You offer to do some 'training'. One on one, of course...

A minute later, your teleporting partner has a note with the address of the hideout of the latest crime boss 'Madman Mike' and his sidekick are on the hunt for.

"Very well then." Magik Knight says, adjusting her black vinyl hot-pants and thigh-high boots. "I think some low-level thugs will not recognize me. And to be honest, I do look like I could be a villainess, do I not?"

"Ayup, you definitely look like you could go both ways, Ilyana." you say.

"Hmhmhmhm, ahahahaha!" Magik puts a black-gloved hand to her mouth and allows herself a sultry giggle. "Was that a pun, Lynn? I'm proud of you."

Suddenly a muscular tan-skinned hand claps down on Ilyana's shoulder. Mike, the seniormost of the two trigger-happy vigilantes, has an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. "I love your initiative, Magik Knight, but I'm gonna have to say no to this one. At least if you plan on going there in person. You don't know anything about Red Tattoo. He's not some regular-ass purse snatcher, and he's nothing like those cackling costumed creeps the League is always gettin' into super-powered slapfights with. Not only is Red Tattoo a ruthless pimp and **** pusher, he's a stone-cold killer. The last time one of his crew tried to flip on him and testify to the prosecutors..."

The big man squints and sets his jaw. "...I won't tell you exactly what Red Tattoo did to the poor bastard after we just finished eating, but it lasted for days. If he thought you were working with us..."

"He will not." the black-clad blonde says confidently. "Have you not noticed? I have some... advantages that you boys don't."

Daisaku nods, looking impressed. "Hey, yeah. That teleporting is a pretty handy trick for a solo reconnoiter. One thing goes wrong or a punk looks at her the wrong way and she can just zap on out of there, right?"

You smirk. "Uh, no, Daisaku... I'm pretty sure she's talkin' about her tits and ass."

Ilyana laughs sharply again. "Oh my! And Panda was accusing ME of having a dirty mind."

"You've both got dirty minds!" Wushu Panda squeaks. "I already know Lickey-Split Lynn does, she decided to start masturbating right in the middle of the warehouse when I needed help!"

"Th-that wasn't my fault!" you protest. "Your stupid 'healing' acupuncture points did something to me! It was makin' me feel all funny..."

Mike's eyes flick over towards you and he makes an effort to focus back on M-K. "You SURE I can't convince you to take me along as an insurance policy, babe?" he asks her with concern.

"Absolutely not. You are exactly who they will be looking for. If I'm gone for more than two hours, then you may start to worry. Focus on preparing yourselves." Magik Knight says confidently, pulling away from his grip.

"But what if-" before Mike can voice any objections, Magik Knight is suddenly gone, vanishing without a trace.

You allow yourself a smile as you see the frown of worry form under the hardboiled vigilante's mustache. Maybe he's not such a bad guy as he first seems.

"Ah, don't worry 'bout Magik Knight none, fellas." you say. "We heroines in the League have some privileges that you white-hats out here in the streets don't. We have to give up a lot of privacy, and a lot of, uh... options, of the 'shooting people' sort especially. But one of the perks is that all of us have got a special machine monitoring our, uh, 'vital statistics' or whatever it's called. You know, heart beat and so on. If one of us looks like we're dyin', they can tell back at the HQ and come out to rescue us. It's only for emergencies, you know, life an' ****, so the bad guys don't figure out that the League can monitor where we are. If she gets really hurt she'll have backup there, lickey split! Even more lickety than me!"

You put a hand on his shoulder and smile, showing off your pearly white teeth. "And besides, she's one of them girls who won the dang superpower lottery! The moment somebody tries pointin' a gun or a knife at her, poof! She's all gone! I'm a lil' bit jealous to be honest. I got shot earlier tonight with a rifle, and it hurt like a sonovabitch! I'm glad I had Wushu Panda to do her finger-magic to make the bruise go away or else I'd have been in no shape to fight."

"Somebody shot you?!" Daisaku looks horrified. "Christ! What kind of a piece of shit would shoot an unarmed girl with a rifle? That waste of skin oughtta hope I never run into him!"

Mike seems relieved by what you said, and he's back to grinning. "Heh heh... I somehow doubt that's gonna happen, Daisaku. I don't know Miss Lynn here too well but just knowing her for a few hours, I get the feeling that trigger happy punk got a boot up his ass for his trouble."

You can't help but blush and turn away a little. "Aww, shucks, I wouldn't do something like that. He was just some kid who didn't know any better. All I did was slap him around a little bit." you cock your head bashfully and give the guys a wink, "...and maybe broke his spine in a couple places. Hey, he was puttin' bombs on Wushu Panda, he needed a good long hospital stay to teach 'im a lesson.

