Is This Lump outta My Head?

February 09, 2016:

(Backdated Scene) Taskmaster encounters Harley Quinn outside of Gotham. Hi-jinks ensue.

Route 9 Outside of Gotham

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Dusk has just settled down upon the out of the way and rather seedy looking sprawl of buildings cluttered around a trio of dives; Pat's Truck And Thru (the only place off this strip of roadway one can get a meal that doesn't come in the form of hot pocket or expired deli burrito), a Seven Eleven or what might have been one at one point as the sign is unreadable but clearly it is a small convenient store of some sort and Drifter's Den. A notoriously rowdy biker hang out frequented by travelers of all smelly and colorful sorts.

With the current illumination the place looks like something out of a Post-Apocalyptic nightmare the fall winds carrying trash in it's wispy embrace…

It's here - exactly on time the white and grey beat up old Pest Exterminator's van would pull to the side and stop and two brawny men would get out, a balding man with a spider tattoo on his shiny plate and a wild haired neanderthal of a brute - both are dressed in coveralls and sporting blackened eyes, busted lips, a cauliflower-ed ear and a paper stuffed bloody nose.

"Two for one, it'll be a big pay off he fuckin' said… easy money he said… man, this was a nightmare, a fuckin' nightmare. I'm going to kill Marty."

"Relax, pal, we got the crazy bitch and that fat little Jew; din't we? So what is the problem." The bald man says while spitting out a loogie mixed with what may be a chip of tooth and some blood.

"Problem is motherfucker… that psychotic clown freak broke my nose! That's gonna cost me man…"

A shrug comes from the spidertattoo'd bruiser as he looks at the bar, "Lets get in there and wait for Salazar." The side door of the van slams open, "No way! You're leaving me out here alone with these two… what if she wakes up?" Panic and possibly actual fear exists in the thin, waspish built man with a heavy overbite and equally large nose. "You'll be fine Rat, she's out cold. We worked her over good."

"Man… hell with you guys. I get to sit out here and babysit while you two go inside and drink…" "Stop being a pussy and just watch our bank." Snaps the long haired one. "I think we earned this."

The darkness in the back of the van shifted, a ripple and disturbance though it was crippled. In more ways than one. The aching shoulder made the figure shudder, though silence was something that was being practiced… Thoroughly. The clown cracked smile red viscous liquid down onto the cold metal van bed, mixed with the dark paint of a very smeared faux smile. Blonde hair was red at the tip off one pig tail from what blood had spilled from a nearly broken nose and somewhere in her mouth her tongue pushed against a loose molar.

"Tssss-ahh." A rattled breath of pain and exhale, that was the only sound from Harley at this moment before stillness and listening came into play.

Two down, one to go. Now how to get take-out in this situation..

"Shh, they'll hear you and beat you again." The lump opposite of her pleads, "I can't watch that again, it was horrible." "What? Someone talking over there?" The lights from outside the open van door are able to illuminate enough of Rat that the crowbar he is holding ends up looking even more menacing."

'Lump' releases a quiet whimper tucking further in on himself.

Under his breath Rat can be heard saying, "Fuckmylife." This drowns out as the bar door opens and what sounds like Iced Earth can be heard blaring with loud guitar and screams. It is ladies night after all. The place is packed.

"Et tu?" The two words were spit like venom (mixed with blood) from Harley's lips towards the other in a hissing whisper. Despite her ire of him being the one heard and drawing Rat's attention the flash of light that showed her form as she rolled over accented her corseted torso covered in spattered blood as well as the matching grin.

"Swee—-." The word that meant to come out was interrupted by a rattling cough that had Harley on her side again, cringing and retching. They badly bruised or broke something else on her personal person and her eyes narrowed at that uncalled for interruption.

"Sweety pie, a girls gotta handle some business." The gig was up due to Lumpy over there, let's finish this. The words were called to Rat, but subtly low enough to seem like they were meant for Lumpy. Though, the final words were. "Smells like you may have already."

