East Ends Punchline, and Welcome!

February 25, 2017:

A seek for escape sets off all the wrong (right?) alarms!?

//Bristol - Gotham //

North of Gotham City across the Gotham River lies the storybook come to
life lands of Bristol with it's rolling hills, acres upon acres of peaceful
farmland, rich pastures and lush woodlands.

Bristol is a stepping stone between New York City and Gotham itself along
Interstate 98 before one reaches the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge that leads
in to East End.

Within the attractive expanse of Bristol one can find Brentwood, an
upper-class suburb, the Gotham Heights surburbia district and the very
wealthy Crest Hill community. This wide strip of residential area is
generally called the Palisades and much of it doesn't even fall within
Gotham City limits, especially Crest Hill and Brentwood.

Brentwood Academy, the Palisades Country Club and the Gotham Cemetery can
also be found here.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Gotham is never quiet. It never sleeps. Unlike the nearby New York though, whose frantic energy is enough to inspire songs, Gotham's insomnia is that of a nightmare. Shaken out of a sound sleep to stare into the darkness wondering what is going to happen next. People creep in the shadows. Stare from around corners as other pass by. Wondering if this will be the day that something terrible happens.

…well…

For most people at least.

For others its something else entirely.

Take Peter Quill for instance. The non-native doesn't seem to be bothered all that much by the reputation of the city. Dressed in his usual outfit. His leather trenchcoat. His rocket boots. His space guns. He looks like he just left a sci-fi convention to be honest. Which…for some of Gotham…is fairly normal. What isn't normal about the man at the moment is the fact that he seems to be…well…running.

Fleeing really.

Just over the Kane Bridge, towards the edges of East End. What he's running from? Its not clear, but the few people on the street seem to get out of the way.

You don't actually /help/ people in Gotham. That's just asking for it.

He seems to be going for a specific little run-down warehouse near the docks. One that looks perfectly normal and abandoned. Definitely its not hiding anything. Definitely.

"Oh yeah," He mutters to himself as he plants a foot to twist in a quick turn down an alley. "Great idea Peter. Go check on things. Get attacked by people that don't like you. Find a saskarian bounty patrol ship. Run into strange guy that you vaguely know. From somewhere. Who shrinks. Get shot at. Typical night!"

He snap turns round the alley and dashes down it. "I should have stayed home and had pizza!"

Looks like you posted in the wrong neighborhood, Peter Quill. Two to one from the one to the three.

She came here to get some peace and quiet, somewhere to figure out how to make her eyes -stop-. They don't, they won't and they can't stop, and she hasn't been able to sleep for well over 24 hours. Eyelids are useless. So are hands. So are blindfolds and brick walls and freezer doors and — yeah. She's tried everything.

Orange eyes scan the area, taking in not just light, but every possible form of energy. Electromagnetic waves ripple across the heavens, rings of aurora borealis. Cosmic radiation dances through the darkened clouds. The heat of bodies smolder like little fires moving through the shadows of varying layers of matters.

X-shaped pupils narrow, crossed slits. It could be forgiven as cosplay if one didn't know better. After all, the rest of her looks like she came straight from an EBM rave. Atop the warehouse, standing on the highest peak of the roof, she watches as Peter runs for cover against what's coming. She's pale as a ghost, decked in green and black, and highly visible to anyone that's prone to pay attention to their surroundings.

Well, you know how it goes. Scott heads to Gotham to investigate a little thing here and there for his employer, stumble upon a weirdo alien ship like that one he'd helped to take care of last month and-hey, what a coincidence!-run into one of the same guys who was around then.

"Hey!" Scott said, "Didn't I help you beat these guys up last month?!"

That's right around when the shooting started.

Fast forward to /now/ and the ant-sized Scott was riding somewhere in the vicinity of Peter's trenchcoat collar, hanging on for what felt like dear life as the fabric flapped in the wind and the sound of their pursuers grew.

"Man, pizza sounds /great/ right now!" Ant-man confided, "I know this great place called Delfino's just on the corner of 45th whoa!" They turned a corner just then, or it felt like it, "What the heck did you /do/ to those guys anyways, man?! At least before you messed up their nice ship and all that."

