The Last Temptation of Silk

January 26, 2016:

An unsightly few gather in chaos. (NSFW. Don't read if easily offended.)

Club Sinister


NPCs: Johnny Sorrow, Rodaga, Snowflame, Vaughn MacGruber



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Bar Sinister wasn't on any map. You couldn't find its address anywhere but the dark net and, even there, you probably needed to know somebody beforehand. The underworld has always had its own nightclubs, but this one's for a special breed. Here, the freaks, the monsters, the crazies, the psychos…here they can relax. Let their hair down. Fry the freak flag. Here, they belong.

The music pulsing through the place is electronic and pulsing, a bass-heavy thing that throbs in the gut and makes glasses quiver. The bar itself is a labyrinth, full of secret rooms and side hallways, nooks and crannies where all forms of debauchery go on. The dance floor has bodies piled upon bodies, most of them half out of their mind with no idea where they are - victims in waiting, really, acquired by foul means and unlikely to remember anything if they even survived the night. The Bar had an excellent disposal service for its overenthusiastic patrons.

Harvey Dent has his own private room tonight, one he regularly reserved and paid for. His bodyguards man the door, the fat men known as Yin and Yang - they were horrifying to look at now. After failing Two-Face and Poison Ivy last year, they'd done a short stint in Blackgate and, when Harvey broke them out, he marked each of them with a few dribbles of acid, permanent tears of contrition marked on their cheeks in burn scars. They could have been forgiven, but the coin didn't go there way. Justice.

Two-Face leans back in a leather lounger, drinking a double shot of whiskey with a sigh and watching as a security feed shows him the club at large. He'd had an interesting conference with the Calculator earlier, but wasn't sure the genius' help was worth the money. He'd flip about it later.

House security roams around and there are strict rules about violence - only in designated areas. The Killing Floor is in the basement and if you really have to kill another customer tonight, you at least have to let your peers watch and gamble on it. The guards all wear identical suits, black on black, monitoring the hookers, making sure the drugs are distributed, keeping the party flowing. Normal security stuff, if you allow for the fact that none of them seem to have faces, just a pair of glowing red eyes in an otherwise blank canvas.


It was highly unsavory for someone of Melody's ilk to be in this.. alright. Who are we kidding here? Melody goes where the wind takes her as well as interest, even if she wasn't exactly dressed for clubbing like most were. Some wore spandex suits all dripped with glowing paint, or it could have been something else unsightly under the club light. She wore a little black dress with platform heels embedded with a silver snake, those snakes line her small arms which are often hidden though a copse of well curled hair. It looked as if she were attending an opera, the white diamond encrusted clutch held against her person as she stood next to Harvey seated form to watch the monitor with a slight shake of her head.

Wine glass was tilted up as she pursed her lips to take a nonchalant sip, her eyes striking an unearthly glow that matches those faceless men upon the floor; soon burning bright white as a faint row of light seemingly rolls over her cheek. "You seem bored." She states blandly, looking down towards the half faced man with a slight grimace and a shake of her head.

"So, Bar Sinister. I don't know if you know that I am in the business of buying property all over the tri-city area and this club has hit a bit of my interests. And you know from our prior dealings that I deliver. Best as I can I deliver."

She looks out onto the dancefloor, Rodaga voging out, fingers matching the limelight as he lines his face with a straight laced frame, a snap and a twist, a high kick that brings his knee to lightly kiss his forehead with a solid drop to the ground upon his back in a cool flourish that makes his other Queen's 'Ooooo!'

He rises like a snake, hips never lying about the motions he makes, foot kicked up yet again to tuck and curl and spin like a pretty top dipped in drag.


Vaughn MacGruber is a powerful man in Boston. Aside from being the unfortunate bearer of a surname matching that of a fictional SNL character, he has powerful connections in the Tri-Cities. He's clean, as far as the Feds go, though anyone with half a toe in the criminal underworld knows him to be as corrupt as the U.S. Government.

Kwabena Odame enters the club along with a handful of MacGruber's finest thugs. An assortment of freaks and criminals with questionable psychiatric positions, all of them here because MacGruber paid for it.

Kwabena isn't entirely sure how Cindy Moon ended up in his company. However, as they make their way through the line and past the bouncers, he leans over to glance her way. "Watch yahself in here. Gets rough. You don't play along, dey might end up taking you downstairs. You don't want to end up downstairs."

Once past the bouncers, the group are led into the club. One of them seems to know where MacGruber's den of rented inequity is located, and is leading the way.

As for attire. Kwabena himself is dressed in a pair of gunmetal gray pants, skin tight, tucked into bulky, black combat boots. An oversized, old black leather jacket is worn upon his frame, beneath which is a ripped up black tank top. A beanie sits atop his head. He's fitting the part, having even gone so far as to have the upper half of his left ear and right lower lip pierced. It'll heal; no scars.


Cindy Moon frowned, well- alright, it was more than just a frown, it was an awkward half grimace as she pushed herself into an odd corner off the dance floor. Oh she /had/ messed up, she had messed up very, very, VERY hard. 'Oh come on Cindy, come have a drink, let loose, live a little- It's just a club' YEAH JUST A CLUB. She's already been accosted by at least three hookers /and/ she's had to feign eating some kind of tablet. Really, she's a duck out of water here, the poor reporter finding herself absolutely in over her head at the behest of one of her more (*very) eccentric friends. The same eccentric friend who has vanished somewhere in this grinding chaos, abandoning Cindy up the creek with nothing even close to resembling a paddle. And really, amidst the debauchery who's going to be looking for someone simply as /plain/ as Cindy? Pure as driven snow, an innocent among the freaks, it wasn't like she was going to draw any attention whatsoever, nope… Nope…

Oh god she's going to DIE here.

Cindy really did stand out like a sore thumb, her outft was simple in comparison to some of the things people here were wearing. Or not wearing, by the amount of discarded tops Cindy has spied. She's wearing a simple light red top and a short length pleated black skirt, leaving just the smallest hint of bare flesh between shirt and skirt where one can barely catch her navel. Really, this was sort of saucy for Cindy! To say nothing of having her hair down when not in costume, black silk resting on her shoulders as her silk senses go crazy. Really, there's nothing more for her to do than grin and bear it, since she's not able to discern a single thing in this place… And god, the awkwardness which has blossomed in her chest only makes things all the worse. She never hit the pan, she was dropped right into the fire.


