2012-10-23 A Crazy Night at the Club

It's raining.

It always seems to rain in Gotham, as though the grimly forbidding architecture and overhanging gargoyles weren't already enough to dissuade the brighter half of one's senses. Of course, the weather but reflects the turbulent gloom within the city itself, the overflowing gutters especially apt given the scum that washes to the surface at night. For the statuesque mutant known as Psylocke, it's precisely this rancid underbelly that she seeks... as always, indeed.

Despite the bodyswapped telepath's seeming disregard for sensible clothing, on this bitter night she's at least opted to cover her curves with a long trenchcoat, colored such a deep purple as to easily be mistaken for black beneath the dim flicker of poorly maintained streetlights. It's a slow, loping sort of stride that carries her through the lingering shadows in search of her hunter's prey; her form concealed by her choice of passage rather than any inherent stealth in her motions. There are advantages to the downpour, after all.

Violet eyes keenly piercing the falling curtain of filthy droplets, Psylocke closes uncontested upon the rear door of a disreputable nightclub well off the city's most civilized beaten track. The sole guardian of this portal is hunched over to one side, furiously clicking away at a broken lighter and cursing periodically, making him all too simple to approach. Even simpler to reach out and render him a non-issue, but as the woman moves she hesitates. A shout rings out from within the cracked doorway, and fast steps approach.

They won't be alone for long.

Unfurled fingers curling into her palm, the psion acts quickly, posture relaxing as she spins out to a slumping, apparently lethargic halt within the bouncer's range of vision. The tattoo upon his cheek - marking him a member of one of the more vicious local gangs - becomes visible as he tilts his gaze upward, lips curling before he realizes the apparent beauty before him. From nowhere, Betsy Braddock produces a cigarette, flourishing it as the steps become louder and nearer, as the shouting becomes more distracting even than the ever-present babble of psychic feedback that infests the city streets.

"...got a light?" She smokily emits, before the door *explodes* open.

Walking through the down pour, another figure with a Gotham City baseball cap on, the visor keep the rain from getting into his eyes. Is moving through the area, he isn't one for trying to hurry and get out of the rain, if your in it, your in it, there isn't much use of running around, your still going to get wet no matter what you do. Having been to this area many times and have taken it upon himself to add it to the list of areas he frequents at night, the caramel skin male only shakes his head.

Why tonight is he out of all nights is mainly due to some threats he's gotten from one of the local gangs, something that only seemed to amuse him seeing as he's taken to fighting the gangs pretty much on his own and has had his ups and down. But tonight with the rain he figured they wouldn't be doing much of anything. Hence is why he's heading towards the club. As he gets to the front door, he hears shouting, not the shouting of something going on, but fighting shouting. Opening the door and moving in keeping to sides, Jynn starts scanning the area to see what is going on. "What the--"

Psylocke's 'prey' disregards her as quickly as he'd been spellbound by his introductory glance, tattooed face jerking askance to take in the emerging forms of three men. One - the unfortunate whose back has thrown the door in its emergent wake - hits the ground with a pained grunt, as the remaining pair swiftly push aside one another to take flanking positions to either side. The tallest of them, a rakish leather-clad biker with a rather questionable soulpatch, is wearing a smirk as he pulls a knockoff silenced pistol and aims it downward. The other wipes a lick of blood from his knuckles, observing from behind mangled sunglasses with a sickening grin.

The first blow clearly wasn't theirs, but the downed man is now in peril. Time to think fast.

"Never mind," utters Betsy, voice suddenly both hard and distant as she steps toward the rapidly rising bouncer and rears up onto one powerful leg, parting the halves of her trenchcoat with the other as she lashes out with a thunderous roundhouse kick. At the point of impact he's hit hard enough to rebound off the wall before hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes, out cold. Much unlike the brewing conflict. "I just remembered I don't smoke."

On the follow-through, the X-Woman darts a hand up and across, deftly unfastening the one secured toggle of her overgarment - abetting the subsequent flutter of thick material as it's discarded, slammed to earth by the torrential rains to land abandoned behind the now poised and ready form not of Betsy Braddock; but Psylocke, her scarlet sash fluttering in the wind. She's instantly recognizable to anybody acquainted with the 'mutant menace', but stealth, she adroitly reasons, is rather meaningless once you've been forced to kick a man very hard in the head.

Meanwhile...

