Secret Smile(x)

November 11, 2017:

Sugar and Grifter meet. Nothing nice about what "spice" it is over.

Sheldon Park - Gotham

Clubs, bars and storefronts cover Sheldon Park; a hotspot for the night
crowd. It's commercial and residential sections are formed almost horeshoe
like around the large grassy central hub of Sheldon Park that acts as the
last bit of nature in this location, everything else has been plowed over
and been constructed upon; although a historical section of Sheldon Park
still exists that caters to the Greaser Subculture of the 1950s. Stylized
diners with jukeboxes a big thing here and even a portion of the green
section of the park cut out for an old drive in movie theater, a novelty
that has unexpected popularity and traffic. To the east are trolly car
yards, expansive docks and giant buildings housing massive ships.
Unfortunate being as popular as it is to tourists and the party crowds it's
also high in crime (close proximity to Bowery and Park Row will do that).


NPCs: Joker Henchies



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

To the East of Sheldon Park:

The Trolley Yard is seeing life, but a life that has criminals bearing the face masks or painting of Clowns, a part of the lingering 'True Believers' of Joker, /a la/ a gang that emerges through the chill in a haze of smoke that bears a green lining. Hoods are drawn up on some, a lighter sparks before ne to light the blunt in his lips, the ember glow pitching shadows over painted face and the glistening red of 'nose' that looks more like a lingering blood drop down the bridge to linger on the tip just over the flame and blazed end. "Got 5 minutes. After this we skate."

The others listen, one burly 'Clown' looking as if he was fitted for his suit, and then Buffet of Protein and Weights made it a Mankini of… Weird Proportions, fists a meaty palm around the strap of a duffel bag, even as icy rain begins to fall around the Yard.

Sugar has things to collect, her assignment sent to her little phone as usual with dates, times, and end desires…

The results, however…

Hand TNT to a match. In the distance a spark lights, the black on white skeletal face painted for the Dio is reflected back, the zippo snapped closed and waved off a fishnet clad hand, arm laen high in the webbed gloves, beneath tattoos skin another shadow like the paint on her face. "We got quatro, mi 'amigos', presente." A lift of hand and fingers curl in offering.

Even as the light snuffs out before her cigarillo, though, it is not hard to miss the additional ambush in the shadows around her. Three more…

"Why do you want this additive for Smilex….Girly?" One asks as the clown in TIGHTTIGHTS steps behind him.

A roll of eyes and a mutter. "…oy.. Ni siquiera puedo…"

And suddenly that alley between trolleys light up in eruptions of gunfire and… confetti?

Slimex. For fuck shake. The Joker should have kept the formula of his poisonous death-by-laughter gas secret like a proper super-villain.

Then again, maybe he did and this is a false lead. Either way Grifter is getting some cash out of this. Plus his good deed of the month, getting rid of the poison and maybe the poisoners. Since he expects guns, the mercenary is wearing Kevlar under his coat, and of course a good amount of guns. Starting with the shotgun in his hands as he moves to intercept the gang and…

Gunfire and explosions. But of course, it is Gotham. He accepted a contract in Gotham again and that means unexpected explosions. Every. Time.

No more sneaking, mask on, night vision. The blonde man seeks cover. And targets!


The explosions are rapid-fire, and in the wake of strobe effects barking from the muzzles of heated metal every movement seems flickerframed.

The woman in the middle sent to retrieve is holstering /Graffiti/ Painted pistols into the fluttering edges of her skirt, pushing past a glitterati of skirt-layers while Grifter is left with his own opposition.

Yes another may have joined, but she has a massive rubber sole pressed to 'Macks' face, the badge giving him close shave along his jowls while the bag is plucked from his grip and the tiny package is withdrawn from 'filling' in the duffel and stuffed in her hoisted 'brassiere' of bosom.

The bag is zipped over his face and she walks away with a "glow-stick" of baggies beneath the curve of breasts in a corset now alight in a skeletal press of torso, causing the painting upon corsetry in a skeletal lining of sternum to reflective!

Sugar does not care about the blasting behind her of remaining fire, in fact… " …putos.. "

A look at broken manicure and she is walking towards the spotlight of clubs, but her turn to re-light the cigarillo has her glancing back towards Grifter and his fray.

Grifter tries to keep an eye on that bag, but there are a few gangers on the way, and they are running around. Like headless chicken. And they will do something dumb soon, like shooting someone. Possibly him.

So he shoots first. Both guns are blazing, firing so fast they seem on automatic fire. But they are not. The glance back lets Sugar see a True Believes hit on left shoulder, right wrist and knee almost in the same second. Grifter twirls in the middle of the gang, firing, firing, firing. The gangers just fall… to pieces sometimes, screaming and bleeding. Not even one is dead. Most won't be able to wield weapons for months.

End. No more gunshots. But no silence. Plenty screams.

The man with the red bandit mask holsters one of the guns and reloads the other with calm celerity, trotting towards the bag. Glance. "Damnit," mutrer-mutter. He spots Sugar. "Hey! Hey you! Skull-girl!"

The frilled edges of the pieces of tutu sway high on thighs, staps of garters line down the back and fronts of to clasp the tops of thigh highs in a desparation of tattered fabric. The main thing likely seen before the corset-pinched waistline as Sugar sashays her way away, the graffitti'd pistol left in one hand slod beneath a lifted frill in her stroll. "Sugar…. Azúcar.. Skull girl.. got'ta be kiddin' me, motha /putos/ think just 'cuz I deal in Dia…d..muert… Girl… Mujer! Motha' Cabron!" A shake of fist and the bag is hefted over her shoulder while her halved stick is re-lit.

Aclub entry is unnoticed, just an alley, where once lights skim it the graffitti on the walls glows! Smoke billows… And at the door no ID is asked for in a card format, 'Mugshots' are taken, and a light goes green or red - door opening to a pulsing Club beneath.

Now what?!?

Grifter gets to the alley a second too late. "Sugar, fine. Espera un seg, chica! Crap." Looks like it is time to refresh his Spanish. Except what the woman said was about as Spanish as whathefuckistany.

At the door of the club, Cole hesitates a second, then pulls off his mask, holsters his other gun and slips inside. The change of attitude is instantaneous; he goes from hunter to reveler in no time. But it is skin-deep only.

Where is the skull-girl.

Sugar is there, the bag she "lifted" is gone, and her repose against the bar is held in pose, the angle of her body one that has the small of her back against the eave f the bar while a shot glass is slid her way.

It glows in the dark… The worm, does not…

Fingers darkened in paint of nails as well as tiny scrawls of ink wrap the Barbie-sized drink glass and tip it back, the contents gone.

Sugar's mask is painted on, it wont peel away, it only smudges beneath the droplet-trails of alcohol before she speaks his way once he nears. "You persist. Not your fight, Americano, I do not wait, /tio/."

Everything is skin deep, hence why her skin is painted. "Be careful, uness you wish to end here."

It takes a minute, but Cole finds Sugar. She already had a drink, means the bartender probably knows her. So the blond man walks to her and shrugs, giving the woman a lopsided smile, and leaning on the bar at her side. "See, chica. Its my fight 'cause I get paid to fight. But if you make this easy, I share the cash with you. I am not looking for enemies and I am not greedy." He shrugs, friendly-like. "Besides, those goons would have followed you here if I had not been there, hmm? Do not be too greedy yourself."

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