//SKWAD//: Team Mean Girls

April 02, 2017:

Following (( http://cmbeta.wikidot.com/log:5631 )), Regan and Rose wake up, not knowing what the hell…
Who the hell…
Or why in hell..
They possess a hotel and new tattoos!?!

Collgate Heights - Gotham ((Hotel))

Collgate Heights is an eclectic mixture of wealthy, artistic and criminal.
Inside of it are the neighborhoods and burroughs of Manchester and Lyntown,
they've at this point in time been absorbed in to the Heights, however.
Manchester being the more upper crust side of Collgate where as Lyntown is
the uglier element.

Collgate Heights is the strongest point of Italian immigration in Gotham and
the central operating location for the Italian Mafia; this has earned
Collgate the nickname, "Little Italy" and of course this title has been
embraced by the residents, the best Italian food in all of Gotham can be
found here, such places as the infamous Maroni's Ristorante Italiano.

With Bob Kane Sound just off the coast a lot of wharfside activity also goes
on here, steel work, shipbuilding and a lot of industrial to packaging,
shipping and receiving. It's no wonder the location is also referred to as
the Industrial District.

Another key landmark here is Johnson's Landfill, re-opened again after the
reformation and busier than ever. After the cataclsym it's even opened up to
waste pickers and been redoubled in efforts to become a use. It's a very
large area of land and many larger companies have investments in it's
renewed growth.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

There is a single note chime out there in the darkness. A low, tonal note that rings slowly through the night. If one listens closely enough, they can hear it. In the deepest, blackest pitch it is there. It's the sound of a tuning fork struck, and through the darkness, if left alone, it grows louder.

For Regan Wyngarde, also known as Lady Mastermind, that very tone isn't some cosmic force calling to her to save all of humanity. No. It's a hellish lack of water and bodily resources sapping energy from her veins, the death of brain cells through such an intoxicated toll on her body, that the tone rings deep within her head as an early warning radar siren.

And just as air raid sirens tend to do, it starts with a slow build up until it's the loudest thing one can comprehend.

A naked hip peeks out from beneath white sheets in a dimly lit hotel room. Like a cream colored break in a sea of white, the hip twists and the legs beneath scissor, grabbing onto the sheets. An equally naked ribcage twists, stained with black ink and a fresh tattoo; letters lined in angry, antibiotic-streaked red.


Regan's previous problem of being covered in gore, without a shower, without being clean, has been resolved. Her hair is combed strait, messy over her eyes from twisting and turning through the night, and as she moves in the bed, not yet knowing where she is, how she got into the bed, or if she's alone, she buries her face in her pillow and lets out one low, muffled noise:


Regan is waking and a bottle clatters to the floor, followed by a pipe, but it rolls over an engraved towel that lays beside the 'tub' where a bare thigh is cast over the lip, foot arched like that of a ballerina's with the way it bends over the tile and edge of fabric..

Similar ink and yet not rests along her thigh, but it seems to be in mate with the vining of roses and ascendance upon opposing hip and thigh….

"Fuck you! No! You missed a spot and it does NOT have the same CLIMB!"

All before there is heralds of bullets…

Ravager is smeared against a pillow in an empty bath-tub with her one newly razed limb cast out but she smiles….

Beneath apex of belly is her pistols….

"Dun tell…"
"SHIT!" And with a flail she is patting it better?

The dull sound of a bottle clattering to the floor is loud as hell to Regan Wyngarde. The bedding shivers as she flinches and quickly grabs the sheets and tucks them over her hip. This dislodges a holstered pistol from the foot of the bed, which falls into one of Regan's purple-black boots. Two points.

"OhMiGodTheWorrrds." Regan hisses into her pillow and crawls with her knees against the bedding. Her feet slip on the mattress and she rolls over, quickly skittering back against the headboard with a loud bang.

Regan clutches the sheets to her chest, quickly covering up and peering through a messy fog of blonde hair, trying to see past the pain to take in her surroundings.

Yeah, Regan's had this morning once or twice.

"Rose?" Regan swallows hard and checks the bed, left and right, hissing as she tacks the sheet hard to her her ribs. "Ow." Blink. "Ow." She peels back the sheet and looks down, pupils dilating to see through the light and the KLAXON of her ringing head.

"Rose please tell me that's you." Regan blinks and looks to her left hand. No ring. Relieved sigh is relieved. She then buries her face in one hand and flops over to her side. "FuuuuuuuckMyHead…"

A bare thingh squeaks over the tub lip as her body comes after a thumb to nostril. Shaking her head, Ravager is upon all fours, pistols in hand to defend Regan…

Despite the cries, despite the lack of emergent modicum….

One hand clutches sheets across Ravager's chest, that large pistol there, keeping sheet in twine, as the other aims out to the room and is sighted along the barrel to meet Regan.

Narrow brow lifted, the massive pistol of the Rhino is withdrawn to rest along her profile. "It's me. It's us….."

Ravager may have hated being called Marty but she has an affection for Regan, even with a sheet strapped and held to her chest and full of the same ..

"Nope, not in Vegas, but it stays there…" An exhale as her forehead presses against the barrel of her gun in a slow exhumation, resting against the doorway near Regan.

Peeking through two fingers, Regan watches as the Rhino points her way. Behind the palm covering her face, the blonde's lips curl into a frown, then soften when the weapon points away from her. WhatTheEffingFuck? The blonde twists her hips and slithers under the Egyptian Cotton sheets, wriggling under the blankets like a burrowing monster.

"Not my most awkward morning-" Regan mumbles under the amoeba-like mass of sheets as she sifts around. "-you slept in the tub." A giggle comes, followed by a hiss of pain. "One question answered."

Out from the foot of the bed, a second boot is shoved out, which flops to the floor lifeless, followed by a sheathed knife and a horrid blue-red plaid bra, which thrown out towards Ravager.

Regan appears with a bottle of water in hand, dangling backwards over the edge of the bed. It's only by the grace of God that the sheet clings to her, but not so much to show off the fresh ink of 'SKW-" next to her breast.

"I found a bottle of water. In the bed." Regan mutters weakly, eyes opening long enough to offer Rose a guilty pleasure smirk. If Regan were knowingly capable of growing fond of others, Rose may have unlocked some mysterious step. Upside-down, she screws off the cap to the bottle, dribbles some water into her mouth, then caps it and roooooooolls it across the floor to the platinum blonde.


Regan quiets, rubbing her hand over her face.

"Why…are…we…naked in a weird hotel room, and who's bra is that?" Regan blinks and the bedding shifts. Something is grabbed with her toes. She kicks out with her feet and a black bra flops into the headboard, flips over it, and falls into the crawlspace behind it.

"Fuck that one was mine." Regan mournfully covers her face with her hands. Aching all over.

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