Gotham worse than New York

June 04, 2017:

A brief stroll through Gotham's hidden underbelly (LANGUAGE)


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Lady Mastermind, the Joker, Poison Ivy, June Moone (Doc)


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Suicide Squad Lite? Taskmaster doesn't have a clue what they call themselves when off duty. He sure as shit is not a #meangirlskwardpsycho.

Gotham at night looks a lot like Gotham at day, dark, gloomy, so many empty streets in some sections of the city the place looks abandoned. Taskmaster is walking with a hoodie up, his skull hidden mostly by shadow as they stride down a sidewalk. Explore time. Carpenter is fixing the wreckage of the 6th Floor at Gotham Arms and it is noisy there, no chance for relaxation and Task himself hasn't even seen Regan since her 'breakdown' that wasn't one.

"I think I stepped on gum." A string of curses escapes him, his boot encased foot lifting to shake left and right. "I hate Gothamites. Such jackasses. Worse than New Yorkers."

Harley is seriously dressed down for herself today. Skinny jeans and red and black checkered keds, her satin bowling jacket and a grey t-shirt that says Arkham Asylum #4578. She looks about the street, shaking her head. "Well, with Metropolis and New York so close, anyone who ain`t a lowlife in some way or another has left here. Ain`t nobody here but us jackasses.`

No. Taskmaster is #meangirlskwadskully. Sheeeiiittt…

Rose is utilizing what Deathstroke left for her in the duffel in Africa. Hair is stained a light pink, done into two tiny bunned pig tails. Both eyes are in. No patch, no bionics as she ripped them out (and with it went another piece of soul). Pale blue sweeping between her two comrades as she smiles lightly, the cigarette bouncing from between her lips and pluming smoke around the pale gaze smoked over with a noir abyss glistening. The shirt that rests across her torso is hanging in strings and tatters that descend down arms but stops just beneath the heave of her chest, leaving the full expanse of tattooed abdomen exposed to the pierced drop along hips and the 'Venus dimples' at the small of her back. Shorts are low upon hips and high upon thighs, a tattered denim that hangs threads alnong thighs where wrapping along inner-to-outer of one is ~SK/W/AD~. Tights hang in the same stretch and tatter to just above her knees, descending into heeled boots that strap and buckle around ankles.

Pitched over shoulder is a jacket. Always carried despite this sweltering heat. She's going to melt into a puddle of bitch in this! "People are people."

"Okay, present company excluded. Some of you jackasses I like." Taskmaster says, "A total of like one and a half." Ivy being the half. He still is trying to figure that out, "Regan ain't home grown in Gotham is she?" His fingers curl down in to the front of his hoody, fortunately for them even though they look like something a bad rave spit out they're still dangerous enough in appearance they get accepted by those around them. Turfs are thing in Gotham though, you look a certain way you invite a certain element. Though, Harley is like crime famous here. Everyone who is someone knows Harley, the Joker's Gal. Probably not something she likes being known as.
"Ya say that now." A left steer, an alleyway lit up in redlights. These pocket Gotham. Popular for people who want drugs, to connect up to the black market, prostitutes and the like. Set up shop at night, pay the cops, when business is on. Hit your lights up. Which they are. "I need to see a guy in here about a thing."

"It's funny you should say that. That‘s one of my favorite lines in `Muppets Take Manhattan’," says Harley with a grin to Rose. "Ooooh! We could take Manhattan. I call dips on Gonzo!" She walks along, blithely ignorant of what people still call her. No, calling her Joker's gal, especially after his last trick of selling her out to Satan so he could go scott free, would not make her happy. As gloomy and ugly as the city is, filled with it's crime and violence and pollution, Harley smiles, looking up at the night sky to see is she can spot any stars in the smog. "You need to see a guy about a thing? Sounds fun!"

"Like? You like us?" A perk of brow as she urns lightly to the side, never faltering in the step of those heels with the pivot-step. "Flattered." A bat of lashes that lay thick in the oil slick of shadowing around her eyes.