It is almost like medieval warfare as the bridge is gapped and closed by the one racing (with another unseen) on his collar. But they were coming towards East End hell-bent and it caused a radio fray across wavelengths, alerting the Alley Cats. Each and every bearing the triad of scars beneath their eyes to mount up, even if it had to be quietly.

Within Tin Roof Club, the alert is pronounced, because when people come running hell bent towards their borders it always leads to something wicked..

…This way comes.

But they are silent, headlights off brings the denizens of the several blocks within Gotham to retreat indoors. It's a call-sign. Instead of a Bat-Signal they get darkness and a slow roll of tires over concrete towards borders, but inside the cars, safeties click off, chambers load, and people of varying races and sexes prepare.

Meanwhile in Tin Roof Rodaga throws his perfectly manicured hand into the air and sashays off the catwalk while another show goes on and new ladies drop into dangling cages, but he's still bitching…. "I do all this work, and Cheezus, seems as if before the final 'case they go haywire. Never fails.."

Mutter mutter bitch bitch, hand flail of extravagance and he's gone while Catwoman slips out of the skylight panels.

"There are planets full of these guys!" Peter replies as he dashes down the alleyway. "The Kree use them as their shock troops and…I…kinda might have exploded their boss. Just a little bit." A pause. "Ok a lot. But I mean these guys are taking it /way/ too personally! They need to chill."

That explains that.

To the lady on the roof there might be a few other oddities beyond the technology that is so clearly out of this world. Threads of faint red energy drift away from him, magical links to…other things in Gotham. Threatening and horrible things. One of which might be closer than Peter knows, but that's neither here or there.

What /is/ here is Peter's well grown sense of paranoia causing him to look up and see…

"Huh." A pause. "Hey Bug-guy. That's not one of Batpeople of Gotham is it? I mean there are like fifty of them so I can't keep up." He angles his head in the direction of where the green and black clad woman stands peering down at them. "I really don't think mister tall, dark, and broody likes me. So I like to know if I'm about to get punched…"
He's not /really/ paying attention to the fact that he just wondering into gang territory at a dead run. This is fine. Yeah. He's sure it'll be fine. Nothing going on here! Just a half-alien and his shrinking buddy out for a nightly job. Nothing wrong at alllll.

Yep, Peter definitely posted in the wrong hood. As the gang rolls in from one direction and another group of assailants are rushing in from another, Punchline decides that she who has the last laugh laughs best. Therefore, the smart thing to do would be to remain where she is. Despite looking she's just come from a Shadowrun LARP, she's in a good position to be ignored by most of the ground movement.

Beneath the Joker decal black gas mask covering her face from the nose down, she smiles. Those alien orange eyes fix on Peter and study the energy coming off him for a moment. While he's running (and his collar is glowing), she takes the time to try to focus on his particular energy signature, seeing if she can shunt the other energies away at the same time. He's a nice color of …. well, there isn't a name for that color, human eyes can't see it. We'll call it 'splange'.

She goes to the edge of the roof and sits, green and black knee high, multi-buckled boots dangling and kicking slowly back and forth. She reaches to a MP3 player hooked to the side of her miniskirt and hits play.

"Wow, you iced their /boss/?!" Scott sounded impressed, "No wonder they hate you! Take out the boss, you mess with everyone's paychecks!" He paused for a moment, gears turning, "Man! That means they hate me now too, just because I know you!" Oh well, that probably would've happened anyways. If they could just get to a nice open space or something, he could call in some insectoid cavalry or something…

"Hey, don't look at me." Scott's hands would come up defensively if he didn't need to keep them clamped on Quill's collar right now-also, he was too small for the gesture to be seen right now, "I'm still new at this whole heroics thing myself. They didn't give me a little black book guide to the Gotham cape community." It sounds like a pretty good idea though-he should look into it!

Even at small size though, Scott can see pretty well, "Anyways, I don't think you have anything to worry about. They just sat down and started listening to music, probably one of those watch-and-laugh-while-you-see-someone-get-their-ass-kicked mix tracks."

They should try and to make that not them, probably.

Yes, despite Rodaga's disdain at the sudden departure of the 'Madame Leonne' within their walls, the show must go on!

And does!

Catwoman on the other hand hears the radio back of the status and is springing across rooftops, the crack of a whip like lightning, but a crescendo to the pursuit of light-flares from what Pete and his Ant drug in.

