Sisterly Love

March 31, 2017:

Ravager and Lady Mastermind visit a club after ( ttp://cmbeta.wikidot.com/log:5617 ), Harley shows and they all…. Bond

Club Hex

Industrial Club in Brooklyn, NY

Characters

NPCs: ManFlys

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

New York… 4 A.M. Underground. Literally.

The club is still rolling in flickering lights and the band is held from the mass behind a lace-work fence as they perform. It seems almost sub-human, otherworldly, but the place is dark, lit only by the DJ's performance and the musicians roll, there are no guards save for what the band and bar provides, clad in their own leather body suits, the crowd matching in , while the tenders behind their own cases of safety…
Seem normal.

Many smells permeate the air, from 'ponics, to hydro, from glass encased, to based, but everything is painted in a reflective surface that reacts to blacklite, even the spirals of smoke.

"It's late, too late… Welcome to Club Gene." Ravager states back towards Regan, nd while they are clad in bodysuits, covered in blood and limping… No one pays them regard as drinks are slid through slots and body's remain amassed on the floor before the performing artists.

"Be glad you're in a body-hanky…" A wink of that one solid eye to Regan and Ravager places an order, but holds up two fingers… The contents glowing a light blue in the lighting…. One slid to Regan.

Just off of the plane, not yet to shower, Regan's skin is prickling in a thousand different places with the desire to tool with the minds of everyone around her. The want to hide herself as the beautiful, unsullied doll she's used to appearing at is strong.

Yet, no one is looking at her strangely, and she's tired. So tired.

The thin, darkly clad blonde sways one of her bruise-lined eyes over the crowd before falling in behind Rose. She flexes the knuckles trapped within her gloves and sighs, idly wiping old sweat away from the empty, skin-baring space between her breasts. Okay. She can fit in. They're all unwashed, opiated, writhing masses.

"Thanks for bringing me along. I didn't think I'm come dressed for the locals. Lucky me." Regan asks, slipping next to Rose and looking down to the little treat she's been given by Rose. She picks it up and looks it over, lips quirking into a smile to match the dubious brow she casts Rose Wilson's way.

"Is this going to be a better trip than the last one I had?"

"What kind of trip do you mean?" Rose asks Regan as that mask is peeled back and the drink is lifted between them, same (after) glow in its rise to *tink* rims and she downs it first if she must! But it was meant as a salute!

Both of them in body suits is fitting, even the spatter that is dark amidst the club blacklight effects instead of mottled in pale or paler. A sweep of fingers to paint war-streaks through platinum hair and Ravager orders another round, whether Regan is ready-or-not!

"I know where to blend based on days… Or nights… You need it. I get it…" The final three word bearing a weight but not one she remains upon, the weight of it here and gone as the band bashes in a rattle against the fence and sets the theme.

"If you mean happier? Yes. And I will be sure you get to a bed in one piece." The second drink is lifted, swirled… And held aloft! … even as bodies sway and a man seeks to impede by getting far too close to Regan…

Eyes narrow… Shift..

"We're not talking about what just happened for a number of reasons, but I got gassed. For the record." Tink! Regan holds her pinky out when she taps glasses with Rose. She cranes back her head and her slender, swan-like neck and throws back the shot with ease.

Whatever it is. Regan's lips flinch when her head comes down, but it seems that if Rose is buying it, she's not refusing it.

With the edge of her gloved hand, she bats the shotglass to coast down the bar towards the tender.

"That's a service a girl's not exactly used to. I need drinks, a hot shower, a warm bed in that order." Regan lifts her blue eyes over to Rose's one for a scant second. Well-versed in never appearing too grateful, she waves her hand in the air dismissively. "We'll talk price in the morning, but happier? Oh, babe," Regan scoffs and drums her fingertips on the bar top, then reaches out to snatch the next drink and…

…Regan glances sidelong down her hip to the other man's hip pressing against hers. She throws the shot back, brow lined with disgust, fingers twittering in certain readiness to punish.

"It can be had… As well as silence and disposal…" The bump is still leered upon by Rose as the man reaches to loop an arm around Regan, quickly captured by Rose to jerk him forward and rebound his head off the bar and flick the body back upright between them, for her.

From her other hand bills are slid to the tender. He heard the orders, he knows the drill, and from behind the shadows of flickering lights security is ready - while on another hand… Reservations are being made.

"Just do not let a face go to a name." Ravager states as "gloved" fingers wiggle at Regan and the man rebounds her way.

"The place is fun, the people… They even look sticky." In saying such Rose's voice shows the disgust… Was that a pinky??

Fuck me running…

Twisting around, Regan reaches behind her head and claws her fingers through her stringy, blonde hair. Logged with sweat, her face scrunches up as she works out a few tangles, the film of being touched, of feeling like a melted popsicle, only adding to her ire in being near-groped.

