2013-02-09 Deranged Dusk Dealings

Dusk approaches the woody, gorgeous patches of Manchester... sprawls of flora of varying sorts pepper the landscape, both wild and sometimes manicured. It is a particularly gorgeous scene--the golden yet pinkish dimming sunlight beaming lights across a semi-hidden nook off the beaten path. It is here where we find Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, settling into a picnic. Pamela Isley having the ground produce a lush blanket of soft leaves beneath their feet, and a basket in her hand has numerous, brightly-colored, yummy looking fruits. She slides herself upon the plot, slumping daintily upon the ground, offering a perfect plum, smiling.
"Dear, let me ask you... has not the last week been grand? I knew that freedom would taste sweet--but this has been like a dream. To think, I was beginning to truly think I might rot in that cell."
Harley kicks back and streeeetches out, surrounded by an emerald-like paradise where the rest of the world is still dealing with the less than pleasant season. "Sure has been peaceful," she agrees while accepting the plum and rolling it along her arm. So ..perfect. No blemishes. Nice and juicy. Perfect for driving a stiletto into and -twisting,- wrenching the fruit's innards around, letting her suck the juice right out of it like a little fruit bat.
Or something.
Let's not be hasty. Harley's been enjoying her time with Ivy! She's a great kid. But while Red's been enjoying her freedom and her never-ending commune with nature, the Harlequin's been getting a might bit ..restless. No bank jobs. No car chases. No explosions. -No Jay.-
"I wouldn'ta letcha rot in that borin' ol' place," Harley says reassuringly with a dismissive stiletto-impaled-plum wave. "People just get stale in Arkham! No fun for anyone."
 "Arkham's boring as /hell/," Deadpool agrees, hanging upside down from a tree branch by his ankles.
 "Being committed's kind of nice, for a while, anyway. Y'know, three meals a day, comfy bed, all the straitjacket escaping you can practice. I learned how to pick a lock with my teeth there," the Merc with the Mouth comments. Upside down, swinging back and forth, he pegs Harley's fruit juice with a tiny throwing knife. "Then I got bored, and I was gonna miss the Victoria's Secret Fall Fashion Show /and/ the Bea Arthur Marathon Tribute, and I was like, 'hell no'! So I bailed." He twirls another spinning knife on his fingertips. "Anyone seen that fruitcake Joker lately? Crazy like a fox on cocaine, which is my /favorite/ kind of crazy."
                Speaking of.
                A taxi driver is screaming his head off, because a redhead teenager is holding a semi-automatic pistol to his temple while screaming driving directions at him and ordering him to go faster, FASTER, NO, STOP, HERE. The taxi screeches to a halt not far from the group, having driven deeper into the wooded area than cars should really go. "Thanks~" Sin chimes, hopping out of the car. "Here's your tip~" She fires into the driver's side window a few times, splashing blood everywhere.
                Sin holsters her still smoking pistol as she walks toward the trio, licking her lips and adjusting her bustier. "Okay, which one of you fucking freaks is the BigDaddy69_420 who's been emailing me?"
A frowish, eyebrow-furled expression crosses Ivy's face, as she suddenly remembers Deadpool has been tagging along. She really hadn't devoted much thought to his presence, and written him off as another goof-off thug. Or a particularly chattery member of Harley's gang. Only when he tossed the knife into her offered plum, did she finally stop and consider him worth addressing. She considered this act to be a symbolical malice of some sort.
"Might you be interested in some fruit?" she said, with a sudden bit of earnest. This was followed by the tree that Deadpool was hanging off of... shaking. Shaking violently, as if to knock him to the ground.
With a nervous twitch, she turns to look at the approaching Sin. Others would notice her body tightening, as if she were preparing to defend herself somehow.
Harley -squeaks- and topples onto her side as Deadpool suddenly emerges from the tree, quick to grab another piece of fruit to throw at his head. "What are ya, Spider-Man?! Sheesh!" Then her fruit gets another blade stuck in it. "Hey, -watch it,- bustah. If I want blood in my fruit I can put it there myself."
