When Harley Met Pooly

January 13, 2018:

Harley Quinn, Deadpool and the Jackson 5. What else do you need to know?

The Tin Roof Club

From the outside the Tin Roof Club resembles a factory, blending with the rest of this area of East End, at least along the Eastern front, but from the Tin Roof Club onward small venue's mottle the area, none as drawing as the neon lights and the velvet rope banisters that wind their way towards the large double doors.

The entry opens up to a large expanse of floor space, a few stairs leading down to the main stretch, the tops of them lined with neon tubing, giving that pale white floor a reflection and openness that casts reflections of light further outward.

From neon bars to small round lights in the floors ledges and the sides of booths, the darkness is only split by the careful placement of tubing and small tinted bulbs in insets.

Spanning to the right is the Diamonds Bar and Lounge area, the back of the bar behind the lines and rows of stocked bottles is mirrors, from shelf to ceiling, cut in angles to resemble that of the head of diamonds. Stools rest before the bar made of glass and mirrors, braced in metal and cushioned in black and white to keep the look 'clean', what makes this spanse the lounge is the benches that sprawl the area, circling tables or just in circles together in comfortable clusters, spreading to the back where a drape covers for further, yet, restricted access.

Spanning to the left are tables set for gambling and the more rowdy of those that frequent the place, a great divide from one side to the other formed by that of the dance floor and the runway of the stage. Where this side lacks a bar lined with stools, the stools line that stage where a closer view of the dancers and show can be had.

Hanging from the ceiling there are 'birdcages' sizeable enough for a dancing body or two and on certain nights they tend to harbor the dancers, just out of reach of those floor level but in view if they sit and recline to enjoy the show.

Just enough shadows and barely enough light, this makes for the perfect urban jungle keep.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: None.

Plot:

Mood Music: I Want You Back - Jackson 5


Fade In…

The last time she said a word to Deadpool, Harley Quinn is fairly certain that she called him by some profanity or another. He was blocking her view of the Maximoff Twins' latest act of terror, and that had made her profoundly angry.

But the party got ruined anyway.

But, considering their introduction, Harley was shocked when she saw a viral video online that… that seemed to be referring to her. I mean, there can't be that many hot girls with a clown gimmick, right? No. No. That was definitely referring to her, she was certain.

And so she called. And left a message, offering to meet Deadpool at Gotham's own Tin Roof Club on a Thursday evening. Which is where she is right now, sitting at a table that gives her a view of dancing girls and close proximity to the bar where she is presently sipping on a Concord grape martini. Because it sounded good at the time.

She's decked out in black jeggings and a red tank top, her leather coat pulled up tight. Even in the dark, her blonde pigtails set her apart as she happily drinks in the dark.

The Tin Roof Club is already dark but somehow it manages to get darker. It might actually seem like a bad thing for a moment but the sudden opening chimes of one particular old school hit comes through the club's speaker system.

"Ladies! Gentlemen! Psychos, Bad Lip Readers and Politicians That Shouldn't Be In Here Right Now! The Tin Roof Club is being held at gunpoint to present… THE DEADSON 5!"

Lights straight out of the 70's illuminate the stage, one after another, revealing one after another, poorly dressed 'Deadpools'. Seriously, these costumes are so home made that they can barely be called costumes. Not to mention that the guys wearing them seem to be from every walk of life that could be rounded up on short notice. There has to be at least one Stay-At-Home Dad, one Little Person, one Black Nerd and one Starbucks employee.

The center place in the line of badly dancing Deadpools remains empty until such a time as the music picks up and those lyrics are ready to be badly sung. By who else?

DEADPOOL

"When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around!" Deadpool is lit up by the final spotlight and he's in his normal costume, complete with bellbottoms and an afro wig. His costume may also have been bedazzled beyond repair. "I DIDN'T WANT YOU AROUND! Those pretty faces always make you, stand out in a crowd!" Deadpool spins and points out into the crowd, which kicks up another forced spotlight… on HARLEY QUINN!

