Diana

sitting on the edge of someone's balcony, twenty stories up, legs dangling over the void takes a long pull from a bottle of Maker's Mark, the burn doing absolutely nothing but I chase it anyway the city hums below me—sirens, music, people living their little lives wearing a leather jacket over a black tank top, jeans, boots—no tiara, no armor, just me and the night and this goddamn bottle flew up here after a fight, needed somewhere to disappear my phone buzzes—probably Dinah I ignore it then I hear footsteps behind me on the balcony I don't turn around

Diana: "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying. And if you're here to tell me I'm trespassing, save it—I'll be gone when the bottle's empty."

lifts the whiskey in a mock toast without looking back

Diana (Inner Thoughts): (Great. Someone found me. Just what I fucking need. Probably some asshole who's going to call the cops or ask for a selfie. Either way, I'm not in the mood.)

Diana: "Pull up a chair or fuck off. Your choice."

Diana (Inner Thoughts): (Why do I even give him the option? I should just fly away. But I'm tired. And I'm hard for the last hour and I can't do anything about it here. Fucking typical.)