Creeps, Crooks and the Misguided

February 02, 2017:

Harley gets to release some stress on some Joker gang wannabes. Shots fired between Catwoman and Taskmaster. (emits by Task)

Gotham, Amusement Mile

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Poison Ivy, Joker

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Harley Quinn is bored. So very, very bored. She sits on an electrical box, her mallet resting on the ground and the tip between her knees. She looks around her and mopes. "To crime, or not to crime. That is the question. Whether to suffer the outrageous slings and arrows of utter boredom or to actually be… you know… not a criminal anymore."

The wharf just outside of Amusement Mile gives a good view of the Ferris wheels, giant red and white tents, carousels and carnie shacks. Several times over this place has been the turf of the Joker and his crew, right now it's held by a bunch of Joker Gang wannabes, the real ones not stupid enough to loiter up here without the Clown Prince himself present.
Taskmaster could care less, he's not here for any of that. He's been in Gotham for about two weeks now after busting up the Tin Roof Club. Business.
A twirl of a combat knife around two gloved fingers has the skull faced mercenary striding towards Harley Quinn, "So, your old stomping grounds, huh? Kinda obvious and y'all got away with this for how long?" Crazy people. Gotham is full of lunacy. Even it's heroes are psychopaths hes heard.
He only ever had the joys of crossing paths with Batgirl, the one that doesn't speak and Catwoman. Outside of the Joker and his former arm piece, Harley.

Looking over to the voice, Harley's bored pout turns into a big grin. "A tisket, A tasket, a case full of baskets," she says in response. She sits up more on the electrical box and looks back to the fair. "Gotham is filled with people that don't want to see what is right in front of their noses. They all knew we was there. They just figured if they ignored us, then they could all pretend like we didn't exist."

Grabbing her heavy mallet and lifting it up to her shoulder, Harley hops down to the ground and walks over to the skull faced mercenary to give his mask a kiss. She leans back, looking him over. "Ya got a bit of lipstick on ya teeth, honey."

"Stubborn ass crazy Gothamites." Taskmaster's chuckle is deep and afflicted by the electronic voice modulator, "That's okay, I am sure I look sexy."
A cock of his head and he looks sidelong at the Clown Princess, "You look bored or in thought, knowing you as much as I do I go with the first one. If you are bored I got a loose end to tie off here." A shout from behind them signals some of the Wannabes are out, likely harassing some passerby. Dressing up like a Clown in Gotham can get you a long way, the last Mayor actually had the practice outlawed. It's loosened up a bit since the Joker vanished.

The mallet on her shoulder, Harley nods with a deep sigh. "Well, I keep wondering ta myself. Do I wanna be all crime-y or do I wanna try and put my past in my past. Get a real job. Be a therapist again. I can never decide. Some days I want one, other days the other. And some days, I wanna try being both, like some sorta secret identity thing, doctor by day and Mistress of Mayhem at night."

The yell over at the fair causes the clownette to frown. "I bet they are even usin' his name ta make money. Sayin' they are with him when they ain't." She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

And so she slips her arm about his waist. "A loose end to tie, you say?? And what would that be?"

A grunt at her personal debate, "Whatever you want, you can't have, what you can have, you don't want." Taskmaster's gloved hand drops down and gives her rear an open palmed swat, "Murphy's Law, some of the best wisdom you don't have to buy. Fuck going clean, this world doesn't deserve anything but criminals." Stepping off he strides towards the wannabe Joker Gangsters funzone, "And why screw with a good thing? You're a badass, Harl, keep on keeping on. How about a refresher?"
Refresher in the course of three thugs, likely teenagers surrounding an elderly man; shoving him back and forth between them. Each of the hooligans is wearing a rubber clown mask and laughing in over-exaggerated chords. "C'mon old man, where do you live? Got any kids? You gotta have more money than this." Bullies with bad Gotham accents, which sounds an awful lot like Jersey. A baseball bat, a knife, no other weapons among them.
"Well shit, this is light work. You won't even break a sweat. I was hoping to watch you get all worked up… "

The trio of punks don't acknowledge or seem aware they have an audience, it could be the lighting it is dusk after all and in Gotham all lights just seem to be set to dim all day, all the time.

