Orange is the New Black...Ops

March 17, 2017:

Suicide Squad piles into the cafeteria at Belle Reve for light mudslinging and horrible Shepherd's Pie

Belle Reve Penitentiary

(Included in scene)


NPCs: Flo, Murphy

Mentions: Amanda Waller


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


Terrebone Parish, Belle Reve Pen., Louisiana

Saint Patrick's Day.

The communal eating area of Belle Reve Penitentiary is nothing special to speak of. Long, semi-polished tables littered with graffiti and scratch marks are connected with picnic grade benches attached to them. It smells like a cafeteria, right down to the chemical smell of recently mopped floors and steam coming from the kitchen that dominates one side of the room. Guards and cameras about, it's everything a high school cafeteria should be, only with the additional risk of security, as well as the other inmates, to beat you up or steal your seat.

"Oh, I get it, this is supposed to be festive." Regan drones as she's scooped a whad of instant potatoes atop cheap hamburger, carrots, and green beans. With her orange prison-wear hanging off of one bared shoulder, she frowns down to the food and rolls her eyes down the line to pick up a carton of milk and a spork. "Shepherd's Pie, peasant edition." Regan mutters, exiting the line and dropping herself, and her tray, onto a table.


Ravager did not come in a prisoner, and when her 'little orange jumpsuit' was left on her bed her upper lip recoiled but then the smile that formed after….

Her eyepatch bears partial letter, rewrapped in that orange, tac belt relooped, but out in the chow hall it is empty, no swords across her back, no gun rig… At least not in the open. Belle Reve, seen in interruptions by the arsenal pouches, her number (in part) on her eye patch. Does nothing to tone down the scale maille plating that runs along the sides of the body suit accented by an almost-matching orange highlights in reinforced lines along reinfoced attire.

She had seen the listing of 'teamies' and Regan looks just about as enthused, and gets the company at the table wanted or not with a similar drop of tray, but some taco-sauce packets take the plunge into her patee a la fancy. "Fixes just about everything."


Agent Danvers finds herself wandering into the commissary, privately trying to figure out what in the hell possessed her to say 'yes' to Waller's offer. Curiousity. That was the problem. She was too damned curious for her own good. What did the woman want? Why did she want it? Why choose her — Alex Danvers, shiny bioengineering field agent of the north east?

Well, Alex got her answers. Mostly. Superficially, perhaps. Now, she has to devil with the deal she made.

She stands to the right of the door, surveying the room. There's a cluster of lunching security guards, the usual scowls from behind the food counter, and… oh, look. Flo. She'll do.

Stopping by the drink counter for a coffee, Alex makes her way through the maze of tables towards the resident computer tech. "Hey, Flo," she greets the young woman. "Mind if I join you?" She's not yet ready to rub elbows with the rest of the 'team'. .oO(How the hell do you call a bunch of disparate sociopaths, each with their own psychopathic agenda, a team?) She gives Ravager a faint nod as she passes her, at least acknowledging her presence. And gives a glance to Regan. A beat. Right. She read that file, too. Fascinating reading. No, really.

"Sure, Alex," Flo says, giving her a smile and moving down a little — a walking path width away from the other table. "C'mon in."


Regan Wyngarde is part of the way through testing the 'goop' factor of the Shepherd's Pie when Ravager sits down at the table. Two cold, blue eyes snap up past the dripping line of potatoes and sludge. Lips peel back to reveal pearly white teeth, and her mouth as a whole contorts into an over-entitled sense of disgust. Blech. For all the attempted camaraderie in the shared dislike of the food, the taco sauce doesn't seem to help that look of disgust.

"Dostoevsky said something about how you can judge a society by how well it treats its prisoners." Regan mutters, looking up just in time to catch Alex's glance, which continues as two pairs of eyes following the woman as she walks to Flo's table. "Him and Johnny Cash would have a field day with this place. They won't even let me do my thing so that I can pretend this stuff is worth eating."

The sloppy spork lowers into the tray of food and Regan gives it a little push forward, denying herself the calorie-healthy, palette-killing mean for the moment.

"I'm Regan." The blonde mutters to Rose, lowering her eyes back to her table's partner. "And oh my god am I going to have words with the warden if they let you have your kit and I'm still dressed like those other losers."