Inside, the situation greeting Jynn's arrival is one of panicked action-- several more thuggish gang bangers have taken to herding the sweating crowd toward the same door through which the young vigilante has emerged, yelling out harsh orders as they seek to clear the joint. People are slow to move, until they hear a sudden shot from the rear door; even silenced, the ensuing thump is unmistakable within the hollow walls of the building. There's screaming and yelling as the herd rampages toward Jynn, seeking to get out as quickly as possible, heedless of obstacles.

And then there's a second shot.

Well what’s worse, being in the way of a herd of people who just heard gunfire or hearing a second shot which is going to send these same people rampaging, making them go faster. Jynn has no clue, but with reflexes as heightened as his, Jynn quickly slips to the side of the wall and out of the way of the people as they come bustling towards the front door like many frightend people would tend to do. Scanning the club and trying to keep somewhat low and out of the way. Jynn knows guns very well, hell he has two of them holstered along his lower back hidden from view by his jacket.

The shots he knows came from the back of the club, but now as the people are making their way out, he is using them to keep his movements unheard as best he can and himself unseen while he tries to get an accurate count of how many thugs there are here in the club right now. Knowing once he makes them out he will need to act quickly to take them down and with the people leaving, this will make his job easier because then he wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting hurt. As he looks, his crimson eyes is taking in the scenery, having adjusted to the lighting here in the club and the music, Jynn is able to slowly find a spot near a table where he can keep watch where the gang members are.

Guns ARE a frequent occupational hazard... though when your occupation involves dealing with everything from transcendentally-talented martial artists to advanced extra-terrestrial ordnance it's easy to develop a dangerously flippant attitude toward their threat level. Psylocke has been known to let the heady rush of combat get the better of her, to disregard most any danger in the course of duty; but in this instance, she's not worrying for herself.

The first shot misses by a whisker as the downed man rolls onto one shoulder, the distraction of the female mutant's knockout blow drawing away the sure bead his would-be killer had on the target. It's only with a burst of telekinetically-enhanced speed that the second shot is averted from sure crisis, as in a flash of olive skin and scanty blue costume Psylocke covers the distance and breathes a sharp kiai. Her rising palm reaches subsonic speed in the instant before it plows into the wiry ganger's chest, pitching him back through the beleagured door...

Literally, through it. Cheap wood and metal banding erupts into jagged splinters, and a beat later he's rolling head over tails before coming to a top a dozen or so feet from the skulking Jynn. Others take note, and perhaps eight or nine denim and leather-clad ne'erdowells turn their attention from the retreating crowd. It's to the young man's fortune that Psylocke emerges not a moment later, hauling the third of her victims through the door and hurling him unceremoniously to the dirty floor. That hand clenches and rides to her hip.

"Well," she speaks in her clear, crisp British-accented tone, violet gaze making a quick sweep of the room, taking stock of the varied weaponry suddenly pointing her way. And noting the one man not making any such movement, it would seem. Interesting. It's upon Jynn that she finally settles, gently manipulating her habitual shielding of psychic noise to get a read on his emotional state. "I'll be brief. You've got thirty seconds to leave before I tear you all apart. You're nothing more than tools. I'm after the hand that guides you."

Stupidity ever reigns, and there's a loud *ker-chunk* as the heavyset thug nearest Jynn chambers a round into his street sweeper, finger already beginning to tighten on the trigger...

Guns are a occupational hazard especially thugs and bangers think that holding a certain way makes them look more bad ass then the other. Jynn isn't one such person who thinks that and honestly he has quite more respect for the weapons. But still there are about eight or nine of the thugs here as he finally gets a count, his mind quickly analyzing how he should take down each one, but with the guns in their hands, he knows he will have to end up using his own. A sigh escapes him and he moves to the other side of the table, looking towards the later of the group.

As Jynn preps, there is a loud crunch as a body comes flying in through the door to land at the others feet. Looking down and only mouthing the word, 'Dayum!' he looks back where the others are looking to see a gorgeous woman walking into view. He blinks a few times, but then looks to the other men who have their eyes on her. Jynn waits for a moment, as Psylocke gives them the ultimatum, one soul had to be brave and as he starts to bring up his gun, Jynn moves around the table throwing a powerful spinning back roundhouse kick towards the mans face hoping to knock him off his feet and keep the shot from being fired. The kick connects and a crunch sound can be heard as the man goes falling backwards hard, the gun clattering to the ground. "Stop being stupid and leave now." he says in a cold voice.

