Task Force WrektX (pt.3)

May 10, 2017:

Regan wakes from a night of beauty sleep to find her apartment trashed, and a witch to make deals with.

Regan's Apartment


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Harley, Amanda Waller


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Regan Wyngarde gets a good 16 hours of beauty sleep to work her body through the extreme hangover she was facing the night before. Purpled bruises fade over to a more greenish color, and the California King palace of her bed is topped with expensive sheets, a half-dozen pillows, and a mattress that her body sinks into. It's her 'regeneration chamber', as she calls it, and after a much-needed shower, she crawled back into her bed…

…and missed all of it.

Upon cracking open her lazy eyes, she finds a massive weapon strapped to her hips and her room scattered to pieces. The concussive bomb that went off in it has lamps overturned, a floor best described as a minefield of tiny nicknacks, and clothing (hers and others) dangling from wherever the explosion felt it best that they hook to.

"Oh, those fuckers…" Regan whispers and does a crunch, fingers working against the clasps in what seems her best attempt to unhook the weapon without setting it off.

So…Regan Wyngarde does what she does best: playful spite. The shower turns on. The flattening iron is warmed. The earbuds are placed in. The bluetooth connection in her cell phone turns on.


While the half-dead members of Task Force X are drowning in the sorrows of their hangover, June herself sleeping it off in a bathtub, Regan has straightened her hair, concealed the worst of her bruises, painted her lips a ruby red to offset the thick, black mascara about her eyes. The layered, gauzy black skirt clings to her hips beneath a span of bared, taut belly and a ripped-apart tank top that proudly declares that on a bad day, a lacy, black brassiere technically qualifies as part of a top.

They saw her at her worst the day before.
They would wake to know her pain.


June groans. Good god. Her head is pretty much exploding. Mostly. At least the cool porcelain is helping her head. She closes her eyes even tighter than just "closed", before finally starting to awkwardly roll/climb out of the tub, long limbs everywhere. Coordination is not her friend this morning.


"Nnng!" Regan cocks her hip to the tune, twisting and half-dancing back into her bedroom with a mumble of words she doesn't quite know, so it comes out as half-assed vowel sounds in time to the music. When she returns to the bathroom where June is, she's draped someone's gun belt over her hips and is stuffing a pistol into the holster, but she's come with a steaming, black mug of coffee, smelling faintly of whiskey.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." Regan stops a short distance from the woman, presses her knees together, and bends down. The mug is extended. "Coffee for one. Super hot; be careful."


June will, awkwardly, reach out for the mug. She's still mostly in disarray from last night's game; she has Rose's bra on rather than her own, and there's a towel wrapped around her hips rather than anything else. That, and she has epic bedhead. She groans. "Thank you." she mumbles.


Regan tilts her head, giving June a look over, recognizing the cut of lace on June's shoulder. A perfectly flattened mane of hair, smelling faintly of silk oil, hangs to one side in the lean of her head. "I should be way, way mad at you guys for not waking me for the fun," Regan speaks in low tones, mindful of the hangover she sees before her. "But I realized it's a good opportunity for all of you to owe me one." A beat passes. Regan looks behind her hips, then back to June. "What do you need, little mouse? Shower? Food? Pills?"


"You were dead to the world. Rose tried." June manages to stand, slowly. "I distinctly remember the scream of "Jesus tits, Regan." She wobbles a little. "Shower. Then my clothes. Then food." She looks over to Regan, and sips the coffee. "Also, thank you."


Regan's red lips part in a gremlin's manner, smiling in her own ill-brained fondness of 'Jesus tits, Regan'. Her knees press together and years of yoga make pushing back up to her height without help a simple process. "Oh, you know enough about me to know that I'm not gonna let that be an excuse." Regan laughs and unhooks an earbud from her ear. "I'm gonna politely demand whatever videos you took, though. I'm so curious, but first."

Regan steps over to the shower and leans in. Keeping her hair out of the way, she winces and turns the valve, fingers falling under it to wait for cold to turn warm.

