Cutthroats and Clowns

March 15, 2017:

The Suicide Squad has a casual gathering… Casual is dripping with sarcasm.

Taproom - Silveroak Inn & Tavern

The Silveroak Tavern sits nestled off one of those side streets in New
York no one ever quite thinks about until they happen to be there. It's like
a hidden gem in the city, really. Red brick façade accented by green painted
wood in an old English pub style. There's no writing over it to proclaim its
name. There's just a wooden sign that hangs on a copper bracket over the
street, painted with a silver tree, a tankard inscribed on its trunk.

Pushing inside the red-painted door leads one to the warm, golden tap room.
A long bar sits against the far wall, the shelves behind it laden with
popularly recognizable through to entirely obscure bottles of alcohol from
all around the world. A full sized keg, the sort one might expect to see in
a period movie, sits at the far end, an oak tree like the one on the hanging
sign burnt into its face. It houses the local house mead, widely rumoured by
those in the know to be the best in the city… if not the world. The smell
of rich and homey foods can be detected wafting from the kitchen, though
getting through to that kitchen is a challenge to anyone not part of the
staff.

There's a large stone fireplace at the far end, a handful of overstuffed
leather armchairs clustered around it. A deer skin rug sits before it and,
when Dana Hunt's at home, it's not unusual to find an oversized, white
german shepherd dog lounging before the fire.

The place is owned and operated by a small, silver-haired woman, apparently
in her 60s, with merry eyes and a tacit demeanour. She is at once everyone's
kindly mother and fierce landlady, a genuine force of nature. Her name is
Wassea and she is not lightly crossed in this place. The main bartender is a
slender, red-haired Irishman known simply as Paddy. Generally friendly, full
of mischief, and a bit of a flirt, like Wassea, he's more than he seems.

This is a neutral meeting ground. Dark, light, or wild, it matters not. All
that matters is that the peace is kept and food and respite are enjoyed to
their fullest.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Agent Danvers, Amanda Waller

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Brain damage, ever since the day I was born
Drugs, what they used to say I was on

It seems that by whatever twist of fate there is in the world that is deranged and wrong, that Harley has gone back to Joker once again. At least that's how it seems as he's on her arm when the two of them stroll into the Taproom. "Hello, lovelies!" he calls out. At least it's not the Tin Roof. "It's a celebration, you see."

What, that they're together?

"We're going to go on a grand adventure together, you see, you and I, Harley." he says to the girl on his arm as he leads her to a table, aheming at the people sitting at it. And then outright glaring to scare them off. "Gosh. This used to be easier. Must be losing my touch." Romantic table? Words of a grand adventure? Is Joker about to make Harley the happiest girl on Earth?

Dropping down to one knee, Joker looks up at Harley, so much in those acidic green eyes of his as he searches her soft blues. "Harleen Quenzel.." he says, using her real name. Goodness!

They say I never knew which way I was goin'
But everywhere I go they keep playin' my song

"Will you join me on a special team to go around causing mayhem, panic, and destruction wherever they may sow? You may die a horrible death, but you'll be with me, which is always a bonus!" he grins at her and laughs. "So what do you say, wanna leave this crazy town, go out in the world, raise some hell, and have a little fun?"

Nope, not a marriage proposal.

Resting her head on Joker's shoulder as they walk arm in arm into the Taproom, Harley sighs softly. She's not entirely sure if she is overjoyed by her reunion with her Puddin' or terrified, but it is what it is.

She slips into the chair that is freed for her by the Clown Prince's intimidation, her eyes going wide as he slips down to one knee. Is it possible? After all this time?! After the ups and the downs, like an Amusement Mile roller coaster. Her face lights up and she lets out a happy squeal. "Yes! Yes! Yes!! Wait. What?" Confusion and then her pout as he doesn't ask what she was hoping. She lets out a hrumph and exhales to get the strand of blonde out of her face.