The trouble with vague headcounts applies in both directions; for organized criminals, these tattooes thugs are anything but the former. 'Eight or nine' casts a spell of uncertainty that's easily let Jynn slip through their crude net, and the first warning that his target receives comes in the form of a sneaker-clad foot. The second is a cartilage-crunching impact that indeed sends him backwards, his primed weapon harmlessly skittering to a halt as the vigilante speaks. This dank little club has terrible acoustics; the gun's collision is still echoing throughout, and there's but a half-second of silence between Jynn's pronouncement...

And laughter.

There's just enough time for Psylocke to breathe a sigh, her posture sinking into booted heels, before all hell breaks loose. It begins - as though it had not already begun - with the sharp *rattatatta* of an Uzi 9mm, a broad swathe of searing projectiles cutting through the centre of the room. It's badly aimed, forcing another of the gangers to dive aside at the same time the X-Woman does the same, rolling backward into a tumbling series of somersaults that carry her back to the ruined door. One foot snaps out high enough to touch the wall above it, the moment of heavy contact used to propel her back in the other direction, entering an acrobatic and perfectly judged roll that sees her spring into an offensive crouch close to Jynn.

It's brief, the roving contact of those violet eyes, and the smile she offers even briefer; its warmth lost somewhat in the tightness of desperate camaraderie. His display - and his read intentions - seem to have reassured her of some trust. The quirk of her lips carries a sardonic edge, however, an upward curl of her brow as she turns away asking the question: 'Do this often?' There's no time to say it, but it's easily read. The chagrin of a veteran crime fighter.

And then she's gone as pistol shots thump through the air, tumbling off an outstretched hand to take one of the seven - or eight - remaining men with a lashing sweep of her right leg. His fall covers her almost too-easy slip into the nearby shadows, the purple sweep of her hair and the trailing ends of crimson sash disappearing as though she were never there. But Jynn has other concerns, as two of the men take their chances moving in close, one making what he sorely hopes will be the first assault; presenting a thrusting switchblade toward the vigilante's flank.

"The /stupid/ ones here are you," he grunts, oh-so cleverly, "And your stripper wench, for screwing with the Hands of Fate!"

Jynn doesn't even watch the thug drop to the ground as he looks to the others who after he speaks starts to laugh. His head lowering slightly and then it shakes as figured this would happen. Why can't they just get it through their damn heads, this isn't fun, this isn't for a high, this isn't about anything. His hands ball into fists then relaxes. Then the clicking mechanism of the uzi as it's chambering and firing, Jynn ducks down but sees that the gunman isn't the brightest or skilled as his own allies are ducking for cover.

The acrobatics of Psylocke doesn't go unnoticed, but one of the thugs who find themselves near Jynn sees a elbow coming to crash into their face as he has to do a back roll away from one of the men who is now moving towards him. Coming back up, Jynn looks to Psylocke as she lands near him, a slight smirk comes to his lips, yes he is impressed and the implied if he has been doing this long, he only grins and gives a slight nod. Then she is out the door leaving him to face down two of the thugs, but the shots that are fired and knocked aside, not by him. "Gotta find out who she is." he says more amused then he should be at this time.

Looking between both thugs, Jynn keeps calm not allowing himself to be worried that he is getting jumped, he's been in enough fights where there were more then just two people fighting him. As the thug with the switchblade thrust towards him, Jynn glances back behind him and spins to his left, and as he does throws a set of palm strikes to the other thug, striking hard in the throat, soloplexues, then dropping and spinning on his left foot while sweeping out with his right leg at the mans ankles slamming his foot into the ankle hard in a chance to twist or possibly break the ankle. Now with only the knife thug, Jynn kicks at the mans wrist, hoping to catch the knife hand, then throwing a inside kick towards teh mans knee to drop him as well.

These men are simply not Jynn's calibre; his skill is several steps beyond, motions too fast for their brains to adequately track. Their only advantage lies in numbers, and as the bladesman stumbles past with a scathing, frustrated hiss, his partner's alarmed shout draws all the attention to Jynn that the evasive Ms. Braddock has dispelled with her stealthy tricks. Flesh yields to tenderized muscle, and scrapes bone as the man takes his inevitable punishment, but by the time a pair of kicks come in for the staggered shanker, others are ready to take his place.