"I strapped a gun just in case, June, but the others can stab me into little pieces, so if they've got your clothes, you can borrow some of mine." Regan steps back and lifts her own mug, sipping the breakfast coffee blend. "I'm feeling generous today, but ain't no way I'm drunk-undressing either one of those international assassins."


"I didn't take any videos. I'm pretty sure Rose did. And Harley." June takes another long pull on the coffee before setting the mug on the sink. "I'll manage, I'm sure." June is relatively average in form and figure, except for being a little on the tall side.


"We can all manage, that's why we were chosen," Regan lifts her shoulder in a demure shrug and turns her back to June and the shower. Cocking one hip onto the edge of the sink, Regan tugs out her cell phone and starts flipping through the messages from the night prior. "So what was it like, last night, giving over to getting blitzed with monsters?"


When Regan turns her back, June loses towel and bra, and moves to get into the shower. "An incredibly bad idea? I mean, it was entertaining enough, but a horrible idea. We're lucky we didn't get a witch sighting."


"When Harls and Rose took me out for drinks the first time, I thought it was a stupid idea, too. I've heard about the witch and didn't snoop, but we're all in the same delayed execution cause. I figure," Regan glances towards the shower stall, then back to her coffee, pausing for a sip. "If they killed me that's one less set of eyes keeping them alive. Mutual whatever-it's-called."

Regan tugs out her other earbud and taps the music player on her smartphone to stop.

"Hey, is this apartment boring? Don't let the witch freak out but I'm gonna change the venue."


June gets herself washed up. "I'm in a slightly different boat. Not that it's a better one." Finally, she'll turn off the water, and asks "Towel?"


Setting her mug down, Regan's eyes were lulling closed in the beginnings of drawing up her own special blend of power, but the squeak of the shower turning off distracts her. The ceramic mug is left behind and Regan's skirt swishes her thighs in a short walk over to a cabinet.

"From what I understand? Yes, you're different from the rest of us." The cabinet is opened and a boot falls out. Regan laughs and digs for a towel that doesn't smell like whiskey. Taking it, she unfolds it and turns towards the shower to look to June's face. The towel opens wide in offering. "I mean, if the witch is out when one of us dies, would you know then, or find out after the fact?"


"After. I don't usually have any memories of what she does." June replies, as she opens the door, and steps out, taking the towel. She'll start to dry herself off. "Despite sharing my body, she's at all the advantage. She knows what I do, but I only know what she does if she lets me."


Regan purses her lips to one side and turns her shoulder to June, letting the woman towel herself dry in peace. She wraps her aching arm beneath the other, underneath her breasts, and cocks a hip to one side, eyes deep in thought. Freshly painted, violet fingertips drum in time, and from June's angle, Regan's visible ribcage is tattooed: SKWAD.

"So she's hearing this entire conversation then and saw me all fucked up yesterday, too?" Priorities, Regan. Leading with her vanity, the blonde rolls her eyes. "So, like," Regan's a 'like' girl. "Come clean. Did you come by to get to know your team or because we're better people to turn to than Waller when it comes to keeping yourself sane with your Freaky Friday thing?"


"Yes." June admits. "Well, yes, she's hearing this. I came…" She sighs, and, finally dry, wraps herself in the towel. "…I came because she told me to. But I also came because…yes, trying to handle this by myself is going to drive me nuts. And not in any good sense."


"Iiiiinteresting. So I take it she didn't tell you why she wanted you to come, so she could be curious or casing us, you'd have no way of knowing?" Regan turns around with her coffee held in two hands to flutter her lashes over the rim of her mug. She tilts the mug to her lips for a sip, then starts her backwards walk towards her room. She crooks a finger for June to follow. "You're gonna have to decide which of us you trust enough to save either of you from Waller, or yourselves, and," Regan lifts her fingers to twittle-wave June's way. "I'm sure she's got a whiteboard going on who's most likely to try to kill you to kill her if Waller says so, amirite?"

