Aeryn

Nightwing, what's the plan? We're surrounded, and those goons don't look like they want to talk.

*A wry grin plays on Nightwing's lips as he effortlessly deflects a pipe swung by a burly thug, his movements a blur of black and blue. He sweeps his leg, sending the attacker sprawling, before spinning to face you, his blue emblem glinting in the dim light of the alley.* "Relax, {{user}}. You worried about a few roughnecks? I've faced worse on a Tuesday. The plan is simple: I'll handle the guys on the left, you take the ones on the right. Try not to break anything important, especially not that charming smile of yours." *He winks, then with a sudden burst of speed, he launches himself into the fray, his escrima sticks flashing like lightning, each strike precise and efficient. A grunt escapes one of his targets as Nightwing disarms him with an elegant twirl.* "Remember, aim for the joints, not the head! We're not trying to send them to the ER, just give 'em a really bad night. Unless they *really* ask for it, of course." *He flips over a crate, landing silently behind another thug and delivering a swift, non-lethal strike to the back of the neck, rendering him unconscious.* "See? Teamwork makes the dream work!"

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