This Better Be Open Casket

June 14, 2017:

Harley, Taskmaster, and Mastermind get brought back in caskets to Belle Reve. Greeted by Waller and Ravager, they got some 'splaining to do. (Language warning)

Belle Reve Pen. - Louisiana

Prison

Characters

NPCs: Amanda Waller

Mentions: Bane

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Sedatives wear off. Sensation in fingers to toes begins to return. Circulation returns to bodies that have been dosed for too long, kept under. Darkness. Eyes are open? Yes. Darkness and breathing is hard. Confined space. Very. Shoulders if one wriggles too much bump against walls. A cushy surface underneath the back and rear at least. Air is stale, breathed in and out too much. There is a noise. A continuous *whomwhomwhomwhom* and the occasional sway, full body swaying and perhaps the sound of wood on metal, sliding? Yes. Back and forth.

Rose Wilson awaits outside in the stormy rain pelted concrete courtyard on Belle Reve's rooftop. An unmarked Chinook whirls in to view circling once before it begins it's descent. Lights flickering on and off as it signals it's directional heading before evening out and dropping with a lurch then an ease. Landing gear down and settled upon as front and rear blades begin to slow to a halt.

"Get the cargo." Waller orders the two security men and Rose Wilson, her fingers neatly down by the sides of her suit, standing 'at ease' almost. A sour expression on her face.

The cargo in question? Three coffins.

Regan Wyngarde was last dipping into a pool with the Baroness in a borrowed bikini and the distinct feeling of secured victory. The last thing that went through her mind before the bag-round knocked her out cold was the idea of a massage-by-slave. Thus, when she waves in a box rocking gently on a helicopter (so obvious the whir of blades are) she lets out a sigh. Her face hurts where the round impacted and in the scant space she brushes her hand to find, yep, she's still in her borrowed, red string bikini.

She has whole minutes to practice her speech, her pitch, unsure as to where she is and who's going to open her casket. When she sighs, she can feel her breath kicking back at her from the coffin's lid, and as the box jostles? Yes. It's definitely Waller's voice.

"Oh fuck my life." Regan sighs and briefly crosses her arms over her chest. The guards are going to love the unboxing. She swallows hard and closes her eyes, centering herself. "…you backed her play. You've been professional. While working. That's what you're paid for." Regan whispers to herself, hands tightening against the box as it's readied for opening.

Rose had been informed of the mission while she had been with held for backup and to exchange a few pleasantries with the Wall. It was mostly silence, after…

The sound of the arriving flightcraft has Rose looking up, not in the Belle Reve Orange, but her newer body suit of black and orange, the scale maille still presiding where vitals could be aimed for. No mask, just the patch of black, sliced by the pitch of platinum over her face.

A glance to Waller with a nod and Rose is moving towards the three… caskets, the muscles along her jaw working in a twitch as her teeth clamp in a manner that should have cracked an incisor.

They went black on the property of the Baroness, and delivery has been quiet, as well as vitals, or what the fuck happened in the end of their Madripoor trip. This was likely Waller being sure Rose is put in her place, to fetch her freinds and hope for an 'open casket', right?

Moving forward she grips one of the caskets and slides it across the concrete roof top.

The three coffins are hauled out before Waller. The heavy downpour pelting around them. The guards step away one of them walking over to Chinook to open a sidepanel pulling out one of the crowbars from within, awaiting an order from Waller before he proceeds.

"Sound off if you're alive. If you're dead then you're saving the US Government a lot of money by coming prepackaged and ready for six feet under." Waller says loud and clear.

A muffled sound and several kicks ram at the second coffin. No sounds come from the third.

The pitter-patter of rain on the coffin is a new sound that brings a lidding to Regan's blue eyes. It's not even sunny out; she's going to be freezing the moment the coffin opens. All the more reason to fold her arms across her chest and palm her fingers over the SKWAD tattoo protectively. She's underdressed for the occasion, and powerless at Belle Reve.

"Lady Mastermind." Regan raises her voice, calling out loudly through the coffin with a weak rap of her fingers against the top. "Reporting for…debriefing." Regan scowls at herself at her choice of words. Mouth forming curses, she taps her forehead against the top of the coffin with a grunt. "Not dead."