Then Deadpool does the unthinkable. He insults the Joker.
In a flash she's on her feet, stiletto in her hand, getting right in Deadpool's face (or as close to it as she can, given his hanging act.) "Don't you talk about Mistah Jay that way, ya meat-headed freak!" The point is driven home, quite literally, the plum-juice-covered-stiletto suddenly -thunk-ing square into Deadpool's chest. "You take that b-Eek, someone's shooting!"
 
 Deadpool makes a *ghlhrk* noise. "Ow! You stabbed me!" He leaves one foot hooked on the branch, holding his entire body weight, and brings his other knee squarely down onto Harley's noggin.
 Of course, then the tree shakes, and he lands gracelessly on his head, body bowed artlessly. "Henpecked. I'm henpecked," he laments, to no one in particular. Without any seeming effort, he uncoils himself and rolls to his feet.  Hark! The sweet music of gunfire! This is a song I can dance to.  "Heeeeeey, Sexay Laaady!" He waves at Sin. "You must be DaddyIssues88! Welcome to the party." He draws the stiletto out from his lung and tosses it idly at Harley, only partially trying to hit her in the foot with it.
                Sin comes within a few paces of the trio. She gives Ivy a look, but then focuses on Deadpool, her eyes lidding and her lips curling into a frown as he greets her and pulls a sharp out of his chest. She reaches to her hip -- and takes out a phone. A few thumb strokes, and she narrates: "'Meet me at these coordinates and we can talk about important terror stuff. I'll be the one with the butt that won't quit.'" Sin puts the phone back into its space on her belt. "So is this a prank, or what? Because I only came out this far to kill you if this is a prank."
Poison Ivy had mentally braced herself with a myriad of possible reasons to explain the incoming woman's approach, and within seconds she had worked herself into a slightly peeved state, thinking this might be another one of Batman's slutty girlfriends (she was sure he had those) coming to try to drag her back to Arkham. The perimeter of the four gathered had a multitude of slightly-hidden, thorny vines beginning to quietly crawl out of the soil, as if to lie in wait, like a leashed animal. Trying to read the exchange between Sin and Deadpool, she turns to Deadsy and asked rather flatly and directly, with a tone of condemnation, "You're inviting people to our picnic?"
Crack! THUNK. Harley's amongst the bed of greenery, slowly rubbing her head where some knee managed to connect with her skull. ..And he's perfectly fine? A confused look is passed over to Ivy, asking "Who -is- this guy?" in that heavy Brooklish accent. At least she gets her knife back, so she can go and have another -stab- at the problem... Except that DaddyIssues99 is apparently gearing up to kill BigDadd--err, Deadpool. Harley's reaction is a lot more reserved than Ivy's.
"It's a prank, there's cameras in the trees, kill 'im!"
In her little world, anyway.
 "Oh my god, how does Bosley do it?" Deadpool demands of everyone and no one. Moving with ninja swiftness, he comically shushes Harley with a finger to the lips before she can instigate a full blown gunfight. And we all know it's powerposing, but the idea of Harley sitting there with her cheeks all puffed out and crosseyed is too funny not to do.  
 "Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, this is the notorious Sin. She's nuttier than your Aunt Em's fruitcake and deadlier than Justin Bieber's music." He buffs his gloved nails against his chest. "And we all know I am  DEADPOOL!  The Crimson Canadian, the Merc with the Mouth, the Killer Comedian. Marvel's poster child and #1 selling character! I'm an action figure!" He dramatically produces a little Deadpool action figure, and waggles it at Poison Ivy. It does a cute little karate chop action. "Hiyaa, hiyaa!" Deadpool squeaks, tapping her on the nose with the little plastic hand.
                Deadpool's speech ends with a German semi-automatic being pressed firmly against his genitals. "No, seriously," Sin says, "Is this a prank?"
                Wade may actually be able to feel, from the other end of the barrel, the pistol being...