It becomes a full on performance at this point. One that looks so bad, but so good, but so so bad. Nobody is on beat. Nobody knows their moves. Only Deadpool doesn't seem to care. Instead, he's only dancing and singing directly to the spotlighted clown gimmick chick that he saw, what, one time? Okay, maybe two. He read her Wiki Page. Sue him. "But someone picked you from bunch, one glance is all it took. Now it's much too late for me, to take a second look…"

Yeah, this is going to go on for a while. Deadpool is prepared to perform the entire song whether his back up dancers are ready or not.

"OHHHHH BABY, GIVE ME ONE MORE CHAAANNNNCE…"

Oh god. He's moonwalking.

The clown, in her toned down makeup, is confused when more of the lights start dimming in the club. Harley, like many of the other patrons, looks upwards in confusion. Her pale gaze turns towards the stage and given her due consideration because one showman is best and fully appreciated by his ilk. When she sees Deadpool, her head tilts to one side and a bewildered smile starts to turn the corners of her mouth upwards. Because that? That is funny.

But, then AUGH. SUDDEN LIGHT. It BURNS.

A hand flies up to shade her eyes as she momentarily squints against the brightness of it.

As her eyes adjust, however? Yeah, she can hang out in a spotlight. That's totally okay by her! Acting shy, she coyly pulls a hand in towards her clavicle to point to herself, arches her eyebrows, and purses her lips in the universal pantomime of 'Who, Me?'

The Deadson 5 just keep right on singing and dancing through this entire song. Somewhere through the dance number, though, Deadpool has given up on trying to sing everything else and tosses the microphone off to the side, jumping down off the stage and striding over to where Harley's sitting.

"You got this, Tito! Take it home, baby!" Deadpool passes through what probably would be a comic panel if this were on paper and he looks like normal Deadpool by the time he gets over to the table where Quinn has decided to wait for him.

"Holy shit biscuits. You're even hotter up close." Deadpool almost falls when he yanks out a chair to sit down. "This is going to sound as insane as Alex Trebek hosting Love Connection but dare I say it?" Deadpool plops his elbows down on the table and leans into his gloved hands, masked face and all, "I want to have your babies."

Deadpool has no shame in his game and figures he might as well go all in. He started with a musical number and everything.

Meanwhile, on the stage, the Deadson 4 are still trying to make it to the end of this song.

As Deadpool crosses the room, Quinn crosses her legs in a most ladylike fashion and her fingers splay over her bared collarbone. So demure!

"Why, this is so sudden!" she declares, her hand then lifting to fan her face as though lightheaded.

Then, with a sudden change of demeanor those legs uncross so she can lean in and her eyes open wide as she speculates in her most up-and-down pinball cadence. "I mean, if I say yes and we don't work work out, there's the custody battle. And then I don't get to see the kids except on the weekends. What kinda life is that? Maybe we could start with going out for corndogs?"

Deadpool's mask would make heartshaped eyes if it could. He hasn't managed to steal the unstable molecules from the Fantastic Four yet. That's what he's working on next. That'll give him one of those cool masks like the cartoons. But for now, he's just sighing wistfully as he thinks about all the future stuff that's going to happen.

"You're right. It's sudden. But in my line of work, you never know what could happen. I mean, I could get killed. You could fall in love with an assassin that sounds like Will Smith. The server could go down." Deadpool's ticking off these options on his fingers. "Let's just say, when life hands you lemons, you reach out and grab 'em. And squeeze them. And honk them." And Deadpool's gaze is definitely at Harley's chest right now. He can't help it. He's Deadpool.

"Corn dogs?! Yes! Phallic food is some of my faaaaaavorite." Deadpool grins beneath his mask as he gets and idea. "Oooh! Tacos! Corndogs, tacos and… hm. Something's missing." Deadpool starts tapping his chin in thought. "I feel like we're missing violence. Or cheese. Or cheesy violence?"

Harley gasps melodramatically as both hands come up as though to still her beating heart and her grin grows maniacally wide. Dark eyebrows waggle suggestively. "Violence, you say? I can definitely get on board with gettin' some violence in, and then the hot and heavy-on-the-innuendo food after. But first, I must ask…"

The woman of questionable repute narrows her eyes in Deadpool's direction, voice lowering in that spotlight to deadly seriousness. "How do you feel on the subject of gimmicks? Because I have a personal brand that I've spent some significant time building, and I'm not sure that I'm willing to compromise for some viral video star I've just met. I'm sure my merchandising deal is just a minute or two away!"

