Task Force WrektX (pt.1)

May 10, 2017:

Taskmaster and the Ladies of Skwad find themselves in a situation. NSFW! Adult Humor and Language Warning

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Regan Wyngarde opens her eyes. A lack of makeup has the edges her her blue eyes sticking when they open, pressed to the side of another body in her bed. Bared sides and thighs clad in vined tattoos, both wraps of skin bearing the words SKWAD upon them, only covered by a strip of sheet and spent clothing dangling on the stairs, painting a path to the bed, proper. Harley's voice pounds in her head like a bass drum, and with all of the grace of a zombie crawling out of a grave, Regan Wyngarde leaves the one-eyed woman in her bed.

"…second." The voice is raspy in a hushed whisper.

When Regan Wyngarde appears at the top of her stairs, her hair is a rat's nest of pool-water and tequila-soaked hair, cast in straw-like waves down a face that is covered in a greenish-purple tint of bruising. A blue, gape-necked top has been pulled over her torso, a rumpled skirt over her hips, and she's walking with a sore, bruised arm clenched against the mass of bared shoulder, to her breast.

"Shhhhh…try to be quiet." Regan points to her head, perhaps to her bruise, then presses her finger to her lips. She limps, one stair at a time, town to the bottom floor. "The…head thing." Regan whispers through the bruise dominating one half of her lips. Her finger spin arounds her head.

"Coffee?" Regan looks to Harley, eyes aching and irises thinning to pinpoints despite the dim lighting in the word. "And, like, whiskey in it?"

Harley waits for Regan to come down, righting furniture while she waits. "Man, that other night was a blast! I can't believe that Waller did nothin' about it, yanno? was expectin' a beatin' or somethin! Hell, maybe even blowin' up one of my Babies. Which would have supremely sucked."

Turning to see Regan coming down the stairs. "Holy shit on shinola!!" she yells before being asked to quiet down. She repeats her explecative in a library whisper. "What the hell happened ta you? You look like I useta after Puddin lost his temper!"

Harley Quinn may as well have banshee powers by the way her yell makes Regan shrink and flinch. One hand digs under her hair to press to her temple, and at the bottom of the stairs, Regan looks back up to her room with a wince. Too loud? Regan waits, counts three seconds, then releases her pensively held lips with a sigh of relief.

Regan stops in front of Harley Quinn and sucks in a slow breath through her nose. Her brows, the only part of her that seems to still be in sharp place, the product of regular plucking, form a harsh line as she chooses her words. With a roll of tongue over her teeth and a look of distaste at her own situation, she turns the bruised half of her face away from Harley.

"I think Satan gave me a C- on my report card." Regan finally admits, turning on her heel to work her way towards the kitchen. The sore arm remains pressed and sore to her bosom. "Though I'm still kinda fuzzy on whether or not it's because of all the fun I've been having or some kind of grading on my field work? I dunno-" Tap. Regan slugs a K-cup into her Keurig. She punches the start button. "-but a day in seg, firehose parties, a few kicks and punches her and there and Oh," Detail. "If you see a little black sling over there, bring it over?"

Satan, being the nickname #teammeangirls has given Waller, gets a frown from Harley. She starts to follow into the kitchen, still keeping her voice low. She starts looking Regan over very carefully. While not a medical doctor, she knows enough to be able to try and tally the injures, both the visible ones and the ones that are noticed only because of the way Regan moves.

"She didn't say why? She didn't say it was caus'a the hotel? Just… had them wail on ya? I mean, it sounds like her, yeah, but how we supposta know how to avoid it if we don't know what we did ta get it?"

She looks then over her shoulder for the requested black sling. "Is this it?" she asks. Oddly enough, or maybe not so odd if you know her, as her voice grows quieter, the annoying twang of her accent goes away as well. Her voice becomes gentle and warm, the voice she would have used while working as a psychoanalyst at Arkham.

A raptapraprap at the window announces Taskmaster's presence, he's decked to the nines in classic white cape, composite bow, shield, quiver, broadsword and flappy pirate boots. That skully grin plastered to the window as he stares in, "Knock, fuckin' knock." Its an odd sight to see a supervillain beating on a random apartment window. But he has been here before, the people inside are sort of 'his people' after all. Closer inspection of his outfit even through the window shows charred bits of his garment, some blood and tears here and there. Thats a story for when hes allowed in, patiently awaiting entry like a vampire.