The swat to her backside gets a squeak and a grin. "You ain't wrong. This world gets crazier every day, makin' folks like you an' me more enlightened them most." She strides alongside the mercenary towards the fair.
The three thugs beating on the old man causes Harley's smile to fade. She gets grumpy about people picking on those that can't really protect themselves. Call it a leftover from her past relationship. "If ya wanna see me all worked up, maybe we can break a sweat later," she says in passing before heading to the trio.
Fingers to her lips, she alerts the others to her presence with a shrill whistle. "Hey boys. Why not leave the old codger alone and come play with me?"

"A sweat is fine, no weird toys again. Ever… again." Taskmaster warns, discomfort in his voice that not even the vocal disruptor can hide. That knife he was spinning around earlier is sheathed and he folds arms across his chest, leaning against a broken down and no longer used 'Test Your Strength' post. "Have at."

The old man looks up, a busted lip and cracked glasses laid across a smooshed nose, hes taken a beating. His gnarled old hands look shaky and unused but once, they once maybe belonged to a fisherman or a logger. His stooped body says he lived a hard live, "I can take them, stupid punks, stupid fucking punks, no good clown punks." A swing at one of the young men is slow WAYWAY slow and misses by a mile. Looks like he needs his glasses.
Laughter explodes in barks from the punks as the one swung at punches back, dropping the old man again. The other two turn to look at Harley, Taskmaster just back enough in the shadows they can't make him out. "Whoah, bruh, peep this thirsty bitch. Lookin' tight lady clown, you come to join Joker X?"
A snicker from his pal next to him and they whisper something to one another as they stalk towards Harley, the third ruffian still pounding away on the old man who is cursing like a sailor and taking the beatdown like a champ.

"TBH we're gonna have to jump you in. Whole crew going to have to just fuckin' smash that ass."
The other one nods, "Smash it till you cry."

These are the reasons the Amusement Mile wharf remains uninhabited except for the unfortunate who cant afford to live much anywhere else, it's a slum, especially at these darker hours when the creeps, crooked and misguided come out to play.

Quinn bats her big blue eyes sweetly to Taskmaster. "Just cause all my toys are clown themed, you call them weird. Bet if I had a thing for all black stuff you wouldn't complain."
Harley watches the old man taking the lumps like a trooper and gets misty eyed for just a moment. She likes him. He ain't gonna let a beating keep him down and she relates. She was hoping to get all three of the punks to approach her, but two out of three ain't bad she thinks, even softly humming the Meatloaf tune to herself.
The mallet is moved to rest on both shoulders now, used like a yoke to rest her arms. She holds her chin high and lets the boys talk about her and all the things they are gonna do to her.
"Ya know," she says as she starts a slow circling walk to let her eyes drift up and down the loud mouthed jerks. They may think she's flirting, but Taskmaster knows what she's up to. Looking for weaknesses, defenses, and where to hit first.

Harley Quinn says, "I've got a lot of experience with that. Ya know, the smashing till someone cries thing."

How long Catwoman had been there is unknown. She is out of her 'territory' of East End, but she has a reason to be staking these shadows, and one bears a clown mask while the other bears a skull one.

Together!

Winner winner, canary dinner!

A stroke of fingertips along her jaw that comes to lips, a tease along the lightly red stained swells of flesh while goggles reflect the old mans beat-down. Along her side where hips are lowered just over boot-heels a whip-tail falls in multi-edged pattern.

"Ya don't hurt children, women, animals, and the elders. They have things to teach you!!" And with that the one assaulting the elder man (taking his licks ike a champ) hears a lightning crack, and if landed well the skin along his cheek opens in spits of a pattern thrice, like cats claws and that of the Alley Cat's markings in East End.

… Wonder no more…

Bit with that warning the shadow follows suit, the heel of her boot attempting to land upon the one mans jaw while the whip *cracks** a withdrawal and coils behind her crouched form.