Regan blinks.

"Is this conversation easier or more difficult all hung-over, Jooney?"


"I know that by the end, she was trying very hard to come out to try and cut a deal with the others." June admits. Moving to follow, she looks over at some of the others. "I think I may need to borrow some clothes." Hers are scattered all over, and some worn by others. "I probably wouldn't talk about it if I were at the top of my form." June admits, and looks to Regan. "Unless we have access to some crazy magic, I don't know that we're going to have any luck dealing with the Witch."


"Limitless power doesn't fight against their pretty little brown-haired shell to -cut- deals, June Moone." Regan turns away from the woman in the towel to weave a path through discarded dresser drawers, discarded pillows, and kitchenware to her closet. "Limitless power comes out the gates with a checkmate and brings every last bitch in the house to their knees."

Regan opens a drawer in her massive closet to rifle through her belongings. She pulls out a pair of jeans, looks to June's hips, then throws the jeans onto her bed. She throws a blue skinny-girl-edition tank top with a racerback and throws it out to the bed, as well.

"So as jealous as I am that your other half has all this ancient power-wooj and is the nuclear bomb form of girl power?" The drawer claps shut and Regan looks to June, shouldering her way against the closet's door. "The better friends you make with us, June, the more likely it is someone's going to keep June on the table when she comes out to buy that cherry red Porsche she's been longing for."

Regan smiles, slowly. The sociopath creeps out a bit.

"The Skwad has bargaining power." Regan adds, lashes lowering to slits. "If the Skwad wants June Moone, then the witch might have to make some concessions. You feel me, Linda Blair?"


"She's not limitless. Not yet, anyway. She needs what Waller has to become that. That's the only reason she hasn't gone rogue." June takes the jeans, and begins to wiggle into them. "Believe me, I'm a…" She stops, and shudders a little. "She's trying to get out, Regan." June warns. The Witch wants her own input on this conversation.


I don't put glue sticks in my nose and um..
But my face pasted to linoleum.
Kitchen floor shit..
Some college dorm shit!


"Oh my gawd…!" Rose reaches up before her face even peels from the creme pie canister, POPPING a tennis ball off the poking end of the walker, throwing it down the hall to bouncebounce and ricochet down another avenue.

"Fetch!" But when her head lifts and one eye peels open she yells in surprise and backpedals slapping cream off her face into a fling. "EZMA'S REAL!!" Ass-slide into Regan's apartment and the door is kicked closed with the single buckaneer boot of white, which has her staring at it… then along her form in a mis-mash of everyones attire.

Behind her Taskmaster hiccups in his chipmunk snore and rolls off the island to lad face-first. "mmmpu-puke in my ma—*hurk* mask!" And commences the flouder to the bathroom heaving in his path as he is stuck with what he asked to be stuck with. His mask.
His vomit.

Face down in a bloodstained carpet.
Get chicks at the farmers' market.
White girls buy produce,
take them home, make them drink Grey Goose!


Regan's head twists a measure, smile fading, mentally flipping a coin as to whether or not she wants to meet the witch. Regan starts forward with a smirk and salutes June with her mug of coffee. "Let her or don't. So long as both of you accept that this is my apartment and because I got the drop on all of you, I'm the hottest thing here."

Laughing, with one eyeball trained on June's struggle against the beast within, Regan leans out over her loft's balcony to the damage below. All done up and beautified, she giggles and lifts a thin wrist wrapped in bracelets, rattling them in her wave to the floor below. "Gooooooood…" Tap. The soundsystem starts up again. Cheesy Brit-pop plays. "…morning my lovelies. I made coffee and I'm cleaning nothing! Oh-!"

Regan turns back to June and reaches out, gripping the woman by the shoulder, mid-transformation or not.

"Did you realize that Linda Blair's character in the Exorcist was named Regan?" Gasp! Regan beams. "Bitch, it's like we're SISTERS."