Punchline, though is unexpected as Catwoman stops beside her on that rooftop. The insignia on her mask drawing her upper lip, but she smiles through it and speaks to the green/white/black without looking her way directly while goggles reflect the pandemonium on the horizon behind the (One seen) man racing down the streets. "These streets are ours, right?" The question purred forth on a broken staccato, but when Catwoman leaps from the edge of Punchline's building her MP3 cord is cut, cleanly.

Music, Interrupted.

Catwoman however falls upon her Catcycle (a stole commodity from prior affiliations with the Bats) and fires it up, jetting towards the bridge and bridging said gap in a flying speed of sleek vinyl clad form pressed along the body of machinery. A squeal and the large back wheel kicks up smoke at the bridges entry while the ass-end swings to and fro, one stilleto'd boot planting the body somehow in place as the massive motorcycle does part of the work, the rest is done with a flick of wrist and spikes are suddenly laden in the path, blocking pursuit while a line of cars forms just around Peter and his teeny-tiny accomplice!

"Wrong bridge." Growled lowly as the least-fitting rescuer clad in pieced-together bodysuit stares back towards the uno(duo)!

Punchline holds up the end of her severed headphone cord.

She sighs softly…

… and that's the only sound she makes. Catwoman's question goes unanswered. It's not as if she'd even hear it, as fast as she's going.

Reaching up to remove the now ruined earbuds from her attire, she tosses them onto the ground, watching them fall, the ringlets of sound and dissipating electricity popping and sparkling and flickering out as they fall. An unseen entity flickers in and out of reality for a moment, gone as fast as it came. Beneath the concrete, buried electrical wires trace along, the neon veins of the city itself below. A backup pair is removed from a side pocket, plugged into the MP3 player, and earbuds reaffixed. Never know when you're going to lose a pair, right?

The cacophony below is simply beautiful to watch, and the new meta can't help but be transfixed by it. What was discordant and maddening is becoming easier to handle as her newly mutated braincells continue to adjust to the massive amount of sensory data being fed through the optic nerve. She grins wider beneath the mask, and claps in appreciation of what she's seeing. Even the rising heat from adrenaline and effort in the bodies below is simply, perfectly beautiful.

"Man that's a great idea. I should ask someone who lives here to do that." Peter comments about the book as he slowly and steadily slows his pace. "Be damn useful, I mean what is it with all these people wearing costumes in Gotham? Its not like I wear one."

Yup. This is just his normal clothes.

Everyday wear really.

"Oh come on, its not like he paid them or anything." He adds to his companion, likely looking to most of the world like he is freeking insane. Due to the fact that he's talking to himself. "It was a religious thing." He pauses for a moment. "That makes it worse I think. Anyway, yeah I'm sure they totally hate you. They hate most anyone." He pauses for a moment though. "What the heck do I call you anyway? And why would they be listening to a mix like that anwa—"

The roar of engines, the sudden flicker of lights and there are cars all around them. That's bad. Right? Peter skids to a stop as a massive bike roars past and…

Woah.

"…guess that depends on how you look at it." The man at least recovers quickly as he straightens his jacket. A flicker of a glance towards Woman-On-The-Roof before he turns his attention back to Woman-In-Leather.

"So. I'm Peter Quill. People call me Star-lord." Doesn't even blink really, just perfect delivery. "…and I didn't know this was anyone's bridge. We'll just be moving right along if you don't mind. Won't cause any trouble." Then, because he's Peter Quill and can't help himself he lets a wicked smile flicker to his features. "Unless you ask nicely at least!"

Behind him, on the other end of the bridge a group of odd figures appear out of the dark. Black armor, slightly hunched forms. They simply mill around at the other end, not approaching yet at least.

Those forms? Definitely /not/ the same human energy. Something different that doesn't quite belong there.

As for the Splange Man? His aura, his colors aren't quite in line with a human either. But they aren't mutant. A blend of human and something else, something bright.

"Oh, you can just call me Ant-Man." Scott assures, "It's more-or-less my go-to these days." He teeters his hand on the more complicated nature of Quill's relationship with the lizard guys, "So you like, took out their /pope/? Yeah, I think that actually is worse."