"I dunno I mean it was like…my brain powers down work in Louisiana and she said something about sending a message but it wasn't like: Hey…this is for the hotel. Then fwoosh." Regan winces and runs the inside of her hand over her brow, smearing the pressure points in her turn to lean against the counter and beg the coffee to perk faster. "But she coulda just been wanting to remind me who's in charge. Fuckin' bitch." Regan hisses the word under her breath.

The sling is dangled, and it is a sling, but the rumpled blonde has to narrow one bruised eye and peer through her hangover. Everything strappy looks like a bra. "No, I think that's a th-" Peer. "-yes. That's it." Regan mincingly walks over, frowning to Harley in her outward reach for the woman to grab the sling.

"Doc at the pen said it disloca-" Blink. "Ohhhmygod I might as well just pour concrete over my front door." Regan whines and turns to the door, knowing the voice before matching the costume to it. She grips the door's handle and opens it, weakly curtseying to the famous Taskmaster. Harley Quinn and Taskmaster. Regan's definitely got a better clout score, now. "How long have you been watching or listening to this conversation?" A beat. Regan purses her bruised lips. "Because, like, I totally don't wanna retell it to everyone because so help me if I have to tell the firehose story one more time I'm just going to say I went on a date with that guy who kicked Rihanna's ass."

Sending a message. Harley hears that one phrase and it starts to all make sense. A message to Harley and anyone else in the SKWAD. Play nice, or it won't necessarily be you that gets hurt. The hotel, the tattoos, the … all of it had been spearheaded by Harley. It would make sense that she should take the brunt of the beating, only Waller knows her well enough to hurt Harley through her friends, something Harley doesn't have a lot of so is extremely loyal to.

She takes a slow deep breath, thinking about all the things she wants to do to Satan if she ever gets the change. She holds out the sling to Regan. "What's dislocated," she asks as she turns to look to see what Regan sees. Her face breaks out into a smile again. "Tasky!! Hey, that's my climbin' in window. Git yer own. Copy cat."

Inward he goes, "Yours? I don't see your name on it." Mature comeback point. Climbing in with a grunt he stretched, intentionally rolling his arm. "You dated who? Doesn't Rihanna sing that annoying HELLO song?" He has no clue. He doesn't seem to care about their current state of affairs despite arriving. "I dunno what you girls are or not up to, I was just swinging by because well… " A snicker, voice distorted the noise sounds weird. "I can fix a dislocation though.' Offhandedly, sounds like some sadistic pleasure moment there. "Also, copy cat.. is what I do, toots." A white gloved hand snaps out and claps Harley Quinzel on the rear with an audible POP.

"Tasky, if you ever have to disarm a bomb and the code to disarm it is a pop culture trivia question, call a girl." Regan mouths a half-lipped 'thank you' to Harley as she takes the sling. She works it over her shoulder and past her straw-mat of hair, and slips her arm into it with a sigh bordering on the obscene. "WAS dislocated. Now it's just sore. But I'm not too proud to admit that I totally dated a guy who played hockey for Metro, and it was Chris Brown that beat up Rihanna." Turning her bruised face away from the two, her back as well, Regan sighs and rakes her fingers through her hair. Content after a few strokes, she starts turning over mugs.

"Because well what, Tasky?" Regan breathes, reaching up on her toes to open a cabinet. She wraps her fingers around a bottle of Jameson's, then sets it down. "Not that I don't mind people diggin' my pad enough to climb all the way up to see lil' ole me, all the good times we've had, but a girl's gotta start figuring out why people come by. Is it the coffee? The pool? The ass is on timeout, and please, please don't tell me we got to work today."

Flash to the next night of Harley using a Sharpie to write her name on the window she uses to get into Regan's apartment.

In the here and now though, Harley just sticks her tongue out at Taskmaster in response. What are they? 12? Harley rolls her eyes at the offer to fix Regan's dislocated shoulder. "Down boy. She already has a guest upstairs for that sorta fun." She lets out a giggle and coo when her ass is slapped, grinning. "Such a flirt."

She closes the distance between herself and Regan then, getting the sling set just right in the back. "For what it's worth, I`m sorry. Waller didn`t even touch me. And here I thought it was cause she couldn`t find me. Seems like she figured hurtin you…. Wait! Where`s our girl? Did Waller get her too?" She starts to head to the window. "We should go look for her."

