if you wanna start a fight

dinah lance//the damn black canary

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“Consider this a solemn promise that you can hold him while I rearrange the features of his face. And then I’ll hold him and let you have at him. And then I’ll make sure that the last thing he hears is the sound of his own terrible voice.” She snorts inelegantly and follows her would be savior towards two tables laden with silver platters and the wings in question. It’s an oxymoron if she’s ever seen one, but even just the presence of food that looks like it cost less than 100 dollars a pop to make makes her feel less like a prized show dog trotting around the room. Present company helps that feeling as well, with her dark hair and shadows that paint the sweep of bone underneath her eyes--Dinah can recognize a likeminded soul when she sees one. 

“I traveled around the world studying martial arts from the time I was 18 to the time I was 24. I could think of about thirteen different ways to do it that would break about thirteen different bones each time, and that’s just off the top of my head and without using my actual power.” She laughs and shrugs her shoulders when the other woman says that she would have liked to have seen Dinah punch that guy through a table anyways. She rolls her eyes at the mention of a fight starting anyway--normally that would be fun as hell, she’s always wanted a chance to tear at her formal wear for better access like some kind of crappy action movie, but somehow she thinks whatever the whole point of this is--it’s going to be the kind of fight that she’s not going to like. “You think? At least he’s setting himself apart from other rich assholes, I guess. Can’t say their parties usually end with Captain America potentially hurling a tray of shrimp at the President’s face.” 

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“Singed cat might be putting it a little strongly,” Dinah rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing--a thing that in and of itself feels like a rare occurrence these days. “But in like--the long and prestigious history of stage magicianship or whatever? You could show up with a paper bag on and you’d be hot. Not like Houdini was out there serving looks or anything.” She watches as her friend continues to fuss, continues to hold a look on her face that Dinah can’t quite place--a little too hard around the edges maybe, like it’s not quite forced, but not quite natural either. It’s the magician in her, the person who spends her life on stage trying to take people out of themselves and into a world where magic exits for an hour or two--never reveal your secrets, or in this case it’s more like, never let them see you scared. Too bad Dinah knows her too well, and mentally resolves to hang out with her a little more--she doesn’t know anything about any of this, but everyone needs a sounding board, a person to be a solid weight to lean on sometimes. 

She had thrown the line about the friend out specifically to get Zatanna from thinking so much about what all of them had or hadn't done--she’d done enough of that herself, and had come to the conclusion that it didn’t do any good or change anything, just made her sad when she needed to be out there protecting people. It works like a charm, and she rolls her eyes with all the practice of an actress. “Just someone I’ve been on a couple of dates with--one of the Avengers. If she likes this,” Dinah waves the dress that she’d been granted permission to borrow and laughs, “Believe me you’ll be the first to know. Get a note via magic Harry Potter owl or something.” She’s grateful that some of the edge seems to be coming off, but it doesn’t disappear completely--it can’t in this situation they’ve all found themselves in. 

“I’ll never get tired of kicking your ass, it’s a great ass.” She grins and shrugs her shoulders, laughs again. “And I know you’ve already been working double-time trying to get us out of here--you’re doing the best you can, considering there’s an egomaniac trying to turn everyone against us. And if you need someone to just shut up and listen while you work things out--I’m your girl.” 

[pleasejulia]

dc ladies: black canary 

[spoiledsteph]

@blxckcanarycry

Steph was bashing a jerk’s face in with the lid of a trashcan when she saw she had an audience. The girl this man had frightened had already run off, but then all his buddies showed up at the sound of his yell, and filed out of the bar with tattoos and makeshift weapons galore. Steph let the bastard scamper off to his friends, bleeding and bruised, and spun her baton.

This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. She was outnumbered and outmatched, ten-to-one.