Sitting there, wearing a dark red leather jacket, and black pants, brooding over the track he'd been pursuiting was one Roy Harper, Jr.

The DEO's reorganization had thrown some slight twists in his way, but perhaps one of the oddest thing he'd run into yet was the rumblings of a super-powered drug lord, in and out of town.

The contacts he had from his old groups, back when he was running around through the scene snorting and injecting whatever was on hand, still remained, though they were never quite able to get -clean-, they were at least willing to help get the most dangerous elements out of circulation. And this person, whoever it was, counted as among the most dangerous…

Eyes shifts towards a new arrival, one with long flowing white hair, wearing an overcoat in this cold winter weather, with a tan that indicated his arrival from some warmer climate. South America, was it?

That man barely batted an eye at the hookers, instead making his way towards the higher-profile drug runners, here to do business.

It had to be him, Roy reckoned.



It does not take much to call to ones senses. Satana may have been pushed into a deal with the Supreme. Do not eat the good ones, only those doomed to her father as it was. So, what about the prospects of the lickable white center of the oreo? She'll tip the scales. Not hard when two pairs of those glowing red eyes of bouncers gain another pair, but the insets of brimstone flicker a feline incandescence in the darkness only split by the flicker of lighting, enough to lie in the darkness, make some think of safety if they even dared to, before blacklights reflection did little justice… Until the canvas of which reactive paint was upon moved.

That additional set of eyes shifted from the darkness, hands sliding up and over the bouncers shoulders as she steps between, her hands contouring muscular shoulders, feeling every groove until claws dimpled and dared to end cloth beneath. A caress, a threat, a taunt that has Satana pushing forward on ballet heels, spires of silver heels bearing tiny spikes from the base, but as blacklight paint reflected, as did the latex that seemed to shift like an abyssal ichor over the contours the 'fabric' was painted upon and laced onto.

Boots laced to mid thigh, criss crossing up the front to start tight and then part, indenting flesh in the tight hold upon it. Barren betwixt the shorts that clung over hips had an apparent bet on with skin on how long they could look natural contrasted against cocaine pale skinscape that is intricately painted with the reflection of deep purple contours of very finite scales, scales that bore a sheen to them amongst albinism that is lacking by the long spill of vitae huen hair, pinned back only to lash at those spires of heels.

One man rests back, drunk in his seat, daring to swat at that as in passing, a hoot and a hollar that only has Satana spinning on him, but instead of complete chaotic violence that heel and toe bites into his shoulder, all the while she leans in close and a forked tongue flicks out to salaciously roll along his lips… A flicker… and exchange and light almost drew from his throat, but there she left it, that moth cocooned in his throat.

Then left him to swallow his soul back down, if he could.

Satana LOG NOTE: swat at that ass*


Harvey lights a cigar, dragging on it with his lipless left side, his exposed teeth raw and blackened at the gum. "Look at you, little ragamuffin. I remember when you were nothing but an errand girl, playing Speedy Delivery for the Cat. And now here you are looking to pick up property," he grins. "Be careful with ambition, pretty girl. Your wings may be waxx and the sun gets awful hot near the top," he says.

"If you're looking to buy this place, yer welcome to try. The owner's kind of a mystery, but the glow-eyed bastards all work for him. You could ask for an audience, see how it goes. What's the worst that could happen?" he says.

Security takes note of the various arrivals. Snowflame is attended, a few scantily clad 'hostesses' offering up their backsides in case he decides to do a line. Cindy's definitely getting the red eye from a few of the bouncers, although it's hard to tell what it means, the expressionless creatures just moving their heads as they follow her on the dance floor for purposes as yet unknown. Satana is, of course, more than welcome, her parentage speaks for itself - she, however, can sense something else. The radiance off those guards' auras is absolutely demonic, but of a separate lineage, servitor demons of some sort molded and shaped and stuffed into human caracasses.

Kwabena draws a few eyes as well, some mercs with long memories who grumble a bit to themselves when they see the African make his way in…


Eventually, Kwabena's group is led into that of MacGruber's company. They are in a VIP section positioned just high enough over the dance floor for people down low to see the piles of cocaine strewn about a large table. Surrounding the table are couches, lacking arms, filled with thugs and hookers alike, two of which are draped over MacGruber's lap in all their fishnetted and latexed glory.

Kwabena glances behind to see if the sore thumb, Cindy Moon, is still with them. His silver eyes stand out about as much as she, but his reputation precedes him. Once inside the VIP area, he observes the couches, the partiers, and the expansive table. Alongside the piles of cocaine are cutting tools, straws, chilled bowls with bottles resting inside, stemware and ash trays, enough booze, blow and cigarettes to carry this entourage well into the night.

Upon entry, Kwabena and his folk are ushered over to the cocaine, while one hooker cuts a row of lines four inches deep each. The mercenary approaches one, claims a straw, and snorts the line with an effortless measure that tells of his experience with this world.

Coming up from the table, the Ghanaian's eyes go wide for a moment. "God damn," he exclaims. "Who brought dis shit?"

"He did." One such latexed hooker gestures out into the expanse, where Snowflame is being attended to.

Silver eyes narrow. Just so.


Melody doesn't bat an eye or flinch an inch as Harvey begins to speak. Her head twisting just a little to catch him in her sights for but a moment as she turns her eyes towards the screen. "Still am." Is all she say about that, why.. Rodaga was in attendance here right along with her but jamming out on the dancefloor as he would. But do not partake of the drugs.

"This isn't anything about rising to the top Two-Face. Not about that at all. I'm not even trying to make a name for myself here, I just see what I want and I aim to get it no matter the cost." Her hand lifts to tap at her nose. "Lesson from the Cat."

She turns away from the screen now, bending only to place her glass upon the table, the clutch followed soon after. "Worse that can happen is he tells me no and I go looking for something else. Could be yours." It wasn't a threat, it was an honest try at business topped off with a little smile as she looks back to the screen, the light within her eyes flickering as she sees just who appears upon the scene and with /who/. Shit.

Heels scrape across the floor to lean in slightly, studying the screen, melding with it mentally as the inner focus sets her sights upon Kwabena Odame. With a crew. So that's where he was.

She shakes it off and turns back towards Harvey with a blight smile, the glow soon darkening to a pitch black that draws reflectors to the surface. "Think you can set me up with a meet, then? You have your ways, am I right? Or is this going to take a bit of convincing and coin."