"If I run in to a pop culture bomb I will probably retire." Taskmaster declares. "Also doors are for pussies.Chris Brown? No relation to Charlie Brown? See I know some popular culture."

That skull cants to the side in an avian manner, "Guest upstairs?" A thumb flicks the holster strapped across his chest, "Who?"

"You just ain't got yours yet Harley, Waller is a fair play kinda lady and she is disgusted by all of us evenly. You'll get yours. Who is upstairs? " The gun is drawn now. He seems a little spooked. Maybe its just the adrenaline he is still riding on.

Regan leans into Harley, toes lifting her up and chest tightening when her sore arm is adjusted in the sling. She peels her hair away from the sling's strap, flopping it back down into place when the weight of her arm lowers once more.

"Charlie Brown's the nerd guy with the glasses and the office humor right?" Regan blinks, deadpan, to Taskmaster's mask. Eyes red-rimmed and dehydrated, she peers through hangover-vision at the man.

Guns come out. Harley goes on the hunt.

Shit.

"Wait, wait…" Regan whispers, cringing and looking down to her skirt. She works a wrinkle out of it, an old one from lying in a clothing pile she didn't recognize when scrambling to dress upon Harley's arrival. "She's okay, she was there, we got beat together and firehosed and wai-wai-wai-" Regan springs forward in a hissed whisper, trying to get her hand out over Taskmaster's gun to push it down. "-Harley don't go it's okay she's-"

Regan whines and drops her head, rubbing at her brow.

"Ravager's upstairs." Regan mutters. "She…came over last night and…" The blonde chuffs. DING! Keurig is done! "Hey? Who wants coffee?" Regan turns on her heel and shame-walks to the mugs.

"Tasky, Regan got some nookie last night. We don't needta know who and killin' them ain't gonna make Regan here a happy camper." She pauses at the window as she gets ready to climb out, looking to Regan as she suddenly explains about Ravager's whereabouts.

Her smile is almost infectious. "Here? Our little Rosey girl? And you? Awwww!" She leaves the window and bounds over to Taskmaster to hop onto his back and wrap hr limbs around him. "That's almost as cute as Ivy an' me. Be prepared for all sortsa offers to watch or help or otherwise get involved." She then kisses Taskmaster's mask, leaving lip prints on it.
Disarm or stop the Taskmaster from pulling a gun? Nuh uh! He almost fends her off in violent fashion but instead thumbs off and reholsters. "Well, well, well. " The skully merc chimes. "Little bit of girl time, huh? Cool."
"Argh what the hell you painted monkey." Task exclaims at being jumped on. He doesn't stop her though nor wipe the lipprints off his bone white mask. He just unravels the limbwrap and makes for the coffee, hes not in pro mode right now and really, who cares. "Fraternization might be frowned upon, I'd keep it on the D/L. Also, haha, her daddy is gonna have a giggle… or really he won't give two shits." A shrug, Keurig sounds like a plan. "Coffee me. " That anxiety edge to him is still there. He steals a second look at the window in less than 30 seconds. "Ivy and you? What happened to Red?"

Back turned to them, Regan wilts, head dropping down while she jabs her palm against the Keurig carafe. Her back inflates and shrinks with her sigh, drawing up a flush of red across her cavernously bared shoulder in a shirt that would fall off if it weren't so delicately held be the opposite shoulder.

"…ohhhhhhhmyyyyyygodddd…" Regan's whisper is a ghost in the fog, low and sustained, a warning to the creatures of the lands of the living. "…you guys are seriously going to be the biggest uncool broadcast the D-T-F and spool it out off the D-L because we were drunk and it was a W-T-F and a thing. Not a thingthing, just a whatever. Don't make me look like a dork, hooker." Regan pours the coffee into the mugs, then sets a quart of soy milk down next to the Jamesons, which both get poured into her coffee.

"Satan might own my ass but the rest of my junk belongs to me." Regan turns about, eyes down into her coffee as she blows into it. "But the thought crossed my mind, leverage is leverage, but it's a little premature for offers to hold the camera or fill out the bed, aiii'aight?"

Harley lets herself easily be peeled off and then practically skips to the kitchen area. caffeine and sugar is not something she needs. Clearly. And yet she will be more then happy to partake. She leans on the counter and offers Task a shrug. "Satan seems to be okay with me an' my Puddin' fraternizin," she responds. She nods to Regan that she understands that Ravager and Regan aren't a couple yet. Yet. But by the gleam in her eyes it's pretty clear that she's playing matchmaker.