Oh well, doesn't matter. There's a leather lady on a bike in front of them now, and whatever her motivations are, she makes for much more welcome sight than the guys chasing them right now.

"And I'm Ant-Man!" Scott declares, briefly leaping off Peter's shoulders and right-sizing himself just to say that before going back to ant-size and resuming his dutiful place. What? Better that than to cause any surprises later.

Seeing as how they've come to a stop for now, Scott is able to put the ant-mojo out and get a couple of bullets ants crawling over in the nooks and crannies of the bridge, carefully picking their way towards the dark figures.

"Hey, don't worry." He whispered into Peter's eat, "If those guys try and make a go for us i'll have a nasty surprise or two in store for them."

"Star-Lord…" Catwoman speaks as the silhouettes of figures amass, as well as one Splange…

"Welcome to East End." And in those words the Alley Cats emerge from the vehicles, doors flinging pen like wings, windows down as they form shields while sawed-offs, semi-autos, autos, and pistols all click like a harmony of alignment as they fall into a militaristic alignment. But Star-Lord (and teeny company!) are not the targets, it's what rests behind the line of heavy smoke Catwoman created.

"You brought trouble. Welcome to East End." The Catcycle revs and lulls beside him and goggles reflect his image back, not letting him see those narrowed eyes line in kohl. "And we protect ours." Up to and including Punchline upon the roof, but the sigil on her mask alone is a prod enough to cause a cautious loyalty.

But with Ant-Man's reveal, Catwoman blinks. "You boys brought this, you better help."

Are you big? Are you ugly?
Can you kill a man with your hands?

And the wall of gangsters is a reinforcement as armaments gleam beneath the flickering streetlights of East End.

…"Your little friend? Creepy. Throw him out there when I signal, I have an idea…" And as the smoke lowers from the spin-out what those figures meet is a wall, and a leather-lady on a bike. "Catwoman."

An introduction as the whip falls to the heels' and bikes side, then slides along as she slowly seeks to go head to head.

Are you big? Are you ugly?
Can you kill a man with your hands?

The woman in green and black slides off the roof of the warehouse. She salis straight down, a distance that would snap an ankle of any normal individual on touchdown, and yet, the cyber goth lands perfectly into a crouch, rising quickly. No ill effects.

Flicking green and black dread falls over her shoulders, she walks towards Star Lord and Ant Man's position. Lacing her hands together behind her back, she glances around at the situation, leaning forward. Look left. Look right.

"Strange time to play. But it looks like fun. Can I have fun?" she asks, soft, child-like. Her pupils widen just a little.

"For the record, their space pope was trying to blow up a planet on campaign of genocide because…I don't know. Xandarians were too happy for him or something. So blowing up was totally justifiable." This towards Scott before things start to happen.

If there is one thing that Peter Quill knows all about, its a good ol' fashioned gang fight. Which looks to be what's shaping up right now. What the Alley Cats don't quite know is that their opponents have highly advanced laser weapons.

That could be a problem.

Now. The smart thing to do would be to book it. Let these people handle it and turn and disappear into the streets of Gotham. Once he got to Shadowcrest he would be fine. No one could follow him inside and everything would be just peachy. That would be the smartest, most effective way to save his own skin.

But then all these gangers would be in for a world of hurt.

About the time the bullet ants reach the feet of the first armored figure Quill just draws a deep sigh. "Flarg it. I don't like those ninja turtles anyway."

His hand drops to his waist, not for a gun though. Not yet. Instead it slaps the play button on a Sony Walkman that's in pristine condition. Gears start up as the cassette player begins to spin the wheels of the tape inside. Tunes flooding the bright orange foam of the old style headphones that he gingerly slips over his ears.

One foot starts to tap in time with Chery Bomb as he starts to smile.

Then someone else comes up, the girl from the roof. A wide smiel spreads across his face. "Well I've never been one to keep someone out of a streetfight." He says cheerfully as /now/ he reaches down to draw his pistols.

"Come on then, lets make some noise!"

And then he's moving, long and agile legs taking him off to one side, up onto one of the metal bridge supports. Making himself a hell of a target.

Which means he's going to get shot at. But that's normal for him really.

"HEY JACKASSES!" He calls towards the other end of the bridge. "YOUR SPACE POPE SUCKED!"