“Step any closer and you get the same treatment,” she called, doing her best Batman impression. She dreamed of him sometimes, seeing the silhouette across the moon, but she’d never heard his voice before. The Cluemaster hated Batman, once comparing his voice to the crunch of gravel under a tire, so Steph wanted to sound intimidating. Spoiler could get some street cred tonight. “Hope you have dental,” she warned as one of the gang approached, flashing a big, sneering grin at her. “I’m about to knock your teeth in.”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

For anyone else it was probably a terrible idea to walk alone at night, there were demons and angry citizens keeping the city at a fever pitch even after curfew--but Dinah isn’t just anyone, which is why she doesn't really care about the distance between her place and the campus of Xavier’s school, or the hour at which she chooses to depart it. She has her headphones in to block out the calls of men who have had too much to drink, the memory of hanging out with Laura warm and present in the front of her mind--she would almost call it pleasant, almost finds a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

Of course, nothing in this place can stay pleasant for more than about ten minutes, and she’s stopped in her tracks by a rapidly devolving and expanding bar fight which appears to have spilled out into the street. The vigilante is one she doesn’t recognize, and she’s outnumbered--but damn if Dinah isn’t impressed that she’s still spitting out threats, standing with her spine straight. She grins viciously and approaches her from behind, coming to stand next to her. “Did someone call for an extraction?” She drawls, folds her arms across her chest. 

“Cover your ears, purple.” She instructs and smiles at the group of men, causing one of them to wolf whistle. She hopes it’s the last sound he’s going to hear, then opens her mouth to scream. 

[kryptonianstars]

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, i would never rebel. i’m not really here right now and neither are you.” he scoffs innocently enough, almost flippantly, coyly, amused undertones lacing through his voice as he floats down to the ground beside her to walk along in the general direction she’d been heading in anyway, back towards the city, the skyline dotted prettily with inwardly-lit spiral towers and block-shaped cloud-scrapers, everything black and shiny, mirroring the stars up above. despite his casual demeanor, he does reach out and take hold of the bike handlebars from her, proving once again that, yes, he does have to do everything possible to promote manners and good form, no matter how late in the night it is. “why don’t you let me carry this?”

the option is there of course, to offer her a quick and easy way back into the city, pick her up and drop her off somewhere, preferably home where it’s safest and the amount of hellish monstrosities is significantly diminished, but he’s come to understand that sometimes that’s not exactly what people really want from him, that’s not something they actually enjoy, and he’s unsure about dinah enough to keep himself from suggesting it, at least not yet. occasionally, just walking and talking with another person, keeping them company even out here in the dark, would better suit their pride and gratification as heroes themselves.

“would you believe me if i told you that you were, actually?” he chuckles, blue eyes gazing out into the seemingly unending wasteland, even his microscopic vision unable to pierce through whatever veil shields them from the rest of the universe. “sometimes i busy myself with the demons in the city, sometimes i deal with the villains, and sometimes…” he turns back to look at her, a wry expression coloring his features, almost sad, almost distant, almost regretful. “i come out here too. do you always drive out this way or were you just interested in seeing how far the motor would take you?”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“Yeah, you should be practicing that statement considering that bike is not mine.” She laughs and shrugs her shoulders, shakes her head. “I apologize in advance for inadvertently making Superman an accessory to my joyriding crime. In my own defense, I was just checking it to make sure it was working--spoiler alert? It’s not.” Clark knows her well enough to know that she never does anything without reason of course, but she can’t help but think she can see a fraction of a tick in his jaw at the mere mention of potentially committing a crime. She normally wouldn’t allow anyone to take the bike from her, she’s sort of made a name out of how good she is at doing things without any help--but it’s Clark and he genuinely means well when he offers, and it really isn’t any trouble for him--so she doesn’t feel so bad for handing over the handlebars, letting him support the weight. 

She’s half surprised that he doesn’t offer to just fly her home himself, but she can imagine that he isn’t immune to the restlessness that hangs over the city--even though he’s immune to so much. For someone so used to the freedom of the open skies and space, it must feel something like--claustrophobia. She smiles warmly and shrugs her shoulders again when he says that she’s the most interesting thing out in the blackness of the night so far, follows his eyes to the horizon line. It’s no wonder he and Hal are such close friends--it seems like the pilot’s eyes are permanently fixed on that point these days, probably missing the sky in the same way. 