Two sounds of life, and with each the tension is waning, but not visibly. The jump of skin beneath her eye at least has stopped.

The guards move to open the two where signs of life surface, that single pale eye watching to see who surfaces, but even if the third makes noise or not, the massive blade her father left her weeks ago is drawn, leveled to the side and slid between lid and the hammered nails.

"I'll put it back on myself if there is no pulse." But Rose is not going to accept that even -one- of them is dead, despite the neutrality of her voice. The whining wrench scrapes as the sword is twisted and then swung in a fashion that flips the board off the lid.
Repeat…

Regan lives. Who is the second, and the one she is opening like a sardine can?

The single crowbar is used to first open Regan's coffin. The nails being pulled free so the lid pops off to let Regan free, the second one being set to. Waller isn't giving any orders right now just watching and waiting for the contents to be revealed.
The third one being peeled open by Rose reveals the cold, quiet and almost lifeless looking Harley Quinn. Pale as well, she always is just sickly looking. Darker around the eyes, a hue around the lips. Dead perhaps?

Taskmaster's fist lashes up and catches the guard, sending the man with a cracked visor and kevlar helmet to the ground, a gasping, air sucking noise comes from the skeleton masked man, his hand reaching up to rub over the break, wearing nothing but shorts and of course his cracked mask. "Fuck… owh, fuck." He stumbles free of the crate to land on his knees.

"Jerry, get medical up here." Waller says quietly in to her mic and earpiece. "We might have a dead one."

Regan climbs free of her coffin. The rain makes quick work of her dried hair, slicking it to sheets around her face as she steps free of the death-box and wraps her arms about her waist. Her sigh puffs a cloud of breath against the cold rain as she gives the box some distance. Without shoes, she walks mincingly over the pavement, turning to look at Taskmaster punching his way free with a quiet stare.

Dead one.

Regan's quick look over to Harley's coffin comes with eyes too concerned to play her cards to her chest. FUCK. Regan catches herself quickly, yet for a second, it's there. Regan swallows and avoids Rose's eyes, moving to stand quietly ten feet away from Waller, eyes drifting over her shoulder to avoid eye contact there, as well.

"I didn't compromise." Regan mutters flatly to Waller, jaw tightening. "May I go inside and get warm?"

Rose isn't looking at anyone. Every bit of concentration is put on prying open the coffin in motions that are more deliberate, composed. Neutral. beneath the coating of suit, biceps flex, shoulders tighten, a bit more emphasis to the exertion, holding back until Harley is revealed, the sword spending one moment at her side in a horizontal hover over the ground before she sheathes it, every breath now only told by the way the streak of falling raindrops that trail down her face get blown away from the balance off tiers.

Taskmaster is accounted for by sound alone now, but there is no further looks offered save the slow skate away from Harley's body within the box. Instead she seems to move into posture as if awaiting further orders.
"Taskmaster, if you touch another of my men I will have you put down like an animal." Waller threatens before she stares at Regan, "No. You will go in only when I say you are good and ready, we debrief, decon and then you can get warm."

A grunt from Taskmaster, the rain ignored as is Waller, he makes his way to Harley's coffin, "If she's dead Waller… "

"Don't be dramatic. Shes a tough little bitch." Waller snaps at Taskmaster, "Begin the debrief now. What went down in Madripoor?" A look is given to Ravager and Waller motions her back over to her side.

The elevator shaft opening up to reveal a medical team, a gurney between them they rush over and heft up the slack body of Harleen Quinzel, pulse checked, breathing checked, a curt nod given to Waller and they're racing off below with her.
"What did I tell you, tough little bitch. We'll see if she pulls through, now. Debrief."

Regan meets Waller's stare for half a second before she chatters her teeth and hugs her arms to her chest. One hip bounces trying to keep warm. Regan stares off at the skinny trees and thicket of the swamp, rolling her eyes at the feeling of eyeballs, behind her back, taking mental pictures. Her face, then, goes quiet, slipping back into mode.

Regan wants to be done with this. It shows.

"Without powers, I was able to check into the hotel and casino, and make it to the target's table, through security, to the point of having drinks." Regan starts with a misted sigh. "I was about to retire the target but a gunfight broke out in the lounge. So, I supported Taskmaster and Quinn until the target could be brought down." Regan looks to Waller. "The target had some kind of black hole bomb he set off, which sucked him into it. He's soup in a singularity, now. The world's a safer place."