"No names seemed wise walking in. I'm not using 'em." Regan curls her index finger to the bloody-faced suitor wobbling her way. She catches him by the front of the shirt and leans up to his face. Almost immediately, the man's shoulders and neck begin to lurch. Saliva fills his mouth; he's drowning in his own spit, trapped in a nightmare beneath sewage water.

"I. am. flattered." Regan hisses into the man's ear, lifting her eyes to stare at Rose over the man's shoulder while he suffers. Her gloved fingers hold on tight, centering the man's weight against her thin frame.

Finally, her lips pull into a sweet smile to Rose and she pats the man's cheek. A sick, aching gulp of air can be heard, and Regan twists hard at her hip, cracking her closed fist across the man's face with all of her might.

Which isn't much might. Regan is built like a college cheerleader.

"You're right, this place is fun," Regan props her elbows on the bar and leans in next to Rose, gazing up her shoulder to the woman with her hip cocked out. "So don't lie to me. I'll know if you're lying. Why'd you bring me here? Lonely after a job? Not many friends?"

Ravager leans back, rocks as she watches Lady Mastermind lay her own affections upon the man, even as he seized and foam produces from his lips in a froth…

"Do you make all men rabid, Regg's?" A lift of brow as Ravager watches her and lifts the patch way from a pale bionic eye rimmed in scars to catch the man as her hip-check rebounds him towards a floor…

But cupped in a gloved palm she rises him back to feet waiting to falter, face to face with an apocalyptic Baby he finds himself none-the-healthier. "Have none of these peons watched CNMu*? Trust no one…" And as she says as much it almost seems as if she would kiss the club-goer in her grip, but a cast of chin, crane of neck, he meets a lash of platinum discard and is sent back upon his ass across the dancefloor to be trampled.

"… You ask me as if you have friends… I do not see you free, either." Ravager casts sidelong glance to Regan as a shot slides her way and she takes her own.

Elbows on the bar, Lady Mastermind watches the display over her shoulder with interest. She tugs her dirty, blonde hair over one shoulder. She's long since washed the mascara off of her cheeks. Looking far more now like she just got done running a bloody obstacle course than coughing up hallucinogenic gas, she looks feral, tired, and cares nothing for the man who's being roughed up.

And yet, still, she keeps one hip cocked out, as if inviting it all to happen again.

"Only when I want them to be. The others," Regan motions out to the dance floor with a roll of her eyes. "I can't really answer for the ones who think the best way to a girl's heart is through throwing a Hail Mary. Men are just…difficult like that."

Regan catches the sliding shot with her gloved fingers. Her third, now, the blonde mutant looks down to the murky blue liquid like it's a run on a ladder she has to climb. She sucks in a breath and cranes her head back, pouring the liquid past her tongue. Her eyes pinch and her throat tightens, but she gets it down with out a cough.

"I travel light." Regan replies, in answer. She plants one palm to the bar and pushes up, tucking her hip against it to face Ravager. She looks from one eye, to the next, peering for her first good look at the bionics.

One finger taps the bar. The readied bottle is poured again and Regan holds out the shot glass to tap against Ravager's next. SOMEONE is shooting for 'fucked up' tonight.

"There's a lot of people out there who wouldn't even begin to understand, so I won't explain it. So here's to not talking about it," The shotglass is waggled just a bit. "And questions I've learned to not ask twice?"

"Maybe I want to understand what gave me a nose-bleed…" Ravager states as those eyes flicker behind the sweep of lights in the club and the man crumples between them. One reason or another!

Perhaps there is a flicker of familiar colors on the dance-floor. Red and Blue/black glisten, mingled with blonde… A flicker of gaze to and fro before Regan is solely regarded while the glass is captured, waggled back and then partaken!

A drop of head and the glass is slid back beneath the grated bar-keeps haven, watching for another order as Ravager holds up 3 fingers now, not just 2, as another has shown herself.

"But you provide the stain-cleaner, and we're good." Ravager states as lights flicker about them, and the blacklights give way to far more then what 'daylight' would reveal between them all!
Harley is having a blast on the dance floor, dancing with what an abandon that lets the music flow through her. She hasn't even noticed her teammates as she heads over the bar, leaning on it as she smiles to the bartender with an elan that is so indicative of her. "Hit me again, bartender!" she tells him. It's not long before three more shots are poured, a glass of lime wedges and a shaker of salt are placed before her. Harley lets out a cheer, people around her echoing her before she downs the tequila shots and then cheering louder when she finishes them all.

Regan leans too much of her weight onto her bandaged hip. Mid-throwback of her shot, she winces and grips the bar for stability. A dribble of the blue liquor slips out of the shotglass and onto her gloves. When Regan's done throwing back her shot, her messy, blonde hair flops over her eyes. Her tongue sticks out, and she's about to lick the liquor off of her gloved fingers; her blood-stained, gloved fingers.