“I’m glad I could offer up a distraction from the monotony,” She smiles warmly and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “It must be hard, considering that I can’t imagine those wastelands are really that different from that Kansas farmland.” She shrugs her shoulders again and mirrors the wry and tinged with melancholy smile on his face when he asks about the bike. “Some dick hired me to fix it and I was bored. I don’t usually come out this far--not gonna do any good for me to get wistful, like I have the magic ingredient that’s going to break through. Figure my time is better spent trying to curb the demon population or something.” 

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“Listen,” Dinah laughs, shakes her head. She’s a little taken aback every time Laura makes a joke--it just seems so antithetical to the way she holds herself, the careful measure of her speech--a secret that Dinah isn’t aware she wants in on until she has the opportunity to selfishly hold it tight to her chest. “If you wake up one day and find that big old statue of Xavier dressed in sunglasses and a velour tracksuit, it wasn’t me rallying any of the students to greatness, and I’ll deny it to the grave.” The more she listens to Laura talk about her team the more she wants to know exactly the people here think they know about her--because it doesn’t feel like it’s very much at all. And not for the first time she feels unworthy of such a privilege, grateful that so many people have been so ignorant to give her the chance to be selfish and take it all in for herself. “As if there’s anyone else I’d rather have watching my back.” She smiles warmly and shrugs her shoulders. “The Huntress is--difficult, but it’s just because she’s a mob princess with Catholic guilt. You’d like Batgirl, she’s constantly amazing me with how brilliant and tough she is.” 

Dinah doesn’t really know what she was expecting, but it doesn’t really change anything in her mind--she had put together that Laura’s life must have been--painful to some extent, and involved enough isolation that she seemed genuinely enchanted by the most benign stories from Dinah’s life. What Laura had to do to survive, what other people raised her to do without her consent, is nothing compared to the woman that’s in front of her now. “I’m incredibly and selfishly grateful that you survived that and are sitting in front of me right now--and that you would trust me enough to tell me.” She smiles, a warm and genuine expression on her face. “I don’t care about what they raised you to be--you’re more than a choice someone else made for you. And we’ve all done things we aren’t proud of--I spent months training under an assassin.” She shrugs her shoulders, brushes her hair behind her ear. “All I care about is that you’ve proven to me that you have my back in and out of fights. And if you ever want someone to help you--do bad things to the bad people--I’m your girl.” 

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

Dinah is used to people looking at her--like that--and she’s good at rolling her eyes or baring her teeth or simply pretending that it doesn’t exist. She realizes, as Laura looks her over, that she’s not used to wanting someone to look at her like--that. Not since Oliver, really, and she was never really sure how to handle that, when he did. Her cheeks resolutely do not color, she’s not a teenage girl, but she feels heat go towards them and she can't stop the smile from pulling at the corner fo her lips. It’s possible that this party won’t be as terrible as she’s built it up to be in her mind--and if it is, well she’s confident that they can find other ways to save the night. “Flatterer,” She laughs and ducks her head. “I’ll never regret spending any time with you--can’t say as much for our host for the evening.” She rolls her eyes and offers Laura her arm before the enter the party itself. 

The inside is glittering, like a scene out of some movie where the girl catches the eye of the guy from across the room and he has to catch his breath. She’s never put that much stock in that kind of thing--the realities of being Oliver Queen’s girlfriend had worn a lot of the veneer of off events like these--but with the right company by her side, she’s beginning to see some of the merit. “Trust me, there’s no one else I’d rather face whatever chaos this will inevitably bring with. I mean--this is clearly some kind of showing off, right? And that’s asking for some kind of fight.” There’s so much food it’s practically spilling off of tables, and people are eating and drinking like it’s either the end of the world or the beginning--one hell of an endorsement for someone in need of one. She’s not thinking about that though--not until she has to. “Kind of sounds like you’re asking me out,” She raises an eyebrow in challenge and grins wolfishly. “Y’know, I’m struck with the sudden need to find a really good and detailed calendar to look for some of these ‘better events’.” 