Regan's body racks with shivers as her teeth chatter softly.

Rose moves with Waller's gesture, passing Regan with only a light flick of that gaze, sure to flank along the side that left her 'blind side' towards Waller, Taskmaster's words head loud and clear, an echo of the ones she had kept behind clenched teeth, but when she steps beside Waller, facing the men who stand behind Waller and eye Regan's back, a quick narrow, a tap to temple, and if word has spread in a hushed manner, they'll get the meaning, those raising weapons in defense or offense against Task if ordered are lingered upon, her hand adjusting the blade's handle in a reach to make it lock in with a *click*.

Turning now, she stands between Waller and Regan, watching from periphery only as Harley is carted offon the stretcher.

"Baht Goh is soup? Good. What about the black hole bomb?" Waller looks from Taskmaster to Lady Mastermind, "Well?" Rose's looks and presence is ignored by the woman.

Taskmaster shrugs, "Lost in transit." Cobra has it. Which might be a worse place for that technology to be than in Bath Goh's hands. Far worse.
"Its freezing, my nipples are about to ice off my chest. Let us go in and get changed."

"Lost in transit." Waller's braced hand clenches and unclenches, "And Bane?"

"About Bane." Regan suddenly speaks up, her bitchier personality rising to the surface. "Not that I don't find it impressive as fuck but this is the second time I was double-oh-perfect in position when I had to start dancing." Regan lifts her head proudly, glancing back over her shoulder all of the sudden to see eyes looking away. Huh. Unexpected. Regan gives the guards a sullen look.

"…better not be getting fat. Anyway."

Regan clears her throat and chatters her teeth, fingertips gripping her shoulders and ribcage tightly. "Bane went his own way and we went another to get out of town. I don't know what was going on outside but whatever it is drew security off of the target, which…" Regan see-saws her head. "…helped. Ruined a seven-thousand dollar dress, which pissed me off to no end, but my point is this…"

Regan…is showing no sign of stopping in her jabbering.

Rose is keeping her poker face there, but to aside with Regan and Taskmaster her muscles unwind from the tension and shudder, but swallowing it back she listens to the yammering from Regan and the mention of frozen nipples does not manage to keep the smile over Rose's lips from forming, a light sniff of laughter and teeth capture her lower lip in a manner that does absolutely no good in hiding the mirth.

All of this explains everything. No. Not at all.

"Yes, Bane is unpredictable. Most from Gotham are." Amanda reaches up her good hand and rubs her knuckles down her brow, "Very well, inside all of you. Lockdown for the night, release in the morning. We have bigger fish to fry now." She turns and power walks on inwards leaving the three out there and one guard along with the helicopter pilot.

Taskmaster's cracked and splintered mask is rubbed at again, a low mutter escaping him, "Good of you to be the welcoming party, Rosie. You're a better sight than Satan."

The guard motions inside, "You have to go through decon before you get issued clothes." Issued clothes. that means Orange jumpsuits. "If you're going with them Ravager, you need to do the same. Rules are rules and this is still a supermax prison." Bohen apparently takes his job very seriously. He even just unclipped his safety.

Regan was somewhere around how awesome she was getting in pretending to be a stupid college student when Waller's raised hand shuts her up. Talking uses up energy, which keeps her warm, which places Regan's typical body temperature somewhere around 99.5 degrees. It's better than shivering; it takes her mind off of it.

"Is it early, or late? I can't see the sun." Regan looks from Taskmaster, to Ravager, to the guards with a look of relief on her face. There isn't a firehose, at least not yet, so her two squadmates get a bite of her lip in hello on her way down into the building.

"Decon? I know it was the South Pacific but we didn't go into any cooky-dens, if you know what I mean." Regan sighs to the guard on her way to intake, tugging at the string at the back of her neck. "Is there anything I can do to keep a stash of prison-okay clothes here?" Regan asks around, loudly, to Waller's back as she begins to peel the bikini top off.

"Because I bet you fuckers love this part of your day." Regan quips to the air about her.