"How do I feel about gimmicks?! Gimmicks are great! Wait, rephrasing! YOUR gimmick is great! I love it! This whole sexy clown thing? You're totally the reason that those Halloween stores stay in business for an entire month every year!" Deadpool is in gush city.

"Listen. I don't have my eye patch and it might be too early to talk about this. Maybe after the corn dogs and the sirens, but I'm going to be putting together a group of badass people with badass gimmicks to make some badass money. And I think you would make an epic part of that. We're gonna' have guns and knives and a super cool mega awesome tricked out base of operations… as soon as I find one. It's gonna 'be some serious keen gear."

Deadpool's all over the place. He's always all over the place. He can't even keep his thoughts straight right now. "Althoooouuuugh, now that you mention it, how do you feel about skin tight leather? I mean, same gimmick just more leather. Tight. TIGHT leather." Calm down, Wade.

"Money, ya' said?" If Deadpool didn't have her attention before with the shameless flattery, he definitely has it now. Harley's are bright and wide, her smile kilowatt-charged. "Ya' tell me where ta show up, Tootsie Pop, and I'll wear my very best leather. I'll even bring ya' a grenade bouquet as a housewarming present! I mean, grenades are kinda an evergreen present." She doesn't even care that she has no idea what kind of job he's suggesting.

Jobs are hard to come by, and… well, this seems like a good one!

"Or are you more an ammunition kinda guy?"

"Grenades?! I love grenades! See?!" Deadpool goes onto his belt and pulls off three of them and starts with the juggling. Of course, he keeps the pins in. This time. He doesn't want to blow up potential partners in various crimes. Not to mention she's hot. He's not going to just blow her up! Not yet, anyway!

"This is the best news I've had since I found out where Francis lives. Of course, when I showed up, it was a different Francis." Deadpool's distracted by a potential flashback sequence. "… I wonder if they ever found his other finger…" WADE! Focus. Harley Quinn.

"Right!" Deadpool stops the juggling and starts hooking the grenades back onto his costume. "Okay, so you're in. That's awesome. If you have any friends you want to bring that want to make some Dinero, bring 'em along. I'm sure we can find something for them to do, shoot, kill, maim… y'know, the usuals." Deadpool rubs his gloved hands together. "Oh! Are you on MercSpace?" He starts digging around in his billions of pouches for his phone. "I totally need to poke you."

"Corndogs first, poking later, loverboy," chides one blonde in black and red, winking suggestively in his direction. Then, pointing upwards with one finger with its red lacquered nail, she indicates the spotlight which is still shining with a cruel intensity. "But you can kill the lights? I'm startin' to feel like it's my first time in custody." A pause and then a shrug. "Although I seem to be distinctly short a pair of handcuffs." Another wink and waggle of her eyebrows.

Deadpool doesn't even have to look. The gun gets whipped out, twirled, aimed and a single shot goes through the spotlight and probably off to go into some unsuspecting human being that probably doesn't deserve to be shot. Whatever works. The gun is brought back and sat down on the table because trying to reholster it wouldn't look as cool. Not to mention he's just fine with always having a gun available for grabbing and shooting.

He likes to grab things.

"I've got handcuffs. Zipties. Shoelaces. Don't you worry about that, Foxy Clown. I've got more restraints than Christian Grey." Deadpool leans onto the table and tries to waggle eyebrows that cannot be seen because of his mask. A mask that is probably the only reason she's still talking to him. Grrrrr. Francis. Wait! Focus, Wade. Stay focused. "We'll use as many as you want."

Slipping down off her barstool, Quinn downs the remainder of her little purple martini and then turns a chair and straddles. Leather clad arms curl atop the back of the seat as the woman make herself comfortable. "Let's start with the corndogs. And the tacos. I like those, too. And if it all sounds good, I can introduce you to a couple of my friends. Make it a downright party!" Setting her chin down atop her folded hands, Harley continues to grin away.