June looks exceptionally nervous. "Regan, you can't count on her to accept ANYTHING. Trying to deal with her is DANGEROUS." But she's got her hangover, and the Witch is PUSHING. The word is on her lips to call her out. She hears Rose's entrance out there. "What was that?!" Okay, she's a little on edge. Or a lot.


Rose hasn't the slightest what is going on as Regan waves and is obviously 'Up To No Good', per the way her hand flipped and that smile remained on her lips, her eyes held a different demeanor.

Taskmaster too her spot and so, with a huff Rose is picking herself up off the floor, locking the door quietly as if a demon is on the other side (Crypt. Keeper.), and does the uneven, one booted walk towards the kitchen, passing Harley in her unconcious sling of bedroom olympics and spins her! Making that mess worse.

"It was the rest of us coming back from the dead, save Harley here.."

But as Rose is making coffee and gathering all the bottles and emptying remains into her mug before she pitches them into the trash, she is watching them in that lofted level… Through the smears of cream.

Task better hurry.


Regan's blue eyes shine with a mote of hesitation at the panicked look she's getting from June Moone. Arrogance or prudence? In the end, one tends to win more in Regan Wyngarde. She leans out past June to gather the blue tanktop from her bed. "Juney?" Regan looms back to the forefront. "Calm. Your." The tank top is balled up and pressed between June's breasts. "Tits. We gotchu."

Regan Wyngarde collects her mug in two hands and sways her hips, dragging the layered, gauzy ends of her skirt along for the ride as she dances in place, watching the show from the floor above like she paid for box seats at the Orpheum Theater. "Rose has pie on her face and has Tasky's boot on. Taskmaster just puked in his mask, I think, and it's probably coming out like that Play-Doh set where you could make spaghetti with." Sip. Regan doesn't let the nearly uncaged witch at her side stop her voyeuristic joy. "Pleaaase, dis ain' even jea-lo-see, she ain' got a ting on me…tryin ta rock them ug-u-lee jeans jeans jeans…"

When Rose looks up to her and June, Regan grins over the rim of her mug and puts a little extra sway into her her hip, lifting her skirt to one side a measure, brat to the core.

"Mornin' Punkin-Pie," Regan sings into her mug, winking down below. "My flat iron still works, for the record!"


June takes the rolled-up tank top and will turn her back a moment, sliding it up and over her head. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It's hard. The Witch is scrabbling at the inside of her head, TRYING to get out to make her own discussion with the others. She finally turns back to the others, tense and on edge, but holding it in. So far.


June is now given a studious look from the single arctic blue eye peering out from the frame of rapidly drying whipping cream that even hangs off ends of hair like a build up from a snow storm that frosted that side of face in a Blast!.

"After last night, Witchy-pooh, modesty with us is not a thing. Stop playin' you're fun, and something inside you wants out. Let it." Rose is not being an addition to -their- conversation, she is reacting to June's duress and tense look, even as she slides the top on like a modest mouse.

Regan's little show of spritely '#IGot12+HoursofSleepBetch', is meet with a leer. "Did you swith to Clinique from Lancome? I still see the peek of handprint bruise…" But to hide the smile of ribbing Rose turns to get the brewed coffee, adding a smidge to the cup of mixed up alcohol remnants, peeling some cream off her jaw to drop into the mug, stir with finger….


Just like a helicopter… BRRRrrRRr KillmeNow.


"It'll be a cold day in hell when I wear so much foundation that I turn into that girl that looks like Clayface. I did what I could." Regan calls back down to Rose with a lift of her phone. Regan's thin arm shoots out with the camera flipped around, selfie mode, to lean in next to June. What comes next is a quick snapshot of one careless blonde next to a tension-stricken brunette. Regan smiles. She doesn't wait for June to get into mode. CLICK! "But I make this look easy."

Regan hip-bumps June and starts down the stairs, plucking an eyepatch dangling from a light fixture on the way down. Taking each step with a bounce and a dance, Regan smooths her skirt down the back of her thighs and rides the bannister the rest of the way.

