Bethan was just starting her bike when the girl started shouting. With an irritable little grunt, she stopped the engine again, resting her elbows on the handlebars and leaning forwards. "You talking to me?" she demanded, lip curling a little. "Because, if you are... one, don't ever call me "miss" again, and two, whatever it is, I'm not interested. Fuck off."
Although she'd been flying high for a while after the success of Saturday, she was back to her usual foul mood by now. Three more nights out on the prowl hadn't yielded much more in the way of crime to fight, besides kicking some teenager's ass for purse-snatching, and she'd spend far too much time stitching up the slit in her glove, which was still irritatingly visible. Besides, high school never failed to piss her off.