                ...wait for it...
                ...ah, you know how that sentence ends.
For no particular reason, Ivy bursts into a sudden fit of laughter. The image of a mouthy dude getting crotch-gunned is too hilarious for her to contain her generally dour composition.
The thorny bramble surrounding the four continues to ever-so-slowly and silently rise, in all likelihood without detection... especially since the sun has nearly set, and it's the slight reduction in light blends. It's reached nearly four feet now.
Now turning to address Harley, while stepping a few paces closer to her ally, she asks her in a quieter tone, "This is an associate of yours, isn't he? Or did he just show up?"
A finger to Harley's lips does not a silent Harlequin make. "Heh 'onna 'ut dish oh nehube an' nah a nene--"
This isn't working. Without another thought, Harley bites Deadpool's finger. Not in that love bite sort of sense, it's a good, solid -chomp- that's only missing out on the flashy sound effects. There's growling involved, though. She learned that one from Lou, her pet hyena.
Or was it Bud...
When she's introduced, Harley whips a hand out toward Sin. "Nihe ha neetha!"
Crap, wait. Ivy's asking her something. Releasing her bite on Deadpool, she offers back "Met him once in Suicide Slums. Some gun for hiah. Crazy nutjob, ain't he? Tastes like licorice, too," she concludes with a twisted up expression.
 
 Deadpool arches an eyebrow ridge under his mask. "Hmm. Walther P99. 9mm automatic," he says in a thick Russian accent. "Only three men I know carry such a gun. Two of them I killed!"  Goldeneye, anyone?  
 At that moment, Harley bites him. Hard. "OW!" he bellows.
 And because, y'know, Ninja, there's that moment of distraction, and he uses it. He waits for Harley to finish her sentence to Ivy, because it's rude to interrupt, then thumps her painfully on the tip of her nose. In the same motion, with perfect MUSH timing, he twists his hips away from Sin and gives her the old stumble-bump with a heavy shoulder, just enough to put her off balance.
 "So, clearly, you're going to be the 'nice' one," he tells Ivy judiciously, cupping his chin in one hand and gesturing at her. "You're the only one who's yet to try and maim me." He gestures from Sin to Harley, with his best Simon Cowell accent. "So you two duke it out and tell me who wants to be the crazy one and who wants to be the funny one. Because I can totally see Sin trying to be the funny one as a, uh..." he gets out his smartphone, fiddling. "'Cognitive dissonance'. Man, I love Wikipedia." He looks at Sin. "Oh, right, yeah, this is a legit thing. But if you'd rather play Superman instead of talk about a job, we can play Superman. I'll go shot for shot." He draws a hugely oversized automatic pistol- a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle- and cocks it with a negligent gesture.
                Sin is knocked, jostled, and thrown off her game for a moment -- the gun goes off and a nearby squirrel explodes. She frowns, and for a long moment, it seems like she might just take Deadpool up on his offer. Then, slowly, she holsters her gun. "Superman. Hh. That's almost funny." Sin rests her hands on her hips, and looks from Deadpool, to Harley, to Ivy, to the squirrel paste, to Deadpool. "So get on with it. If I wanted to fuck around and have fun, I'd do it somewhere with a stereo system, not the fucking shithole woods."
At first, Ivy completely ignores Deadpool speaking to her... enough to address Harley right in the middle of him talking. Naturally, he prattles on all the while. "I don't suppose this is the excitement you had in mind?" Pamela asks Harley, with a slightly sarcastic whimsy, remembering Harley's earlier comment about growing restless.
She did appreciate how much Harley had humored her, visiting each and every one of her most favorite spots in Gotham over the last week, but perhaps she had been selfish? She did owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to her friend, and perhaps she may as well find a way to keep Harley's chaotic predilections amused.
In truth, Ivy had spent at least half her waking hours over the last week deeply considering her next course of action. She knew it was only a matter of time before some caped fool would try--and possibly succeed--in her capture. She needed to think bigger, and do it soon. While she had the fresh air and lack of obligations.