[zatannaxannataz]

@blxckcanarycry

“All this about sharing resources fairly is great in theory and all, if that actually happens, but what do we do if we run out of fishnets? What are we supposed to do then? I can keep repairing them magically, but I’m worried that one too many spells means they’ll gain a life of their own and start walking around and stealing my shows.” It’s purposefully silly; Zatanna was in no way that superficial or concerned with that, but it was something to say as she stood in front of the mirror looking at her own appearance in the black mini dress and fishnets, meeting Dinah’s eyes in the reflection. Zatanna had been flitting about, grabbing designer clothes from her deep closet to try on before tossing them carelessly onto her bed near Di. She didn’t even have anything to dress up for, not anymore, but it was something to do that wasn’t research so she could claim it was relaxing. There was a nervous energy about her, more than her usual happy cheeriness, and she bounced on her toes and seemed to be in a constant state of running her hands through her hair to readjust how her dark curls sat. She turned around to actually face Di, crossing her arms.

“Have you noticed how different it is? There was this old Italian place down the block from the theatre I first performed in, when I lived here when I was nineteen. My boyfriend at the time would take me there after my shows and we’d tip so well that the owners adored us so much they’d give us complimentary wine. We went there almost every week for a whole four months. I walked by there the other day, and it’s just- not there. Not like the business changed, but the building’s just not there. I don’t know how I didn’t notice earlier.”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

It’s been hard not to get caught up in everything going on outside, to get lost in the swirling thoughts of Doom and his damn list and if they’re ever going to get out of--wherever they are. She’s spent nearly every night out on the streets mowing down demons and dodging civilians demanding to know if she’s listed or not, and it’s left her feeling irritated and drained for the most part--which is why she’s firm in saying that tonight is just for spending time with one of her closest friends, for not thinking about any of it. She’s perfectly content watching Zatanna flit around her room and try on articles of clothing, nursing a beer with a grin on her face--she just wishes that she could do something to alleviate some of her nervous energy. It must be harder for someone who is an expert in magic--people must expect the kind of answers from her that they would never dream of expecting from Dinah. “See, if mine get ripped it sort of goes with my whole tough girl thing.” She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. “You set yourself up to fail because you’re always so put together--by the way, I’m borrowing this, yes?” She holds up a dress and nods her head, throws it over her shoulder.

She listens to Zatanna talk about the places that have disappeared and something inside of Dinah clenches--she’s never felt connected enough to any one place enough to notice things like that. She’s lived too many places over the years, she might notice if the flower shop in Gotham City, or the Arrowcave went missing--but they aren’t here. “None of us noticed, and if Batman didn’t notice then I don’t really feel so bad for missing it.” She sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “But yeah, there are things that are just that much different. Hal says that the stars drive him crazy, and my--friend, sometimes says it smells different. Just faintly.” She gets to her feet and walks over to the mirror, rests her chin on Zatanna’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re over here beating yourself up over all of this, because if so I’m gonna kick your ass. And you know how good I am at that.”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“Hell no, I’d rather be dead, or this guy’s girlfriend. I’m a mechanic, I own my own shop and if I ever get the chance I’d be more than happy to punch Jameson in the face.” She chuckles and smiles, all sharp and all teeth. Dinah is fully aware that the speech she just gave did nothing to deter her unwanted follower, and she can practically feel the white hot anger buzzing just underneath her skin, in the muscles of her throat. She’s about to throw him through at least several tables, but before she gets the chance the other woman in motion, wrenching his arm behind his back and demanding that he walk away--it’s honestly the second most beautiful thing Dinah’s seen this evening, and it would have been the first if her date had been anyone but Laura. 

She watches as he does what he’s told, she’s sure mostly in an effort to keep his hand attached to his wrist, grins viciously. “Thank you for that--and honestly he should be thanking you for that, because I was about three seconds away from popping his eardrums like last year’s birthday balloons.” She rolls her eyes and sighs exasperatedly, but she feels some of the tension that she was holding start to dissipate--particularly at the invitation to hit up the wings with her. She’s not afraid of that jerk making a return or anything, but she’s had about enough of the antics of men for one evening. “I’d like nothing more, honestly. This whole damn thing had better turn up something worth while, or I’m throwing in the towel in favor of that diner a couple blocks away. And or starting a fight--which ever comes first really.” 

