<NYC> Midtown East
A dense, skyscraper packed neighborhood, Midtown is the busiest commercial district in the United States, and one of the busiest pieces of land in the world. Day and night, Midtown is filled with people going to and from work, enjoying the nightlife, and walking quickly through the streets. Very few live in Midtown proper - only the most wealthy and work-obsessed - but many who live in and around the City work here. In many ways, Midtown is the heart that beats in the city that never sleeps.
Life in the city has been picking back up, lately. Midtown isn't nearly as packed as it once was, but even so, mid-evening Friday sees a decent crowd of business people streaming out of the skyscrapers as they finish their workdays. Not far from Stark Tower, one tiny blue shark has evidently recently finished hers. Even in the crowd B stands out by a lot -- and not /just/ for the blue skin and demonic visage, though those things surely don't help. The rest of her is colorful, too, crinkly metallic velvety skirt over galaxy printed leggings, bright purple jacket, vivid pink and purple purse, odd metallic gauntlets on hir hands, similar metal boots clunky on hir feet, huge dark glasses on hir eyes. Both hilit in tron-like purplish glow, right now.
B isn't looking, much, at the number of stares ze gets as ze leans against a bus shelter, temporarily distracted by -- who knows what, ze's not actually visibly holding a phone, but that's not particularly uncommon these days. Just speaking in swift Vietnamese to nobody visible, a very faint glow barely visible behind hir dark glasses. Ze's probably not /oblivious/ to the stares, though, judging by the tight inward curl of hir shoulders, the quick fidget of hir metal-sheathed fingers, the clunky tap-tap-tap of hir boot (that never /quite/ seems to actually /hit/ the ground.)
Ze'd probably keep ignoring the stares and mutters from the passersby if not for one pair of young men, louder than the others, jostling her in passing -- one of them jerking the cartoonishly colorful purse from her shoulder to dart off with it, laughing, into a group crossing the street. Previously still very focused on /ignoring/ the people around hir, B only straightens at a delay, hands lifting in some exasperation as she taps at the side of hir glasses. Hir lips thin, nose crinkling.
Strolling down the street in mirrored wraparound sunglasses, black softshell jacket, and gray jeans with a sling bag across his back, Clint could be just any nondescript yuppie who shops at REI. He stops at an intersection with a pack of other pedestrians, no change in his stony blank expression when a man on the other side of the street snatches B's purse. He just crosses when the light changes, brushing past the triumphant thief.
One would think that a pink and purple bag would look obvious in the hands of someone dressed so plain, but Clint /seems/ to just produce the thing from thin air when he comes to the bus shelter and, with a flourish, hands it back to B. He gives a shrug and a slight quirk of his mouth, not quite a smile.
The glow in B's boots has brightened, the small sharkpup growing a few inches as Clint crosses the street -- no, wait, hir boots have just lifted straight /off/ the ground to hover over the sidewalk, lifting higher to try and peer over other pedestrians after the purse-snatcher.
Ze thunks back downwards when Clint produces hir purse out of nowhere, the ridge of hir brow hiking up over hir glasses and hir mouth opening slightly, sharp points of teeth visible briefly before she shuts it again. There is a beat or two before ze gives hir head a quick shake and remembers to reach out and /take/ the bag with a startled grateful bob of hir head.
Clint's eyebrows lift up as B lifts off, but after all, hovering accessories are a /thing/ now. His stance shifts only slightly at the flash of sharp teeth, but he doesn't seem /too/ alarmed. He hands back the purse, raises his knuckles to his forehead with a small nod as if tipping a hat he's not actually wearing, and keeps going on his way.