"Me an Red, when we were the Sirens, before I left ta be with Mistah J and Kitty left to be with… " She makes a face and then holds out a hand for a mug of coffee. "And they call me twisted. That's just plain sick, if you ask me. He's got some serious mental issues!"

"Harley, dollface, wasn't interested in your sexual exploits I meant where is she now? I mean, I kinda am interested because the details I mean… damn. But yeah, no, I'm wondering where the hell she is. She and I had plans."

Taskmaster grunts at Regan, "Don't be a prima dona. Who cares, ya fucked, just yeah, don't get attached or you're giving Satan more ammunition to use against you also if we're out there and either of you, or anyone gets stupid and weepy or tries to pull some love of my life heroism sillycrap, I'll shoot you myself. Ain't got no time for that." A noise in the distance goes off, something, maybe just a typical city sound but Task spins and his weapons are drawn, two pistols this time and they're aimed at the window one at the door. "Ahahah, ah, shit. How long I been here now?"

"Wait, you need someone to film?"

"A fuck is a fuck, whatevs, and no. No. Just. No." Regan takes up a mug and slides it into Harley's outstretched fingers. Blue eyes narrow into slits at a warning look cast upwards to Harley, tips of her teeth showing. "Just like the rest of you, if it's you or me, it's definitely gonna be me. We're associates, not friends, and I'm not afraid to admit to either of you that if Satan gave me a choice between a firehosing and throwing her off a building?" A beat. Regan lifts her wrist and duck-flaps her fingers. "Bye, Felicia."

Regan turns and dips under Taskmaster's outstretched pistols. Slinking over to her kitchen table, she crosses her legs and lowers into a chair.

"Five minutes, Tasky. Five minutes and -fuckme- I can't believe I let you two rejects see me before a shower." Regan slumps and covers her eyes with her hand, rubbing at the spots. So hung over. "Wait…who's filming who again? Murder highlight reel or are you two talking about hookup sex vids the rest of us can guilt-fap to the more of us get buried?"

Harley grabs the mug of coffee from Regan and sighs heavily. "Don't know, T-Man. When I saw her last…. Mistah J had just asked me ta come back. She and I had a fight. She told me if I left, she wouldn't be there when I got back. And… she wasn't." Her shoulders rise and fall. Being in love with two people that despise each other isn't easy.

Harley nods her head to Regan's sentiment. "Yeah, I'm with ya. I like you guys. A lot. But it's me first. Unless yer a green haired clown, cause apparently when it comes ta him, I'm an idiot."

"Need more than a shower to fix that damaged and after sex Courtney Love look you have goin'." Rejects got him, Taskmaster chuckles, "Okay, 5 minutes and your walls are intact. All clear." Why did he say all clear? He isn't broadcasting. Not apparently at least no Squad chatter, no open com links, no wire. "Guilt-fap? That is depressing. Shit, your after sex mood is just outstanding. Was Rose that bad?" A low chuckle escapes Taskmaster now, "I just tangled with a couple assholes. I thought maybe I didn't give them the slip." Guns meet holsters again and he now appears to fully relax, dropping heavily with the muffled clunk of all of his gear in to the sofa. He wanted coffee but in his ADD like actions has forgotten about it. "Hrm, we'll find her again. Maybe even sic Satan on her." Not that he would say it like that around Amanda.

"We had this talk before Harley, ya gotta just… I dunno, forget. Let it go." He makes a wave motion with his hand in the air and then crushes it in to a fist. "Or kill him and be done with it."

Regan's sling-hanging hand flips a middle finger against her chest. With her head bowed, unsure whether or not Taskmaster can see it, Regan pries her hand from her eyes and extends her middle finger towards Taskmaster. When her hand reels in, its with a propped elbow and a hunched over attempt to sip from her hangover coffee. "Rose wrecked me, Tee." Regan murmurs. "Like, half of my face hurt bad enough the night before, and it way hurts this morning, only that little," Regan pauses for a sip of her coffee, then opens her mouth towards Harley, pointing beneath her lifted tongue. "hangy thing where your tongue connects to the roof of your mouth?" Regan closes her mouth and drops to lay her torso across her table. "I think it's a muscle? I don't know the hoozi-whatever word for it. It hurts like O-M-G tired."