The massive coat of faux fur and leather is held up and out. "This is what I'd do to Cookie Monster?" A pause at Harley about Gonzo and there is a rapid blink… Or maybe smoke got in her eyes. The cigarette is drawn away and flicked in an arch out towards the road as their path veers into a Red Light Alley.

"Don't know," In regards to Regan. "Never asked." She does as little prying as they do to her. Don't ask, don't tell.

Taskmaster's sudden visitation announcement has her pausing behind them as they lead the way. The curl of fingers that hold her coat bounce lightly, the flanel of black and white tied at her waist is checked, the knot front and center, made via a twist of sleeves, is checked. "Is it your birthday and you didn't tell us?"

"I vaguely remember something about Muppets. Those are the guys who live in caves and get attacked by trolls that break their trains?" Taskmaster pauses at the opening of the redlit up alleyway, ignoring the cluster of badly dressed hookers off to their right. They're giving the stink eye to Harley and Rose. Why? Because those two around is very bad for business.

Opposite of the prostitutes are tables set up with assorted pictures on them. On these pictures is guns. Guns and more guns. Each picture has a #withnumber, information and price. That is where Taskmaster is detouring them.

"You don't know and don't ask? Ain't you two like… " Taskmaster holds up fingers on each hand making a split with each then rubs them together. Scissor fingers on scissor fingers. The light under his hood makes his skull's grin shadow. It somehow looks more toothy. "Bad form not to know your lady. Rosie."

Harley snaps her gum and waggles her fingers at the prostitutes. Sure they are giving her and Rosie death-glares, but that's no reason not to be friendly. "Yeah! They was one of the muppet shows. Not *the* muppet show, but one of the ones made by the same guys."

Task's gestures about Regan and Rosie gets a smack on his arm. "Don't be rude. What a coupl'a girls do together ain't none of our business. You don't seem ta care when me and Red go off ta cuddle." She then grabs his arm and starts pulling him in the direction of the display. "C'mon! Let's see if there is somethin' worth lookin' at."

Rose, on the other hand is walking slowly down the alleyway, a sway in every step that shows off every ass-et she has exposed, pausing by a table herself, her lean to look over a few options is not interrupted by Taskmaster's gesture towards her in regards to Regan. "Should I add a snap of "Switch Poker", to this table to be sold to the highest bidder? Lou-" A lift of hand. "Bouttin." Middle finger.

"Where's…" Nope. Nope. Lets not go there in the alley of a(r)morous proportions. He and Harley go one way and Rose just remains, that swink of middle finger going towards the prostitutes.

"What?! Get a better waxer," A sweep of finger over her own upper lip in gesture towards one of them. "5 o'clock keeps you here at 2AM."

Taskmaster being tugged by the arm to the table next to the one he was after only chukles at Rose. A hand rising up to slide over Harley's shoulders as he half-slumps over her to stare at the pictures. "New Sig Saur." A tap on a picture. "Daddy likey." He taunts. "Rosie, check out this MP7… " Realizing shes entertaining herself with the street walkers.
"Skorpion EVO."
"I'm only fuckin' around, I'm in to it. You and Red, Regan and Rosie. I think it's a nice use of free time. Good exercise."

A *pop* goes off down he alleyway, there is a chorus of "Ohhhhs" and then a chatter sound. A rapid clatter of teeth that are working their way down the alleyway like a shark on the ground. Wacky laughing chatter teeth. Harley will recognize it immediately.
It comes to a stop between Rose, Harley and Taskmaster. The winder done.

"Fucking thing was supposed to blow up. " A man shouts, "It's a dud!"

"Of course it's not primed. You wanna kill a fool here? Thats Joker Elite shit. Bad for business to kill the clients." The fat man, big, tall, broad shoulders. He looks like a bear and a Juggalo just had a child. Paint everywhere, rounded hat on his bald head. Greasy skinned. Big gold blingy necklace. He doesn't recognize Harley, he just bends over and picks the teeth up bringing it back to his table of Joker goods.