Rose is at the bar itself, not sinking into a booth for a reason, one veiled beneath a corseted waist and the studded brassier, a jacket hangs off her shoulders, half cut, dropped off bare shoulders to droop down her back leaving the spanse between shoulder blades exposed, more scars and recent bruises, but nothing in comparison to the scar laden eye with a patch resting over it instead of a mask, instead of falsity in bionics. She stamped it out, just like the cigarette in her hand that meets the tray of ashes and other butts.

The upheaval behind her tenses shoulders rimmed barely in fur ruff of coats collar and sleeves, but it was not the who she spotted with a sidelong look of single arctic eye, it is the noise. The painkillers make her sensitive.

Leather clad legs uncross, a booted foot of steel undercoat hits the bar to pivot her stool. You're gonna die, honkey!

"Best. Proposal. Ever." For those with Brain Damage.

"I hate this city." Says an all to familiar voice directly to Rose's left. Having used the distraction of Joker's antics as cover, Slade's slipped into the seat next to his daughter without anyone the wiser. He didn't bother with the front door when the back works just as well. He watches the pair of love birds with an affectless face as he leans back against the bar behind him almost lazily.

Someone is going to start wondering what the chances are that there are 2 people with white eye patches in Gotham, and then what the chances are they'd both have white hair, AND TEHN what the chances are that they'd be in the same bar at the same time. That someone would need one of those fancy calculators with all the buttons and functions on it because the chances, they are slim. "Why am I here, Rose?" he asks, not taking his eye off of Joker and Harley. The question, like all his questions, seems multilayered and is almost certainly a trap of some kind. After all, it's not like she /asked/ him to meet here. So … why /is/ he here?

"You said yes, no take backs!" Joker says with a bright smile. "You've made me the happiest man in Gotham, for now!" There's a low chuckle offered to Harley as he moves to drop into his seat across from the blonde beauty as he grins at her. "We're going to have a /great time/!" he promises before he glances around the bar finally.

"Oooh, is it.. could it.." he grins and waves to the tender. "Whatever the old man wants and a Shirley Temple for the girl! She ain't old enough to have a real drink!" Hahahaaha. The Joker grins. "Heard you had a bad time. Get the license number of the truck that hit you? I know a great lawyer, but he's a bit Two-Faced!"

Speedster puns and Two-Face crack? Yep, Harley's made him happy.

Harley Quinn folds her arms over her chest, scowling. "Sure, Mistah Jay," she says, not looking at him as she continues to grumble. "It's gonna be a blast." And yet, she can tell by his jokes that he's in a good mood and a part of her just can't be too upset when her sweet babboo is this cheerful. Today's outfit shows an awful lot of skin, a sequined dress in red and black, fishnet stockings and heels. Her double shoulder holster and another one on her thigh are worn openly, as if daring someone to ask if she has a license for her weapons.

Looking over where Joker is calling out across the room, Harley sees a familiar face. She waggles her fingers to Slade, smiling in remembrance, even if he was a bit of a scary man in the end for getting into her head.

"Don't fucking know. Likely for them?" Not me.

"Take out the cherry, Madonna me," A pause and her ID is withdrawn. "Add two shots of vodka and tell me why I shouldn't paint this place red." Rose's words are low, but the tender and surely Deathstroke hear her.

"I got that license, and it's why I am here." But here is not this bar,it's where she is in life.

"Pity it took a truck to save a life. Figures." A loop of boot in a rung and she turns her back on them right after Harley waves to her Father. Short hair, don't care.

"Hate this city too." Rose get's a cherry anyway in her vodka-juice and plucks it out, pitching it over her shoulder in the clown-couples general direction. "Ya lost something."

Deathstroke doesn't take his eye off of Joker because Slade ain't no idiot, though something akin to disapproval lilts in his tone as he speaks, "I am here because you let one of them get to second base with your right ventricle. And a wholesome girl like you." he says that so dry and deadpan that the lack of sarcasm is acerbic in it's own special way. Joker orders them drinks and he merely nods once at the pair, "If you put anything except burboun in my glass I will kill you." he offers to the barman matter of factly.

And people think Batman's a tough audience.

That red piece of fruit twists in the air, and Joker catches it between his teeth as he rolls his tongue over the pliant flesh. Then he bites down. "Sweet, a little drunk, with a touch of bad decisions, regret, and not give a fuck. Juicy." he says, twisting the stem around in his mouth and stick out his tongue, the stem on the end tied in a perfect knot.