"They call the sauce Diablo. It'll burn your tastebuds off, all you have left is to stomach the texture." The demeanor of Regan seem to get no regard from Ravager, a large cup of water downed then a packet of sauce sucked down is the prelude to stirring the mash-crap up and eating a bitewhile pale skin goes red at the cheeks.

"Also helps after a long night." A pause then as three scoops got shovelled in and another sauce packet is opened, pausing only to follow Alex with that single frigid eye, still hazed over from night events. Doesn't take away from the glare aspect. "Johnny Cash would have an alcohol stash somewhere so it did not matter end of day, too." And that, Rose can aside with. "But inside here? This is cake." A warning perhaps, a heads up moreso.

"Too good for us? Or is Flo more your type?" An upnod to Alex then and that sauce is sucked down to regard Regan once more.

"I'm not here because I got caught. I'm here to…. Not be in all orange." Obvious by the bruises that can be seen, the suit keeps some of her together a bit better, like a brace for the process.


Alex has been glared at by others before. Albeit, not snarly, one-eyed, mutant girls, but aliens and other toughguys. More than that, she's already figured out: Never let 'em see you sweat. So, she ignores the glare. "Honey," she replies dryly to Ravager, "you have no idea what my type is." She turns, so she's sat off the end of the bench in a quarter view, bridging the gap between one table and another. Flo looks at once startled and uncertain, but tries to pull it together and give a bit of bravado in her demeanor. (She actually is related to Waller, poor thing.) "You just didn't look like you wanted company." She points to her eye and then scowls. "It's the glare thing you got going on. You telling me you actually wanna make friends?" Now, that would be a surprise.


"I didn't get caught," Regan mutters sidelong to Rose, quietly as can be in a sudden uptick of self defense. "I'm here because a Power Ranger Karate Kick was taken to my Fifth Amendment. Fuck it." Regan sighs and drags her tray back into eating realm and stabs at it gently with her fork. With one hand, she tucks her blonde hair against her shoulder and daintily leans in to stuff the spork past her lips. The sound of disapproval is audible, but she manages to the swallow the food after rolling it to the back of her tongue like some kind of gigantic antibiotic pill..which she swallows.

"Hey." Regan suddenly speaks up, leaning forward past Rose so that she can see Flo and Alex more clearly. Waving the spork in the air with a circular roll of her wrist, the blonde smiles, sweet as pie. "You know if you get them to shut off whatever the hell it is that's making things all staticy, I can arrange a private meeting with your type?" Regan beams her big, blue eyes their way. "Friends help each other, right? Hook me up with a Chateau Lafite Rothschild from a good year and kill the buzzers, and I'll be your bestie."


"I have a perpetual resting kill face, I am told." Ravager responds to Alex as she (joy of joys) takes her up on the offer. "Every once in a while it can go to bitch. Fuck if my barometer isn't broken, though."

A deep intake of breath and eating round two is complete and with a light *urp-heave* Ravager slides the tray to the side and chugs more water. "Pills are wearing off, can't do it."

A look is cast between Alex and Regan. "Mom always told me prison is not the place to make friends." A scooch away a bit and Regan is watched with a light lift of brow.

"You dream way to big. They don't even make the orange pretty, you'll get it in a box even outside of here."


Alex laughs outright, now. Yes, she's surprised that Ravager actually is trying to make nice. But, more, she's amused at Regan's efforts to 'kill the buzzers'. "Eh. Yeah, no," she says, still chuckling. "I like it staticky. Helluva lot safer." For all of them. "But, I'll tell you what — we all survive the first mission we're sent on, I'll bring in a box of duck, just for you." She's actually not being nasty when she says that — though her choice of wine leaves much to be desired. But, she's not shelling out for the good stuff here. She'll save that for friends in New York. At least, until and unless these two actually do become her friends. (And wouldn't that be a scary thought, eh, Danvers?)

She glances at Flo. "What'd'ya say, Flo? Care to join us in a drink, if we survive?" They are called the 'Suicide Squad', after all.

Flo blinks owlishly behind her 80's style frames. "Oh, Um…" A beat. A tentative smile. "Sure."

Poor kid. So not cut from the same cloth as Auntie Waller.


Taskmaster makes an appearance. Dressed in the all black, polished combat boots, fatigues and the 'tactical' turtle neck along with a more cloth based skullmask. He is walking through the cafeteria only to pause near the four women, grunt once and proceed towards coffee. Yeah, he gets special treatment. Waller finds him the perfect combination of hardened killer and coward that she has absolute control over, also they have a history that predates this incarnation of Suicide Squad. Much like Deathstroke.