Cindy Moon pushes a loose lock of hair behind an ear as she bites on her lip, giving a drunk patron just the most awkward look as she oh so very gently pushed him along, mumbling something or another to the effect that hey- /hey/- there's so many other prettier girls who are far, far more interesting than herself. Really, it's been this awkward dance the whole time she has been here since losing that idiot, and her futile search has only brought her further into the depths of this cocaine and hooker ladden hell. Honestly, she never expected this was the way she was going to go out, dying from the sheer awkwardness that is being a stranger in the strangest land imaginable. To say nothing of the way that poor Cindy jumps when she receives the oh-so-very-common smack on the butt, or brush of the side. Really, she looks pertubbed, and even a little beffudled! Why is *she* drawing the attention here? There's women in every possble state of nakedness and she's the one getting touched! She doesn't even have the time to get mad through her perplextion.

But finally, thank- Thank god- she found the idiot. He was drunk and happy in his seat, that glazed over expression of being just drunk enough to not give a shit anymore, but not yet vomiting everywhere.

"Hey! Mi-" Cindy starts, only to stop dead and cringe once more as Mike slaps… A very odd(ly alluring) looking woman on the ass… Mike-Miiiiiiiiike, come on! She goes to take a step to recover her drunk friend, only to stop dead as Satana… Leans in and… Licks his lips? A-Ew! Not Mike!


The records on Snowflame was fairly difficult to believe. He'd made an appearance once before, but the reports were difficult to believe, almost like some sort of Messiah had descended upon the earth to spread the Word, and that word was Cocaine. Naturally, Roy had to scoff at it, although he -did- have to wonder at the way the Columbian druglord comported himself. Careful lines drawn off the prooffered derrieres, not a sprinkle of cocaine wasted on the lips, none of that 'dust' moustache for him.

"Not our best, of course," Snowflame notes, as he moves on to settle in at a table. "Not surprisingly, you have taken what was pure and blessed, and contaminated it. Would you dirty your God with your filthy hands? No? Then do the same what We bring you. Treat it with proper reverence…!"

A hand waves towards his companions, who then proceed to lay the suitcases they bring with them on the table.

Roy tenses, leaning forward, though, as someone approaches…


Satana's deal with an 'angel' saved her ass, but again, how close she was willing to skirt it was very up in the air. So much so as the man with a wandering hand chokes, coughs, and has a hooker slapping his back to clear a passage, Satana is setting sights upon Cindy geting just a bit too close.

Eyes almost glowing well on their own slide from toe to head of Cindy as she approaches her, closing that personal bubble with not so much as a 'pop' gesture. The look alone is one that should be given to a choice cut of meat, or a body laden in sweat giving her the same, but the small 'white light' of a girl has a smile spreading to cheshire proportions on deep red lips, almost blackened if not for the way they shone, like a puddle of long spilt blood. Especially encircling the pearlescent teeth and those… canines?

There and gone as she leans down, one hand snaking from one shoulder of Cindy's to the other, the form of the woman moving like a serpent to going in one side and come up along the other after a quick circle of her back., almost cheek to cheek as she speaks. "Know him? Ah well, he is in capable, albeit sticky hands. You look like you could use a good time." And in saying as much the hands that had slid along her shoulders draw Cindy in a grip she can feel those claw tips -pushing- against if she did not twist away.

But the only direction she'd be ushered into is towards those snow laden tables.

Snowflame's ode to cocain a poem writ in Sanskrit, if such a thing had even been vowed to back then upon stone tablet and exchange among kings and queens. It always ended as such, thus how Calligula kept insane governing.

Or Syphillis.

Semantics, the taunting of one more pure soul has Satana drawing in a deep breath, nostrils flaring in the exuberant gesture only to pause in a wandering of eyes, upon Roy. "So many so lost."

The smile that returns let's them stare into the Hell that found them if the place itself is not enough.


Two-Face smirks and rises up, "The coin makes decisions, but I don't mind doing a favor. Favors, of course, have consequences. If I get you your meeting ,don't forget the angel and devil on your shoulders who made it happen," he says. He heads to the door, gesturing for Melody to follow him.

Yin and Yang go down ahead of him, the massive ex-sumo easily pushing through the crowd as Harvey looks about for the bodyguards. He sees the gathering storm by the cocaine, though, and can't help but be amused. Not that Harvey was above indulging - he was of two minds on the subject - but people who overdid it tended to be sloppy and vulnerable. He suspected that whoever the benefactor of the place might be, they were probably keeping a close eye on the proceedings.

The security guards still stare at Cindy, watching her with that empty, unflickering attention, tracking her every movement even as she plays the naif. Satana, meanwhile, makes them scatter, the creatures keeping their distance from Shaitan's princess…


Looking on as the deal begins, Kwabena shakes his head just so. The cocaine was burning in him now, and he didn't come here for some drug deal with this nutball dressed like Diamond Dallas Page.

It will be patience then. Kwabena will get his turn with Vaughn MacGruber if he can last the night, which is clearly going to require booze. A bottle of whiskey is taken for his own, along with a tray of cocaine. There's plenty of it to go around. He pours a glass full, a double, then shoots it back before preparing himself a chaser of snow white.

Soon enough, the Ghanaian is joined by a brunette, one wearing a strapless gown of midnight blue latex. The woman sits down next to him, eyeing his tray, before smiling demurely at the mercenary. Odame meets her gaze with a coy look of his own, before adding to his line and splitting it into pairs. It's a time honored tradition, cutting the blow into what real partiers refer to as 'Hollywoods', and he does it with practiced ease. Then, he offers the woman her first go, before leaning in to take his own up the nose.

Following this, the mercenary leans back against the back rest of his couch, fingers clenching and unclenching. The shit works fast; he's getting more keyed by the moment.

Clearly, it's time for more whiskey.


"You forget. I still owe you two." Melody holds her fingers up, taking a step back as the large man rises, actually having to crane her neck just to get a good look. She knows that gesture to follow and does so, right at his side as if he belonged, forget the molls who happened to be not in attendance this night. Probably good. Those women actually scared the living shit out of Melody and she probably would have reacted badly to an odd eye. Go figure.

Down into the main area, Melody keeps her clutch pressed to her body, her eyes roving and wandering, catching Rodaga with a slight nod and a shake of her head there after to allow him to continue to enjoy his time.

'Oooo, hunty. I guess. Slippery bitch.' He calls out, which has Melody sticking out her tongue and offering her middle finger in reply. They share a likened smile as she presses on, noting the woman with the red hair, her head twisting just to try to keep Satana within her sights, her gaze swiveling towards those within the corner and..