The inside of the bar is everything to be expected - packed elbow to asshole with leather and spike clad ruffians, semi-topless waitresses and go go dancers and now the two coverall garbed thugs.

Entry has all heads turn, one by one pairs of eyes redirect to look at the two and the music actually dims down a few notches, "Change this shit! Guests of honor have arrived boys. Any dirtbag, dumb fuckin' tourist or in general pissant idiot who doesn't belong here needs to get. the. fuck. out." Upon hearing this voice a third of the bar clears. "Ladies, you can all stay. Keep the entertainment rollin'." The speaker reveals himself; a giant man of outrageously massive proportions from head to toe he looks like one giant walking boulder of muscle and scar tissue. A patch vest barely stretching across his torso. Crookedly he smiles and two meaty hands slap down on to one set of shoulders then the others, dwarfing the not so small bruisers.

"Cute delivery boys, come in, have a drink. It's on the house… that is of course assuming you got the package?" In turn Spiderhead and Caveman both nod vigorously a bit taken back by the big man.

"In the van, outside…"

"That is all I needed to hear, bitches! Get theseboys drunk!" Leaning forward he looks at the bald man's face, "Got worked over a bit by a computer geek?"

"No. It was that Joker girl… the uh… the other package."

"She a feisty one, huh? She'll be fun to break."

"You don't even know man. She's off her rocker. She killed our other guy with a plastic fish… one of them singin' ones… damn thing was singing /Don't Worry Be Happy/ from inside of his throat… weirdest shit I ever seen."

Laughter! "Oh yeah those uh, hahaha, that is sick… I like this girl already. Well, take a load off…. wait a fucking minute, I said everybody get the fuck out. That includes you weirdo. Yeah, you! In the back booth… Lacy get the shit off the man and get his ass out of here before I gut you both."

The mystery man in the back leans forward a bearded face ripples with yellow lines before falling away in a shimmer to reveal what appears to be a glossy skull; a squeal can be heard from the redhead who had been perched on the man's lap in a flailing whirl of pale flesh she skips to her feet and stumbles backwards. "No tip for you." A modulated voice quips followed by a tsk."

"Shit… shit." Rat hunching forward moves deeper in to the van and swings the crowbar down to crack Harley in the hip with it. "No talking… j..just stay silent and lay there." Fear. Definitely fear. Yet somehow the whites of his eyes grow even more apparent as gunshots can be heard from inside the bar, "Oh no, oh no." He says while half poised to strike her again; distracted by the loud claps.

Lump whimpers and a new smell joins the van's fabulous odors.

"Oh the sweet melody to set the beat…" The gunshots started low to her before they picked up rhythm, but the bass to the backdrop was the sound of the crowbar cracking down on the meaty curve of Harley's hip. Stillness with a whimper. Crescendo. "Bang!" They took her guns and bound her so she had to sound it out herself! Her body shifted back in a half roll, ignoring the wounds and evident pain that made her face grimace as she rolled her weight back to her shoulders, turned to her side and at the same time kicked her feet up, bending at the knee and trying to catch Rat in the bend of her bound legs while he was distracted to drag him down to bed of the van with her.

Catching him he met the metal bed just beside her, her bound hands clasped into a fist now swing down like a hammer with just as much ferocity onto Rat's face.

Rat is not the physical specimen his comrades are even against a bound up and battered Harley Quinn he stands to low odds. The fists bouncing off his face are met with a yelp; weakened flail of the crowbar comes up but his own arm is barred by her shoulder making the bar swing up behind her. It's the sudden onslaught of kicks from Lump in a wild flurry that probably hurt the clown princess more as loafers smack out in rapid swats. He really is trying to help!

The cacophony of violent sounds within the bar are loud to muffled as the front and back doors open and close with those bright enough to take a hold of that flight instinct over fight and haul ass, bikes and cars alike beginning to fire up and peel out. Mayhem, absolute mayhem.