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

The best way that Dinah can think to describe Laura would be constantly shifting, constantly revealing new sides to herself and coming into better focus--but never completely. Dinah could reasonably put some of the pieces together herself--but she’s resolute in the fact that she wants the story from Laura when and if she ever choses to tell it, it would do a thousand disservices to her friend’s life if Dinah were to assume that she knew anything about it from scant facts. Besides, she’s never understood why people should be required to break themselves down in order to be known--she knows Laura as well as she knows anyone in her life, probably better than a lot of them, without knowing really anything at all--and if that’s what knowing Laura is, then she’ll take it every single time. “Clandestine? Do those dumb sunglasses actually block his eyesight? I’ve seen you fight, that’s a thing that should be witnessed.” She notes the hesitancy in her friend’s voice when she speaks about her team, and Dinah can’t help but wonder why--Dinah would never begrudge anyone what they needed to do to survive. 

“I enjoy training so much as I enjoy helping people stay safe, do what they need to do to survive.” She shrugs her shoulders, she’s never considered herself particularly warm or easygoing, which she’s sure leaves something to be desired in a teacher--but she had done it for Roy, so that no one else would be ripped from him, and that’s why she continues to do it. “I don’t know if I’m any good at it--I’m probably not, really. But I already learned all these things, from some less than savory people in some cases, so I might as well teach it in a safer way.” She thinks it’s probably the same philosophy they preach here, particularly since the world is so hard on mutants. 

“I ask because the image of having to explain that to a kid is hilarious, first of all.” She laughs, a full bodied action that ends in a wolfish grin. “The broad strokes of someone’s life are one thing like me telling you I don’t get along with my mom or something, but I think the little details are more interesting. Like now I know that you’re more about sneaking past people, than misdirecting them or something like that.” 

[samanthadoodles]

#BlackCanary cool down doodle 💫💪

[kindkara-deactivated20181012]

Okay, maybe it wasn’t completely ethical to commandeer the caterer’s entire tray of egg rolls as soon as they came out of the oven, but a girl’s gotta eat! “Allow me,” Kara assured the server, scooting away with her prize with every intention of scarfing down the whole plate as soon as the coast was clear.

In her haste to escape, though, Kara almost bowled somebody over. “Sorry,” she said, shifting the tray to one hand and steadying the person that was very nearly roadkill by the elbow. “Um…egg roll?” She offered, smiling guiltily. “I’m…thrilled to share. Yeah. Stoked.”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

Dinah figures she might as well do something useful since she went to the effort of being here, see what information she can get while everyone is preoccupied with getting wasted and thinking that their lives are well and truly saved now, thanks to the benevolence of Doom. She rolls her eyes at the thought and runs her fingers over a flash drive in her pocket--she doesn’t have a real plan, just to get anything she can and get it to Babs later, let her make something out of it if there’s anything to be made at all--when suddenly there’s a tray jabbed into her chest, full of egg rolls with Kara on the other side of it. 

“You’re not great at lying girl scout.” Dinah chuckles and shakes her head, helps Kara settle the tray. “But don’t worry, I’m not after your treasure--did you kill a waiter for that by the way? Do you need help hiding a body?” 

[akagoddammit]

This was the last place she wanted to be. Well, almost. Her mindscape was the last place she wanted to be after that last freakin’ session, but this party was a close second. But it seemed like the entire goddamn city population had turned up, and after about two hours of listening to it from her apartment, she decided she might as well get some free goddamn food out of it.

The smell of liquor hit her first, though. Not the dozens of different kinds of food, not the sounds of the band or the dull roar of a thousand people talking at once. It was the champagne trays she noticed, the martini glasses sloshing onto the ground as people danced, the full bars on every floor just for the occasion. 