It's not precisely shouted, but Psylocke's word carries with all the clarity of a siren directly into Jynn's skull, her warning coming just before the thunderous expulsion of a second shotgun. His melee opponent is struck soundly enough, falling to a knee that will save his own brain from being splattered across the walls-- but the vigilante is left to make his own arrangements with the same. Meanwhile, the Violet Butterfly emerges from her black cocoon across the room. There's no second shot; the gunner is taken down with a stepping kick that drives the stock into his nose, work deftly finished with a spinning step out into a downward elbow.

Which leaves a handful of men remaining, two of whom are quick enough with their pistols to draw a simultaneous bead on the telepathic shinobi. The downed wielder of the switchblade moves to scrabble for his dropped weapon, sparing no time to check on Jynn as he frantically searches the gloom. His fingers find the plastic-wrapped hilt, but it takes a few seconds...

In a fight like this, every second counts. With two men down and Jynn able to keep them at bay, the others are now focusing in on him. Grimacing a little because well breaking someone’s nose doesn't feel well to them but it jsut sounds bad when it happens, but oh well. Hearing the command to duck, Jynn drops down to one knee as the sound of *click*, *boom* rings out from the thug with the shotgun, a pained cry is followed as another thug is shot and drops to the ground, blood splattering against the ground. Eyes narrowing a little and seeing the man laying on the ground, thankful to the warning from Psylocke, and as the Violet Butterfly emerges from her black cocoon, he watches her take down the thug with the shotgun hard.

Springing up to his feet and moving towards the next nearest opponent, Jynn steps in towards the man quickly, throwing a kick to his stomach, and as the guy is hit, Jynn grabs his arm and hip tosses him over his shoulder letting the man hit the ground hard, Jynn then punches him in the face hard knocking him out.

Jynn's clearly not one to waste time, and as she tracks him in the periphery of her telepathic vision it's a quality that Psylocke is every bit as thankful for as he is to her warning. She's good, but she's far from perfect, let alone invincible; and even a desperately-aimed shot by an excitable amateur could make this a night far uglier than the rodent-infested, gargoyle-drenched edifices of Gotham's dingy backstreets. She'd compliment her apparent partner, but, well...

Not everyone enjoys having their thoughts invaded, let alone by mid-fight banter.

The man targeted next falls easily enough without any additional spurring by the stunning Asian woman, regardless, his passage to the floor removing the wind from his body with a pronounced gasp. His eyes are wide as a fist closes in to finish the job, and he reveals a hint of his true colours - far from the rough n' tough tattoo work on his face - as he manages a, "Please! No!" Then it's all she wrote, his sleazily clad form falling still. Meanwhile, across the room...


 * ba-bang*

Two bullets seek Psylocke in near-tandem, driving harsh paths through the air to converge upon her. With a little preparation she could evade them; as it is, she gets lucky. Her heart is pounding when she finds herself upon the floor, the acrid smell of discharged ordnance curling in her nostrils, both projectiles having thundered for the same rapidly-shifted target. Had she moved left or right, she'd have still taken one or other to the torso.

In some perverse, twisted way, she are the moments she lives for. It drives her onward, another blur of telekinetically-enhanced speed further raising the thumping pulse of adrenaline-soaked drums as Betsy leaps across the room into a flying side kick, rebounding from the strike to be gone before her prey's skull bounces off the nearest wall. Scarce over a second later, she's mounted the shoulders of the other, her lower limbs criss-crossed about his neck.

"You," she murmurs, voice low and wreathed in shadow darker than those she's recently vacated. Powerful legs tighten, threatening to shatter bone, though easing quick enough to ensure the man can still speak; if he chooses. "I'll not take without asking: I need a name, and a place." His mouth opens with a stammer, eyes bugging as they seek to roll back in his head, seeking a glance at this frightening woman beyond the limits of his vision. Gunfire continues to echo from the walls, however, and where it makes some afraid... in others, it breeds idiotic confidence.

"G-Go to hell, you b-b-...HRK!!"

A second clenching of her thighs renders him speechless, and then she draws forth a primal, horrified scream from the very depth of his being. A flare of electric purple flame blossoms around one striking hand, the introduction of the X-Woman's psychic knife swift and sure, breaching the defenses of his fragile mind. She's as careful as a surgeon-- and he'll live, but as his consciousness fades, she's easily able to harvest the information she needs, and then just as naturally flip from his loosening shoulders to land firm upon booted feet.