Yeah. There is about to be some laser fire.

They brought a mess here, so they help clean it up. Sure, okay, that squared with Scott's sensibilities. With their guys on one side, and the aliens on the other, they were down for a number straight out of West Side Story.

No one could hear it, but Ant-Man was totally snapping his fingers mambo-style before the jumpoff occurred.

And yes, it was a literally a //jumpoff/ for Scott as he rides on Quill's shoulder and, when the opportunity strikes, launches himself into the air and the at the nearest alien foot soldier. The sounds of his fist *CRACKS* against a reptilian jawbone as the figure's head suddenly snapped to the side for what seemed like no reason at all, and Scott leapt off his cheek to deal a flying *KICK* to the goon on his right.

The bullet ants find their purchase and sink stingers into their respective marks obediently! Hopefully it hurts the aliens as much as it does regular people. Lasers start sizzling the air, and Scott will have to be more careful with his aerial tactics-a hit from just one of those at this size would completely vaporize him!

She can see the soundwaves glowing softly from around Peter's earphones. He's listening to something too. It's … endearing. She wonders for a split second why he's doing it, why in the middle of what could be a life or death battle, he's listening to music. She does it because she can't remember … anything. The music she found is jogging chemically addled memory cells. A set of faces, blurry, in a photograph. They were important, and for the life of her, she cannot recall -why-.

The sudden burst of laser fire elicits a startled gasp, and she slips out of the way of one with careless ease, wide eyes following the energy pattern. She obviously wasn't expecting the energy beams, and yet, without thinking about it, muscle memory took over. She flexes her hands, and bounces on the balls of her toes. This feels right. This is what she's supposed to be doing. Her body shifts into a ready stance, weight to her back leg, lightly stepping to the front. She needs to do this. She needs to move her body, because maybe that will force her memories to come back.

Why does he listen to music? Because he loves it. It sooths him. It excites him. It moves him. As the hard drums start up in his song his foot taps again as the laser fire starts to arc towards him as he makes a target of himself.

He sees one of them snap his head back, and a second one suddenly gives out a yowl and staggers backwards as he tries to shake off the ants inside his armor.

A touch of something near his ear and suddenly those energy signals coming from him increase. A shield of some kind forms around him, skin tight but powerful. A metal mask slams into place over his features, brilliant ruby optics gleaming in the dark as he launches himself towards the knot of Sakaarans.

He lands foot first on ones head before springing off. A sudden brilliant jet of flame bursts into existence as his boots slow landing enough to let him roll out of the way of a kick. A brilliant red burst of energy bursts from the barrel of his gun as one of the creatures is knocked backwards off the edge of the bridge.

He laughs as two of them line up shots and sends himself into the air and over the beams.

A third one though takes note of the masked woman bouncing on the bridge and the bulky gun of his snaps around to aim at her. A harsh guttural tongue calls out something that is clearly not english as he fires in Punchline's direction.

…meanwhile a fourth one has pulled out a sword. A wide bladed weapon that he is currently whipping about in front of him. Trying mostly in futile hope to slap poor Scott out of the air.

The Alley Cats? Oh they advance, and they open fire. Thankfully it seems that between the three obvious targets not too many of those nasty beams are angled towards them.

"Whoa! Hah! Woo!"

That was Scott, kind of easily avoiding the clumsy flailing of the alien's sword as it tried to…well, swat him with it. Not really the ideal tool to bring to the job, and Scott let him know with a swift uppercut that happened to flip the not-so-friendly ET over its heads and heals before faceplanting onto the ground.

"YEAH!" Scott shouted, momentarily re-sizing next to Peter, "I think i'm getting the hang of this stuff! You guys are doing pretty well too!"

Then an alien beans him in the head with rifle butt.

"Agh!!" Scott reeled back a bit as the hit pinged off his helmet, stars dancing in his eyes a bit. Fortunately he recovers and, thanks to Hope's training, manages to close with the offending creature and disarm him, following up with a quick judo throw the ground.

"Alright pals, it's your show now!" He calls out to no one in particular, though the aim soon becomes clear as a cloud of flying ants envelops the sakaarans, obscuring vision and being, well ants.