She just stared at it all for a minute, then sighed irritably. “How is it I’m always goddamn sober at these things?” she muttered under her breath. Apart from Halloween – and that hadn’t been pretty either. She deliberately turned towards the food, away from the bar, even if she could still smell it. “Guess we’re not gonna starve after all. What’s Jameson gonna bitch about now?”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“I don’t care if it’s not polite, boy scout, I said I’m not going to dance with you.” Dinah huffs as she pulls away from the crowd of people, her teeth clenched as she bites down on the urge to scream right into this particular piece of human garbage’s ear canal. “And y’know what? The fact that you followed me all this way has made me change my answer to not even if it was with my cold, dead, body, not even if this place was crashing down around us and you were the only man left.” Of course none of the soldiers or demons that are supposed to be guarding the place make any kind of move to toss him out, so she turns her back towards him and stomps in the direction of the nearest bar, debating the merits of leaving his place entirely and finding the nearest person she could punch in the face without consequence. 

She’s drawn out of by a woman standing directly in her path, muttering under her breath about always being sober before speaking loud enough that Dinah can hear what she’s saying. She stops and shrugs her shoulders, folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t know, how the Black Canary and her fishnets are giving girls the wrong idea? How women should be grateful men are giving them any attention at all, because he’s another disgusting white man in a position of power?” She feels herself starting to get angry again as she says it, inhales slowly in an effort to brush off that creep. She reminds herself that she could break every bone in his body in at least six different ways, manages a sort of smile. “Food any good? I haven’t had any yet.” 

[sniktcd]

@blxckcanarycry

Doom’s party wasn’t an event that Laura was interested in attending, largely because she didn’t trust President Doom. If he was hosting a celebration of New York City’s victories, Laura assumed that something absolutely horrific would happen. Perhaps that was pessimistic, but President Doom had not earned any of her faith, and neither had the American government. It took a certain kind of person to head such a corrupt organization and she had no doubt that President Doom had done so with cruelty and deceit. Her worries aside, however, Laura did intend to protect her friends. Many of them would be attending the party, she knew, and Dinah had personally asked Laura to be her date. It her loyalty to Dinah and the friends she had made in New York that forced Laura to dress nicely and meet Dinah outside the Empire State Building, only looking slightly irritated.

When she approached her friend, Laura looked over Dinah and nodded in appreciation. “You look nice,” she told her honestly. It was what people she had gone on dates with in the past had said, and while Laura rarely returned the sentiment, Dinah had earned the praise. “Are you excited to attend the party? I’m looking forward to the food, I hope it’ll be decent.” It was obvious that this wasn’t her usual social gathering — it was far less bloody — but for Dinah, she would try.

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

Dinah can practically hear Oliver’s voice in her head as she steps out of her cab in front of the Empire State Building, replaying a fight they had gotten into repeatedly near the end of their relationship--

“This isn’t me, Oliver,” She had said at the end of the night, slipping borrowed diamonds carefully from their place around her neck. “And I’m not some prized show dog you can trot out when you need to--” 

“It’s not me showing you off to anyone, and you know that.” He had seemed hurt more than anything else, for some reason she wanted him to be angry. “I just want your support, can’t you just--pretend for a few hours?” 

“No--not anymore.”

It nearly stops her from going in, she looks up the length of the building and exhales--if this goes the way she thinks it’s going to go, the people inside are going to need every bullet in the gun so to speak, and she’s never going to be able to forgive herself if she could have helped but didn’t. At least she had convinced Laura to come with her, even though it wasn’t the kind of event either of them were fond of, so at least she had some back up, something of a good time promised in that fact alone. Plus, Dinah is far from blind, and as she lays eyes on her date for the evening she’s convinced she won that particular lottery.

“Thank you, I’m sure someone inside is going to die when they see a designer gown with an old ass leather jacket over it, but might as well be comfortable.” She laughs and shrugs her shoulders, pulls her friend into a hug. “You don’t clean up so bad yourself, pretty lady.” The memory of fighting with Oliver is already dissipating, ready to be pushed aside in favor of whatever this night holds for them. “If it turns out to be grilled up demon, or if this is at all boring, I promise you we’ll make for that diner over there and do it up pancake style.” 