That draws a guffaw from the bigger vigilante. He claps his arm over your shoulder and pulls you up against his side. It's the same kind of gesture a guy whose buddy just got a strike at the bowling alley would do... except he 'accidentally' mashes your tits up against his chest in the process. "This chick is great, isn't she? Nothing like those limp-wristed sissy boys and girl scouts the League's got right now! This city could use an extra one of you, Lynn! Just one ain't enough!"

He pauses...and snorts and waggles his eyebrows at you. A redness enters your cheeks as you get the joke. "Oh, haw haw, very funny Mister. They oughta nickname you 'El Payaso' instead of 'madman'."

"Heh heh... huh?" He turns to look at you. Even for a tall woman such as yourself, this big brute has to look down to make eye contact.

"¡Este hombre es un gran payaso divertido! ¡Él mata a los mafiosos con bromas en lugar de balas!" you say, wiggling your nose at him. But... rather than being in on the joke, you just see confusion on his face.

"Uh... ¿Mi español es tan malo? Sé que tengo acento." you say, feeling a little self-conscious.

It becomes clear that he doesn't understand a word you're saying. Oh, shit. And here you were feeling proud of getting to show off your language skills - you haven't had much practice since you broke up with your boyfriend a year ago. It didn't occur to you until now that assuming he spoke spanish just because of his apparent ethnicity was a bit rude. Darn it, you can't stop putting your foot in your mouth tonight.

A little too late, Mike chuckles awkwardly. "Ah, yeah, you got my number. I sure am. Hey, uh, change of subject," he says, mercifully saving you from any more awkwardness, "we don't know how soon we might have to spring our ambush on Red Tattoo and 'Lady Deathsmite'. And like you were saying earlier, I've never fought an actual capable super-villain before. I've been busting small-time punks for years but I think you might have more experience than me when it comes to serious threats. Maybe you could show me a few things down in the firing range."

"You got a firing range in here?" you ask.

Daisaku snorts. "He means the empty lot out back. There's so much gunfire at night in this neighborhood, the cops don't check it out. But we shouldn't be getting ourselves any attention tonight..."

"Hey, yeah, you're right kid." the burly man nods to his partner. "And besides, this Deathsmite chick is a close-in fighter, right? Panda, you focus on teaching Daisaku what to do if a pretty girl who knows kung-fu jumps on him and starts **** him with her thighs."

"M-Mike...!" the young asian guy whimpers in embarrassment, unable to stop himself from glancing at Wushu Panda.

Surprisingly, the martial artist girl doesn't seem bothered and takes the comment seriously. "That is indeed a very dangerous position to be in. You can lose consciousness in as little as thirty seconds, and unless you're a lot stronger than her, you won't be able to **** her legs apart, not to mention the fact that you have to respond without being able to see your opponent. The proper counter-move is to-"

"Great! Show Daisaku all the details, why don't ya? In the meantime, to economize our time, Lickey-Split Lynn here can show me some tricks, too. We'll be in the back room." He wraps his beefy arm around your shoulder and starts leading you away.

Your mind is abuzz with thoughts. Just an hour or so ago, you overheard this crude, arrogant bastard bragging to his protégé about how confident he was he could get you into his bed. Whenever you saw a superhero dramatization on TV growing up, when a guy like him started getting fresh with a superheroine, that's the cue for a chivalrous, clean-cut hero to step up and put him in his place. Or, in more recent and 'feminist' stories, for the heroine herself to kick his ass to show how capable she is.

But now you're in that position for real, and the closest thing to a guy able to play that 'white knight' role is more interested in getting under a different heroine's skirt to stand up for your honor. And the fact that you could easily lay out this 'Madman Mike' guy with a single punch means you don't feel the need to. He rescued you when you needed it and he's going out of his way to help you, how can you justify getting violent just because he's invading your personal space a tiny bit?

Plus, his violent reputation aside, a handsome beefcake like this surely wouldn't have any trouble finding a girlfriend, but he's interested in YOU. Every man you spoke to at the League of Propriety since you got to this city just sort of brushed you off, no matter how charming you tried to be. It'd been making you feel more and more frustrated. But these two rough-around-the-edges low-life vigilantes are somehow hitting just the right sweet spot of bending over backwards to please you without putting you on a pedestal like some kind of prissy princess.

So you play it off mildly. "Hey now, save it for the practicin'! We're making plans to take down a supervillain and a criminal gang, here, not going on a date!" you say, sliding out of his grip. But as you walk ahead of him, you put a little extra effort into swaying your hips and tensing up your butt to make it look as firm and grope-able as possible. A couple of times you stop and glance over your shoulder, catching the burly dark-haired man with his eyes glued to the way your outfit hugs the cleft of your ass, and each time he exaggeratedly peels his eyes away and looks up in a random direction.