Her hand lifts to smack against her face.. but she presses on. She wasn't in to blowing covers, not this night.

"Just where are we going, Mr. Dent?"


Just then, the DJ started to play this:

And the dance floor went a little nuts with nostalgia.


Cindy Moon cringed, come on Mike, you had promised Cindy one thing! ONE THING. You wouldn't run off with any odd women again, like, this happened every time you went out. Every. Single time. Really, she was just going to let this lady carry on, get Mike and pull the doofus out of he- Wait. Wait. Oh- /Crap/ she's coming over here. For Cindy, it was like watching a train wreck, but sadly, the train was barreling towards her and she was the poor tiny european economy car stuck on the tracks. That familiar itch ran along the back of her neck, tingles shooting down her spine as she tensed. There was something very, very ill about the woman approaching her, every nerve in Cindy's body told her to flee, but her racing thoughts could not convince her legs to move as she remained rooted to the ground. Nope, THIS was how it was going to end, some terrifying and absolutely mind-meltingly hot woman was approaching her and probably going to steal her sould or something along those lines.

If only she knew just how close her joke came to the truth.

"Ahh… Sorry about him…" Cindy murmured, trying desperately to use her big girl voice and dying internally as it comes out as little more than a pained squeak. Mike, you idiot- What did you do?! And for her part, Cindy is totally under whatever spell Satana has cast, beng a confused, awkward young woman was hard enough! And now she has to deal with this, the proximity causing her to squirm gently against the hands as the image of those teeth kept readily present in her mind. It was as if she were being embraced by a shark, and the rather demure superhero (WE SWEAR) can't do much more than turn her eyes away. Cindy is warm and squishy, a sleight young woman, all tight and trim muscle which she is doing everything within her power to show off as she attempts to hold strong against the wandering hands.

And then there's the pushing, Cindy cringing a bit as she coughs and bites h1er lip. "Really though- I'm sorry about him?" She squeaks, barely audible as she stares at the snow dusted tables. Oh- Alright… Out of the fire, into the pits of hell…

She'll offer the smallest bit of resistance, trying to turn away with a side step, her face locked in its grimace. She's not this kind of girl! What would her mother think?! But, well Cindy can't… Exactly push herself to try very hard to escape, maybe it was some weird social stigma of turning down terrifying women? Maybe she's just so awkward and pliable she can't bring a defense? Maybe she wants this?! Well… Alright, probably not the last one.

Just… Going to swallow dryly as the terrible demonic bouncers leave her to an even more terrible darkness. Thanks guys…


Melody Kenway says, "RUN DMC"


"What'll be your pleasure, guv'nor?" the waitress askes Roy, causing him to grimace. "Whiskey, beat."


"Nah, got my own. Thanks, anyway."

Snowflame, meanwhile, is perfectly content to expose the suitcases of -his cocaine-. That it seems to practically glisten with the purity of freshly fallen snow might have been a figment of the imagination, the glowing of his hands must surely have been from -that-.

"Cleanse your -soul- from your filth," Snowflame proclaims. "If you doubt it, we shall test this upon the masses. You there… bring me -that- girl. She shall be demonstration for the salvation. Let her soul be -ignited- by the purity of Cocaine."

Yes, he's pointing at Cindy.


Mike or not "Mike" managed to keep his soul, but he was also picking himself up off the floor with the help of a topless girl in her vinyl pleated mini skirt, as well as a blonde bearing nothing but body paint of blacklight glow and an itty bitty bikini that sufficed as coverage, but not nearly close enough. As if nothing had happened one was within the mans lap with a laugh that hurt as it brought tears to his eyes.

Satana is no fool, the scattering of the demonic embodiments gains note and the perk of finely manicured brow, but the central attention getter is something never indulged upon, and the sin that surrounds it could only be cut with a very hot, and very sharp blade… A blade that likely split the very tongue of Satana's that barely comes to touch upon lips.

The songs started to slow and then pick up, and with it the lighting and the tempo of the space, pulses, bodies, indulging….

Cindy is not left alone per se, fact her feet may not be her own or even upon the grond when she finds herself beside Kwabena and Satana behind her. "Come now, you think he needs apologized for? No it is better when you are the one having contrition." And one of the girls before Shift that had stood upright is pushed back down to have the dusting of cocaine showers piled in neat spikes along the divet of her spine that boweed beneath the pressure of Satana's hooked fingers in her hair - keeping her in place. By the girls wiggle and squeak beneath there is no protest.

Sin… It tasted so good, but sometimes the sensation is comparable and when Satana bends over the womn she has held and draws along her spine with the curl of tongue, just enough to numb before Shift finds his straw plucked from fingers and a line gone from the small of the girls spine.

From Cindy to Shift, eyes danced, thumb to nostril and nose wrinkled and smile spread, but this time those canines were unmistakable. Quartet of reptilian hooks playing upon the pillow of lower lip.

Hard to miss the cutting of two additional figures across the dance floor. Melody and Two-Face, and the way she clutched her bag, like she was walking in the gheto on a dark and silent midnight.

A flicker of lights off of the Snow Abbey (tm) and it is enough for Satana to grab the little clutch within hooked fingers in passing to head back for the tables, clipping it open to peer within, only glancing back to sing-song at Melody.

"I have your /purse/ open. Now what?" A slow fanning of herself with the bedazzled bag and her body writhes in a dance, one that is slowly beginning to omit a heat, a calling that has eyes nervously flicking her way.

Never cocaine a succubus.



Harvey doesn't know the locals, but doesn't have to. He doesn't need to introduce himself - his face is his business card, as recognizable as any. A face that was once plastered on posters and all over TV commercials - and now on wanted posters and the nightly news as a ruin of the man he once was, a monument to a hero of justice turned foul and broken.

Satana's indulgence draws a ragged grin from the man, who can appreciate the finer, darker things in life. "We go where the action is, kiddo," he says to Melody in a husky voice, a voice that turns dark and almost demonicc in its own right as he adds, "And it's Two-Face," he says.

When Snowflame calls for Cindy and the others go behind her, the demonic bouncers who'd been staring at her draw in and gather on either side. An empty, bored chorus of voices comes from them, addressing the druglord, "All apologies, sir, but this refreshment has already been reserved by the proprietor."