"If she's yours, Slade, wholesome is… heehehe. Well, I could finish taking her all the way home, if it helps!" he says with a laugh, setting the knot on the table in front of Harley.

Harley slowly starts to look over at Joker as he blatantly flirts with the other young woman. If looks could kill, Joker would be laying on the floor with daggers sticking out of his chest. A hand drifts to the table, fingers thrumming on the wood. She purses her lips, her thoughts tumultuous.

Taskmaster shouldering past a much larger man winds his way through towards the group that should have cleared this place with mere presence alone. I mean, if they showed up wanting to play. He is dressed like a civilian for once, black horn rim-glasses, an olive green sweater, slacks, a sidearm, a boot knife strapped to one thigh above brown dressy shoes and a wig, a nicely done wig. One that attaches to the scalp and makes his normal short crapped high-and-tight of a brown mop look like an auburn mess.

No clue what the conversation two Wilsons and Gotham's Clown Royalty could be having he drags a loose chair over to drop down on to it. No one here should recognize him in this state without familiarity, good familiarity not just a swinging lamplight in the dark sort.
"What a damned collection we have here." No voice modulator and no ventriloquism. It's a deep, smooth voice, 'Tony Masters' real voice.

Deathstroke continues to stare at the clown, "She'd kill you." he says evenly to Joker before finally shifting his gaze away from Joker and towards Tony. A single white eyebrow climbs slightly on his forehead, "The hair's a bit much." he says, staring at his one time 'friend' turned competitor and occasional partner, "Glasses give you a nice librarian feel though." he offers.

"Close enough to be suck-tastic." A pause and she drains the glass, the empty vessel clattering on the bar and shoved towards barkeep. "Bourbon. No rocks, it waters it…"

The arrival of the wigged-out other brings pause, one that clenches her jaw and.."Down."

A silence falls then, enough to be (un)comfortable and Rose casts her glance to Harley as she stews and Joker and he screws (the stem) into a heart-shaped knot. "It's okay sweet-heart. For once, Deathstroke is right." A rock back and she takes her newly-filled glass and downs it, only playing with the empty while the 'Masters' speaks.

"Get used to it. It's a thing."

"Old one eye can be right sometimes, after all, he's got.. 20/10 hindsight!" Joker laughs at his own joke and flicks the stem towards the floor as he returns his attention back to Harley. "Just buying her a drink because Harley girl decided to go on the adventure of her lifetime with me." he says with a small grin as he folds his hands on the table and looks thoughtfully at the conversation between the two older gentlemen, the green haired clown looking thoughtful.

Harley is one of those few that knows Taskmaster well. Actually, very well. So as he sits down, she starts to smile a vicious grin. So, Puddin' wants to play the 'Let's make them jealous' game? Well, two can play at that.

Standing up, Harley stretches her arms over her head which causes the hem of her dress to rise dangerously high. She then saunters over to the recently arrived redhead and settles into his lap, draping her arms around his neck. "New look? I think I prefer your usual style. Though Slade is right, the glasses are kinda cute." She rests a hand on Taskmaster's chest and looks over to Joker, sticking out her tongue at him.

"I emphasized 'damned' well enough yeah?" Taskmaster muses, "So, did I ever tell you me and some of the other old Jobbers have a bet going on about you Slade? We figured somewhere out there, that weird albino Übermensch gene of yours hit the odds finally and you cranked out a kid who isn't set auto to star in Bloodsport? Just some everyday sadsack, probably a comedian or some chump who works at Big Belly Burger yelling at his mother about meatloaf. Pot is getting pretty big on the guy who finds hi… "
A pause as Harley draws herself across his lap, one dark eyebrow inches upwards, "Lady. I am here on business and you're playin' a game I can't afford right now. Climb back over next to your ex-boyfriend or I'm going to have to put you on the floor. Play time is only after work hours."
Yeah. He is here on business but he is the Taskmaster, even in disguise he likes to make some bit of a show upon arrival. It is part of his nature.