"Your mom is uninformed." Regan points to Ravager with the spork, awkward that she points it towards Rose's missing eye, while she scoots away. With all of the air of an empress, Regan turns her eyes back to her tray and scoops up more suds-and-grubs. "When you're down and out, prison is an excellent place to make friends." Gossip time! "I totally knew this guy at my last prison who was responsible for pushing out some of the new fish to the others guys as servant labor? Well HE needed to meet another guy that I knew in another cell block. I hooked him up and got free laundry duties covered for a killer one dollar and sixty seven cents an hour." A beat. The fork lifts. "I gave the 'help' fifty cents. Everybody won."

Gnomp. Munch. Munch. Regan stuffs the food back against her cheek until she's ready to swallow. The second bite seems to go down easier than the first.

"An-y-way, we'll be fine, lady over there with Flo since none of you have introduced yourselves to me yet and are being all kinds of r-u-d-e." Regan grins to her food. "Regan doesn't drink boxed wine, but I'm sure we'll all be more likely to survive if something palatable is thrown on the wager boa—Task!" Screech. End bargaining. Regan cuts off her line of bidding mid-bid to wave her spork at the newcomer. "Can I have my real clothes, please?"


"My fee is growing exponentially larger as the seconds tick past." rumbles a voice from the edge of the room. Speak of the devil. Having swapped out his patch for a prosthetic eye that perfectly matches his actual one, and wearing a guards uniform, Slade stands at the edge of the room, arms crossed over his chest and his gaze settled on Regan with an look of displeasure. "You lead me to believe this was a professional outfit." his tone acusitory and aimed Task's general direction.


"Danvers!" The shout comes from the door. Murph stands there, waving an arm."Wall wants you!"

Alex shoves back, giving Flo a sympathetic look. "Sorry, ladies. We'll have to continue this later." She glances at Regan, however. "Agent Alex Danvers, by the way. Your mission lead." Doesn't that sound like fun?

Already, Alex can imagine the hoots beginning. Ah well.

She gives Task a light nod and a glance to Deathstroke as well. Then one to Rose. Yeah. This might be a good time to bow out after all. Grabbing her cup, she gives a final gesture of farewell (politely!) and heads out after Murph.


Ravager now narrows her gaze at Regan, and somewhere in there her hand grabbed for the spork, holding it beneath the table, fingers pressing and bending that hard plastic until it cups and the middle prong is more spear-headed. "Oh, my mom was far more informed.." But when Taskmaster comes in, the spork is tucked into her tac belt, Regan already up and off.

"Yeah… Your turn to be uninformed." Standing to get herself her own cup of coffee, Ravager pauses by Deathstroke and tips her head. "Casual day at the Inn?"

Her turn to jab, she'll take it, watching as Alex leaves and giving Flo a long stare in turn.


"Why inmate? Orange is one of my favorite colors." Taskmaster's head turns as Alex bolts watching her race off before looking back at Regan, "I'm not in charge of wardrobe here. I'm just /hired/ help." A laminated badge hooked to his belt is flicked it reads, 'Security Consultant'.

"Did I say official or professional? I meant official. I dunno, I forget. This is just another day, man, we're waiting some final prep on a mission and then it'll get real."
"And the woman that left, Agent Danvers." A chin nod towards Regan, "That is our newest acquisition, Lady Mastermind. You know Rose /Wilson/.'"


Slade just eyes Ravager calmly, "Control your emotions." he says flatly his eyes flick towards the newly aquired Spork Belt before drifting away, "This is a strong play on her part," he means the prison as an HQ of sorts, "none to subtle, but strong." he his arms uncross and fall loose to his sides. "So why am I here?" the question is aimed at Taskmaster, "To see the child that think she'll be running me?" his eye twitches slightly at Taskmasters name dropping, "I also am partial to orange." he says after a prolonged silence and some of the stiffness works from his frame. Control your emotions he told his daughter, good advice. He thinks he'll follow it.


Regan nods upwards to Alex in her passing, continuing over the smile while blissfully unaware just how close she was to getting 'shanked'. She waves her spork to the woman and seemingly ignores the sense of a threat, returning to her meal. "It's all coming together now. The boss. The team. The team leader. FLO." Regan tucks her hair against her shoulder, pauses for another bite, then pushes the tray away.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Regan nods to Rose, then Slade. "And all horrible food conversations aside, the old man is uninformed as well. I'm a consumate professional, and you cracky wetwork types will be grateful when I'm around to make a room full of assholes simply /not/ notice that you're there at all. So-" Regan headbobs, then reaches for her milk.

