against his arm. It's the worst performance of her life.

It's okay, because he's not the brightest, either.

His friend comes up beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and bombarding her with the smell of cheap deodorant and hair gel. "It's okay, we'll look after you."

"Yeah, we'll treat you right."

"Oh boy," Sparrow - not Robyn - mutters. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Aw no, really? Quick, c'mon, we'll get you outside, c'mon ..."

Slimy arms steer her through the crowd and towards the door.

The boys may have exchanged an unsubtle high-five over her head, too.

Really ... not very bright.

Sparrow disguises her facepalm as a sign of feeling woozy again, and allows herself to be steered, constantly reminding herself that she's not supposed to be leading them out.

The bouncer gives her a look that's half concern, hlaf annoyance that she got in the club anyway.

"Time you took her home, boys," she says.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam grins at her widely, until his friend smacks him behind Sparrow's head to shut him up. Then they're outside into the cool night air, the breeze sharp and fresh on their faces. A little way away a blonde girl is hunched up on the kerb, her friend hailing a cab; there's a couple of nondescript party girls falling over themselves to chat up a guy in a black leather trenchcoat; a handful of guys sporting bruises are skulking off down the way.

Apart from that, they're just about alone out here. And the two boys don't let go of her, leading her firmly towards an alleyway where they'll be even more alone, both of them grinning openly now.

About halfway to the alley, Sparrow stops pretending to be drunk and woozy; she wasn't any good at it anyway. By the time they start heading into the dark, she's walking upright, the only act being that she hasn't tried to shrug off thir hands on her waist and shoulders.

"You guys are real gentlemen," she's saying.

"Aw, thanks," Sam says, beery breath hot on her neck.

The unintroduced one, who's evidently the smarter of the two, lifts his hands off her and eyes her warily.

But she's just a kid, what's she gonna do?

Sparrow ignores Sam for now, and grins vicously at his friend instead. It's nice when the penny finally drops, isn't it?

"All right," she says, legs slowly spreading to a firm stance. "Let's get this over with."

Well, nice is a word for it.

'Slightly upsetting' is another, and it appears to be this that the friend is going for, taking a couple of steps back.

"We haven't done anything," he points out, scowling. "I'll call the metahuman protection act on you."

... yeah, he does sound like he doesn't know what he's talking about. Also that he assumes she's meta, because no skinny chick would be threatening him otherwise, right?

"You poisoned my drink," Sparrow says. "You abducted me from a nightclub from under my brother's nose," she'll figure out what she means like that later. For now it's a convenient lie. "And your friends roaming hands here are definitely counting as molestation of a minor."

Her hands tighten over Sam's wrist. "Also, I don't need metamutant powers to take you down."

Which she demonstrates by flipping Sam over her shoulder onto the floor and kicking his friend in the teeth.

"Augh!"

Sam's limbs flail, cockroach-like. The friend, still nameless, takes the kick like a pro, rocking back and then shaking his head, spitting out blood and saliva and a couple of teeth.

"Oh, bitch, you are gonna regret that."

"Yeah, can't really see that happening."

Sparrow crouches down, one hand hovering over her belt. The other grabs Sam by the hair and throws his head against the sidewalk, knocking him out.

She wasn't expecting the friend to be a fighter, but that just means she gets a workout.

He isn't much of a fighter, but he does have a gun.

"Stay still and it won't hurt too bad."

"Yeah, and what's the point of that?"

Sparrow doesn't even hesitate - she pivots on her foot, kicking out hard with the other, and hitting his wrist dead on.

"What you guys do, I'm gonna make it hurt."

Sam groans, on the pavement. The other man swears viciously when the gun flies out of his hand, but isn't too long in shaking his wrist out and letting a punch fly with the other hand.

He's much slower than she is.

She's not even there when he punches, ducking beneath it and punching him hard in the stomach. Twice. With each fist.

Sparrow is really angry.