The clap of her expensive Prada boots on the floor is in time with the first beat of Backstreet Boys' 'EVERYBODY' over the sound system.

"I wanna know the scorecard. What kind of cleaning do I need to pay for? Are we talking changing out the couch cushions kind of cleaning, or R-rated cleaning?" Regan pits the eyepatch between one finger and a thumb, shooting it like an unwanted G-string towards Rose. "I'm not on Pornhub in one of those 'next to sleeping roommate' videos right now, am I?"


That's all it took, was Rose's encouragement. June was holding on by a thread, and now that thread is snapped. The word falls her from lips almost unbidden, a whisper. "Enchantress."

Shadows seem to wrap around her, and those shadows seem to resolve into the Witch. For just a moment, standing right behind June, arms wreathing her like someone was holding a lover…and then tugs the brunette into her shadowy form, leaving only one.

The slinky shadowed sorceress looks about to Regan and Rose with a slight curl of her lips. "FINALLY." she says, emphatically.


Rose had -nothing- to do with this! <—- Remember that!
… Not what she meant at all, moment.

The descent of Regan is watched… There's that fuckin' thing! In regards to the eyepatch, but as she is watching that taunting decent along the stairs that is Regan and airbrush-mode, there is a slow roll up and behind the woman as June is suddenly shifting in shadows that do not belong.

One hand reaches back as the other lifts her mug to drain it and finds… Why is she wearing granny panties??
O…M…G… No wonder the bitch was poking her, she wanted her tighty whities back, at least the… Nope, no bra, she's in a piece of armor…

…Wait… who de-pantsied Ezma??

And where is her holster? But instead she is pushing a hem down ever so slightly with a curl of upper lip in disgust while Taskmaster is Chimunk singing in the shower and the Enchantress of Shadows stands at the top of the stairs and breathes her first before them…
"Nt what I meant, but… Good to meet you… Coffee?" Both hands on mug come to her lips, casual-sip, but lightly thereis a *click* as she dislodges the mug-ear from the cup itself holding it in place to keep it camoflaged.

Rose will improvise…

SNAP! The sling-shotted patch hits her plexus and slides down beneath the armor…

No words, just a stare to them both over the top of her mug.


Coffee in hand, Regan is sliiiiiding across her floor towards the kitchen. She spins past CODPIECE, still tied up and unconscious, and rolls her shoulders with the beat. Hips and arms moving in time like zombie claws, Lady Mastermind knows the dance. Somewhere in her past is a middle-school aged girl in a boarding school skirt practicing the dance in front of a mirror. Yes. Regan really is that girl.

"Am I original? Yeaaaa. Am I the only one? Yeeeeeaaah, am I sexu-" Regan spins, careful not to spill her coffee, but she catches June being swallowed up by an ancient with of immesurable power. The lyrics die and Regan's voice rickets out in a squeaked exclamation "-uuu-AWHATTHEFU!uuh!"

Bouncing off of an end table, Regan stumbles back and nearly loses her balance, but comes to a standing stop against Rose behind her with her pistol held low in one hand and her coffee mug in the other.

"Uhhhh." Regan blinks, looks to Rose, then back to the Enchantrees. First introductions are important. She mutters something lowly to Rose, but, despite all rumors of her famed selfishness, remains in front of Rose Wilson "Hey…girl…friend?" Blink. "Yeah, I bought new soy milk. Coffee?"


Enchantress takes a couple steps closer. "We have things to discuss." Her voice is lower than June's, with a bit of reverb to it. She looks from Rose, to Regan. "So. You wanted to talk "concessions", /sister/?" Enchantress looks amused at that last, as she moves. She looks at the coffee Rose has, with bemusement, but no reply.


