My Alibi

Summary:
March 02, 2014: Catwoman takes a job, and meets some competition.

Coventry, Gotham

My Alibi Nigtclub


Characters

NPCs

  • None

Mood Music:


My Alibi Nightclub, Coventry, Gotham

Entry in to the nightclub is almost obscured by it's appearance alone. A garage loading door followed by large oaken double doors acts as the entrance to this dive of a hideout and club. Once inside the monochrome rust to gold and brown color scheme flavored with smoke from all areas shades the feel to an almost dusty taste. Hanging suspended from each corner of the room is a bronze cage with a dancing girl for each. Along the northern wall is a finished wooden bar inclusive with stools. A stage is opposite the bar with a piano pushed to the back and heavy curtains that hang down on either side. An amp, guitar and drumset rest unoccupied upon that very same stage. Several rough carpets sit upon the open club floor. Around the corners of the nightclub several costumers lounge, it's quite, unoccupied for the most part and the jukebox beside the bar plays current music, right now, John Newman's Love Me Again is filling the musty air.
A single bouncer playing cards with himself sits on a stool by the bar, one who doesn't even bother to look up at who may pass through the door. If you found the place and are brave enough to walk in, usually you belong here.

Smoke rises. Plumes like spiraling feathers fighting gravity upward towards the clubs ceiling, basking the cage dancers in its fine perfume of cancerous toxicity. Though sometimes more dangerous things rise out of the silence, or near tranquility for a place like this.

One of the cages bearing a dancer in its gilded hold spins partially, taking what balance the captive has and knocking it off, the blonde making a small noise as fingers curl over the bars and she pauses to look up and meet the goggle'd gaze of Catwoman who is sprawled across the top and slowly slithering down its side, both hands braced on the centralized horizontal bar. She had to scope the place first before hr presence is revealed, sometimes calls like this get…Touchy and it tasted something like a setup. Though content now she comes from the shadows and lowers before the startled dancer. "How can you work like this? Like a bird in a cage, a show for the eyes of those who would just eat you."

The smile on ruby lips tells nothing, just as masked as the rest of her features.

"Don't let me stop you, dance little birdy, sing for your supper unless you become it…" Flexibility bends her figure outward, pushing her feet from the top bow of the cage to have her arch outward in a slow swinging flip, spine bowing in time to swing her feet overhead and then downward, landing near silently before the solitaire bouncer.

"Whoah, hey, whoah. Where the hell'd you come from?" The bouncer's bald bulldog masked face wrinkles up in surprise as his table rocks and the card stack he'd been creating falls over. "Catwoman right? Gotta be. Boss is waiting for you in back." A big hand lifts and points at the door beside the bar. Collecting himself he clears his throat straightening up.

The side door next to the bar is unguarded, the bartender leaning over as Catwoman approaches it to give it three knocks, "Another ones 'ere." Is announced before the room opens up, revealing a third figure, mask on, this one a flat blue one. "Catwoman? Meow. Welcome to the False Face Society babycakes, boss is upstairs. " This man isn't shy one bit in watching her move. Even leering and leaning close-like just so he can take a whiff of the air around her. Yeah. Creep.

Up the stairs and around the corner voices are heard. Top of the stairs is the VIP area caged off with an open window separated by chainlink above the bar below and nestled in to that same corner is a booth occupied by four individuals. Two with their backs to her, one of them a tall man wearing a trench coat, dark brown hair falling around handsome features that host black eyes with red pupils. Opposite this man is a slender fit figure in a red and white skintight suit, face covered in a mask that exposes only his lips and mouth. A leather jacket of his own and tactical pants on. No weapons but across his chest is a splayed out emblem of six sided dice.

"Well well, last of our acquisition specialists has arrived, the infamous Catwoman." That voice, thickly accented in a Brooklyn regional dialect belongs to a black skulled man in a pinstripe suit. Black Mask. Leader of the False Face Society and numerous other criminal organizations all right here in Gotham. "C'mon dollface, join the rest of us and have a sit." His needle tip shoe pushing out the chair across from him.
To his left another man sits, a tall man with pale white skin, unnaturally pale white and a dark suit with a purple tie. His hair cut in a distinctive flatop, as he smiles sharp teeth are visible. This man is unknown to most around the table. He prefers it that way it makes him feel new again, "You can sit here." He offers with a smug smirk, his claw tipped hand tapping one of his knees.

Catwoman doesn't even seem to notice the looks, but behind the lenses of the reflective goggles she is lingering her own gaze on the men as they blatantly stare until periphery can no longer be reached and her attention wanes.

The door opening has her silently entering the space with those gathered, the goggle lenses flicking from their reflective golden to that or a red, a swift scan over the room and space and it flickers back like a television that had a moment of interference on the screen.

The main man speaking does not bring her to a pause outwardly, but the chair he kicks out to her is eventually taken by her own claw tipped grip and spun up onto on leg so the seat can face back to her and she can amply step it back like it is -meant- to happen that way before she claims her seat, legs straddling the backrest that arms fold languidly across the top of.