Regan opens her eyes to stare lazily at Taskmaster and Harley Quinn. Quietly cheek-nuzzling her cup of coffee, there's a silence in her eyes, a fondness, listening through the heavy metal drum routine kicking the back of her skull.

"Thanks for not getting my apartment blown up, Tee." Regan murmurs, fingers rolling in a twitter. "And Harley?" Regan lifts her brows, then lowers them, shaking her head against the table. "You ain't an idiot. The heart's a bullshit organ, babe. "But if it's any consolation for a concert tickets I'm willing to hang out in your closet and make anyone you bring home look and sound like him."

Sipping at the coffee, Harley watches as Taskmaster first explains and then finally relaxes. She doesn't even question the all clear. Him, in one of the moods he was when he came in? Yeah, she'd be more surprised if he didn't have targets on all their backs. She smiles at the thought of finding Ivy again and then the smile fades. "I've tried, T. You know I have. Letting it go. Actually, tried to kill him too, but… when it boils down to it? I jsut cant. I can't take that last stepand pull the trigger. Because, if I do, he's won. For once and for all. And so.. since I can't kill him, he just keeps pulling me back again and again."

She takes a long slow sip of her coffee. "Uvula," she tells Regan. The offer of hallucintorily aided sex gets a giggle. "Nah. I think that`s like offerin`a recovering alcoholic a dealcoholized beer.È

"Hahah." Taskmaster's laughter rolls in to a distorted chuckle. "Insane." He adds before tipping his chin up, looking down those white cheekbones at them. "He has won what? A ticket to hell. You could always just hire someone to kill him if you can't do it yourself." An easy answer. "I could do it, we could all do it really, next mission… accidents happen." Taskmaster doesn't owe the Joker anything and he has a feeling the man would off any one of them without a hitch of conscience because, he is devoid of one like many of them.

"Uvula." Snap. Point. Regan gives points to Harley as the word on the tip of her tongue, no joke intended, is given to her. Then, with a plant of her forehead to the table, Regan bows her back outwards, using her face as leverage with the aid of one arm, to push up from the table. "Suit yourself, but it's totally not insane. Ugly people get hooked up with and people pretend they're someone else all of the time. What's the problem with just giving it the little extra nudge, yanno?" Regan slinks across the floor towards Taskmaster and drifts behind him, tracing her fingertips over the back of his cloak.

She lifts on her toes, places a kiss to the other cheek of his mask. "I could make anyone you want look like Waller."

And then she's down, setting her coffee next to Harley's hip on the counter. "But if she asks someone to, then it's no different from pulling the trigger herself and she's back to square one, Taskmaster. And, if someone does it on her behalf without her asking, it'll be because of conversations like these." Regan, finding a moment of insightfulness, opens a drawer, pulls out a fork, and starts to eat last night's baklava with her body bent, hip cocked, and a fork stuffed in her mouth. "Girl's fucked, but she can still get laid. He's got her, boy."

"He's won this sick and twisted game that he's been playin all these years. It's why the Bat won't do it either. Because it's what Mistah J wants. And if I kill him, I end up becomin' just like him. And no, Reggie. It's not that it's insane. Its that… how'm I gonna get someone outta my system if I have you makin' carbon copies of him in the bedroom" She snickers then. "Though… if you could make that chick in charge of us end up being in bed with Waller whenever she tries to get her groove on? Tht would be swell."

An arch of a brow, as Regan theorizes why Joker wins if she kills him or has him kill. Harley smiles with respect and nods. "You got it, toots. Right on the nose."

"Agent Danvers?" Taskmaster inquires of Harley. "I think Waller would break her like a twig and then use that broken twig to beat Regan to worse shit than she looks now if she pulled that stunt." The beat a mother fucker with another mother fucker application can be applied in there. "Suit yourself though. We'll let live and you just get to suffer. Do what you do to distract yourself, when is the last time you went to PetCo? I am sure they have some more hamsters and birds for you to rescue." He isn't trying to come off an ass. This is just his social mode.

Taskmaster doesn't make any movements when Regan struts around him nor move or budge when she plants a kiss on his skullmask. He's used to hanging out with Badgirls Inc. These ladies are right up that alley. He can keep his cool and be himself right now, not that he'll take off his mask and be that self. No.

"A conscience and morals are wasted, Harles, give in to the beast or you'll just proceed to suffer."

(CONTINUED IN PART TWO)

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