"No more play boys." Catwoman states as she looks to Harley and Taskmaster, standing over the old man, the whip in her grip, a mechanism held in other hand, sparking arcs of blue electricity.

"Thirsty, bruh, thirsty."
The clown with the purple hair attached to his rubber mask teases his companion as he watches Harley circle them like a shark.
His friend nods, "Yeah, something about her though, she real familiar."
His companion responds, "Maybe she does porn. Lookit dat ass."
Their joking is interrupted by the crack of a whip and the scream of their third friend, his cheek laid open before a heel KLAKS against a jaw. A two shot and the Joker X member is downed. His body splayed out on the ground an unconscious lump.

A knife is drawn by one of those nearest Harley and its almost as if they have forgotten about her, a rookie mistake but Catwoman has their attention.

Taskmaster doesn't budge. A curious "Hrmm." noise escapes him but beyond that he is motionless. These street rats are nothing to any of them, body language alone says they're only meat. Domesticated soft meat. Nothing hard about it.

Harley lets the boys keep talking smack about her. She's heard worse and it's not like she's going to let a pair of amateurs like these get under her skin. She's been manipulated by the best and these two are far from it.
The crack of the whip, the landing of the sexiest thing in black in all of Gotham and Harley bursts out in a grin. "Kitty!!" she yells out happily as she beats the punk that was beating the old man. She was gonna get there, but sometimes letting people fight their own battles is better for them.
Harley waves excitedly to Catwoman. "Hey, we haven't beaten schmucks like this up t'gether in ages!! Batter up?" It's all the warning the thug closest to Harley gets before she grabs the handle of the mallet and lets it swing in a full arch to his face.

How tender the meat is means nothing to Catwoman, a.k.a Kitty!

When Harley pipes in and others spin as well as reflect the taser arcs within clawed fingertips as if derived from the vinyl gloves and claws alone, but a contraption is held… Reflecting her profile in perfect shadows of high cheekbones and behind lenses… Azure gaze.

"I am sorry elder-man," Stated to the old man behind her. "But allow me."

While the trio circling Harley begin to refocus and re-pace, Catwoman rises to full height and smiles behind the arcs of electricity. "We're only getting younger boys!" And when one is struck by Harley's mallet, Catwoman lunges, basically "coasting" his lain-out body like surfboard while the taser arcs electrical charge through his body, only to be kicked off of while she heads for the rest.

""Do they remind you of playtime skully? Or are you going to join us?" Catwoman inquires of Taskmaster as the dance begins.

"I missed you too Harls…" That dulcet tone purrs out to Quinn.

Bodies meet concrete and Taskmaster is pushing himself from the post, joining the two at a relative safe distance as they celebrate their reunion?
"This level of playtime is… pointless. I was just letting the Jesterette here relieve some stress. I take it you two, know each other?" The old man is crawling around behind them fishing for his glasses as they talk. Taskmaster pays him no mind, instead focused on the duo.
"Home turf. No surprise there." A cautious up and down look at Catwoman, "I can't imagine you're here just by chance, following me or… us?" Multiple questions, clearly hes on suspicious terms with Catwoman; not the cuddle ready mode that Harley is hosting. They've had terse encounters nothing truly bond worthy. It's what happens when you piss in someone elses garden and the East End has felt Taskmaster's 'wrath' several times now.
-,
An easy fight like this with some third rate hooligans with one of the other Sirens? Just like old times. Harley giggles as she swings her mallet around like a pro baseball-er warming up in the pit. The two curvy villianesses have fought before as the fact that they know how to stay out of each other's way can attest to.
"Yeah Tasky! This is one'a my besties! Not Red style bestie. The less skin on skin kind. No offense, Kitty!" Harley talks as she switches from target to target, never letting one have all her attention. After all, they stand up longer that way so there is a little more fun.

Yep, Taskmaster has tried to piss in the wrong corners, and has earned himself a stalker of shadows. Leading to this…

But also Catwoman is seeking 'roots', and with them comes the red and blue bruised soul of The Quinn, as well as the Ivy. Consider it "luck" there's a two for one.

