[h2]Chris Lange: A Denver Nightclub[/h2]
A wave of relaxation slowly washed over Chris as they talked naturally back and forth to each other and to her. They had known each other for long enough that the conversation flowed smoothly, as well as the little jabs they threw. Lance offered an out, and Chris definitely appreciated that. The explanation by Lance of what a mark was made enough sense that she didn't bother furthering that line of questioning.

She smiled despite herself when James (the burlier one) called the people Lance spent time with strange, and she accepted that she was being a bit of a troublemaker just by being here. The waitress returned once again, and placed a drink in front of James, as well as a second of the same in front of Chris.

James explained what was in the drink, and Chris nodded while eying it carefully. [i]This is supposed to be my reward for sneaking in, I suppose,[/i] She thought. An idea formed as she watched Jaunt have his first sip of his drink. She leaned across the table, plucking it out of his hands and sliding her drink across the table to him. As she leaned across the table, her sweatshirt down around the neckline, revealing a blue t-shirt that clung non too tightly to her underdeveloped breasts. The sight couldn't really be considered sexual.

It felt like something a secret agent would do, and a smile formed as Chris confidently tasted from the newly acquired drink. It was. . . surprisingly good, the kind of drink that seemed deceptive in its alcohol content. Two glasses of this would probably see her tipsy, though it'd be a little difficult to convince either of them to buy her another she'd guess.

Remembering what James said about being impressed by her entrance, she smiled as a story formed in her mind. [b]"That bouncer must be half blind, I just slipped in behind him as he was checking someone else’s ID."[/b] Her tone had gone from suspicious, to confident and a bit sassy. Chris's voice was nice to listen to, and she had an almost rhythmic way of speaking, though she sometimes enunciated words poorly.

[h2]Celia Clarke: Denver Streets[/h2]
A voice called up at the caped crusaders gathered on the rooftop, and Celia smiled a bit. No more planning then, just action. [b]"I'll take the ground floor,"[/b] She said as she started running towards the edge that the voice had come up from. She jumped at what her processor told her was the best moment, going for distance rather than height.

She cut deftly through the air, landing the couple stories below with a calculated roll, finishing her roll, by closing the distance by sprinting. Once she was close enough she launched herself at him in a improptu tackle. If she succeeded, Celia would lean back off of him, and use her hands to shove his head at the asphalt just hard enough to knock him out without leaving him concussed. That was wishful thinking at best, as concussions were hard to predict and prevent when injuring someone's head.

If he had prepared an overhead pickaxe swing while she was sprinting at him, she would instead launch herself off to the left side in a defensive maneuver. While he recovered, she would rush back in to deliver a swift kick to the head, hoping to knock him out in one.

If he avoided the tackle, she would try her best to recover with a roll and prepare for any counterattack he could offer. She devoted one of her secondary processors to listen for any backups approaching her regardless of the outcome. It was best to keep the fights one-on-one, but the android could certainly defeat two people at the same time if push came to shove.