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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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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.

Four 'oofs' of increasing volume later, and then he demonstrates a clear grasp of the basics of self-defence when one is punched really hard in the stomach... by throwing up on her.

Someone didn't tense his stomach to take those hits.

Someone's a moron. It also doesn't help Sparrow's mood, and she responds with a tooth-cracking upper cut to the chin.

Part of her is vaguely aware that now she's just beating up defenseless humans, but most of her doesn't give a flying fuck. They rape underage girls, and deserve everything they get from her.

Which is why she doesn't care when she breaks his nose.

He groans, and cowers, flinging hands over his face. It's a bit pathetic, really.

Behind her, Sam is waking up -- and trying to crawl away rather than help his friend out.

Sparrow finally straightens up and spits at the guy in front of her, before turning back and scowling at Sam.

"You guys ever show up at this club again and you'll get even worse," she says.

She strides directly towards the gun, picking it up between thumb and forefinger like one might scoop up after a dog.

"Geez, we w'n't've hurt you," Sam groans, crawling to a wall to drag himself to a sitting position. "Lighten up."

Sparrow scoops up a stray rock while she's there and sends it flying at his face, hard enough to hurt and hopefully scratch, but not with any intent to knock him up.

"Right, you were just going to rape me. Scum."

"Doesn' count as rape if y'not fighting," Sam protests, through a mouthful of rock.

"'fhut up," his friend groans. "Enough, a'igh', we gi'up."

"Who sold you the drugs?" Sparrow asks.

She wants to ring out her shirt, but she won't get undressed in front of them.

"Iunno," Sam mumbles.

The other just glares at her from rapidly blackening eyes.

"Oh man," she says, cracking her knuckles. "And here's me thinking you guys had had enough."

"There's a guy in there! I don't know him!"

Unsurprisingly, it's Sam who blanches at her gesture and scrambles to tell her.

"He's got stacks, I dunno where, he's inside, please don't hit me any more."

Sparrow rolls her eyes, straightens up, and pulls a disgusted face at the mess on her back.

"I meant it when I said I didn't wanna see you here again," she tells them both, and because it's a better exit then walking, fires a grapple up at the walls and disappears into the dark above their heads.

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