A second beam shoots towards Punchline. She watches it come and plays chicken with death, moving a fraction out of the way at the last moment. It was both efficient, tactical and dangerous - a wrong move could potentially kill her, and yet, moving at the last moment conserves energy and can allow for a feint or even redirection of action. Her breathing picks up just a little, the excitement causing a shift in her neurology. Adrenaline surges. It's a good thing no one can see her grin.

"Mind if I kill something, boys?" she asks. It likely doesn't mean anything to Peter or Scott, but there's a definite tone shift in that voice.

If Peter takes note of that tone of voice from Punchline, he doesn't really give a sign. Instead one shoulder raises and lowers in a half shrug as he lands on jets of flame. "Be my guest, long as its not me or my little friend." A gesture at Scott…just as Ant-man gets brained.

A wince at that.

"You ok" And he aborts his question as a dark swarm engulfs a few of the remaining armored figures. "huh. So /that/ is why they call you Ant-man?" He comments with a slow nod, just before he ducks under the swing of what looks like an electrified sword. "Hey!" He calls towards his attacker as he punches forwards with his gun. "I was /talking/ here!"

The alien goes staggering backwards before Quill puts an electrified round into the center of his chest and the thing drops twitching to the asphalt.

About this time the remaining two ETs realize that between someone that can dodge lasers, Star-Lord and the shrinking guy, AND a horde of angry gangers…well better part of valor and all that.

One of them starts rapidly blind firing in the direction of Quill and Punchline while the other just turns and runs.

Apparently loyalty isn't really a thing for them.

I mean, Scott was okay. His ears were still ringing, and he likely wouldn't stop talking about like, the emotional damage or something like that to Hank forever, but he more or less fine. The costumed shrinker takes a moment to flash Peter and Punchline the thumbs up before shrinking again, "I mean, it's not my city or jurisdiction, you do what you gotta do." Is all he gets out before vanishing again to the realm of tinier men.

It seems the remaining ETs had figured out sticking around wasn't in their best interests, or at least one of them had. To try and 'encourage' this last one, Scott decided to pick hope over the ground and tie his shoes together while he was busy shooting at the other two. Or, if he didn't have shoelaces, he'd just knock him off balance! Proportional strength and all that.

"Is it my city? I sincerely don't know. I mean, I guess you could say I was born yesterday, because I kind of was. I think. I don't remember anything before I came out of that cocoon." Punchline quickly searches the ground and — ah, there it is.

She thrusts her arm down and pulls up a manhole cover, one arming it. "Careful, I just opened up a stinkhole," she casually warns, before flinging it like a Frisbee at high speed towards the panicking alien shooting at her. Hopefully this guy's aim is about as good as your average cartoon villain. As in, 'couldn't shoot himself if his gun was halfway down his throat when he pulled the trigger'.

They don't really have 'shoelaces' perse. However there are cooling lines near the feet that have come loose in the scuffle. Those serve Scott just as well as laces. As the frantic firing starts to zero in on Punchline he finds it hard to aim as he stumbles, wondering just how he became twisted in his armor. Then the steel Frisbee slams into his midsection. There is a crunch of armor and whatever passes for bone in this specific species as his ribs crumple in. Combined with the fact that his shoes are linked its no surprise at all that he is taken clear off his feet.

"Huh," Peter says from behind his own mask. "…Drax was right. They /are/ kinda made from paper."

Almost casually he kicks one in the face as it struggles to rise.

A smirk then. "Nice punch Ant-dude. And you…nice throw." This towards Punchline. "So what do we call you?" Her rather unique appearance doesn't seem to bother him much at all.

I mean he's best friends with a tree and a damn raccoon.

There is a pause though and a frown. "Huh, lost memories? That sucks. Wait…" A pause. "Cocoon?" A longer pause. "You're not from some other planet are you? There are tons out there that do the whole cocoon thing."

"I saw that. Not pretty." In regards to Punchline's birth of …. sorts.
Rebirth…?

NuBirth…?

Maybe?

Madame Moooovverrry has a few "presents", and Catwoman is relying on one of them against these beings!

Well it's late and I want love,
Love that's gonna break me in two!

Catwoman had a moment, one that watched her people as they line up and ready for a fight not of their world. None-the-less did as they had trained among themselves, and did so with a bravery and pride!