"Now it's a proble-.." Her purse was snatched from her in that instant, Melody's gaze lifting up towards Satana, a deep frown curling her lips as she turns away from those within the booth to rub her fingers along the bridge of her nose. She had to breathe. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Alright, she's good!

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine..

She turns upon the tips of her red-bottom snake clad heels, her expression almost frightened and shocked, tears swelling within her eyes as she draws her fingers to her lips with as much hesitancy she could muster. Yes. Melody was going to cry. She was going to cry all over the dance floor and ruin the cocaine because some evil lady with red hair snatched her diamond encrusted purse.

Entirely better than the alternative.

She holds a hand up towards Harvey, allowing her fingers to show that she was shaking as she approaches the table, arms drawn in yet one hand reaches out with fingers extended. "C.. Can you give me back my purse?"


"Please?" That's what! Melody showing restraint. By the fucking gods she was showing restraint. TOO much. It was insidious.


The shot glass glistens when it pulls away from Shift's mouth, the whiskey taken down as if it were water. He settles the glass upon the table, then reaches into his jacket for a pack of smokes and a beat up, old zippo lighter. He looks to the hooker at his side, then nods his head away. She's not his type, and he's not about to let himself get distracted from the mission by a relatively inexpensive handjob.

The mercenary's silver eyes remain loosely painted upon Snowflame, split in part with Vaughn MacGruber.

The crime lord eyes the offering, then gestures toward his party, as if giving permission. "Let's see if it drives as well as it fucking glistens, Snowflame," MacGruber looks toward the new arrivals, his beady eyes all but glowing. "Make sure those two bitches get a good whiff!"

This all but cues Kwabena to turn his attention upon Cindy and the woman standing behind her. He watches with an energy in his eyes, but aside from his fingers, the mercenary seems too cool to have just banged out a pair of lines long enough to represent one of Satana's hooked fingers. His fingers are toying with each other, a telltale sign of the cocaine's raging influence that his lips otherwise conceal. No one needs to know the Ghanaian is grinding his teeth. Instead, he watches the two, an expectant look upon his eyes when Cindy is offered the substance. She came in with him; should she not partake, she becomes a liability.

Now, it's hard to say whether Shift noticed Melody or not. He doesn't seem to acknowledge her, but when she poses her request of Satana, he reaches to pour himself another shot.


Cindy Moon certainly feels small between the mercenary and the demon, the poor woman wholly out of her element as her eyes roll upwards and she questions which cruel deity saw it fit to inflict such punishment on her. And well, she can't help but shiver somewhat as she hears that voice play out behind her, the dark dulcet tone drawing another horribly long shudder as Cindy writhes uncomfortably. Why did she have to be standing behind her? Why was there so many women yet so few articles of clothing between them?!

But in this moment, the goddess of Cocain Hookers smiles down upon Cindy as Satana turns her horrible terrible no-good bad attention to snorting a line right off someone's back. Now, there's a lot of things wrong with this, yet Cindy can't get over how unhygenic that is! Cocain was bad! But snorting it off of people were worse! You don't know where that hooker may have been! But, the wandering thoughts of /where/ that hooker may have been are cut short as Cindy catches Satana's eyes in rhythm, the girl tensing once more as her eyes went wide and that red glow dances along her cheeks once more. Really, her cheeks were as deep a scarlet as Satana's hair. There was something horrible in those eyes, and the worst of it, Cindy was very… Very… Curious? Entranced? There was some horrible influence pulling on her in each of those shared moments, and the painfully naieve Cindy cannot help but let her mind swim in the influenc- And she's not giving her that attention any further. The Spiderwoman shaking her head sharply and taking a deep breath as Satana takes her exit, dark eyes following her through the crowd as Cindy gulps and puts her hands in her lap. She felt… Violated, a wave of heavy shame settling on her shoulders as she struggles between enticement and some form of engrained shame. Oh- Hey, look. Cocaine.

She was stuck trying to raise her hand, you know, to polietely decline1 some raving cocaine meister, eyes flicking to the mercenary, the one Mike said would show them a /great/ time. Fucking Mike. But thankfully, the bouncers step up like knights clad in rather well-fitting suits, once more making Cindy look positively rediculous as she stares out from between them with the most confused expression. Refreshment? T-They weren't talking about her right? They were talking about the cocaine-



Really, honestly, Roy -would- have come up there trying to find a reason to rescue Cindy. Except, for some reason, he had -someone- on his case, lately.

So naturally, with impeccably bad timing, said DEO official decided to call.

"What…?" Roy snaps at his cell phone. "I'm -right- in the middle of the case… wait, what…?" Pause. "I am -not- sniffing up some alien cat's tail! And that's -no- way to refer to Kori! Look, I'm trying to get your damn coke here…!"

Meanwhile as this is going on, Snowflame welcomes Cindy with open arms, clasping his hands together. "Excellent, excellent… my dear miss, I would like you to help me with this. I promise, no harm shall come to you. Cocaine is my God, and I am the human instrument of Its Will. Please, take of Its flesh, taste of its blood, and accept this Cocaine as the gift and blessing it is." A pure clean line is offered.


Every pulsing flicker of light that sweep to and fro leaves a new crevice of darkness, and each spot is like a snakes path of crossing, winding… And the distance that can be travered is short, but an easy game to play within if Satana even dared. No, at this point the contained fire within Satana is slipping, forming a glistening sheen over her pale skin to only emphasize the glowing and glistening of those 'painted on' scales. It was hard to ignore the allure and the insatiable desire. But it could be the alcohol or it this point the cocaine talking in any of their systems.

Satana was not gone long from Cindy's side, long eough to come winding her way through writhing bodies bearing an angry short woman at her heels, desiring the clutch that is now being trailed over with those elongated and pointed nails.

"This little baggie of yours? It fits so well at this party, and I had to tell you simply how much I adored your shoes." The light that flickers in those eyes is hell borne, just akin to her smile while she back away from Melody and Two-Face, the play in her step evident by the sway of latex encased hips that came to collision with the back of Shift's seat.

No mistake, she took it in stride and perched her ass behind him, her empty hand stroking over beanie laden head to attempt and smooth the cotton fabric from his skin and flick it away like an article of a strippers attire removed from stiletto.

Leaning back a hooked nail scoops some of that cocaine from the table and dares to lay out a single line along the smooth bald scalp. "I love the contrast.." And as she says as much, the hand bearing the clutch rests along her hip and the back of Shift's neck, that line taken in just as it had been from the back of the hooker prior. This time though it began with the straw, leaving the pale residue behind to only have it finalized with the taunting drag of forked tongue.

