Re: Upper West Side: West 81st.
[The whip is a fluid thing in her gloved hand, claws extended and a glint of metal as she sways her way to the door. She leans there, and her pssst is honey and sex, and she's hoping these things like that. She's taking it as a given, because you don't leave all the unattractive women behind if you don't like the pretty ones. The zipper on the suit's partway down, skin bare in the dim light of the hall beyond the hold. The man there turns - man is a relative term - and he grunts, and his gaze goes right where she wants it to go.]
Want to play? [She suspects he doesn't understand her; it doesn't matter. Some things are universal.
He does, because he calls back to his buddy, and he lumbers over, all hands and Selina's interested in his weapons. She lures him back, back, into the hold, where his little friends won't hear him fall. Because, oh, he's going to fall alright.
He reaches out a meaty hand, and she uses it against him, uses him as the spoke to a wheel kick that hands right beneath his jaw. And, hey, look at that? Same weak spot as any bastard from Gotham's streets. She's on him before he's down, whip around his throat, and she doesn't stop to think how many of these things she's killed since walking through the door.
He has a gun and something like a lance, and she hands both to Pepper; they need the weapons more than she does.] Guard the door.