Cocoons, NuHumans, all rising and they remain unwavering with what comes across the bridge towards their home, along side a Joker-esque entity!

Beside her as she settles with the manhole cover they fall in line, drivers creeping the cars forward while they attempt to press the "aliens" back.

The tires screech to life again, a pinwheel of motion from Catwoman and she is throttling herself into the fray while she watches what occurs. "Then help me close it!" And leaping from the bike's seat, Catwoman lands into the fray of smoke and "mortar", Punchy left on that line as Star-Lord and Ant-Man are joined too with a whip-crack!

If all lands well, one is brought down with the coil of leather around its neck and a heel by its profile upon the pavement as she crouches over it face.

If successful a clawed grip palms it face and rips! away. Leaving claw marks and a few points!

"Hey, thanks!" Scott popped back up to normal size once the remaining aliens were dispatched, tossing quick, off-the-cuff two finger salute to the other guy, "Nice, well…pretty much everything out there." Any fight you could walk away from, you know?

The catlady on the motorcycle makes her entrance again, and Scotts is grateful for it, "Hey, thanks for helping us out. You didn't really have to and, well…" He laughs, "Ah, sorry, I still don't know the protocol on all this team-up business, but it seems the streets are safe again. From aliens."

As for the whole coming-out-a-cocoon thing, that was a new one on Scott. He stares out the visor slits of his helmet at Punchline with everyone else, waiting for an explanation.

Punchline glances over at Catwoman. She was there? She doesn't remember -seeing- Catwoman there when she burst her way out. Tilting her head to the side, she pulls down her goggles and asks Selena: "Are you my mummy?"

She's not sure where that line came from, but it happened to rattle its way down into her head from somewhere, probably a television show.

Standing back up, she reaches down to her mp3 player and presses the pause button. That's enough for now, and the song is over. "I don't think I'm an alien. Again, I don't remember anything before pushing my way out of the cocoon. Maybe I am an alien, but the Purple Man didn't say anything in particular about that. He just made sure to let me know that there would be people who'd try to cut me open, so I should be careful."

"Cocoons usually are messy," Quill comments as Catwoman joins the fight and ruins the day of the last poor armored alien. He was trying to get away, but instead he gets claws in the face. His hands come up to try to protect his face as he whimpers.

"I think he's trying to surrender." Quill adds helpfully as he slips his pistols away again. "And…look, sorry for the trouble. Catwoman right? Didn't really know anyone was around and…" A pause as he looks back towards Punchline. "…Purple Man?" A sigh. "Ant, you're right. We are totally gonna need a book to keep track of all these people."

He pauses a moment before he taps is earpiece again. The armor plate retracts to reveal the grinning features of Quill once again. "Well I'm not gonna try to cut anyone open. I was just trying to get home. You got a nice arm on you by the way."

"Team-up?" Catwoman stands, her palm still man-handling an aliens face-mask until it separates in a sickening partition from hand to Gotham gravel, and a slap of flesh on pavement.

A tension sings along her spine but it does nothing to stoop her from a regal position as the face-mask is left to fall on the body at her feet. But what does happen when Punchy asks about a 'mummy' makes Catwoman take a few steps back towards her Catcycle.

"I don't do the mummy gig. Nor the team-up, gig." An address to all of them as the varying vehicles rull off with a resounding clatter of weapons resettling to a "peace-mode".

One leg drapes over her 'cycle and she eyes them all cautiously, and yet with a curiosity. "Nothing is what it seems, though…" A pause and the engine Roars! with a rev of clawed grip on the throttle.

"But East End remains the same." And with a cry out from a being beneth tread, Catwoman hobbles an invding/pursuing alien by running it over at the ankles.

Tha-thump!

Pausing before Punchline, Catwoman 'sizes her up', a waver in goggles refraction and there is a small smile, one hand extending to *tic* her chin up beneath a clawed inspection. Lips press just along her jaw towards lobe. "..We'll see…."

A glance to Quill and Scott and those goggles get adjusted in posture on the bridge of nose.

"Tin Roof welcomes you all, but if you break it… You break to buy it." Eye for eye.

"But it is safe, and I trust you men, will enjoy."

Punchline is not excluded, however, despite the risk. A wink and small smile her way before the Cat is gone.

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