It was the flavor that did something different, the slight look upon Shift with the follow through that has her flicking the clutch back at Melody and warily eyeing Kwabena, a look that normally came before predators attacked.

Instead the smile to Melody returned, a lean forward and -down- to her level (even in heels!) and has her daring to brush fingers along her cheeks. "You're so -hot- when you're angry."

Rising back up it brings her nearly nose to nose with Two-Face who also will become graed with touch, though solely along his bad side where fingers smooth over the burnt remains of tendon like it is braille. "I love it when they show me their good side."


This whole affair is becoming tiresome. Kwabena knows he has the patience to wait it out, to earn his chance at cornering MacGruber, but Snowflame's song and dance has him itching to put something else up the bastard's nose. The cocaine surely isn't helping his anxiety, but, suffice it to say, this isn't his first ride on the cocaine train.

Instead, he watches with a seemingly unconcerned look as Cindy is welcomed into the open arms of 'Cocaine', a thing that is entirely Holy Spirit and nothing else. He, as well, would have reduced her, but one innocent girl putting blow up her nose doesn't stack up to the greater job here. He's on a mission, and little else will come between him and accomplishing it.

… but there are things.

Kwabena's singular eyes are drawn by a well-drawn hump of latex, and something stirs within. A cord is unraveled and tugged upon, and the Ghanaian finds himself utterly drawn away from the mission, first giving attention to leg and shoe alike. However, before the mercenary might feast his eyes upon anything else, his beanie is removed. The demonic touch brings a kidding to his eyes, one that deepens when the woman's forked tongue snakes across his bald skin.

Its almost enough to have him mistake the shiver that runs down his spine, but the oddness building in his chest convulses and screams at him. The predator's look is met when Kwabena cranes his neck and looks into the demoness's red eyes, and they too bear a wariness that comes close to matching hers; as close as a mortal man can come.

Then again, Kwabena Odame has been dead before.


Two-Face cocks his head and sneers a little at Satana, "You sure do like grabbin' guys by the boner an' leadin' 'em around, don't ya, sugartits? Go head and give my pal there back her purse and you can go back to jugglin' testicles in between lines," he says. Probably a bit foolhardy, but, well, Harvey's crazy, hadn't you heard? He takes a long draw on his cigar and raises an eyebrow at Snowflame's rhetoric.

"Sheesh, I haven't heard a spiel like that since the last time I was in Arkham. You an' Maxie Zeus could probably keep every lightbulb in the place goin' with the electro-shock ya need," he says.

Then there's a fell wind in the place and the guards part as a figure appears suddenly behind Cindy. A man, broad shouldered, in a perfectly tailored red suit, black tie, a bit retro, a 30s cut like you'd see in an old movie. His hands are gloved. Most notably, nothing appears above the collar - no head, no hair, just empty space. Except for a red mask, floating in the nothing. The voice that comes from it is wretched and twisted, a voice that makes goosebumps swell and threaten to burst. The sound of gnashing teeth and broken bones. The sound of despair. The sound of Sorrow.

Johnny Sorrow, to be exact.

"I'm afraid I must insist. This one is afraid you see and full of sadness. And I have an appetiite for such things. Your God's potency would take away what I crave…and I have quite a hunger tonight," the demon lord says.


LOG NOTE: Shift's autocorrect struck. Lidding, not kidding.


Cindy Moon lets her shoulders slump, a terrible look coming across her features as Satana comes back! She was only just grappling with that murky, murky sexual confusion that had settled in stomach! She didn't need YOU coming back with all your frustrating allure and the butterflies and your stupid sexy butt!

Stupid sexy buttlady.

And then she's left facing the Pontf of Cocaine, Cindy letting out the weakest little choke of a cough as her face twists into a half cocked pained smile. She was really, really forcing it now. Honestly, were it anything but cocaine she would probably play along with the raving loon. He was playing a very convincing act, like one of those jesus freak ranters back in New York. It was inspiring! But, well, its also cocaine and dope is for dopes!

And, well- there is the matter of the bouncers. She's not entirely sure if they're protecting her or she has just found herself in the worst place at the worst time. Or mroe acurately, the worster place at the worster time. Cindy raises a hand to object conversion to the church of cocane, only for her eyes to drag across Satana doing a line of coke off a man's head.

That… Is certainly something. She feels weird, and the fact that she can't help but gawk is all the worse. Indeed, she keeps gawking, absolutely missing the change in atmosphere which engulfs her. She strkes quite the unimpossing figure, her mouth somewhat agape and brow knit in obvious concentration as she watches Santana.

That was a beautiful sound. It only just feels like she's descended even further to hell. Her senses flare in time with the voice, the young woman turning about and cringing sharply as she looks up a the mask. Her face struck with a lovely mixture of fear and shock as she stares upwards at the abyss. Oh… "Crap…"


The commotion was too much for an introvert like Melody. She was under the assumption that they would just be in the private booth, taking buisiness about the club itself, her wiggling and worming her way into Harvey's pocket favor after favor until she got what she wanted and that bridge would be burned.

But this. He had to lead them out into the floor to deal with this. And her fingers curl into a fist, lowering to press hard against her side, nails digging into the palm of her hand so much that it breaks skin and little driplets of blood pool around her digits. Continue to pretend. Continue to pretend. Show restraint..

But the way Satana moves back towards Kwabena has her eyes nearly narrowing, righting herself for the moment, the deep inhales and snifting sounds draws echoes to a memory long gone. Something she thought she'd be rid of. Nothing but pure disease. Disease. Something she'd never really get rid of, no matter how hard she tools her nanites to adapt.

You can't fight something you miss. You miss it and you need it. No matter the color that goes up your nose. It just didn't matter.

A slight shiver runs through her as she looks towards Snowflame, then towards MacGruber and Cindy. Back towards Harvey and Satana, her hand snatching out like a snake to pop the clutch from the womans clawed grip which was soon tucked beneath her arm with a tiny lick of confidence that one never knew a shrimp like her could possess. Get a load of that poker face.

A poker face in white.

The resistance was something that was broken down as she takes a step forward to the table. Something that could ease her nerves, ease her mind. Make her happy for just that one second. The 'Oh goddamn' so hot on her lips and ready to be spoken as soon as she fills her nose with the good good that'll have those heels turned up and inhibitions gone.

Until Sorrow shows up.