She's already gone further than she intended. Much further. But mercifully, there are always cowards. Faced with the twin assault of one obvious mutant freak and one man who's simply better than they are, the remaining pair of thugs elect not to hang around, leaving Psylocke to turn toward Jynn as they race for the door.

"So..." She begins as though walking on eggshells, her form still tense and posture ready for sudden movements. Drawing a psychic impression is all well and good, but she knows better than to trust it entirely; especially in such excitement. Taking a step toward the center of the room, she arches a narrow brow. "I presume we /are/ on the same side?"

Time is relative to everything and anything, time even sometimes supposingly stopping depending on the situation and the person who things are happening to. Jynn has experienced this quite a few times and now is one of those times, but this is different. As he rises from knocking out the man he just took out, another of the thugs, crazed, idiotic and stupid. He fires those two shots and it's only by the grace of God and the Psylockes reactions that she isn't hit at all. A silent prayer is given to the man upstairs for he is watching over them tonight.

Jynn was starting to move towards the man, but Jynn isn't faster then Psylocke and she is already on the man dropping him, and trapping him between her thighs which honestly is one helluva way to go. But when she creates her physic knife once the thug refuses, Jynn could only watch as Psylocke worked. But what Psylocke doesn't know, is that Jynn moved behind her facing the two remaining thugs watching them, but they've had it, and were gone and running. Once she is finished, Jynn takes a breath, looking around the club at the mayhem that was brought to it. Time again has played it's role, it was only a matter of seconds possibly minutes between when things first started and until now, and now that the fighting is over he looks up as he hears Psylocke approaching. He slowly nods his head. "Yes. We are on the same side." he tells her. "But lets talk somewhere else. Come on." he says as he leads her out the back door as the sounds of sirens are now starting to be heard.

Smart. If there's one thing Psylocke has learned during her time on various battlefields, it's the value of tactics and well-reasoned placement. To remain immobile is to render oneself little more than a target; and anyone who's spent a few hours training with firearms is capable of hitting something so static. To say nothing of the ramifications in melee. So it is that the arch of her brow carries beneath it a distant twinkle. Fast, strong, and clever.

When he proclaims himself an ally it's a fact she appreciates. She can tell he's not lying.

"Of course," she accedes to his suggestion with a single-shouldered shrug, gracefully shifting from the motions of battle to a more relaxed demeanour as she does so, turning to follow her vigilante partner out into the driving rain. She's drenched already, but she can't resist adding, deadpan, as she flicks back her sodden hair, "I'm dressed for the outdoors anyway."

When she arrives out onto the street, she's produced a slender hair band from some concealed pouch or other, drawing the violet strands into a loose ponytail to at least keep them from blowing back into her face. It better accents her angular features, which carry a stern countenance she can scarce shift as she takes a better look at Jynn, making no attempt to hide the measuring gaze from head to toe. It's the judgement of a warrior she passes, however.

"I don't recognize you," she states matter-of-factly as she looks back up to match stares, "But there's a new crime fighter born every minute, these days. You didn't produce a weapon, and you didn't try to kill anyone..." A soft 'hmm' breaches pursed lips as she muses. "But you don't strike me as one of Batman's. Either way, you can call me Psylocke."

With that, she offers a hand, canting her chin upward with some measure of pride. Not in herself, but in those she fights alongside; if he knows her name, he'll surely know them, too.

Beautiful and deadly, marks of a good woman honestly. But Jynn keeps himself busy as they move outside, the rain drenching them immediately, but before they get to far Jynn moves to the edge of the alley and peers up and down the street, seeing a flicker of lights, he sighs. He knows where he needs to go and heads back to where Psylocke is. But as she takes him in measuring him with her gaze, his crimson eyes does the same to her. He's not met a woman who is as skilled as Psylocke and honestly it is quite refreshing ot say the least.

Shaking his head a little as she mentions that she is dressed for outdoors, "I don't care how bad ass you are, a cold doesn't care." he says as he takes off his jacket and if allowed, he quickly covers her. "Keep it on until we get somewhere a bit more warm." he tells her. As he speaks he doesn't look to take no for an answer.

