The Black Canary adjusted one glove with a tug, repositioning it after it had started to come loose in her quick fight with a would-be mugger. She had seen him while she was on patrol, trying to corner a woman who was trying to get home with her arms full of groceries. Canary had leaped off her bike to give chase.
Needless to say, he was going to have a very bad headache and hopefully would learn a thing or two about picking on women. Not all of them made such easy prey.
She tossed her hair and pulled it all over one shoulder to get some cool air on the back of her neck-- after all, hunting bad guys did tend to make one a little hot and sweaty, and she'd already been at it for three hours.
Canary eyed the man standing too near her motorcycle to be a coincidence-- but for his sake, she was glad he wasn't touching it. She was suspicious (as a Gothamite, suspicious was a natural state, a defense mechanism) though still friendly. After all, she had no idea who this guy was. Maybe he needed help.