Turning her attention back to Deadpool, she corrects him, "Let not the blossoms of tainted seeds fool thy spastic, frivolous heart," she says airly, with an unjustified tone of dismissiveness. "I am precisely the most likely of this set to set your limbs to the four winds," she declares, with a serious yet coy smirk.
She nods at Sin, as she speaks, echoing most of her sentiment, "Yes. You haven't slyly reeled us here to employ trite self-affirming blather, I suspect." And, she stares at him. Staaaare.
Okay, this 'pick on the little one' thing is gettin' a little old for Harley. She rubs at her nose, glares at Deadpool, and -flops- back down beside Ivy (even if she's standing at this point) to go back to -impaling- and -chewing- her plum.
Of course, that pout utterly vanishes when the squirrel gets utterly fragged and another gun is brought into play. "Ooo, check it out, Red! Free entertainment!" She quickly looks around for popcorn but finds only plums. With a look of complete resignation she sticks her partially devoured hunk of fruit and goes on to finish the job. She still has to look back at Ivy and respond, though. "Not what I had in mind. Kinda fun though, innit? I hope one of 'em gets hurt! Wait--I hope they -both- get hurt!"
"Wouldn't mind if they capped a few more squirrels while they're at it, neither. Fuzzy little bastards."
Ivy's eloquent speech is nearly enough to make Harls go cross-eyed. Red's got some major class going for herself. It's like the mother trying to put up with three defiant children! Which makes this all the more interesting!
 "Prithee, yon fair maiden," Deadpool declares, in as flowery a tone as Ivy's. He makes a sort of Shakespeary gesture, standing whimsically off balance. "Fain thee not speak sore upon me, flower of the garden," he declares. "For 'pon my troth, I summon thy companion and kin not for idle games, but forswear upon the very earth that I gather you to my busom as thou dost gather the leaves and flow'ring buds."
 Deadpool turns and takes some bows. "Thank you, thank you. I'm a graduate of the Royal Candian School of Thespianism and Lumberjacking," he informs everyone. "We mostly do lumberjacking, sometimes we get drunk and do some thespianating. Which I have to admit, when I heard there were coed thespian parties, I was /extremely/ disappointed," he informs the trio.
 "I have no idea what you just said," he admits to Ivy. "I only have a 1 in my Intellect stat. But, I have a ... ten... in my ... badass money making skills. And I'm thinking, we've got just the crew we need to make some cash that /doesn't/ involve stealing from Fisk, or nicking stuff from SHIELD, or borrowing money from my Aunt Ruth."
                Sin fidgets during Deadpool's act. She still looks menacing, but less in a stoic badass way and more in a 'if something comes within reach she might twitch and stab it' way. As he makes thespian jokes she's all but holding up the 'Wrap It Up' sign.
                "So you got us out here to propose forming a mercenary crew." Sin runs a hand through her hair, moving it out of her face. "And you think an ideal mercenary crew is a guy who sounds like he has brain problems, a woman wearing leaves on her vagina, and whatever /she's/ supposed to be." Sin gestures vaguely at Harley.
                "I'm not in this for the money. I'm in it to hurt people and cripple the system, not get paid to drop safes on old ladies, as hilarious as that would be." Sin snorts. "Rethink your pitch, long johns, because you're not convincing me."
Ivy's expression shifts two times over, between a measured, attentiveness... to an irritated, judgmental tone. A subtle, rustling of leaves can be heard about ten feet away. Her wall of bramble and thorns has reaches quite a mass now, and the four are virtually isolated in a sudden, makeshift room of plants, sans a ceiling.
With Sin's words, Ivy looks more responsive to her pitch than his. Addressing him at first, while looking at Sin, she says, "While the assistance of humans is sometimes a luxury that oft eludes me, and tempting," she starts, "…but I, too, have more lofty objectives. The acquisition of meager dollars is relatively easy for those with talent." Stepping closer to Sin, with a slow pace, she is now equally spaced between her and Harley. She turns back to Deadpool, concluding, "Frankly, I'd see *her* as more fit to lead based on articulation alone." She almost laughs, stifling a full on scoff, man. A scoff!
