Chasing Cats or Rats?

January 19, 2017:

One professional to another…


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

*CRASH* No doubt the sound of a broken table isn't an unfamiliar sound to the club's owner. The cry of one of her bouncers is also a recognized noise. Thugs, thugs with loyalty and heart, the East End is Catwoman's as far as most of the darker side of Gotham is aware. The lights are dim, its after hours but not 'closed' there are still a few VIPs and dancers, regulars. The sort Cheers crowd.

Another *CRASH*.
A cape flutters heavily, a shadowed figure leaps through the air and crashes down, one man on a shoulder goes sailing to slam in to a wall, a second man near the assaulter hits the ground hard as his feet are swept from under him. The cloaked form is tall, broad shoulders, sheathed in darkness. The Bat? No.
An electronic voice growls, "Melody Kenway. Where is she?"

Two can play at the cape, sowls, and shadows game. But one bears no cape and her cowl is absent save for the crimson hue of lips that set into a thin line and peel apart from ivory lines of teeth.

The after-hours events come to a silence in the area the scuffle is coming from so they can move spaces and commence, while the others not in direct line carry on. This is what security if for, and…

Light a lightning crack that whip impacts a beam along the top of the club and the lithe figure dances down in a somersault to land booted feet just before the cloaked figure and her men, a clawed hand splays, flashing those barbs before she curls one in, the whip having descended to the ground around her in another series of rapid cracks like an irate felines tail.

"You speak a name that put my people at risk before. Now you come?? A bit late, she's been evicted. But if you care to press the issue.." Catwoman's chin rises and the ears from the laid back goggles cock horizontal while those jade eyes stare upon the man just before she lunges his way.

Close up not shadowed at all. A white hooded and tattered cloak covers a bone white skull, an armored body in deep oranges, navy almost black blues and an arsenal of weaponry. He isn't a Gothamite but he could easily fit in.
"Catwoman, not exactly who I was looking for but my contact Guy said you were a local." As the mercenary speaks he is also evading her attack, no counter just defensive. An armored forearm rising up to deflect a set of claws. "She owes me and shes off the grid. She has outstanding debt and I came to collect." The electronic voice modulator is evident now. It turns his voice inhuman, makes him sound like a Transformer. "Don't make me hurt you pretty kitty, I'm not here for you just the rat."
His evasive maneuvering places him on the opposite side of another table, just under several of those hanging 'birdcages'.

Bitch better have my money..

The evasions are quite accurate, enough so Catwoman knows when to back off, a single flip that takes her back and landing upon a table in a perched pose, staring dead at the stranger…. Guy? Eyes narrow.

"It is always the complacent." But the small smile does not tell much aside from her kudos.

"Local? This is our home and my place. but if you look and ask nice, she is no longer a resident, nor welcome here." A slight tilt of head then as slowly the leather on lacquer hiss sounds while she reels in her whip around gloved palm.

"And what does she owe you for?" Curiosity and the Cat.

"We had a contract. She owes me for repairs and something more, business, all of it." You don't 'quit' the Authority and just disappear. Taskmaster works with a lot of seedy types who follow the clandestine SOP that relies heavily on accountability versus life value.
"I suppose if shes not here, not important. If I am trusting you that is." He looks around, three broken men and a punched out prostitute.
"No one is talking yet, why would an even tougher cookie, right, Cookie?" The cowl shoves back, a skull, an ivory white one not an obsidian or ebony like the Black Mask.
"I'll pay for the damages if you get me a Jack n' Coke."

"Yes. Well. It was not my business. So keep it out of here." A liquid movement akin to a feline shadow overrun, to come over the edge like overfill. Feet touch ground silently and lowering she is checking on the fallen four, strokes and pokes of fingers, all the while keeping her eyes diverted from The Mask.


The men seem to shake it off, a pride thing to go with the scar-marks that make them Who they are in ranking. The prostitute however. A snap of fingers and the three broken men are picking her up despite disabilities of the moment to take her to the back.

"Trust me as much as I trust you. Tell Guy he is no longer welcome as well." A flick of those eyes to up-down Taskmaster, but stop at his neck and painfully… slowly meet the skull sockets - then narrow with a twitch of upper lip.

"Trying to make me talk is a further waste of your time and money. You wouldn't even be ale to afford 'Nilla Wafers." A pause as the bar tender slides the Jack n' Coke onto the bar Taskmaster's way and Catwoman turns away.

"I also do not do fetch." Barb tipped nail points to the drink as it sits on the bar.

"I'll let Guy know that." Taskmaster replies, a flex of one gloved hand and he pulls it on tighter with the opposite. He went classic mode for this visit. It usually has more of an affect on people than his newer appearance, people just end up thinking hes some random 'Black Ops' fan. Plus it just felt like a 'cape' night.
"Fair enough, I suppose. I mean, if shes not here, shes not here." A shrug, the man isn't fully buying it but he can see the futility of his smash and make them talk plans, whats the point? Exercise? "Thanks, doll." The drink is taken up and the mask slides up just enough to show his stubble riddled jaw and some of the circuitry under the mask, the electronic distortion device and an air filter. Two in one.

"Well, my night is kind of a bust now." He stretches the words 'kind of'.

"Doll?. How insulting do chu tend to be? Bitch, I inspire Barbie." Rodaga states as he smooths hands down exposed hips shorts rest low on with a small Shakira-eque bit of twist. A *tch* with a wave and he is gathering his own glasses and bottle to move away upon the *clack-click* of heels.