Redirecting her gaze towards the others and then the man with the lewd offerings her lips only lightly curl into a smile as she stretches, emphasising that bow in her spine as she does so, dragging nails over the wood of the seat and splintering it. "I am sure your lap would not like what I do to this chair. It's safer I sit here…"
Roman Sionis aka the Black Mask, leader of the False Facers has a reputation as a sadist, sociopath, maniac and straight up dangerous. Any contract from him is flirting with a side of danger most of the criminal underworld avoid or approach very very VERY cautiously. The giant wicked looking albino beside him only makes the levity of this situation seem that much more… thrilling? Perhaps for some.

"You be surprised." That crooked smirk remains on those pale ghast white features.

"Don't mind my associate. He's new around here and hasn't yet learned how to treat his playmates." The Black Mask says before waving a gloved hand towards the other two, "Catwoman, meet, Chancer and Gambit. They're competition and kinda coworkers for you all at once. All my thieves in one place."

The dark haired man with the burning red eyes and black pupils tips his head, two fingertips uplifting to his brow in a salute, "Bonsoir, ma cherie. I would have dressed for de occasion had I known a tresor like yourself would be 'ere."

Chancer only shrugs, "What's the job, Black Mask?" His attention obviously not as taken as everyone else's with Catwoman. Maybe he doesn't like women or perhaps he is just all business.

"I doubt it." Catwoman says in response to the razored albino as vinyl clad fingertips now take to tracing over the burrows her claws left behind in the wood of the chair backing. Her tone even rings that of boredom already, but the curl lingering on one corner of her lips ever states that lingering playfulness, deadly or otherwise.

Gambit now gets the light lowering of her chin in greeting, speaking in response. "Oh but monsieur, if tresor is what I am intended no need to even dress.. Amant." Competition? Take advantage of the obvious - distract if possible so soon, or set the pace… Which is what she may just have to do with Chancer.

Goggled gaze now turns back to the Black Mask and his darkening companion, both of which she is trying to ignore and absorb all at once. "They'll figure it out, but yes, do tell."
"Ah… touche, mon chaton." Gambit smirks. A devilish looking thing when those gleaming red orbs settle upon ones face so directly.

"Hey, hey, enough of whatever that is. Save that kinda shit for later when yer not on my dime." Black Mask snaps at Gambit and to some extent Catwoman, leaning forward his hand splays out on the table and points a finger off the other hand towards the trio of thieves. "This simple, I know you alls heard this kinda thing before. I want you to steal somethin' for me. Two people got something very important circulating between them. This sounds easy but it's really important and I'll pay you half up front and the other half when you complete." Scrunching back in to his seat his hands rest on his calf (the one draped over his knee). The door to his right opens and a man with a tattoo covered face walks out clutching three dufflebags, each of them dropped on the ground, purposefully left open so they can see the contents. Cash, lots of it and in each one. "One for each of you just for accepting. How you like them apples?"

Chancer now grins, his hands actually rubbing together. "I'm in. I can already smell it from here."
Tombstone glances over at the bags then back at Black Mask. "Just for…"
He is cut off by Black Mask as the man raises a hand. "Bout you other two? Huh? It's easy. I just demand your absolute silence and for the tree of you to disappear when it's done." That 'Brooklyn' accent thick right now.
Gambit rubs his thumb over his chin. The action showing off his oddly designed gloves, several fingers exposed the rest covered. "Dats a lot of dollar jus for sometin, easy, frien. I tink you ain't tellin' us de whole story."

"I'm getting to it, Gumbo. Bout you Pussy Cat? You in for some quick cash? Maybe I'll even forget you been slinging around East End, mussin' up my business."

The money is eyed, obviously having /some/ of her attention when that body suit groans, a sound heralding her leaning forward to overlook the contents, the chair rocking forward onto two legs and teetering there until booted feet form the other 'legs' and keep her firmly in place - hovering right over the bag.

East End is -hers-, she has made sure to burrow claws in almost every nook and cranny, like a feline marking its turf, but she even knows better then to truly argue with Black Mask, not here, not right now, not when the ball is in his court…

"Business is business, nothing ever said we couldn't be playmates in that regard." Her tone has lost its playfulness, that purring lilt, its got something lingering there now, a caution shared along side this 'Gambit.' "How many lives is this going to take?"
"Aw c'mon now. That's a lot of dough." Black Mask almost sounds frustrated as he straightens up and waves Tattoo away. Tombstone grunts, "It is. Probably more than they're worth."
Chancer looks at the 'super' gangsters and then grabs up a bag, clutching it as if it was a newborn child he was shielding against the wind. "I'm in. I don't care about these other two. What's the gig? Wait wait… it isn't messing with Batman and his crew is it?"

Black Mask laughs, "This is Gotham, Chancy, we all end up messing with Batman. But nah, not if you play your cards right. No Bats. We'll make sure he is busy elsewhere."

"I heard dis town had a rodent problem." Gambit adds in before a card flashes in to his hand and he twirls it around, slicing it between two fingers before a second and third appears then they all just as quickly vanish. "Well de name is Gambit. I'm game."

All eyes fall on Catwoman now, "That all depends on you sweetness. You plan on killin' anyone?"

