I just might. My city can get rough, but we don't have as many...variables. [ The more she learns about this version of the United States the more overwhelmed she feels - overwhelmed and oarless. Gotham isn't even on the map.

For a moment, anxiety casts a shadow over her features. She'd reached the point where she felt confident on every patrol, and now -

Then her eyes gleam in fascination as she studies the material. (In a way, it reminds her of her dad's battered old trench coat; a metaphorical armour, she supposes.) ]

Plastoid, huh? If we've got that at home we call it something else. [ Her brow furrows, as she considers that paint job. ] Is that paint, or something else? Did you choose the colour?