Thank. Go—.. nope. Melody dipped her fingers with a clawed crook that gathers between nails and sniffed-snift as if she showed Charlie Sheen how.

Sans HIV.

Melody don't roll like that.


Satana had already given the little purse back to the little companion of Two-Faces, and when he speaks the smile starts and the darkness dances in corners of her facade that emit laughter before it even began to bubble forth. Hyindae in origin if it was not for the fact that the emotion left her lips long before it silenced through the clubs walls.

"Testicles, chest-icles. Dear. Sweet. Man. My desires have no single direction nor fate. You should try it sometime and pick the better side to rule them all." A small point of index finger and the soulfire burns a small loop, one that she brings to lips and fires towards his 'tails' side. It will not burn him on impact it will only dissipate like a backdraft around his cranium.

Nope, not even a good night could be ruined by insults not even -insults-. But it is a good try. No, instead Snowflame is her target, or well his table. A flick of fingers and cocaine be spared save the residue that will only serve to dim the sheen of latex clad ass that now claims the spot just behind Cindy.

One hand rises to wave at Sorrow, fingertips dabbled in white that one. by. one she licks clean before she rocks forward and perches her chin on Cindy's shoulder, her other hand snaking around her waist.

"My. My. Say it again. How hungry are you?" And in that final inquiry the temparature pushes up several degrees and that voice bears a low growl.

Beat… beatbeat…

To Snowflame with a final lick of thumb that goes up in his direction. Pity his Snow was not going to serve to calm her down though….


"Look, if you're gonna be busting my balls," Roy growls into the phone, "Can't it at least wait till, I don't know, like, NOT NOW?" And now Roy just rolls hie eyes, his attention going back to Snowflame, while holding the phone against his chest, his mouth moving in a non-audible 'blah blah blah' gesture, before he freezes, as Johnny Sorrow makes his appearance. A muffled 'HARPER!' can be heard from the phone, indicating how loud he was being yelled at here, but well… WTF?

Snowflame, on the other hand, can only recoil back slightly, before finding the courage. After all, he was fueled by his God cocaine, and the righteous flames of Cocaine begins to burn, illuminating his eyes with pure white fire.

"It is an -empty- hunger, then, not at all as pure as the burn of the righteous god. Come, young acolyte. Choose, then… would you choose a kingdom of sorrow, or a kingdom of happiness?" Now the cocaine bag is lifted up, held in a flaming hand that somehow doesn't set the bag aflame. "Accept Cocaine as your Savior."


Harvey doesn't flinch from the flames thrown his way - he's been burned enough and, frankly, that side of his face doesn't really have much in the way of feeling anymore. His nerve endings went away with Maroni's aim. He just gives a wink to Satana, made more grotesque by the fact that the open eye is lidless and bulging. He turns his head as Melody indulges herself, more distracted by the changes to the girl than anything else, to be honest. She was quite different than she was when he'd first met her so long ago.

"Nuts," he says. "Little girl, you're going to make me flip a coin about your ass if you keep going darkside like that. Makes a man sweat," he says.

Sorrow cocks his head mask, the temperature in the room slowly dropping. The lights in the place start to dim, the dancing ceasing as the dimensional frequency wobbles. Satana can taste it in the air - a Hell just moved a bit closer, nuzzled right up against the veil. She can probably hear the screams coming from the King of Tears' realm. Johnny's playground, from whence the building blocks of Bar Sinister were imported.

"Ah, you think I'm giving her a choice. That's quaint. If I were a crossroads demon, perhaps I would indulge in a deal or a wager. But I'm afraid I'm just not that kind of devil. You have spoiled her a little, though, already I'm afraid. Her fear is all muddled, her mind addled. Dim and a more poor choice than I expected. I need a feast, not an appetizer. But I don't like being challenged in my own house. So take your powdery bitch of a god and begone…or else you can look me in the face and regret it."


Normally, Kwabena shows restraint, in situations like these. Especially in situations such as these. However, when Melody moves forward to hop on board the express train to snow land, he changes. The skin visible on his hands, his bald head, it changes. A subtle transformation that turns flesh into something different; like matte obsidian. It happens silently, for the normal crackling sound is obscured by the pounding of bass lines and kick drums, save for those closest to him. They might have heard it.

Still, he does not intervene. He reaches for a glass, his hand reverting to skin and muscle upon taking it, and pours himself another shot. This one goes down, and is quickly followed by another, at which point his body has completed is reversion from super-solid to normal flesh once more.

Things are heating up. Not unexpected, though Shift couldn't have possibly expected the display from Satana, nor the… thing that has entered into the equation. Shift turns his head to gauge Johnny Sorrow for a long moment, before casting his attention back upon Vaughn MacGruber.

The mob boss has stood, and is silently excusing himself from his own party, accompanied by two hookers, one Muscle, and a one of Snowflame's suitcases.


If only he could tell off the lot of them for further complicating his job. Instead, he retrieves his plate filled with blow, and rises with it, moving over to place himself somewhat between herself, Cindy, and Snowflame.

"Look at dese assholes," says the accented Ghanaian. "Wagging dere dicks around like its Tahzan does Jane." He collects a mound of cocaine upon one of the cutting tools, then reaches forward to cut a line right upon the swell of her chest. "Bunch of witless fucks," he emotes, before pinching one nostril and reaching forward to snort the line of white from the demoness's exposed skin.

Once finished, the mercenary offers the tray to her. "Yours," he says, before taking a step away and giving Cindy a look. It's not unlike the one he met Satana with, predatory in nature, but buried within is a warning. Something she very well may be too riled up to notice. "Do a line or scram, kid," he murmurs toward her.


LOG NOTE: between Satana, Cindy and Snowflame


Cindy Moon didn't need your STUPID SEXY CHEEK ON HER SHOULDER SATANA. Really! She feels, well! What is she supposed to say? She's being pulled between some terrifying sexpot, the pontif of illicit drugs and- well, she doesn't even want to know what the hell floating mask man is. Her thoughts are an absolute mess, her silk senses ringing sharply as they burn out in the presence of so very much. And- And ugh, why does she feel so hot? The sweat was already collecting along her back, her breath coming in sharp drags as she squints and leans into Satana despite herself.

She'll give Snowflame an odd look, she really, really loves the enthusiasm but Cindy is the LAST person that is going to be making a choice right now.

Alright Cindy, you got this, you got this, just keep calm and… Do your thing? What was her thing supposed to be? You can't just monologue your way out of a stuation like this Moon! But… Well… You most likely can't fight you way out of it either.