"I meant my own." Catwoman states now, deadpanned utterly as the others take in their pride and joys and accept the inevitable. No crossing the Bat, so much is covered there, though /that/ is not one of her concerns - not at the moment.

"Though anyone else's, it all depends." She is still leaning over her bag, not touching it but there is a possessive air already there, it had been since it landed there. Propping her chin on her folded arms that still remain propped on the back of the chair a simple rise of her hand and a flick of her wrist signify she is all ears. "Keep talking, so far you have struck the right chord."
"Sounds like you're all in." Black Mask's chin tips up and he motions towards the other two bags. Tattoo hefts each one up and shoves one in to Gambit and the other is dropped at Catwoman's chair leg. "Down payments. No need to worry about signing anything if you haven't heard my name mentioned around town you will. It isn't good to cross me." He motions again, non-chalantly towards the table, "Drinks?" The tattoo faced man begins pouring red wine in to several glasses.
"Matter at hand… " Three papers are slid forward each of them with a name and a face on them. "Picked a mark for each of you. Go ahead and look them over."

Catwoman's 'mark' is a man named Henry Tsuchida. Born 12/01/1973. Deputy Director of Gotham Planning and Permits. He drives a 2011 Bentley Mulsanne. Stands 5'7" and weighs 205 lbs.
"We've made sure they'll be close to what we want. It'll probably be a thumb drive or even their laptops. A little uh.. emergency is going to happen at their workplace and under their safety management protocols they'll be carryin' it around with them for the next couple days until things get updated. You got a small window of opportunity before they change everything and that starts tonight, at exactly 9:13. On the dot. I want what their info, it'll be an obvious file, be marked confidential or some shit. Details will happen when we got you the spot."

The blue mask who had walked them up the stairs drops three earpieces on the table. Black Mask carries on, "Use these, they're encrypted. No one but is will be on them. No one." Stressing the word as if it will re-assure everyone. "I don't care how you do it, when you do it, but once we give you the go. I want what they're all carryin'. One of them is a decoy. He won't have a thing… that's where you guys end up competition. I dunno which one, none of us will until it comes to pass. I think these chumps just got bored and decided to come up with some confusing way to keep their secrets secret. Lil kids making up adventure stories turned adults.. like them tools always makin' tree houses on the Discovery Channel. I dunno. Just do your things. I don't want this coming back on me either so don't get caught. You get caught, you're on your own. I'll pretend I never heard of you. Capeesh?"
Gambit picks up his earpiece and looks it over before glancing up, "All dis cash just for dees tree, eh? Piece o' cake but still… " A shrug and he tucks it in to his trench coat. "If dat be all, I'm takin' you on those drinks den it's down ta business."
Chancer likewise picks up the earpiece and tucks it away. "Consider this a done deal, Black Mask. Maybe I'll even pick up another share." He grins side-long at the other two. Gambit doesn't pay him any mind. He has said his piece.

Catwoman is listening, though the motions are all casual, even picking up the earpiece and tucking it beneath the zipper of her 'catsuit', rezipping it to hold it /snugly/ in place like everything else save that whip that is coiled around the curvature of her waist much like a prehensile tail, the small nine-tailed ends slipping over her hip to tick weighted ends together like pendulums.

"You do like taking /chances/ don't you." Catwoman states, tilting her head and gaze towards Chancer, the chair coming to fall back to all fours long after she is already standing, leaving her bag just before the teetering furniture while she accepts the offered glass with one hand, the file in the other. No reaction to seeing the -who- or -what-, just an idle swirl of her wrist like aristocracy asking for a refill.

"I'll drink to this arrangement."
"Drinks are on the house. Just remember 9:13 tonight the show begins so keep your cool." Black Masks hands rise up and clap together, "C'mon then. Lets go downstairs and celebrate." The man stands and his cohorts all begin to move down the stairs, Blue Mask, Tattoo and himself.
Tombstone lingers long enough to stare once more at Catwoman, "Kinda remind me of someone. Makes me want to hurt you and touch you all at once."

Chancer grins at Catwoman and makes his way down the stairs, quickly once he hears the white giant talk. He's already scheming anyways.

Gambit on the other hand hefts up his bag slinging it over his shoulder and motions down the stairs, "You heard de man, drinks on the house. What're you have'n, chaton?" Blatantly ignoring Tombstone and trying to divert attention from the metahuman. Maybe hoping Catwoman will take the cue also. The freakish albino isn't one to tangle with.

Some offers, Catwoman cannot refuse - the one Tombstone is offering is a double edged sword she wasn't about to test the tip of even though lips had parted for a fitting and catty response.

Instead she huffs out a small 'huh' with Gambit's interloping commentary, letting her gaze leave Tombstone as she speaks something a /tad/ different to him. "I don't like being compared to ex'es." Moving forward Catwoman passes her bag and sweeps it up in a liquid motion, hefting it over her shoulder to dangle down her back.

"Wine is good, one glass. Will see about indulging after.." She doesn't pause in front of Gambit, but in passing that placid facade shifts and a small smirk begins to appear.


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