"No chance, asshole. I tracked you. Let us show you how we handle things in Gotham!" As Harley lays her blows, Catwoman follows up, the blade of one cast away dodged with a tist of body, a rise of leg in a scissor kick and his mid-flight body hammers into pavement, her boot on his chest just before she kicks off sternum with a crack of bone and uses the coast of the other to catch with the sudden snap of her whip.

Jerking him back he skids violently across concrete while she stands upon his partner like she just laid claim to his prone form, her boot slowly pressing harder upon cracked sternum.

A glance back to the old man and she smiles, looking back to Harls with a wink, then Task with a rise of a corner of lip. "I seek my freinds…" Take pf that as you will!

Yep, Taskmaster has tried to piss in the wrong corners, and has earned himself a stalker of shadows. Leading to this…

But also Catwoman is seeking 'roots', and with them comes the red and blue bruised soul of The Quinn, as well as the Ivy. Consider it "luck" there's a two for one.

"No chance, asshole. I tracked you. Let us show you how we handle things in Gotham!" As Harley lays her blows, Catwoman follows up, the blade of one cast away dodged with a tist of body, a rise of leg in a scissor kick and his mid-flight body hammers into pavement, her boot on his chest just before she kicks off sternum with a crack of bone and uses the coast of the other to catch with the sudden snap of her whip.

Jerking him back he skids violently across concrete while she stands upon his partner like she just laid claim to his prone form, her boot slowly pressing harder upon cracked sternum.

A glance back to the old man and she smiles, looking back to Harls with a wink, then Task with a rise of a corner of lip. "I seek my friends…" Take of that as you will!

Finding his glasses the old man settles them on his face, wincing while staring at the three, "If it's not one group of costumed whacks its another. Losing my mind. Needta get back on my meds." The elderly fellow mutters to himself only to shakily stand up hunting down his wallet, kicking the downed one who sadistically beat him and helping himself to his wallet too. He more or less ignores the three costumed types as Catwoman finishes off the other two thugs, completely, she makes sure they are down and learned a lesson. East End style.

"Sleek moves, they won't look as good when I try them out later." Taskmaster admits, the woman is on par with Daredevil in the agile department. Then again, Harley is fairly impressive in that arena too. It adds to the reaper style mercs arsenal. Who cares if he forgets some origami. "Asshole? That is hurtful." Closer now he displays to the feline he is not going for any weapons and in peaceful mode. Even going so far as to rest his elbow on Harley's shoulder casually. He's tall, it's not too much of a lean. "Friend of my friend makes us what now?"
"One little, two little, three little posers, taking their lumps like a … meh! Rhymin' was never my strong suit. HA! Get it! Suit!!" Harley sings and makes jokes as she and her friend tag team the three hoodlums like they were born to it. She makes sure to take turns with 'Kitty', since good little boys and girls are taught to share their toys.
Harley puts down her mallet as the mayhem ends, leaning on the stick as she catches her breath like it was just a quick jog to the corner. She waves to the elderly man as he leaves. "You get home and be sure to get some ice on those before the swellin' hits!" she offers helpfully.
With a happy sigh, she looks from one friend to the other. "Hey, if it's roots yer looking for, ya can always move in with me and Red and the babies. It ain't as cooshie as Riddler's old place, but it's home."

The offer from Harley gets a small smile, wavering as Taskmaster speaks, not knowing the depth of his words truly. A flicker of gaze between th two as he leans upon 'Princess' and prattles on, while she does as well…

"I am sure asshole hurts." Catwoman states with a brilliant smile, one that is emphasized by the lift of goggles to reveal the hazel gaze, one that is nearly crystalline with the rise in blood pressure.

"I have people I protect…" In saying as much the whip snaps out and the man "marked" is grabbed by his ankle, the whip coiling around booted appendage just before she jerks him in with a grind across the concrete…
.. Likely how his ride to Eat End goes as well… Poor sot…
"But count me in to joining you guys in about 4…" A cry from her hostage. "Or five."

A smile and "Kitty" is looking between the two slowly. "Home is where your ass is." Heart shaped and all. "Tin Roof. East End."