And cue the most wide eyed expression as Sorrow goes on his monologue. Hah! She WAS the refreshment! She knew it!

Wait. She's the refreshment.


Cindy Moon gives Kwabena an exasperated look! People need to stop telling her to do things!


Someone's head was swimming. Her eyes nearly rolling, lids flipping as she glances up towards the ceiling, her lips parting just a touch as she raises her hand instinctively to let out a sneeze that seems misplaced from the girl who gave it. Her own little dip was left behind as the tray was taken, fingers clawing through it once more to *sniff* *sniff* *sniff* until nothing was left but a glitter of her skin that flashes white and gold, her eyes closing as a breath is laid out, her body nearly extending as she lifts upon the tips of her heels, those same glitter nailed fingers drawn through her curls to shake off the little ants that begin to fill her scalp.

And then she breathes.

The black glow that held her eyes suddenly turns a soft blue as she wavers just a touch, a lazy smile upon her features as shoulders begin to move, working the drug through the system and actively fighting the nanites who try to eat and cure the toxins from her blood.

Hence the sparkles.

"Fuck off, Two-Face.." Melody snaps out, a loud and sharp laugh drawing from her lips as she moves away from the table, having done her fill and.. back stepping again to grab another clawfill and *SNIFFFFFFFFFFFF*

"Motherfucker.." She breathes out, shoulders lifting, head shaking, hair a slight mess as she dips her fingers in between her painted lips to suck the rest of the white from beneath her nails.

Never leave a trace.

"God.. where is he going.. where is he going.." She was going to follow that MacGruber and his suitcase.

'Don't call me if you ain't got my money, bitch!' A deep voice booms out.
"RODAAAG.. wait.. wait.. there's more here.."

Clutch opens as a stack of cash is unleashed and wiggled towards Snowflame, case pointed towards. "Two stacks. Three? Fuck it take the clutch, more than I got in this purse." She all but throws it at him and snaps the briefcase shut, twirling it and grabbing it with her hands. "Fuck.. wait. No no my phone is in my purse. Gimme-it-hur."


Snowflame frowns, then, before holding his hands up, and nodding. "You are correct, this is indeed your home. Trouble not the house, lest you inherit the wind, is that not so, my friend?"

And Snowflame motions to Cindy. "Take her then. When she is but an empty husk, then, we shall restore her. Until then…"

He begins to turn away, before a crapload of money is cranked out, and the entire suitcase is taken.

There is a brief moment, before Snowflame erupts in righteous fiery white flames.


"Oh crap," Roy says, before lifting up the phone. "Someone just took the coke! It's… it's some insane cuckoo woman running like her hair's on fire out the door!" And Roy bolts after her too.


The wink from Two-Face is returned with a blown kiss, one that omits a powdery cloud of white to shift beneath the heat, melting even in the air around the woman to thicken and become sticky-sweet. The fanning of indoor snowfall lands down upon Cindy and even Shift as his own attentions dare to bring him closer, but the air… It shifted with the heat, with emotions. Palatable, a flavor that can make tastebuds dance. Hate and lust, because love has no place here. Not right now, it'd only make matters more…. complex.

That's not how this bitch rolls.

Legs uncross with Sorrows words and give space betwixt thighs for her to tug Cindy into. Motions slow though, a pause as Kwabena closes in and as that line is cut to make nerve endings along chest flare up, pinkening lines along alabastrite that nearly mates with that of cocaine though one is inhaled where the other is left the sensation and desire. A single hand rises, fingers splayed along the spanse of his cranium before she lifts him to come face to face with her. "You go dark when she goes light. There is a part of you that does not fit." No meaning to quickly spoken words as her eyes take back on the predatorial gaze, slitted pupls retracting in that brimstone iris, enough to capture and release the sight of Melody's scene and his own.

A deep exhale and her fingers slide from Shift's head to contour his jawline and then snap around Cindy to erupt them both in that eternal soulfire, an emission of heat that does not burn her flesh but slowly she can feel as if something deep within her is being tugged upon like marionette strings, called forth.

"Long story short, I'd normally offer to split this lovely, but I cannot. I know, poor hospitality, but I am going to make like Twinkle Toes (Melody) and…" The light flashes and like a black hole the club goes dark after the backlash of heat, a heat that nearly brings some to their knees in the sudden ache that finds its way to delerium as if the touch they begged for, -craved-, finally came upon sinful prayers.

But left behind, was no Satana or Cindy.




The flash of heat is enough to bring a flinch to Kwabena's face. In its aftermath, he finds the oddest thing happening; an all but insatiable desire to commit sin he's been free of for years.

There's a very good reason the mercenary doesn't shy away from terrible things during his operations. The cocaine, the violence, the deceit. To him, it pales in comparison to the addiction that once gripped him. Even while registering the sudden disappearance of Cindy and Satana, Kwabena finds himself consumed with an insatiable desire to find a needle, a bag of dope, and go shoot himself senseless in a dark corner somewhere.

It takes a few moments for the urge to settle in. He shudders, utterly debilitated for an excruciating two seconds. It's only the roar of Snowflame that brings him back, the mission a strong enough motive to just barely fight off the urge to use again. There, he growls to himself, but the pandemonium Melody has caused gives him an opportunity. Roy's pursuit is glimpsed, a brief catch of familiarity, before he's turning and heading in a different direction.

Let Harper, Snowflame, and Melody duke it out. This is Shift's best opportunity to find, corner, and confront MacGruber, and in the blink of an eye, he's gone.


Satana thinks Cindy is going to need therapy instead.


Two-Face just at Melody's sudden diversion into coking up and acting wild. When she runs off with the drugs, he snorts and cheers her on, not even minding her talking back to him because he's so amused. Which didn't mean he wouldn't paintbrush her face with the back of his hand next time he saw her for it. Just meant that he was content to let her run so far away for the moment.

Sorrow settles things easily enough. He snaps his fingers and Snowflame vanishes, along with his cohort and, unfortunately for Shift, Magruber. The villains find themselves in a diner on the outskirts of Gotham, a waitress staring at them gawking and dropping her tray full of corn syrup and pancakes.

The others are allowed to lleave, just having Harvey and Johnny next to one another, shaking their heads.

"Kids today," Harvey grins, heading back up towards his box. "Send the whores up and a mop. I'm gonna make a mess tonight," Two-Face calls back to the demon as he heads for his box.

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