Undercover and Upkilt

February 11, 2016:

DEO Agents go undercover to capture a connected metahuman serial killer. (Emits by Taskmaster)


Metropolis Docks


NPCs: Cloaker Dampner Kline



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

A wharf in Metroplis.

This dock is currently blocked off by cars and gates along with security. The reasons are not menacing, however, they're actually the opposite a celebration, a party held by one of Metropolis' wealthy and influential.

Lively music fills the air, very lively and vibrant it's source is a live band. The music? Barn dance would be the first thing to come to mind. Which, yes, it is that but it is also Scottish folk mixed with some electronic dance that is largely influenced by Folk-timey orchestra. The more modern noises kick in when the band takes breaks and a DJ takes their place. It's all very festive and on the side of obnoxious. This is all outdoors. Lucky for all of them Metropolis is not as cold as it's sister Tri-Cities.

Who is hosting the party? Doesn't matter. The DEO doesn't care and they clearly don't want to be seen. This is a first time mission for one Agent Crowley she is the rookie. Agent Harper is likewise being tested and the field lead is Agent Argent.

One could call this a test run of the DEO's newest installment of metahuman and highly skilled individuals in a team they have yet to officially designate as anything other than 'the team'.

Covers have been given out. Each and every Agent has been assigned some sort of costume to blend with this crowd and given very limited instructions. Observe and identify. Nothing more.

Roy Harper's unfortunate assignment was part of the dance troupe. He is dressed in shrunken Scottish style regalia. Shrunk is putting it nicely as the troupe itself are all crossdressers who have added their own flair.

Lillith Crowley has been assigned as shot carrying wait staff. Likewise dressed in slutty Scottish theme.

Samantha Argent is the bartender. One of two bars. The theme stands for her as well. The people who set this party up were very insistent their money was spent properly.

Radio transmitters and receivers are small and concealed on each Agent near their faces. Allowing for easy communications.


"So. I know you ain't no Scott woman but goddamn look at dat ass." The man mutters, as Lillith puts down the shot glass. Slutty waitress was more like it, she was snatched, tugged, and pulled and barely was able to even bend down properly without arching something and breaking a rib.

"Mmhmm." Lillith only murmurs, a smile given as she stands up, an arm suddenly wrapped around an all too thin and cinched wasit that soon pulls and tugs her back into his lap.

"How about you gimme yo' number girl."
"Aw c'mon, you lingered, you want me, I know you do."
"Sure sure bub. Let me go and I'll go ahead and give you my number."

The man lets her goo and soon she was off, her heels clacking in a swish swish that makes hips roll back and forth to give a little tease. All of the guys men were laughing, slapping the table and pointing, spilling drinks all the while Lillith rolls her eyes.

"Seriously. Who's idea was this?"


Behind the bar shots are being poured, in fact a line of shot glasses are brought up from beneath the eave of the bar -


The men at the bar stared, not up but either at the shot glasses as they line right up or the chest of the woman putting them in a row, captured and pushed up to damn near choke her own oxygen level off in the height from the black cincher laced with red ribbon, pressing her into a chiffon like top that hangs off her shoulders in the breezy white fabric, a teenty tinty bow betwixt and nearly swallowed. The mini skirt of red, gold and black is held in place with safety pins over one hip, the fur pouch upon opposing where high upon thighs where the skirt comes to a precarious end garters descend to clasp down upon thigh high white stockings and their own teensy tinsy red bows atop.

The whiskey bottle is tossed up and captured in one hand, flipped like a pistol in rotation (which is where she learned the move) and all glasses filled in the line. But in opposing hand now is another shot glass, cup side down upon finger to be twirled just before a slight slip has it sailing at the mans head that tries to accost Lillith.

Eyes widen in faux shock, her hand touching two fingers over her lips in an oopsie fashion with a bat of over mascara lashes. "Oh, soo sorreh Mikey, or is it 'Mick-ey'? Get over here and get yer shot on tha house eh?" Let's derail one thing for the next.

Whose idea? No idea but this outfit did nothing for the fact of how she had to hide her pistols…


That Agent Argent was already giving him enough flak over 'hanging out with aliens from Planet Pussycat' meant Roy Harper was doing his best to lay low from her commentary every so often.

The problem was, trying to dress up as a Scottish cross dresser meant: a) hair extenders, the like of which would get him -long- lectures from any hairdresser; b) wearing a tartan skirt, which didn't seem so terribly different from a kilt to him; c) one of those artificial cosplaying -chest- things (And if Roy had to wear those things, he wanted enough room to hide a bazooka or two…) and c) going underwear-less, because REAL SCOTS DON'T WEAR UNDERWEAR UNDER THEIR KILTS.

So naturally, -someone- had to made sure he was up there and dancing, and now Roy Harper knew exactly -why- Wee Willie the Scottish Groundkeeper was so surly….