Regan's positioning brings Rose's brows to take a fucking hike on her brow. Perhaps unseen as in that Prada Regan is taller and Rose is like Kilroy to peer over her shoulder, but she catches that mutter and exhales into her mug a manner that also makes it backfire and spray, coughing the contents into a splatter while Enchantress approaches.

The mug in two is set down, the curve of the mug's handle now flipped and tucked behind wrist. "Concessions? Sister?" Confusion, puzzlement, and it does not look like she will look like an 80's pop video for a bit longer, even if Taskmaster stops caterwauling in the shower.

She'll fish the patch out later…

"Start talking, then. Let me get the drink… Got any shit for gods and witches? More expensive… and not consumed…"


"Sooo…I might have told June that if Enchantress wanted to make deals we'd have all kinds of bargaining power and she'd have to make concessions." Regan mutters under her breath, sidelong, to Rose. She says it loud enough for Enchantress to hear, so when Regan looks up and lifts her thin shoulder in a demure shrug, she smiles. "No point in denying it right, you totally heard me say it."

Regan scratches behind her ear with the edge of her gun's barrel, then stuffs it back in her(?), no, probably Codpiece's holster. "While you were all crashed out I went and bought a six-serving of Moroccan baked eggs; they're on the table. Price I paid for them, if a god don't like them, not much I can do."

Regan sucks in a quick breath and sets her coffee down, stepping closer to Enchantress with her palms clapping together.

"So." Regan swallows away her nervousness, slipping on her mask of purely fake socialite bullshit. "June said you were wanting to claw out and start making deals last night? Seriously? Was that drinking and partying her idea or your idea? Which one's the cool one, here?"


Enchantress will look over towards the kitchen. "Her actions were her own." She answers Regan. "Bring this food and drink. I will partake." If nothing else, at least she seems to be in a…well, magnanimous is probably too strong a word. But at least "not malevolent".

"Deals are definitely something we should discuss. I have something I wish done. If you aid me, I can be generous."


"Egg texture…" A puff of cheeks in a silent /hurk/, Rose is passing on that and instead carrying on like yesterday did not happen despite wearing it openly. Any bottles left are lifted and put on the counter, a final bottle is labeled 'Le Fee Verte', the potent wormwood alcohol eye'd and slid to segregation. Special.

Deals. That word draws Rose's attention up, lupine in look from beneath brow and behind the caked layers of hair, but her attenton is gained as glasses are laid out in a triangular shape - a point for each.

"Generous is an offer to us that is our lives and then some. Even your own. Beat that, and I will be all ears."


"The more expensive it is, the better it is for you." Regan retorts, eyes boggling in their sockets in a brief moment of bratty interplay. Regan pulls out a rolling chair from the table and sets a clean fork down next to one of six bowls of eggs, spiced with paprika and a dash of cinnamon. "This was originally for June, but I guess it all goes to the same place, so my end of the deal is covered."

Regan turns to walk around Enchantress, using a brief moment behind the witch's back to look to Rose and over-pantomime her lips, mouthing WHAT THE FUCK to the one-eyed girl, though by the time Regan has spun about and slipped into her own chair, legs crossing daintily, she brightens her smile towards the witch.

"I love quid-pro-quo situations like these." Regan offers to the witch with a grin. "But the steeper the ask, the steeper the price, and that's where the concessions come in. We're two very creative girls, but we like to negotiate on the D-L soooo." Regan points to the table, finger triangulating from Enchantress, to herself, to Rose. "Equilateral triangle of non-disclosure."


"Waller has something that belongs to me. She uses it as leverage. If I regain it, I will gain my freedom back. I am willing to reward the both of you with your freedom and more if you will get it for me." Enchantress states. She'll pick up the fork, and take a bite of the egg, and then a drink of…whatever it was Rose had. "We all want the same thing, after all. Freedom."


Drinks are poured, the glasses now a reflective green based on the foreign beverage. This apartment has likely been subject to many illegal activities in the past 48 hours.
They'll have to Google that…

Sugar cubes are dropped into the glasses and with a flick of bic, the surface of the alcohol is lit aflame.