Nope. NopeNopeNope. Regan catches herself first and sets her glass down, then tugs at the tips of her glove, pulling it off.

"Unless you know of a hotel around here that has a really large shower that steam cleans in bleach, baybee…" Regan mutters and tucks the glove to flop inside of her belt. She looks up to Rose's face and frowns, shaking her head. "…we might be out of luck. I can get us someplace nice, but there isn't enough stain cleaner for the two of us, not in the world."

With a sigh, Regan turns her back to the bar. Her tiny elbows perch atop it and she lifts her wounded leg, balancing it on the toe of her boot carefully. There, she spies the familiar face of Harley Quinn in the crowd. Her last remaining glove is lifted in a twitter of fingers.

"You can't understand what gave you a nose bleed. It's not meant to be understood." Regan smiles wryly, watching Harley; her eyes flit to Rose's as another shot is picked up. "Since I'm off the leash, if you want a demonstration, on the other hand, that I can provide. HEY." Regan whips her head around to the bartender suddenly, pointing to Harley.

"Send that crazy girl down there a big glass of iced water and make sure she knows it came from us."

Harley starts to dance again, not leaving the bar just yet. She wants to feel the tequila before taking it to the dance floor. Not that she gets the chance to go to the dancefloor before she is brought a glass of water and pointed to the other two women at the other end of the bar. She looks. Then looks again. It takes her a moment to figure out who is under all that blood and mud. You can almost see the lightbulb go on over her head as her smile brightens and she waves. She takes the glass of water with her and saunters over. "So, someone wanted a wet t-shirt contest?" she asks before pouring the glass of water over her head.

Ravager… Rose, flicks her mis-matched gaze from Harley to Regan and smiles, but it is almost malefic while the badge of a patch is tethered to shorn platinum hair and then flicked away like a slingshot. She is scarred, from head (eye) to toe and her upbringing did nothing for the very soul of the girl. (In)sanity and all.

"Don't have to define, shit… But don't call me Marty. The rest…?" Handwave and when Harley approaches and does the rest….

"?!?!?" Regan, Harl, Regan…. Fuck it…

A lift of hand, wrist is cocked in a circular motion… Keep the rounds of that nuclear blue for them, tender!

"We own the town, then get a good sauna, spa, hot-tub, and shower…. Followed by a bed." A thumb towards Regan and then pressed upon lower lip with a flash of ivories…

"Wait… wha—- contest??!" A puzzled look and the smile becomes Cheshire…

Ravager… Rose, flicks her mis-matched gaze from Harley to Regan and smiles, but it is almost malefic while the badge of a patch is tethered to shorn platinum hair and then flicked away like a slingshot. She is scarred, from head (eye) to toe and her upbringing did nothing for the very soul of the girl. (In)sanity and all.

"Don't have to define, shit… But don't call me Marty. The rest…?" Handwave and when Harley approaches and does the rest….

"?!?!?" Regan, Harl, Regan…. Fuck it…

A lift of hand, wrist is cocked in a circular motion… Keep the rounds of that nuclear blue for them, tender!

"We own the town, then get a good sauna, spa, hot-tub, and shower…. Followed by a bed." A thumb towards Regan and then pressed upon lower lip with a flash of ivories…

"Wait… wha—- contest??!" A puzzled look and the smile becomes Cheshire…

Regan watches it unfold with a faint sense of cat-eaten-the-canary. With a pleasant smirk on her lips, she leans back to watch the bartender deliver the water and send Harley their way. Mid-walk, Regan looks up to Rose and narrows her eyes to the woman, though far from irksome. The corner of her lip lifts, ever-so.

"Marty's my hellhole sister. I won't call you Marty. I'll explain. Maybe. Someday. It's none of your business." Brows waggling, she holds up her shot and turns to…

…a wet tee shirt.

"Holy shit, she just did that." Regan blinks, pinky finger extended outwards while she throws the shot back. A stringy lock of hair tucks in over her eyes while she tears back the fumes. Glass is forming over Regan's eyes. She's not strong, nor hearty, and the girl is starting to feel less of the pain of her war-wounds.

Regan blinks down at Harley's wet shirt, then to her face, then to Rose…and lets out a happy, little giggle.

"Hey, we just did bad things." Regan says to Harley, stepping in closely to Rose and taking out her cell phone. "What she said. Sauna. Spa. Hot tub. Shower. Bed. I'm not above making them think I'm Jennifer Lawrence to get the good suite." A beat passes. "You in?"