"Think they got a Deathstroke table?" Taskmaster ribs Rose after the silence of watching Jumbo Clown is over.

Harley smirks and whispers something in Taskmaster's ear and then makes a face at him. "Rose, leave the girls alone. They got enough troubles ta worry about." Yep, that's Harley, a softy for those that have to sell their bodies to make a living.

She stiffens at the sound of chattering teeth. Harley's actually managed to convince herself that she doesn't want Joker in her life anymore, that she's better now without him, but that's only because he's gone. Her moment of fear could be chalked up to her worrying the JOker bomb was going to kill her, but perhaps Rosie and Task know the truth.

She grumbles as the salesman walks away, a familiar twitch starting under her right eye.

Rose barely moved, that large leather on fur jacket over her shoulder only rustling in the passing of Ronald that let himself go, but from between the curve of her side and the dangling sleeve the Rhino flashes, the aim was upon the teeth from one hand, her other is tucked under the flanel just beneath those piercings that rest in the dimples upon the small of her back.

"…Yeah… Fucked. Aren't we all." A look towards the girls did not falter her challenge. You choose a lifestyle, own it or sell yourself to…

A turn towards Taskmaster and Harley and the hand tucked beneath flanel slowly starts to peel away. "I always wondered when exercise required a background check." A perk of brow and a smirk, before Rose is moving on, but there is a different kind of care in her step.

A stare at Harley as she had gone rigid, his hand slides up her back and gives a squeeze. "You realize you can whip the shit out of the Joker right? Pound for pound you got that guys number. Just gotta get him outta your head." She knows this. Hes just reminding her. A little encouragement to security.

Taskmasters skullmask gets a look from the vendor he is standing before but not much of one, this is a Gotham black market run. These kind guys are a dime a dozen. If they knew he was Taskmaster they may be impressed, just as if they knew this was THE Harley Quinn and THE Ravager. They don't though. The joys of being in civvies.

"Rosie, you spitfire. No killin' the squishies. My guy is down further, hes got the Doc's armor and their masks." Whole reason they're here. He is picking up gifts. What a sweetheart.

Looking over the pictures of the guns, Harley has a wild look in her eyes. The sweet, bubbly blonde isn't here right now, perhaps if you leave your name and number at the tone? She seems calm, oh so terribly calm as she reaches into her jacket and casually pulls out her gun. She looks it over, checks the clip to see if it's full, all with the non-chalance of a housewife checking to see if the laundry is set to regular or dedicates. She's about to shoot every person in this alley away when Task comes and talks to her. It‘s not even so much what he says as the calm voice with which he does it. She takes a deep breath and blinks and then looks at the gun in her hands. "Huh," is all she says in a ’that's interesting' sort of tone before putting the gun away again.

Rose's eyes watch Task and Harley, a nod, a tip of head and instead of a finger'd salute the barrel of that pistol taps brow and she is heading in the direction Taskmaster gestured. A smile…

One that fades when she turns away from them and realizes why they were here. "Fuck." An exhale even as she is tucking the weapon up and under the flanel to go back to concealed fully.

From the side one man approaches from a table, attempting a redirect, with subliminal messages in bold, her palm splays over his face and Rose shoves him back the way he came by his dome. Harley was not the only one…

"Let's get the body condom for the Doc and find a hole to fuck off in." Someone needs a drink, a smoke, and a coke with a smile, now.

"PubLiK is fun." Taskmaster says, emphasizing odd lettering as he says it on purpose. A light pat to Harley's center back, "Lets grab the presents and we'll head on back. Shouldn' take long at all. Right, exactly Rosie." A grin inside a grin. He guides on down to their pick up and will take them both back to the Gotham Arms. Villain custom wear. Can't go wrong.

"I got something for both of you in this goodies bag too. Everyone owes me later. I'll collect depending on the expressions of gratitude on your face."

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