"Okay, -hold it,-" Harley suddenly cuts in while jumping back to her feet. "If -anyone- is gonna be manglin' the English language it's gonna be -me,- so take yer 'fain thee not' somewhere else. This is a 'no-fain' area. Also, is that a Deseht Eagle?" she inquires while inching closer to give it a better look.
"Funny thing about these," she starts in while dropping her left hand onto the barrel of Deadpool's pistol. "Ya just gotta push heah and flip this and it just comes right apart!" she announces while neatly plucking the barrel right off of the frame.
Barrel in hand, she beams a toothy grin at Sin and salutes her with the slab of metal. Seems like the other woman's summary of her is just dandy. "Hey, ya like to cause some trouble, Sinnikins? Go figyah, so do I!"
The barrel is absentmindedly offered out to Ivy, as if she'd have the slightest idea what to do with it.
 *tink*
 Deadpool absently twirls the pin of the live grenade on his fingertip. "So, if we're making the argument for leadership, I'd like to point this out. One, the Queen Jester here is cute, but she's nowhere near my weight class in terms of hand to hand. She's also dangerously obsessed with my bro Joker, who is one of my three most favoritest people. Also, she's shorter than I am. Two, the Plant Lady ain't exactly an expert on human interaction. I mean, don't get me wrong- you're hotter'n hell and I bet your rose garden is the envy of the lady's club. But you're kinda single-focused as a villain slash anti hero. And you," he says, pointing the pin at Sin, "you is just psychotic with a capital S. I mean, I'm CooCoo for Cocoa Puffs, but they call me the Man with the Plan. You need direction. Focus. Someone to go 'Kill that guy!'. You think too short-term, sweetcheeks," he tells Sin. "I mean, you cap the cabbie- now who's gonna give you a ride home?"
 "Oh, also, I'm the only one who'd walk away if I dropped this grenade right now."
                Sin gives Harley a look when the court jestress tries to relate to her -- like the look an 18-year-old might give an adult saying 'let's all go to a Skrillex concert.'
                Still, Sin is quick to respond to Deadpool. "I kick his fat ass to the passenger side and then I can use the carpool lane." Her eyes are on the grenade. It's a persuasive, explosive argument. "Quit being a macho dickhead and make me a real offer, already." Her eyes flick to meet Deadpool's -- and a cruel smirk begins for form.
"Look at you, thinkin' you're all big and bad and head-honcho-y, why if I wasn't--You really like Mistah Jay!--I can't stay mad at you," Harley suddenly beams while throwing her arms around Deadpool, complete with one foot lifting off of the ground. While he's holding an armed grenade. Harls doesn't care! "I -knew- you were alright somewhere in theah!"
There's just one more issue left to resolve... She quickly looks back to Ivy, an almost pleading glint in her eyes. "Whaddya say, Red? Wanna go have some fun?" Please? Prettyprettyplease?
Ivy sheepishly accepts the offered pistol, in a passive attempt to humor Harley. It instantly slips out of her fingers, flopping densely to the ground. Oops.
Quick to respond to Harley plea, she decides to disregard every shred of her common sense she may or may not have, and nods, "Well, yes. If you have an objective of mirth and mayhem, tonight is ripe for such a pluck," she concludes.
 "Then it's decided!" Deadpool promptly drops the grenade as Harley enthusiastically tacklehugs him. "And I love Mista- Mister Joker! He and me, we're like this!" he says, twining his fingers.
 He peers down at the grenade. Three, two, one... pfft.
 "Hah! I forgot, that's one of my 'Cooperate or I'll blow us all up!' dummy grenades." He holds Harley at arm's length, looking sorrowfully at her from under his mask. "And I'm crushed -crushed- you didn't make a Star Wars reference." He flails his arms. "He's holding a thermal detonator!" he screams in a tinny voice.