Deathstroke raises his burboun to his lips, "I'm always right." he growls out as he sips at the drink lightly. Joker is in the room, so he allows only the barest touch of the liquid to flow over his tongue, letting his enhancements sift through the drinks' flavors to seek out anything that ought not be there. Like poison.

Sift.
Sift.
Sift.

We're good. He takes an ordinary sip then and continues to be lazy. "Oh don't be so harsh on the good Dr., Masters, one imagines she'd love to peek inside your skull. Maybe she couldn't resist."

It's a flash of movement, the sudden air of chill in the room, as well as still is not noted by Rose, she has stopped giving a fuck. Her heart was stopped, and she doesn't care to restart it. So when Harley crawls into the man's lap and two x two is put together….

The glass rim is held in one hand and then shatters on the bar, leaving shards facing the lacquered surface, but as her other hand aims towards Masters and Harley, the Rhino is in her palm and aimed, but safety has yet to be triggered off.

"Get off my Uncles lap, because if I sit in 'Puddin's'… It's war."

The stool beneath leather clad ass is slid aside and Rose is on her feet, a slow walk towards Joker with a smile.

"If I recall, we're a team?" A tilt of head and Rose is flipping the shattered glass in palm, readying…

Although a wink does go to Joker, with a kiss-blown.

With Harley getting up to leave, the Clown Prince watches her and as she approaches Taskmaster, Joker seethes at what she's doing. His frame straightens in his seat and his white knuckles pale further as he grips the table. The green haired man actually frowns, and feels in his jacket for his moment. Of course, the magic of the Taproom, perhaps realizing his intent, sends his gun away, and the man grouses as he looks down at his drink and grumbles. "Wasn't going to kill him.." he mutters at the powers that be.

"Just wing him a little."

"No no, you can keep her." the man growls low. His anger is aimed directly towards Harley as she ends up on her rump on the floor. Everything she had work on building back up after screwing up his last plan because of her loyality to the Cat just got fully reset. "She's part of the package." he grouses. "She comes with me." Said evenly to Taskmaster. "Once you have the job completed." And he sets down a few bucks on the bar as he prepares to leave. Grousing the whole way.

"Can't shoot a man for touching what's yours, it's insane.. it's crazy.. it's un-American, I tell you!"

"Oh come on, Deathstroke, I'm not gonna try to poison you - tonight. It'd put your girl all in a bad mood, or turn her own, I never know with you Wilsons, hoo!" he says with a laugh as he looks over his shoulder at where Deathstroke is testing his drink and smirks. "Anyway, this place takes all the fun out of life. The excitement, the pure… je ne says pass of not knowing if your next breath is your last!"

And then Rose is pulling a gun. "OH HOW COME SHE GETS TO USE ONE!" He seems to be talking to noone in particular as he folds his arms over his chest and huffs.

Well! It would seem that her sitting in Master's lap has caused all manner of chaos. She smiles as she rises to her feet with a triumphant grin to Ravager. "Did I hit a nerve, princess?" she asks before sauntering over to the bar and starting to make herself a drink.

It seems that her attempt to make trouble has succeeded and has Harley in a good mood. She even bats her eyes over at Joker. "Don't worry, Puddin'. I'll find us a place you can shoot anyone ya want later."

"Nothing? Not even a twitch? Man, you always gotta be that guy Slade." Taskmaster taunts the old Team 7 commander and hardass but the Clowns, Rose, all of that makes him clamp his mouth shut and look at them confusedly, even when a firearm goes flying away from Joker and Ravager draws her own. "Seriously, act like goddamn professionals." He snaps. His head tilts to look at Joker while peeling his eyes from Harley's backside and he grins, a grin not unlike his usual skullymask. All teeth. "The job is getting done. I just ran in to a small hiccup, Batbrats, I figure you can understand and the package deal of you two Locos is fine, our boss, Satan, she may not approve of two of you in one but she gave me recruitment rights and did outline, one or the other. Maybe she'll even be happy with two." She won't. They're wild cards. Them and the other Wilson is going to be a handful for the non-supervillain psychokiller sane staff of Belle Reve. "Uncle Tasky, shit, that makes me want to drink too. I glad I never had children."