"Do." Catwoman states in response to Taskmaster's filtering of a 'welcome mat' to Guy, while lifting herself up to sit upon the eave of the bar counter, rocking back to grab herself a bottle, glass, and pour. "Looks like you get in bed with people who end up costing you more."

A slow sip and Catwoman leans forward to prop elbow upon bent knee while glass is in the other hand and kept close as she inspects every move of the man. "And who might you be?" Beneath the upper arch of mask a brow rises.

"Kind of? You'll have to do some sweeter talking then what cookies can provide to make it move." Sip.

"It was meant to be funny because I said 'bust' and I busted… never mind." The Skull-masked man grunts, a sizable drink of the Jack and Coke. "I will need more of this… " He declares as Rodaga responds. "I need to pay better attention, I thought that was another woman."
A tip back on his heels and he studies Catwoman, "Taskmaster." A business card flicks out her way. "Kind of isn't because I'm after what you may or may not be sellin', we have something in common I think. You're in the list." The 'list' the list being the Society. Maybe she'll recognize the name, maybe not, Master Darque didn't exactly fill her in all those years ago.

Rodaga was gone, and the glass slides to bump the shiny leather clad hip of Catwoman's. "If you did not VIP pay, you're shit out of luck." A haughty tip of chin and she wavers her bottle. "Unless you can handle Absinthe."

His empty glass is filled with the green alcohol, the scent of wormwood and anise prevalent just before she sets it on fire to ignite a blue flame and slide back his way with a click of claws on glass. But in exchange she takes the card, flipping it to now pause.

"I told It no." Her words are low now, almost a whisper before she takes the card and hovers it over his flaming drink.

"What we have in common may be the same, but not in that regard." Catwoman states as she drains her drink and sets her own to flame, finally dropping sugar cubes into the mix.

"I sell a lot. Be specific, Taskmaster." A slowly her head cants his way.

"I told it no in the beginning too. Several deaths, a chase through Madripoor, lots of explosions and several millions of dollars later your mind can change." Taskmaster comments.
"Absinthe? You realize that is poison, right? No thanks." Setting down his empty glass he nudges it away with his knuckles, "That'll do me."
"Still a no? No rat, no to /them/, you're not making this very easy, Catwoman." A grin is visible under that mask before the skull's natural affixed grin replaces it with those bone white teeth. "They'll send someone meaner next time." No need to motion around them at the trashed room, his visit wasn't exactly 'nice' or inexpensive.

Catwoman looks at the denied glass still bearing a lingered flame and smirks, the shadow of a gesture easy to discern framed in a pieced-together mask.

"Are you threatening?" His (un)gesture is followed to her club, the remnants of table, chair, and the memory of recent that had three men toting off one of her ladies. But the final word almost seems hissed out, and in such her glass is already drained and set aside to open her hands.

"I feed rats to my cats, but not rats with disease, and I am not easy."

A flex of her hand and those claws dimple along attire and land upon the bars surface, threatening to mar the sheen all the while now - there seems to be no hesitance in her deadpan look towards Taskmaster, a subtle swallow seen where zipper 'v's at her throat.

"And what do you propose? I roll over? Not my game."
"There would be no interest by them if you were easy." Taskmaster counters, "This isn't the kiddy leagues they're a whole new ballpark. " The head tips to the side, the skully grin remains, "Not a threat, consider it professional courtesy. A warning from one badass to another. They'll come for you like they did me, wear you down, back you in to a corner and you'll have nowhere else to go but their side. You dig?"

"I propose make it fun but consider… " A wave around him, "What you possess, who is close to you. They'll be the ones in danger." Like Anastasia for him. "So, consider it deeply. With some actual thought not just glossed over like us sorts tend to do."

Catwoman's whole poise seems predatory, down to the flicker of light as musculature seeks to relax beneath the dimmed lighting. It is beynd VIP time and even they are leaving, or filtering to rooms beyond and above.

All monitored thanks to her former employee, fence, and once companion… The one that brought this White Skull to her tables after her recover from a Black One.

It hurt, a cut deeper…

But Catwoman showed none of the emotion, just the animistic instinct. To protect. In such her claws screeched back over the surface to his denied drink, sweeping it up, legs kicking up-and-over to opposing side to drop and hand his his requests. Unmixed, in their own bottles, and a fresh glass.

"I am good at fun and games." But not at being backed into corners. The indignant lift of chin showing scarring unintentionally shows as much.

Pride as well.

"But what has a nice gloss, has worth." Her voice bears a tone of excitement, and yet seems to fall….dead. Just like the drained glass as it loops around in its landing to settle on its base.

"So.. Then." A lean across the bar to nearly come nose-to-nose with Taskmaster in the bend and bow of figure over bartop.

"You pay me the price of your damages, as you promised, and it will give them a place while this…" A flick of hand rises and lowers to snuff out the flame of his glass with a flat palm. "Ends."

"We got a deal, Bone-Thug?"

A low deep chuckle from Taskmaster, the mask down it makes the electronic distortion return to his voice, "Ends? You make it sound like these were my terms. Not the case." He replies, "But that, sure." A wad of cash produces itself from one of the compartments of his suit, always come prepared to bribe someone. It drops with a healthy thud below her leaned upper body on the bartop, the new drinks not taken, however. "I did promise that much."
Reclining back from her forward lean after a polite and selfish glance down he tips his chin up, "Thug? That hurts."

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