That beating only stops as Harley sees the badly aimed flail of a weapon riddled hand come up behind her where her back is being barraged by expensive taste in footwear. "Hey Piddles! Lower your gallop to the other guy!"

Reaching back and over her head Harley struggles with the flailing hand bearing the crowbar and rips it free of his grip finally to slam the curved end down on Rat's cranium with an anti-climactic crack. Rocking back off the limp form the back of the van is only summarized in two words. Hot mess. Settling to knees Harley holds the crowbar between her thighs and uses the prying end to begin filing at the rope that binds her wrists, snapping them free she unlaces her legs and begins digging into Rat's pockets pulling out a pocket knife. Brandishing the blade her eyes slide to Lumpy-renamed-Piddles she smiles.

Climbing out of the van she tosses a loafer over her shoulder. "Gucci they say and no pennies." One arm hangs limply at her other side still bearing that blood covered crowbar, tapping it idly at the top of heavy soled boots.

The newly dubbed Piddles ceases in a flinching effort to separate himself from possible retaliation. He is not a violent man, this is all new to him, this is all a nightmare to a man like him and it only gets worse as Harley goes to town on one of his kidnappers. "Oh… oh god." He hears himself chortle out while worm crawling and tumbling out of the van on to the dusty parking lot of the Drifter's Den bar now turned massacre. Not only does he land on his face but also a forming pile of his own vomit; barking out of him in a flood he continues to make pathetic sounds all while trying to crawl away.

Jab. Jab. Haymaker countered with parry, parry, duck, step in and crush instep; turn wrist and collapse esophagus with a knife-hand. Delighted at his own handiwork Taskmaster watches the gasping man topple to the ground while slowly turning to face the tower of muscle, "Jack they called you? Your men are severely under-trained. You should consider this a sample of my services." Strewn around the criminal combat instructor and grade A mercenary are just shy of half a dozen bodies of men and one very unconvincing woman; possibly a drag queen or just well… an ugly woman. Included in that tally are the two outsiders; Spider-head and Caveman. "So… whats the plan from here, bucko? I'm just getting warmed up."

Jack swallows long and hard as he looks at his wrecked crew - some of the toughest guys he knew since the pen and this skull faced freak just tore through them like a badger in a chicken pen. "Fuck it. I give up, it ain't worth it." "A man of reason. I like that… unfortunately it also means you're dangerous."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Means I don't want to have to see your face again."

Jack frowns not once removing his eyes from Taskmaster as the costumed man stands there before him, unflinching, unmoving like some gore covered samurai. A bead of sweat trickles down Jack's brow and he speaks up, "Can we make a deal?"

A breath of fresh air sucked in deeply Harley stretches her arms over her head - well, one only makes it half way up before she cringes and lets it drop. Both eyes dart towards Piddles as he rolls out of the doors and face plants into his own puddle of vomit. Harley smiled. A flash of imagery, a clown threatening a high dive into a Dixie cup. There were the results. Messy.

Around one crooked finger a piney freshener from the review of the van was flicked in a small circle as she approached him, her bloody facade down close enough to his she could smell every offensive odor that came from the man. The small band has stretchy properties of doom! Harley quickly snapped it down over his head to leave its constricting small band to hold like a choker around Piddles' neck.

"There ya go! Off to handle my girly business!" A finger wiggling wave and like magic that pocket knife dropped before Piddles.

Follow the red droplet road… Harley walked into the club through the front door in time to catch the words between the masked men and twisted the crowbar in a rotation of her wrist, bringing it to tap down on the arch of her boot while pointing out towards left field. "Batters up! This babe ain't making a deal." Harley wound that metal weapon up like a Louisville and was aiming to close the gap between it and Jack's head. Look at her face! All bets off.

Confused and clawing at the air freshener for a moment Piddles manages to unbind it from himself managing to stumble after her in the process, "W..w-wait! You can't leave me out here alone! What if there is more?"

Taskmaster has more to say, plenty more but it's cut off as the tattered and beaten Harley waltzes in wielding a crowbar. "Unexpected."