"Oh to that subject, Slade, you're not locked in yet. She told me, to give you this." A piece of paper, torn off of an envelope is pushed over to Deathstroke. It is kept hidden from the other.
"She knows threatening your life, even your children, or anything, work, money, contacts, all of it is pointless so, that's the trump I suppose. I was just more than happy to make sure she knew we'd be working together, I told her having your kid might be enough but, no, she sees it as otherwise." Taskmaster is known to talk a bit much at times. Especially when he is overly amused with himself or a situation, like now.
The paper has only a name on it.

Deathstroke eyes Joker, ignoring the rest of the nonsense in the bar, including his daughter's antics, "Rules don't apply to you." he says simply, "You are unhinged. I take nothing for granted." say what you want to about Slade, he certainly has flaws, but arrogance generally isn't among them. Once you've seen as many impossible things as he has you stop believing in them as a concept and just assume it's all gonna go to shit at some point, and it's been waiting for you to arrive to really put on a show.

Eighty years old and he's fully intending on hitting that centennial mark.

Speaking of hitting the mark… He shoots Harley a glance, "Ah. And there are the weapons, I was starting to think you'd put them away for a rainy day." he sips his drink again and offers her the faintest of knowing smiles. Considering the fact that most of the other clientele has fled at this point, Harley may be the only other person in this place (barman not counted) who doesn't know of Slade's alter ego. He's gonna have a little fun with it while it lasts.

And there goes all the fun in his face. He reaches over to take the scrap of paper and he eyes it's contents for a moment. Something flickers over his features, something dark and cold and clearly emotional. Fury. No, not Nick. Righteous fury. The paper crumples in his fist and his lips twist slightly into a snarl, "Waller." he says, the word a hiss of annoyance. Of course she's been sitting on this, waiting for her moment to dangle it like a carrot. He shoots Taskmaster a look, one of those silent ones that says way more then a look should, "What does she suspect this will buy her? I don't do indefinite contracts." Someone's done playing games it would seem.

"No… But if you're going to risk my family, Clown-Queen…" The safety goes to 'off'.

I'm gonne be me to the death of me…

"We aren't a team." But with every syllable she takes a step towards Joker with gun and glass ra(i)zed.

"Call me princess again…" And suddenly Rose sounds too close to her father at the bar while a paper slides between them, all the while that corset-laced pants, ass claims the table in front of Joker, the rig bearing the guns still veiled despite a flash concealed by the rise of jacket shrugged to hug shoulders, but not hide the Rose & Vine tattoo along her hip to aloft…. Compliments of an X-Man!

The glass is flipped and fully shattered before Joker as she is seated upon the tale before him while Harley gets a drink, but the large pistol is still raised. "You and me both…Daddy. But she knows better. Here. We. Fucking. Sit." Beat.

"Laugh and I will kill you." No Punchline. That stem Joker spat plucked up and wrapped around the barrel of her pistol…

Heart shaped.

// … Die Hard.. //

Harley looks over to the bartender as she starts making herself a drink. "Boo," she tells him, and he finally gets the idea that here is not a safe place to be. While she is making her drinks, she offers a shrug to the silver fox known to her only as Slade. "I wasn't carrying any when you saw me before. Don't mean I never carry them."

As Ravager takes the safety off her gun and starts to threaten her Puddin', Harley's baby blues get a very dangerous gleam. She looks from her to Slade. "Daddy," she states, then her eyes go to Tasky. "Uncle. Huh! Sounds like family reunions are a laugh riot."

Harley then emerges out from behind the bar with a pair of Grasshoppers, decorated with a sugared violet. Green and purple. She hands one to the Clown Prince and frowns. "I'm guessing this is the team you want me to work with to cause mayhem? You know, your proposal?"

The glass is shattered, spilling it's splinters like clear shrapnel across the table as Rose presents herself with such an interesting view of the tattoo as she presses down next to her.

But it's what she does next. One does not threaten Harley Quinn in front of Joker. It just.. doesn't happen.