"No, I'm not with Batman." he tells her, he then turns around to show that he is armed, twin semi-automatic pistols holstered. "I don't kill, my guns use gel shots that don't penetrate skin, but hurts like hell and dents armor." he tells her before she speaks. He raises his shirt a bit, showing off a well toned and defined stomach. The shirt goes back down so to cover the guns. "Look I don't live that far from here. We can regroup and get you something else to wear and if you wanna talk we can do that." he tells her and then he's on the move, going the opposite way, "Nice to meet you Psylocke, my name is Jynn." he looks back to hear and gestures for her to follow.

A... cold? Outwardly icy as she may oft appear, Psylocke's eyes glint with obvious amusement at that, maintaining a level gaze on Jynn as he approaches. It's not quite the gesture she was trying for, but it's... nice, in a way she's hardly accustomed to of late. Any foolish reactionary protest is neatly suppressed, as she draws and releases a breath, delivering a pleasant nod upon accepting the garment. She won't bother pointing out that /he's/ now ill-clad.

Neither does she actually say a word of thanks. He can take that as he will.

Matters move on, and she glances down at the weapons - having noted them but not made the leap to assuming they were modified. A thoughtful tip of her head betrays some inner musing at the revelation; her eyes betray nothing more than that, the air of mystery maintained. Flesh is given a similar consideration, businesslike and cool even if she does truthfully appreciate the view. There's a big difference between an icy demeanour and genuinely being an unfeeling machine.

"Jynn," she echoes with another, firmer nod, "Pleased to meet you." The words are somewhat distantly uttered, the woman having not yet moved on from her prior observation. "And what do you do, Jynn, when a man gives you no choice but to make the killing stroke? Times are hard, and people can be harder still." Particularly, she adds by way of mental footnote, in a place like Gotham. Tempered to an edge, she's never completely grasped how life can be held so sacred. Some fires cannot be controlled, and demand to be extinguished. Still. "Each to their own..."

"Mm." Momentarily sucking in her bottom lip, Betsy sinks her teeth thoughtfully into soft flesh, violet gaze wandering back toward the vacated premises through that ruined back door. "If this was the place, I'm either too late or too early to make any headway. Nobody stores a weapon shipment in a place like this..." Even if those weapons are distinctly humanoid in shape. Enigmatic as ever, she doesn't mention what more she knows. Not yet. "So, very well."

Moving to follow, she shrugs the borrowed coat a little closer around her impressive body. A smile brushes her lips, and she moves to catch up with a few quick strides before falling into step. "I've not accepted Gotham hospitality before. I suppose there's a first time for everything. Tell me you live in a more pleasant area in this."

Jynn is still allowing himself to calm down, it does take him a few moments after a fight especially one this dangerous. Normally he would have used his guns, but something lately has been keeping him going with his kung fu versus his guns. But still he done it and is honestly pleased with himself for doing what he did. Even though he came to this club he wasn't expecting the thugs he just fought, but then it dawns on him the one he was supposed to been going to is on the other side of town. Well it wasn't a bad night still.

Her curt responses does draw his attention to her. Figuring this his how she normally is, Jynn just continues walking and as she catches up with him, he glances to her taking a moment, considering what just happened. "There will be a time for when a life must be taken, but even then one would have to consider that action." he tells her. "I would then kill if need be. So far I've not had to take a life but here in Gotham." he goes quiet.

The silence goes on for a bit, but he glances over to Psylocke leading her out of the alley and up the street. "So what about you, seems you've been doing this far longer then me and I'm pretty sure that I'm not as skilled as you, that is for sure." he did see how skilled she was but she is hitting to close to home a bit. "Gotham hospitality is a rare commodity indeed, you take it when you can get it." Giving a hint of a smile. "So how long have you been here in Gotham and how long will you be staying?" he asks.

As they walk, they pass a few streets and then Jynn has them cross the street, then down another. Once they pass a grocery store, he has them turn left then there is an apartment complex, it's clean and well kept but the area seems to be getting cleaned up.

Funny how coincidences like that occur. Almost as though some unseen hand were in control...

Which is ironically an apt summation of the rumor-milling detective work that brought Psylocke into Gotham in the first place. The Hands of Fate; hands controlled by other hands, yet another raggedy network of would-be crime lords seeking to make a mark and steal a piece of the pie. By the telepath's estimation, there's a great deal of pie but an even greater number of greedy mouths to feed, and this might have been a wasted trip. Too smalltime. Not promising. Nonetheless, her heart is racing a little too, the excitement kept in check by her extraordinary willpower but still very much there. Fighting is always a thrill. An almost childlike one.