 "I'm thinking we do twenny-five percent each," Deadpool says. "But I take five percent off the back end and twenty percent of the gross from any international merchandising." He nods judiciously. "And I'm thinking, we each come up with our own gig, and we all do one so we can all feel, y'know, self-gratified. But, we gotta keep the killin' to a minimum," he says, wagging a finger at Sin. "Y'know, feel free to maim and stuff. But if we get to do too much killin' of civilians an' stuff, we'll get tracked by SHIELD, the Avengers, the X-men, the Harlem Globetrotters, the Girl Scouts...."
                Sin watches all of this like she's watching something try to have sex with her lawn. When keeping a killing to a minimum is raised, her expression becomes one of outright disgust.
                "You have my details," Sin says, after a thoughtful pause. "Get in touch when you actually have something to do, instead of just wanting to play boss. If I think it's something worth helping out with -- I'll help, and take my cut." Sin gives Harley and Ivy one last look, then says to the trio: "I'm out. You guys have fun fucking on your gross sex blanket or whatever you were gonna do before I got here. Don't call me unless it's actually a mission."
                Sin turns and walks back to the taxi, and makes good on her earlier promise -- she just pushes the cabbie corpse over to one side, starts up the car, and then peels out, driving recklessly fast for an area without any real roads. God help the poor deer.
Pamela, suddenly and looking strangely self-conscious, follows Sin's departure with a tenuous stare. "Crass, yet honest," she decides quietly, returning her gaze to Harley. "What sort of wrecking spree would revitalize your spirit, m'dear?" she asks, hoping Harley won't think of anything *too* attention-grabbing. She did, after all, want to continue a few more weeks of freedom, relatively off the radar. As fantastic of an escape artist as Ivy was, there were always unforeseeable factors. She did want to have another encounter with Bat-Man, naturally, but it would have to be on her terms. Like a mouse trap.
"Yah, well I'm crushed that ya flicked my nose," Harley shoots back, complete with glare and folding-arms-across-chest pout.
Of course, that they're agreed to do this? She just -squeals- a delightful little tone! Then, like flicking a switch, she's back to pissy and broody. "Those Girl Scouts are such a bunch of prissy, stuck-up bitches... They ain't nothin' without their cookies."
Then Deadpool's talking numbers and percentages and whatever the hell. "Hey, lighten up, wouldya? Thought we were in this for the -fun,- not for a buncha printed paper! What--no killing? Mistah, your fun appeal's goin' down the tubes faster than Urkel's careeah."
And there goes Sin. "Thinkin' I like her," Harley wistfully announces.
Back to Ivy? She's ..well, she's not sure how to answer that one. "I 'unno! We'll wing it. Gotta show ya how ta have a good time in this city, after all."
 
 "Girls," Deadpool declares, slipping a comradely arm over their shoulders. "Girls, we're gonna paint the town red. Or green! Red's a bit overdone. Ivy, I'm thinking we need to do a random act of ecoterrorism. Because New York needs a bit more greenery, right?" he asks, giving her shoulders a squeeze.
Ivy, to everyone's likely surprise, given Deadpool's suggestion an actual moment to consider. "A bit of a hike..." she starts, "And unfamiliar..."
Ivy looks out into the darkened sky above, the moon looming bright overhead. "Perhaps stepping out of the snipers heirs of Gotham is a good idea, for me. I've had to be particularly careful with my face on the newspapers," she ponders, referencing all the media related to her recent Arkham escape. "I do know of several corporate, bio-engineering laboratories that could use some new decour," she suggests, grinning.
Harley suddenly -claps- her hands together, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "It's a date! I mean--well--ya get the idea." ..Ahem... "I'll bring the crowbah!"
She's helping! Really, she is.
Now it's Ivy's turn to get a big ol' hug from the overly enthusiastic Harlequin. "This is gonna be -such- a great girl's night out, Red!" Nevermind the fact that Deadpool's going to be part of it. She can pretend.
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