With a growl, he turns into the woman, one hand grabbing her corseted loops to force her to hold her in place as he drops into her lap. "No. That won't do, Princess." he says with a threatening tone as he presses that cherry stem and barrel right up against his mouth and then draws it in, pulling the stem off suggestively before he spits it aside and the green-eyed maniac comes out to play.

"You sit at my table, you play by my rules. And rule numero uno. At my table? We laugh."

Meeting her eyes, with that gun barrel leaving it's signature on his forehead, he smiles widely.

And he laughs. Loud. Wholly. Go ahead. Pull the trigger.

"It is not indefinite, man. I think she knows you too well to put you in a situation like that, you'll turn those teeth her way. Satan isn't stupid." Taskmaster says, "She gained a buncha weight since we used to party with her but shes still one of the boys." The /Boys/ meaning the Team Program, 7, the most infamous of them. One they all had their hand in, life and downfall.
A sigh escapes Taskmaster and the humor having been sucked out of the room by Deathstroke's response to seeing the name on that paper is showing for the skullmerc as well, "Rose, you gotta learn to relax. You can't play their game. This is what they do to make you go fuckin' nuts and lose sight of what's important and what's important right now, is we all drink, strike some sort of peace accord and direct all the violence, animosity and lunacy at our new employers, especially our newest very green team leader, Agent Danvers." The grin doth return. He'll let Joker answer Harley's question, its pretty clear to itself already anyways.
Maybe Taskmaster is a little salty and vengeful he got demoted as well.

Deathstroke turns his attention to his daughter, and right now is not the ideal time to be the focus on Slade's attention, "You and I are not the same." he says firmly. Seven words that say volumes more then they ought to. He leaves the weapons comment lie for now, but he files that away for future use against Harley. "We've crossed paths a few times, a lot more recently." his eyes narrow a bit as he considers what that might mean. He ignores the drama between Joker and Rose as it is entirely pointless in the Taproom.

Taskmaster's words strike home and he turns his head slowly to stare at Tony, "Our. Team. Leader." if three words could kill, Zsasz would be stalking Danvers as they speak. Waller expects him to function, not only on a team, but under the command of someone /else/!?! A vein ticks slightly at his temple, just to the side and above the white eye patch.

Roles reversed, instead of Rose in Joker's lap, he is in hers and he is lapping the stem off of the barrel of her gun with a (forked)tongue. The trigger is pulled!

Click

A draw of the large pistol back and away and Rose smiles! Miles!! A shrug upon shoulders, the coat befallen again while she pushes to stand and spill a Joker from her lap. "I am laughing… On the inside…," A kiss to barrel and in just as magically disappears up-sleeve. Leaving lips upon fingertips.

"If at all.." The criss-cross lacing on the front of leather pants mates with what holds her together and Joker took fingers to. A pause and she reaches back, grabbing the 'bunny ears' of cinchers loops, that scarred and patched eye cast his way. "Let. Go."

Rose wants to know, know what causes that vein to tap above Deathstroke's brow.

Dad… Not-father… Does not matter… Some things make them tic.

"She's got both her eyes, and they're pretty. Let me go." A nod to Harley, and to (Team) peace. Give Rose a round… of applause…

But it's only for her own benefit.

Click

"I knew you had it in you, Rosie girl!" Joker says with a laugh as he feels her squirm and push on him to get away.

However, before he's gone, he reaches up, caressing her cheek - and then drives his thumb deep into that socket where her eye once was, the bionics pulled, leaving only a hole hollow as he presses down upon her and presses a kiss to her cheek. His next words are for her.

"Don't threaten what's mine, Princess…"

"Or next time, it won't be my thumb in there." With that, he bounces off her lap and lands on his ass on the floor with a laugh. "Hoo, you're as much as your daddy!" He says, grinning at Harley. "Yep! Wally the Walrus and her special gang of goons!" he says as he moves to sit up on the table. "Speaking of! What are we doing, Tasky? The usual? Boring!"

Rose withdrawals sharply when his thumb sinks beneath her patch, but it comes also with a grip to his face when he seeks to land a kiss to ker cheek. He's locked, so is she… And teeth sink into his rakish lips meant for assumed appreciation, drawing blood and skin if he does not pull away quick enough.