"What's unexp-?" Thankfully the woman is wounded, unfortunately she also catches him off guard. Jack turns and tries a weave to the side as the crowbar catches him in the cheekbone and eye. Not flat down on the skull like she'd intended but still - it hurts. *CLANG* "OW! FUCK!" The man-mountain roars out and swings a meaty fist out towards Harley.

Piddles went ignored, if he followed too close it was his funeral, or party. Depended on how you viewed such a thing. The swing landed, but not squarely, not like the force she put behind it intended - the follow through half turning her body and defenses had the injured arm rising to block the mountain of knuckles. It did little good. His swing knocked her to the ground where she was backpedaling on her ass away from him and across the floor.

"Awe, it was meant to tickle you to death!" The crowbar's hooked end was now latching around the leg of a chair and with another swing she aimed to send the chair at Jack. Add insult to injury or slow him if he sought to pursue her.

"Don't have time for this…" Jack shouts out as he swats the chair aside sending it careening in to the wall with a crash.

"My thoughts exactly." Taskmaster agrees and pulls out a pistol taking aim he fires off a single round that plugs the roid raging biker in the back of the knee; causing the man to flop to the ground in a mass of spasming mewling pain. "Ohfuckohgod." Horks Piddles before he is throwing up again, doubling over on his knees. "This nightmare isn't going to end…"

"Not yet it's not." Taskmaster assures him as he almost casually strides past Harley and grabs Piddles by the shoulder. "Lets go, even stains on the side of the road like this got police traffic. We ain't gonna be here when they show… " Especially considering he might have killed one of the bikers. "What? No! I'm not going with you!"

Shove. Piddles wobbles and stumbles in a guided/forced walk through the front door. "That hideous brown car over there, giddy up." Insists the skull clad mercenary.

Harley was blind feeling for another weapon to place in her injured hand. Feeling a small elevated disk she smiles and curls her fingers around it ready to throw at the hulking beast of a man before he crumples to the sound of a thunderous bullet wound.

Pushing to a stand slowly she stared down at the large biker that was mewling over his leg wound, pausing with the crowbar like a crane to hold her weight while Harley caught her breath and watched Jack - the Cheshire like grin growing.

"Here's your party hat!" Dropping that disk down on the large bikers head it was… None other then a red sparkly nipple tassel to sit atop his dome as her parting gift.

Her eyes darted from him towards the masked man and Piddles making an exit. "we'll have to revisit this again… Soon." The words Harley spoke seemed more like a foreboding promise despite the cheer in her voice. "Hey wait up!" Catching up to the masked man with the plan and Piddles one arm slings around him, using him as her now moving crutch if he didn't move too fast, trying to feign being perfectly fine while keeping up.

"We're a package deal Reaps! He does my… taxes!" In emphasis the bloodied end of that crowbar taps at Piddles. Harley frowns, though amongst the blood and smeared face paint it was hard to tell unless teeth showed. Reaps did not close that back door so Harley simply plunked her ass in beside Piddles and pushed him further in with her hips on her own insistence. "Move over a smidgen.."

Replying to Taskmaster Harley speaks up. "Already there Reaps, looks like I found where I'm going. How about you?"

"I don't… I'm a data analyst…" The sobbing Mr.Piddles defends himself while scooting over on command from Harley, "I just want to go home."

Taskmaster's skull-mask could almost glower right now as he looms above the open door. "I said… you know what… hell with it, I'm in a good mood and you're gettin' out our first stop. Mouth shut, seat belts on. Make a peep dollface and I'm throwing you out of a movin' vehicle." The door slams shut and he climbs in to the driver's seat, pulling out of the Drifter's Den parking lot; as they pull away the image inducer's ripple effect sparks to life and his face turns in to that of a prune faced old woman. Gotta love high tech gadgets.

Harley leans over towards Piddles and one hand rises to press a bloody finger on his lips. "Peep." She says with a smile, hugging the crowbar closer. Throw her out! She dared him… Her… Miss Daisy.

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