"Taskmaster?" Regan clears her throat. "My clothes? I need my clothes."


"Paperwork, hombre. Finalizing your transfer from Blackgate…" Cover of course, at least while Deathstroke is in the 'coming and going freely' phase. Amanda Waller knows Slade isn't the sort who will go full prisoner, not without more leverage than she has. Not yet at least.
"Oh yeah, that was Murph." The man who called for Alex. A redhead, bearded, very bored looking. "The LT in charge of you corrections officers." Taskmaster grins at Slade's Belle Reve guard uniform.
"You met John Economos, yet? He is the warden." All of these end game are unimportant to Slade and Taskmaster knows it. Amanda Waller is the only one of importance.

"No luck, blondie. You got picked up out of state, do you know how long it is going to take them to deliver your shit? Besides, this is still a prison. Some of your /rights/ don't exist anymore." A slurp of coffee is had, that skullmask he wears hanging like a bandana off his face enough to allow this. Doesnt show anything underneath. He's got Kakashi style skills like that.


Slade just shakes his head, "She thinks we need her to cloak our presence." he says to Taskmaster, "Why am I here?" he asks again, his tone growing less flat and more annoyed. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm going to make the rounds of C-Block, see who there has an account large enough to pay me to spring them. I grow bored." And this is why people don't often annoy Deathstroke, he'll turn a weakness, for instance being inside a prison for a… whatever thsi is, into an strength. For instance, locked inside these halls are some of the wealthiest criminals in the world. Surely some can afford his fees for an early release.

Besides, if he's not working what's the point of being here at all? He turns to go.


"W-w-w-w-w-w-w-whoa wait." Regan raises her hand the itsy-bitsy second that Slade mentions being willing to spring people for money. The slender arm, pointed sky high, lowers a measure as the blonde looks over her shoulder to see if Taskmaster is watching. It lowers the rest of the way with a quiet huff and she twists her fingers into a pantomime for a phone. She mouths 'call me' to Slade, then gets back to business.

"Look," Regan continues. "Despite the fact that it's horse-shit that they're lollygagging my duds and /technically/ I haven't been due-processed, I'm not about to incriminate myself in here. People may not need me to mask them, but I'm like eighteen hundreds slavery. I've got plenty of uses with varying degrees of ethical legality, and unless any of you can shatter an entire body by making it believe it just fell off of a building?" Snap. Regan swings her hand in a snap and lifts her milk carton. "Nope! Probably can't. We're gonna have some fun; I promise."


Ravager just stares at Regan, Lady Mastermind, and slow blinks. "Trust me, think on that statement over your boxed wine."

A sidelong glance to Taskmaster and Rose just….smiles… miles. "This is getting better by the day. More like Murder She Wrote levels of As The Prison Turns."

Fun? Oh, this is just the beginning. "Haven't slept all night/day, I need shut eye before I start again."


"I think she actually wanted to meet with you, Slade." Taskmaster informs, "Face to face. This is probably just her way of getting under your skin a little. Power play, the old hurry up and wait; you know the routine." Obscurity and deniability are also key here but of a lesser consideration right now.
"Besides, women find men in uniform fetching and with your growing age gap you'll need every edge you can get." Taskmaster just couldn't resist. He is still /that/ guy. A low chuckle and his attention shifts towards Regan. "Ill advised. Anyone who actually hires him will be signing their own death sentence. More than likely they'll end up one of the Squad's missions. Cute trick, glad you're proud of it and but, most of the people you're going to be teamed with /can/ actually shatter a body in one hit."

Rose only gets a nod and Taskmaster as everyone is going their separate ways begins to wander off to a table of his own, an apple, coffee and some silence. These are needed. "Don't worry, you'll start to enjoy it here, Miss Wyngarde. It's better than the alternatives." A mission soon will make them all appreciate Belle Reve just a bit more, very soon.


Slade shakes his head at Taskmaster's words, "You remain infantile." he says over his shoulder before heading off through the threshhold and presumably deeper into the prison, "And I remain unamused. Good day to you both. Tell Waller she can call when she once more feels professional."

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