"Cash me ousside." Ravager spits to the side, stealing a gawking patrons drink to gargle with and spit across the floor, pink running down chin, eyepatch put back in line like a baseball cap in the sun..

"I'll show you how I earned this." Snap goes the patch in alignment and is followed by a middle finger.

"Fill me in after cheap thrills."

"This will be a breezer in the grand scope. It's a per mission basis with no commitment beyond when called, you can keep your easy rider lifestyle in tact. We all can. AD HOC, brother." Taskmaster adds, "Yeah… team leader, Agent Alex Danvers, probably old enough to drink too young to have calloused in to a bona fide alpha roster iceman." Pausing he considers the scenario, "Not sure what Satan's call is there to be honest. Considering the mission line up, she won't last." An actual shrug has the auburn haired be-spectacled man standing upright.
He missed the close exchange between Rose and what is said. No augmented hearing or special attention there for now, even if he was aware he is very much the mind Deathstroke's daughter can handle herself in just about any scenario. She is after all a fellow gladiator after all and if not; Slade failed parenting. Not that ANY of them are or ever should be parents. Ever. "Me? I'm leaving. I have an outstanding job, someone wants a /hat/." Cowl, mask, same dif.
"I'll be in touch, Slade, think on it, man. It'll be like old times." A lot of it Task doesn't remember but he has heard the stories and at times has deja vu or dreams. That counts for something.

Deathstroke eyes Tony, "I still possess my own Resolve." he says quietly, letting the capital R in the word sound there for anyone 'in the know' to recognize, "Should it be required." or more plainly put, when Joker and Harley try to get us all killed, Slade can get anyone out that he personally has decided deserves it. Also, potentially, he has the resources still in waiting to deal with Waller should she double cross them.

Generally one doesn't fuck with the ex-members of Team 7 however. No weakness survived that crucible. He then turns to glance at his daughter and shakes his head, pulling out a match and striking it, it lights the slip of paper that's been crumpled in his fist on fire, and watches it burn all the way down to his palm before crushing the ashes in his fingers once more. "I'm done." he says, standing up suddenly, "Quit flirting with the crazy people and get back to work. You don't want to fuck with Amanda Waller, Rose. I know," he slides his glass back onto the bar, barely touched, and makes a face, "I trained her." and then he's heading for the door "I'm in. For now." he offers as he passes Taskmaster before reaching up to tap his ear with a fingertip and begin a subvocal conversation with Peabody so that he can begin moving chess pieces on the board.

When she bites him into that kiss, Joker at first makes a pained sound, and then he grins, licking the blood, staining his smile even further as he grins up at Rose. "I'm sure we're gonna have a /grand/ ole time, all of us, like a big twisted inbred family!" he says with a laugh as he pushes up to grab Harley by the arm to drag her off.

Apparently for the clown couple, this was all foreplay.

Rose withdraws sharply when his thumb sinks beneath her patch, but it comes also with a grip to his face when he seeks to land a kiss to her cheek. He's locked, so is she… And teeth sink into his rakish lips meant for assumed appreciation, drawing blood and skin if he does not pull away quick enough.

"Cash me ousside." Ravager spits to the side, stealing a gawking patrons drink to gargle with and spit across the floor, pink running down chin, eyepatch put back in line like a baseball cap in the sun..

"I'll show you how I earned this." Snap goes the patch in alignment and is followed by a middle finger.

"Fill me in after cheap thrills." But when she overhears Taskmaster with her Father, she freezes.

"Why don't you tell him about the jewelry?" A cigarette is placed between lips, but the odor from it is far more then tobacco once lit.

"Uncle Tasky forgot already. Poor hats." But the sarcasm and vemon that drips, is unmistakable, underlain by an affection that is sick and twisted, and alternate-reality… and Quinzel may notice… When in her right mind.

But ith her departure in tandem with Deathstroke a shoulder rises and falls. "It's like flirting with death. What else do we have to stroke?" A huff of laughter and Rose pivots opposing.

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