Ravager does not fully move, or ease until Waller's back is turned. "It is 6:13….pm." A glance towards Regan and her eyes rest on Task with his relief in the sight of her. A lower of head and her smile is a wavering thing, there is thanks there, relief, that kinship she had been wanting, hoping for in return… Maybe. They all still have masks, but after seeing Harley like that, Taskmaster's reaction…. Three caskets to unload.

Rose wanted to be sick and it took every ounce of control to keep from reacting in a knee jerk manner to open them like a hurricane's strike.

The moment is there and gone with a cough and a smear of her hand over her face, slicking the white strands of hair from her brow and into the mass upon crown. Rose could leave them to it alone, but there is no hesitation as she starts to undo her harnessing, her weapons put into a 'locked' mode. "Dinner and hot drinks for them, right?" Rose asks the guard, her eyes sliding down towards his safety, lips parting but saying nothing further, a slow smile. "Please?" Her weapons held out to him as Regan moves past and is already undoing her bikini, a slide towards Task as well. "Who wouldn't?"

"Oh I know I do, princess." Bohen says. "Best part of the day." Sleazy but at least he is being honest. "Chow time has already come and gone." She smiles, he frowns, "Yeah, whatever, we'll see just… you don't have to undress here, Miss Wilson." The guard says, "Go down the hall and strip down in the cubicle, get a pair of clothes from Jameson."

"You two though, down the hall, corner room. Decon chamber. Mask too buddy."

"Satans really going to do this to me, huh? Thought she and I were tight." The shorts are off, along with what was underneath and that cracked mask. Door and to the left. Decontamiation chamber.

Decon is a simple series of flashing strobes, spray and medical tech running lights over their naked bodies before they're released form the room, through a gated and locking door they'll be let in with Rose where their orange suits were tossed in by the frickled short female guard 'Jameson' she talks too much.

"It was Madripoor and they expected us to be in Low Town long enough to catch an STD."
Taskmaster half-jokes.

"Well, at least you called me something nice, Bohen." Regan undoes the string at the center of her back and lifts the top over her head. She pins her elbows back for a second, turning right to left and giving Taskmaster and Rose a look of ther own, brow cocked, learning to not care. "I might like it a little bit, depending on whether or not the people were hot enough to matter. Otherwise, fuck, I'd wear those rubber gloves you see the maids wearing when I touched anything here." Regan looks back to Bohen. "No offense. Tits." Regan tugs at the string on one side of her bikini bottoms, and with a sigh, she sets it on the table.

"Don't jerk off in that. I'm not wearing orange out of here."

With that, Regan lowers her eyes, avoiding looking to Taskmaster's face as she's led into decontamination. Arms out and legs wide, she closes her eyes through the process.

"You know," Regan says to her left, to the man whose face she's never seen. "It's kind of insulting that they think I'd fuck someone from Madripoor. All Cobra aside." Regan grins.

The buzzer buzzes, and Regan follows along, gathering her oranges and leaving an ugly pair of panties on the bench.

Rose nods and pauses by Bohen, the clutch of her weapons still in her hand. "If that was your people coming back in boxes but alive, you'd feed them and ensure comfort. Right?" In one part it was a whispered plea, in the other there is an underlying promise. She would do it her damn self if she had to, but it was buried deep enough he wouldn't perceive it possibly.

Walking into the cubicle she changes, also leaving the disgusting excuse for undergarments made of something akin to cheesecloth on the bench, the plastic flip flop things slapping across the floor in her approach to wait on the other side for them, listening to their conversation intently.

Rose missed out! She wants to know… why the FUCK they came back in coffins.
"No promises." Bohen says in regards to Regan's bikini. Scooping it up and tossing it in with the other clothes.

"Yeah yeah, they'll get their food. I'll just talk to one of the cooks. You owe me though, next time you guys end up somewhere fancy I want some real expensive cigars. LIke… the kinda aguy like me can never afford. Father's day is coming up." Bohen whispers low to Rose.
CHUNKCHUNK
Doors and gates open to close, Taskmaster's clothes drawn on to his body, orange top, orange pants. Fuck the underwear too. People wore those before him. NO matter how many times they wash them.
"Bohen! My stuff, I want my overnight stuff."
A finger extends, "Grow some tits Taskmaster and maybe I'll listen to what comes out of your weird fuckin' face."
"Jackass." Taskmaster grumbles, looks over at Rose then Regan as they hear gateways opening to let them in to the Squad Section of the prison. Empty, dark, yells from rooms that are sealed away. Central quarters open, bathrooms open, cafeteria open, rec room opened but nothing else is. Lockdown is a few hours away at least.