The crowd around Harley seems to rather like the insanity that has her now standing, dripping wet, in the middle of the bar. She nods to the two. "There is a special shower at ACE Chemicals. We could go all Silkwood on you. That could be fun?" She waggles her brows and nods at the offer. "Get ya all decontaminated and then off for a girl day at the spa? Massage. Facials. Pedicures. My treat!" And by her treat, Harley likely means that she will be the one holding the gun and threatening the staff at whatever spa they decide on.

"Maybe for my pants." Regan giggles down into her cell phone. Interrupting, she looks up to Harley McWetTeeShirtBooberstein and flashes her pearly, white teeth. "I'm thinking, like, more along the lines of a long, hot, oh-my-god shower and then waiting about buying a new pair of pants until I sleep in a bed big enough to live in."

"Chill…" Ravager states to Regan, no longer questioning things as Harley grows closer, a sweep of palm seeking to slap that cell-phone into a slap upon her chest and power off the flatscreen on impact.

"No need to change your pants until after we make the night one to… Break a nail for…" A splay of fingers, jazz-hands and dazzle-fingers with a similarly smirk of threats before Ravager lifts from stool to bar and slides her ass along lacquered surface towards Harley with a smile befitting a hyena… (Aimed for the heart).

"I do not trust your 'special showers at ACE… Nor special showers in general… But lets be real….." The line of luminescent blue shot glasses is knocked over by fingertips and when Ravager rocks back she lights a pre-rolled 'cigarette', dropping the ember upon the path of alcohol.

Along that line of liquid flame rises and races before them.

"I am the Firestarter…"

… Fucking Instigator…

"Hw much is a suite, again?" Smirks as the sprinklers go off in the club above them. Dance, Harley, dance!
Ooooh! Fire! And rain! Okay, so no special showers for her to watch. No one ever seems to want her to hose them down with chemicals. She can't imagine why! Harley is definitely in one of her zanier moods, almost child-like in her glee as she dances about in the sprinklers and laughing as everyone else gets wet too.

"I say we head to the closest Hilton and make that Paris chick dread the day she ever put one in Gotham!"

SLAP-brrt. Regan blinks as her cellphone bats against the scandalous line of skin running down the front of her corset and flatlines out. Confused, at first, the blonde looks up to the two women, lips turning from a glass-eyed pouting moue to a slowly forming grin.

"I like the way you two think. FUCK, I haven't had a night out like this since before-" Regan clamps her mouth shut and hobbles away from the bar the moment the spill takes place and she sees fire. She throws a shotglass over her shoulder and steals a Long Island Iced Tea from some faceless bar-goer to her right. With an arm raised in the air, she whistles at Ravager and hobbles into the path of Harley, dancing as the fire-stopping sprinklers shower her in cold water. Blood and grime everywhere, she nearly eye-rolls at the cleansing feeling.

Ten feet back, a former suitor, covered in bruising wounds from the mosh pit, starts to stand up. A second later he's hit in the head by a shotglass and goes down in a heap.

"Fuck Paris, that big bird-looking reality bitch!" Regan yells out to Harley and Rose, bending an elbow behind her head as she twists a hip into her dance. "Money is no issue! We're in charge, here!"

Ravager s(miles), as that phone drops down corseted front, a wink passing over that bionic glow. The liquid of spilled iridescent blue running along the grooved eave of bar and carrying the flames around. Some in the club scream, in terror, some in pain if they did not pick their asses up quick enough, others in enjoyment.

"May not want to be as beautiful as ya, doll-face…" A draw of finger across Harley's painted-on Glasgow, but Ravager smiles genuinely as bass rumbles the walls mingled with the pumping of extinguisher lines. "But I like my individuality, as should you." Poke to her nose and she grips Harls by her wet-tee and rags her into the dance floor with Mastermind and herself, the crumple f Lady's suitor met with a snorted laugh..

"How's about we go own it in her stead then?" Well… There goes the neighborhood…

Harley Quinn giggles as she is dragged along by the wet tee. She drapes her arms around Regan. "You guys are fun! I think we should make the sprinklers go off in every building in a 5 city block radius. What do you say? A little harmless fun?" If by harmless she means not hurting people, then yes. However considering the water damage that will be done to several thousands of dollars of merchandise? Not so much.

If Regan provides any resistance, it's just that her aching body is forcing her to be slow. The long island iced tea sloshes against Harley's side as she wraps an arm about her hips, another hand planted to Rose's back as they march off to the dance floor. A trail of mud and blood streaking off of Regan's face lives in their wake, but the Lady Mastermind, herself, is one large, devil's smile of a blonde. "The right fun is never, ever harmless." Regan leaves her burner phone behind in the puddling water. Already, her shadow is starting to dance with the other two women, her flinging in her face without a care. "I give ZERO fucks so long as I wake up guilty of something new." Regan presses her forehead against Ravager's shoulder, lifting her drink to her mouth, then passing it on.

Before long…it all became a blur for Regan Wyngarde.

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