She smiles warmly, resists the urge to giggle at the borderline absurdity of attending a party hosted by President Doom. “Thank you for coming Laura, really, this would have monumentally sucked if you weren’t here.” 

[kryptonianstars]

clark kent was twelve years old the day he realized he could hear an ear of corn fall over from a mile away, the distinct snapping and shuffling against other objects as it tumbled over, a simple weakening of its stalk in the early august heat, a symbol of nearing harvest time, and ever since then he’s come to understand that hearing everything across the city isn’t the hard part– it’s tuning it all out. every day when he wakes up, he has to focus all his senses into pinpricks of awareness, force himself to cut off growing sensitivities that beg to be explored, fed, encouraged, his naturally curious mind so easily distracted by a conversation in harlem or the footfalls of a puppy in queens, and it’s enough to drive a normal person insane. luckily, he’s anything but normal.

since his  abilities sprung up, he’s been working studiously to control them, to harness them, to restrain them when necessary or build them acute vents in his mind, from which he can automatically access their power when he is otherwise engaged or not paying attention, despite them always working, a process he calls pin-holing. it goes like this: he has certain voices and certain pitches in those voices that, when reached, alert him to their situation, without him having to really think about it or eavesdrop into their daily lives and conversations, sort of like having a radio tuned to particular frequencies, but only switching on instinctively when a specific tone registers.

black canary wandering around in the outskirts of the city seems to qualify enough that he catches the sputtering of an engine and a frustrated exhale, and he’s already out and about anyway, already dressed in the red and blue, already on the streets, saving people, hunting things. it takes him less than a few seconds to find and fly to her location, hovering silently behind her for a moment too long apparently, his brow creased, a suddenly unwavering worry that she might find him imposing on her if he offers to help, but then lifting his palms up as she spins around on him. “i wouldn’t report you, i promise.” a small grin tugs on the edges of his lips, the memories of her sonic ranges in fights they’d joined together plenty enough reason to get him to back off. “i don’t know if you’d be able to make my ears bleed, but i certainly don’t want to test it out with any experiments any time soon.”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

She knew that Clark payed special attention to people like Hal and Diana, people invaluable to the League and to him personally, so she’s surprised to find him standing behind her, with a look of something approaching genuine fear in his eyes. She’s eternally grateful for him, not for the first time, and the tension bleeds out of Dinah immediately when she’s presented with the easy grin on her friend’s face. “I’m starting to think that boy scout might not be the right nickname.” She chuckles and shakes her head, tucks her hair behind her ear. She doesn’t run with the League all that often--at first as a way to avoid seeing Ollie more often than she had to, the pain still like a freshly inflicted knife wound, later it was just because her attention was focused on Babs and the Birds. But she counts them as friends for the most part, as much as she can anyone in this particular profession that ties them all together--and it’s really, really difficult to do anything except like Clark Kent. “Any good boy scout worth his salt would obey the laws, you’re more like a rebel with a cause these days.” 

“Aww, you’re never any fun blue.” She clicks her tongue at him but laughs,a real thing in the middle of the street in the middle of the night. She thinks she might understand better why people draw so much hope from the mere sight of that red cape in the sky above them--a weight that she could never hold on her own shoulders. “But I solemnly swear that I won’t try it on you, as we just established I’m really trying not to get hauled in and it has a tendency to draw in law enforcement.” She rolls her eyes, lets out an exasperated sigh as she balances the weight of the bike. 

“So am I the most exciting thing you’ve run into tonight?”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

“I have my team, the Birds of Prey--it’s all female heroes.” She shrugs her shoulders like it isn’t much in comparison to an entire school that houses hundreds, but she’s proud of what she and Babs have worked so hard to establish. “I haven’t even told Batgirl--but--I think it could be something bigger one day. Like, a network of female heroes, supporting each other, helping newcomers get off the ground--things like that. Teaching women who aren't superheroes how to defend themselves.” It’s one of those things that she thinks about in between the bigger picture stuff, when her mind starts to wonder while she’s changing someone’s oil or hitting the punching bag in endless cycles. It’s difficult to imagine in any kind of practical terms while they’re so far from the Earth and there are literal demons on the streets--but if she’s gonna die before they get back, she’s glad someone knows what she really cared about. “Is your team--different, than the regular X-Men? You just, don’t usually refer to yourself in terms of all of this.