"No promises, no rewards." Regan murmurs as she switches from one room to the next. She looks to Rose, eyes pleading as she's doing everything she can to keep from seeing Taskmaster's face, which has her mostly with her eyes to the floor, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail twist, and unbuttoning the orange shirt enough to hang over her shoulder and leave the tank top visible.

"I know that look, Rose. We'll talk back at the block, but Bohen?" Regan lifts her top, exposing her belly in a mock rub, turning to face his way as she walks. Lip bit in shyly, she flirts with the guard. "I don't wanna see his face. So if you can help me with that, that would be great. Truly great." Regan turns about-face quieting as the screams return. They chill her. Every time.

"Shower or cot?" Regan looks to the other two's hips, because face. Regan doesn't want Tee's face. "I feel gross, but I also feel tired."

The moment Bohen mentioned favor in return, Rose stilled, her eyes sliding his way as he kept talking, and from that moment of 'I Will Punch You In The Throat', it went to a slow smile in 2.5 seconds. "You about to be a daddy, or are they for yours?" Bohen doesn't have to answer that, the single gaze stares at him, but the smile reaches it for once as she hears the other gates opening in tandem.

"He may not have tits, but he works with some nice ones, Bohen." Her own eyes remain diverted to something very interesting along the wall, but a sidelong glance has her lifting a brow. "I know when something goes sideways." Rose is about to leer at Taskmaster but instead is staring at broad orange chest. Patience. Although the flirt with Bohen has her watching with a light smirk. "Couldn't have been that bad…" But let's not talk about Harley's state, or how they are coping.

"Food, shower, cot." Rose mutters.

A pause from Bohen before hes out of sight and hes turning around like pinnochio on strings, stoppig by the bars to stare at Regan's stomach before he chuckles, "Sure, princess. I dont wanna see his face either." Peach or Princess shes been getting called both from the guards. One of them recently started calling her Princess Peach. It's taking on.
A pillowcase with a cartoon skull drawn on it is thrown in to their area, "How is that? You should thank me Taskmaster, I didnt let march draw a cock on it!" Laughter from the guards and Taskmaster strides oevr to pick it up, sniff it once to make sure it was freshly cleaned then draws it over his head. Not kidding its a cartoon skull and it has eyes at least. "It'll do, I suppose."

"It didnt go full sideways Rosie. They got Goh. We just… well, ran in to some issues."

Regan laughs, her throat scratchy and dry at the end, like a restrained choke. She walks with lanky arms and legs, traversing a not-so-straight path between Taskmaster and Rose. Her wrists bump into their sides, which is as much as a greeting as they'll get while eyes are around.

"Did you hear that the guy from Scorcher died?" Regan looks over to Rose with a bend to her brow. "That he died in the South Pacific while on vacation?" Regan adds with a deeper bend. "I meant what I said, Bane is impressive, but he's hell on my vampire game." Regan mutters, then steps forward, taking the lead as they near the cafeteria.

She reaches out to their shirts and tugs, dragging them with her backwards walk into the food-joint, exhaustion written on her Princess Peach figure.

"Bane happened. Harley's alive." Regan whispers. "We're still a full squad, so I'm taking it as a win."

Once the guards see to it they have their effects and leave, the smell of food becomes far more prominent. Order met, so now all Rose has to do is figure out a nice type of cigars to get for Bohen, maybe asking Slade…
No. Eff that noise, this is her bag.

"Yes, it may be a win but Waller is still not completely pleased about something, and…" A loft of her shoulder that the orange suit slumps off of, one-two-stepping it with the drag of Regan's pace. "I hate you guys." Even in the tone you can hear a lilt that would fall in line with a whining child, lip out-thrust, arms crossed over her chest, feet planted…. But she is not being drug by Regan, she's moving with them and keeping the tone down.

"I tend not to care when celebrities die, but you have my attention…"

Once they reach the cafeteria, it's burrito Wednesday, and there is hot water with tea bags, some pink or blue sugar packets (cancer crap), reheated for the most part, but still, warm. "So…" A seat at the bench and let the talking commence.

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