It does raise questions, though, and in that silence the statuesque Asian considers her newfound ally's response to her rather barbed enquiry. She's happy not to fill every void with conversation, and seems comfortable enough until she calmly inserts, "One should always consider one's actions." There's just the shimmering note of an underlying tease lacing her tone, along with a darting side glance kept short to avoid sharing another rare smile. "But I'm glad you've thought about it. Too many don't."

Curt indeed, that seems to be an end to the topic for her, and it's delivered very seriously. Perhaps too much so, a layer of enigma peeling back to hint at a well-travelled past. As his turn to speak comes, Psylocke keeps pace with long, light steps, observing their surroundings both with her mundane eyes and the ever-present prickling of greater senses. The latter are near enough to distract her from his probing questions, and she starts a little before responding.

"Not long," she answers Jynn's two with one, before elaborating, "I'll conclude my business tomorrow; even if I find the trail I'm looking for, it certainly leads away from Gotham. I won't be troubling you long." Finally she returns that hinted smile, actually flashing her teeth with a bit of mischief. She's not blind or stupid; she knows how she looks, and how little objection most men have to her being around. "As for my skills, I've... inherited a great deal of what I have. There's no reason I shouldn't repay the favor by showing you a few things."

Suffice to say, probably not the things that involved glowing psychic knives.

"You live here? Fine enough. A little enclosed for my tastes, but..." A hand lifts to her brow from within the borrowed coat, tapping her temple by way of indicating her psychic abilities. He hasn't made mention of those, but she assumes it's obvious enough. "Cities give me a headache."

There a many criminals here in Gotham, gangs, thugs, wannabes who are looking for quick cheap thrills in one way or another. But there is a lot going on with how this happened tonight. As for the excitement that is still flowing through him, Jynn has taken the time to try and just relax, though Psylocke will note him looking around every so often, checking to make sure that they are alone while walking. He doesn't have any powers to help in that regard, but it seems that he's been doing this enough that he is pretty sure that they aren't being followed.

Giving Psylocke a curt nod to her comment about one considering their actions, Jynn continues walking, though they don't go to the apartment complex, instead they turn right and follow a small path into a little wooded area that leads to another street but up to the back of a small house. "So what do your powers do?" he asks. He had been thinking of them, but it's kinda hard to come out and mention just when you saw them and they've helped you. He normally found that rude to ask, but in this situation he felt a little odd asking. Though she would note that his reactions and reflexes are far better then that of a human.

Leading her to the door, his mind does go back to what she is wearing. "I have some clothing inside you can wear, and if you want to shower you can." he tells her. Thinking about what she mentioned about her showing him some more moves, "I would like that, but you would need to be here a bit more then just a day wouldn't you, if your planning on teaching me?" he questions. Unlocking the door and opening it and gesturing her to go in. If she is able to read minds, there is no ill attempts for her, but she would notice he is grateful for her help and yes he does think she is very attractive even if he isn't showing it.

What do her powers /do/? It's a more complicated question than it ought to be, given it's one she has often been forced to raise herself. When living and working alongside the likes of Professor Xavier and Jean Grey, the extent of a telepath's capabilities are made at once astoundingly, dizzyingly clear and as completely uncertain as anything can be. The answer is probably 'almost anything'. But she exudes enough of an aura of fear and discomfort already...

"I'm a telepath," she answers far more simply, keeping weight from the words with all the graceful care of one balancing upon a high beam. "I hear thoughts, and feelings, can project energy, and travel outside of--" There's an odd, halting hesitation here, almost like a silent hiccup in mid-flow. "--my body. Among other things." Adding the last with the same soft touch, she offers another smile, this one frozen with the delicacy of crystal. She doesn't fail to meet Jynn's gaze, but something in her eyes suggests the subject is probably best left there.

Stepping out of the rain alongside him, she reaches up to brush the droplets from her forehead and eyes, closing them momentarily then shaking her head as she rises back up. "Thank you," comes the gracious, grateful words at last, "So long as I'm not imposing." With all the poise of a proper lady, she accompanies that with a curtsy-like bob - dissonant on one so recently seen driving a psychic blade into a screaming man's brain. "And, ah..."

Halfway inside, she pauses, glancing askance with a somewhat-devilish smirk, punctuating it with another lifting of pencil-thin brow. "That depends," her lips quirk a little, "How good a student you are."