“I don't know about born to,” She chuckles and shrugs her shoulders again. “It was a choice that I made, and one that I’ve never regretted--apart from that moment. I didn't see much point if I couldn’t keep one of the only people I cared about safe.” She wonders if Laura had a choice in taking on the Wolverine mantle, or if the nature of her genetics had determined that that would be who she was. She wonders if the rest of the children in this school are like that--with no choice but to hide who they are or take it out on the streets in the name of doing good. “But he would kick my ass if he knew I had stopped because of him, so I didn’t. I’ve trained a lot of younger heroes since then, sort of in his honor.” 

“I spent a long time training and preparing to be the Black Canary--and to a certain extent I was avoiding the confrontation I knew would come.” She smiles warmly, winks. “It was only about a week, and I didn’t know until afterwards. It never would have worked out, the dalliance with me was as wild as she got, and as you know I’m not all that prim and proper.” She grins wolfishly, raises an eyebrow. “Do you have to bring people past all the kids to get them up here?” 

[aqentvencm-deactivated20180730]

ZATANNA sat upright with her legs crossed and eyes closed as she levitated over the yoga mat at the center of Zatara’s Magic Shop. She was trying to refocus herself with meditation - a trick her father taught her long ago. It was well past curfew and she really should have been home, but that was the last place she wanted to be. 

She simply focused on the sound of her own breathing and tried to tune out the world. It was no easy task. Her mind was buzzing with worry for her friends and fellow citizens. This shop, her shop, wasn’t really her shop. It was a cheap imitation. She had sensed this the very first day the pocket world took hold, but pushed the feeling aside. That is until those feelings were confirmed: everything in this world was a knockoff of the real world. Ever since then Zee was determined to break free. This wasn’t her first stint in another dimension and she was certain she would find a way out if she could simply refocus herself.

The sound of the front door opening jolted Zatanna from her meditative stated. Her concentration broke as did her levitation. She fell to the ground with a soft thump and looked in the direction of the door. “We’re closed, hon,” she called out. And locked. She knew she had locked the door before getting down to business. She stood up and dusted herself off, trying to get a better look at the person. Realizing they were out past curfew and may be in need of a place to hide out she asked, “What are you doing out so late? Are you alright?”

[blxckcanarycry-blog]

Dinah is one of the most skilled hand to hand combatants in the entire world, so hypothetically, it would take a fighter of equal or better strength to be able to get the jump on her in any way, and definitely to take her by surprise. The demons that roam the streets are none of those things in theory, and yet somehow claws still manage to tear through the leather of her jacket and the skin of her shoulder while she has her back turned, trying to usher a terrified teenage boy to a better place of safety. It irritates her more than anything else, that she let her awareness drop to that degree--which means she probably doesn’t need to scream as loudly as she does, practically rendering the thing to dust, but she does it anyway with a satisfied smirk on her face. 

The pain of the wound is something that she can handle without a problem, but bleeding out on the street is not something that is on tonight’s agenda, so she needs a place that she can patch herself up to some degree. She scans the street having not gotten a good look at it in the middle of her fighting, and breathes a sigh of relief when she sees Zatara’s Magic Shop not too far in the distance, with a warm glow emanating out of the window. She presses a hand to her shoulder and lets out a half breath half wince as she starts off in that direction, tries not to leave a bloody handprint on the doorknob to the shop as she jiggles it, finds it open. 

She hears her friend’s muffled voice from the back, chuckles and shakes her head when it turns into gentle concern. Zatanna has always been better than Dinah, and she deals regularly with the literal devil. “Can’t one friend pay another friend a visit in the early hours of the morning? And casually ask that friend if she happens to have a first aide kit on hand?”