"I got great friends! A few of 'em may be up for a job that actually pays cash. People get so choosy about jobs sometimes. They want things like references and 'relevant job experience.' …And no criminal record." Melodramatically, the clown princess sighs. "It's so sad, yanno? I'm very dedicated to my work."

"I know a great party planner. We live together. Her name's Al. She's deaf in both eyes. Tragic story but /hilarious/. I'll tell you all about it after our second corndate. Don't want to come on too strong." Deadpool doesn't even realize he's done nothing but come on too strong. Oh well. Them's the breaks when you're ugly as seven sins beneath a sexy red and black mask.

"I mean, really, who doesn't have a criminal record these days? Am I right? It's like a fruit cake on Mother's Day. Everybody gets one and then you can't get her to leave the cake and go home. Insane." Deadpool kicks back in his seat and gets more comfortable. "So. What's on your criminal record? Anything good? Like tax evasion?" Deadpool twirls the gun around on the table idly and smittenly.

Harley shrugs again, a gesture full of humility. Because she is a very humble person. A hand wavers back and forth, the wrist rolling smoothly as she begins to rattle off her sheet. "Oh, yanno. A little armed robbery. A little assault. A little assault on a police officer. A little b and e. A little kidnapping. A little—" She stops suddenly, and the smile fades as she realizes something. A question she never asked.

"Oh, wait. Did you want it alphabetical or chronological order?"

"… How am I just now finding you? This is so unfair. It's almost like we're from two different universes our paths never destined to cross until a textual representation of our different universes was created and combined to allow for this moment. This moment right here." Deadpool's smittenness can be seen right through his mask. He's practically swimming in whatever it is that Harley's talking about. Not to mention her eyes. And her whole entire vibe. He can't even play it cool. Not that he knew how in the first place.

"Okay, okay! Don't tell me anymore. I have a copy of my file at home and if you have one of yours, we can share them over a bucket of stolen diamonds and popcorn some night." Deadpool is planning out so many dates. He's almost forgotten that they aren't even a thing. Yet. Apparently, the Deadpool has plans.

"Important question, though. Favorite weapon of all time?" He needs to know this. For, well, reasons.

As Deadpool rambles, Harley tilts her head and raises an eyebrow quizzically. She, clearly, followed none of that. Not until he asks her a very important question. A question for which the blonde has a ready answer. "My mallet," she informs him emphatically, eyes wide as her head bobs with the weight of that answer. "Definitely my mallet. There's just nothing like the feeling of solid wood in your hands, ready to pound on somethin' yanno?"

"I love pounding things with wood. It's a great stress reliever." Deadpool reaches up to grab both of his katanas out of their holsters on his back. He holds them up for Harley to see and immediately goes into explanation mode. "These are my best weapons right here. I mean, I love the shit out of some guns but when I want to get up close and personal, maybe decapitate a few people, I use these bad girls right here. Bea and Arthur." Deadpool stares at his swords for a moment of proud to be violentness. "Bring your mallet on corndate. I want to meet it. Maybe we can find something to smash with it. Or someone!"

At the swords, Quinn sighs wistfully. "Weapons are the best, aren't they?"

Stretching up out of her seat, Harley goes to the bar and leans over it to steal a pen and a cocktail napkin. Going back to the table, she scrawls ten numbers on the square and then rotates the paper to face Deadpool. "Look. I gotta get goin', but if yer serious about the job, call me." She shrugs, grinning crookedly. "Or about the corndogs. I can get onboard with corndogs, too." Winking, she points one finger gun in Deadpool's direction. "But yer payin'. Or stealin'. I don't care which, so long as the gentleman is doin' the work."

Deadpool stabs a katana into the napkin and holds it up, biting it off the end… while still wearing his mask. It's weird. It's awkward. It's Deadpool. "Oh, don't you worry about a thing, Color Me Badass. I'll be taking care of everything."

Deadpool twirls his katanas and shoves them back into the holsters, hopping up to his feet and spinning around to the Deadson 4 and whomever else is still paying attention. He doesn't know if Harley's still in the room or not. He doesn't care. Instead, he steps towards the stage and holds up the napkin in victory.

"I GOT THE DIGITS!!"

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