Trying to deal with alll that with a smile, though, Roy just sticks to making sure there were -no- high kicks. Other than the one he'd be delivering to whoever came up with -this- assignment.

"So, uh…" Roy mutters, trying to keep a listen to the earpiece. "anyone seen our target yet?"


The McGonagall's are the wealthy senior citizen crowd separated away from the rest of the party by a chain and several burly guards who look like thugs from the Middle Ages. Respectfully the rest of the gathered party goer's stay clear of the McGonagall table. Though to no surprise many of them are rather aged.

Argent knows that they're not here for the McGongall clan anyways. What little info she has been linked claims they're here for a specific individual. An extra-normal with an unknown power source that was invited to this anniversary party of geriatrics.

Static and a high pitched whine chirps through all the headsets, "Oops." Then what sounds like the mouthpiece of mic is being battered. Loud WHUMP noises before, "Can you hear me? You guys picking me up now? I'm standing in for Interface. Can you guys hear me?" Sounds. More loud obnoxious sounds. Someone is eating in to the mics? Yep. Crunch crunch. "Fucking love these tamales. Oh was that over the coms? My bad."
"So, *crunch* what we're looking for is a guy named Kline uhm hes old wait no hes young. No old. Yeah old. But he looks young because he eats *crunchcrunchmunch* old people and every time he does he looks *slopcrunch* different but kind of the sa… let me see if I can send you a picture of him last time." *Crunch*

Silence follows as the dance troupe is allowed to take a breather several 'upkilt' shots later. A couple of those cellphones have flash on them. For an old bunch of enthusiasts they're polite and wild. All rolled in to one. There is thankfully a large crowd of younger people too. This is routine for these people, they are rich and love to take turns throwing theme parties.


Glass. Noon.

Lillith takes a step aside at the right moment, the glass knocking the man against the head, his neck snapped back for that moment as his meaty hand reaches up to smack against his forehead.

"AW MAN!" He hollars out, standing up to look around, but once he spots Argent, he cools and leaves his laughing buddies to join the rest at the bar for a free drink.

Lillith was far away now, a new refilled of shot glasses, tray expertly turned to put on a show as she forces out a smile that could light a dozen bathrooms. Yeah, that nose was wrinkled with a mild bit of disgust and teeth were bared like she was gonna bite. "Alright boys.. third round.. Show me you can handle it and I won't cut you off." She was teasing, even though it was all fake, they were a bit too drunk to notice it.

Her ears were soon on the comms as she listens to them speak, her gaze lifting left and right as she takes a step away from the table, leaving the tray there and turning to walk off into the thick of the crowd, her slightly short stature making her a little bit too hard to find.


Argent turns around to find another bottle after basically (classy might I add) practically spilling the other bottle of whiskey in filling those shots out across the bar. She's just working fast to shut them up and keep their mouths busy elsewhere. You open your mouth again, I swear I'm gonna break it..

A bottle of Crown in one hand, butterscotch schnapps in the other and she is opening the caps to pop in the spouts. "Doesn't matter Crow, we follow orders until our target is acquired. Hey Red, you're wearing less then your woman. Did you strap in your cargo? Careful up there." The smile is evident in her voice but as the flashes go off, Argent cringes. Hopefully Roy at least wore a mankini, hammock, something? Right??

The sound of eating in the mic just about kills everything for Argent, she is pouring the mixed drink on the level of 'Felony' as the namesake calls it and the nise from Damper makes her cringe and the alcohol to splash outward with the sudden tremor in her hands. Next round for Lillith's cycle is up and she needs a moment to turn, wipe off her hands and speak with her back to the crowd and head lowered. "Dunst, I am going to put you back in that little room and not give you commisary if you take one.more.bite. in the damn comm." The words are bitten out between clenched teeth, but none the less her phone is drawn from the lil' fur pouch at her left hip to receive the image of their target and offer Roy a nod with his break afforded.

The nod also is her doling out glasses of ice water for the performers, his meticulously set aside and away so she can pretend they are taking a selfie and he can see as well.


"Y'kidding me? This is a commando mission," Roy responds, as his partners swings and kicks. What was a man to do? Do the same, of course.

No wonder the Scots were reputed to be tough warriors… they had to have no -fear- to wear these kilts.

Although Roy -did- have to wonder if -someone- like a Lucas Trent had a hand in planning this mission.

"So, Rob Roy show up yet?" the archer asks, rather impatiently. Just how many -dances- did he have to go through anyway?

Argent has a moment right then, where her eyes go wide, white rimming green perfectly and when the bottle hits the floor it geysers that crown up into the air and splashing at her feet.

Arms and hands flail outward and then clasp over her eyes dragging down as she mutters… "The carpet matches the drapes…the…oh god I need a drink."


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