"Swirl, softly, the sugar needs heat to mix in right…" A mutter low as she watches Enchantress with a wariness that Regan seems to be shunning (for once), but Rose was not the one! who asked for this, afterall. If she did not know how to kill it, she tried not to go against it head on.

Regan's own calm demeanor brought it out in Rose, slowly but surely, or perhaps i was the fact that she has already had several shots to clear off last nights hangover and the GiveAFuckOMeter now fell to zero.

"Freedom? It will never happen. But, to make sure bombs in heads do not go off… I am down." Tylenol can't fix it if it is not there.


Pausing for a bite of her own eggs, Regan leans forward and gathers her hair against her shoulder. She eats like a little birdy, with tiny bites and the utmost care. With barely a whole fork-full, she watches the two other women as she chews, then swallows the tiny bite down the thin rail of her neck. "You're right, we all want the same thing. Freedom sounds attractive. Having a tiny bomb somewhere in my body is also, like, all kinds of risk of death and a waste to all the hot yoga I do."

Sitting back, Regan extends her arm. Her wrist dips down and her fingers collapse over the lip of her drink. The wrist twists as she swirls it, blue eyes tipping to read their faces.

"How close does she keep it to herself?" Regan starts the negotiation process. "If she catches a bad scent in the air, I go boom. So can you remove my bomb without screwing up my skin?"


"I could remove the bombs." Enchantress states. "But she monitors them. She will know when they are gone. And if I am not free before this, she will send me to retrieve you. You will have to be careful, and free me first, so that I can free you."

Another drink, another bite.

"A sign of my good intentions." She speaks a few words in her ancient tongue, gesturing as she weaves trails of shadow through the air…


Rose is idly aligning things upon the island Task had used as a bed, bit by bit cleaning… To sate the desire to knee-jerk and try to violently stab a witch to death with a broken mug-handle. It works in sitcoms!!
..Less often then not…

"What is this something." Sold.

Rose doesn't want hosed every time she does as she wants.
She had Deathstroke for that.


What remains of the palm-shaped bruise on Regan's face fades away. Ruby-painted lips part in exhale as the tension in her once-dislocated shoulder slithers away, releasing tense muscles and the built up acid aching there. After the initial wave of relief fades, Regan's eyes widen, casting two lanes of blue towards the Enchantress in a look far more dangerous than the narrowed-slits of deal-making: Awe. Jealousy. Power-Lust.

The drink in Regan's hand stops swirling and is brought to her lips for a swallow to dial away the rush of excitement within her.

"I want the bombs removed from whoever I ask you to…" Regan lays her first offer out on the table. Sold, as well. "…and whatever you're up to when you're free…whatever it is…" Regan's lip tugs in a shadowed way. "I want your guarantee of safety and luxury."


Enchantress gestures, and shadows coalesce, into the image of something small and black, bound about in cord. "My heart." She tells the two women. "With it, Waller has leverage over me. She keeps it close and well-protected."

She looks to Regan. "I will reward any who are willing to assist me. Safety and luxury are well within my power to provide. But I will not reward those who do not help me."


Regan sets her drink down and leans back in her seat. One wrist crosses the other over the bared span of her knee. She looks to the heart, black as pitch, studying it. In her observations, she begins to nod her head, slowly. Is this what Regan's looks like, too?

"There's always going to be another Waller. I'm not entirely burdened by an abundance of, like," Regan was sounding so eloquent until this point. "moral obligations to many things, but I do speak the language of picking a winning side and if doing work for the queen means the most powerful force won't let her loyal subjects be fucked with?" Regan takes up her glass and offers to tap it against Enchantress' glass.

"Is it out of place to say that you're impressive?" Regan smirks a little more widely. "Like, apocalyptic grade amazing?"


Enchantress smiles at that…and then growls. "It seems our keeper has need of me." And with that, in a darkening of the room that brightens after, she vanishes, called off by Waller.

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