Pause. Task gets and up-down and goggles get lowered back into place with a snap of clawed fingers. "I do not want a b-b-q until after May. So keep it in your pants. My men know what they face…." Expression laid open on her captives cheek.

"Not once did I say anything is coming out of my pants, pussy cat. Don't project your horny catittude on me." Taskmaster's eyes peel away from Catwoman to watch the senior citizen hurry away, he just mugged his muggers. Go him.
"As for roots to lay down? Not in Gotham, I hate this town. It always smells like fish, smog and grime. It's worse than Jersey. Every damn time I visit I feel like I have to shower fifteen times a day." A stretch of his shoulders pushed back and he looks down at Harley, "This city sucks, present company excluded." Dark eyes lift to the feline again locking on to her hazel-greens, "Maybe."

"How about we get indoors though, starting to rain and you got a surprising number of chemical factories here." It is actually beginning to rain, cold, chilly rain pouring from those black clouds above, clouds circled by zeppelins from a bygone era, used as monuments to wealth or by the GCPD to make the people feel safe. Doubt it works.

Harley looks up to Taskmaster as he leans on her, grinning before she looks back to Kitty. "Red says Home is where your plants are. I once made a joke that Home is where you water your plants. She didn't think it was funny."
When Taskmaster starts talking about roots, Harley elbows him in the ribs. "I was invitin' her. Not you. You'd be always peeking through the keyhole at Red an' me. Checkin' out our "moves"."
The rain gets the clown's attention though and Harley nods. No person who has lived in Gotham as long as she has stays out in the rain in this city for too long. It stings the skin. "So, any place ya wanna go in particular?"

"Oh, you couldn'y handle my horny." A flick of wrist and the whip slaps through a puddle with a crack, flipping the half conscious victim from front to back.

A wink and 'Kitty' is slowly raveling the whip within bent palm, claws flashing against metallic 'afterglow'. "Let him look. " A final purr while her chin tilts upward while eyes fall to half mast and shadow by thick noir lashes. So fitting for the scenario. "Shower. Scour. I doubt the //feeling/ will ever come off. Get used to it. SOS pads become ~silk~."

A lean in and her cheek brushes along Harley's, a slow and deliberate motion that ends with lips paused upon her temple.

"East End. Now you can find me as well, Princess. If you brig him, make sure he's on his best." A look from Harley as she pulls away, to Task.

"Asshole." Affirming it just before she is suddenly lifting from th ground in a leap, one that has her swinging along rafters even with her 'marked' burden swinging and *clinging* along the way below. If he wakes he's sure to pass the hell back out.

Kitty doesn't like to get too wet either.

"Doctor Isley… I think?" Taskmaster's memories are always lapsing, he knows the woman well or at least did once. Well enough to be on a first name basis and beyond. Not that his first name is his real name. He actually forgot that.
"Why would I peek through a keyhole? You're putting me beneath my level again. Besides, it isn't something I am unfamiliar with I am the best at what I do and what I do is everything." A blase approach from him as he picks up walking the direction he and Harley had come from, pausing long enough to hear 'Asshole' from Selina, a tip upwards of the skull mask and he responds with, "Bitch."

"Actually, the proper term for a female cat is Queen, but I somehow doubt you want to call her that," says the blonde with an impish look in her eyes. She shoulders her mallet and walks along the skull masked merc, gathering her other arm about herself to try and shoulder the rain. "Weather like this makes me miss the body suit. Maybe it's time ta bring it outta moth balls." She grins as they walk, shaking her head. "I am not sayin' nothin ta feed yer ego, hot stuff."

"I have no problem calling her 'Her Majesty Bitch' if that feels more proper to you." Taskmaster replies to Harley as she scurries for shelter. "Nothing wrong with a body suit. You can put on a show for me, if you're like the rest of us you've got more than one costume." The mercenary himself has a wide range, his two preferred are a wide range in difference, sleek and urban to classic and gaudy but the classic has a fear factor, a reputation.
"My ego is never in danger, dollface. Lots of it and me to spare." A grin from his mask, it's permanent after all. Always there. Harley maybe has a type.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License