Once Upon A Midnight Dreary

Summary:
January 17, 2015: An old acquaintance makes his re-appearance as another dies. Let the shit hit the fan.

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

  • The Alley Cats
  • Jezebelle

Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]


It's the usual weekend night at the Tin Roof Club, smoke machines billow out fog along the floor where white light emanates beneath dancing feet, neon tubing that lines walls, counters and edges flickers.

Body's writhe, on the dance-floor, in cages, and along the stage upon poles. You can look but you cannot touch…

Unless you pay to go behind the blood red curtain.

The stretch of the stage is surrounded by crescent seating, VIP only, where those of higher status and paid higher dollar could roll high stakes and get front row seating to the show. At the very front and center of the stage a cushioned seat arches the foreshadowed shape, a table lain before it bearing a tray of glasses, a bucket of ice in display like a bed of diamonds.

This seat is frequently left empty and roped off, if not for the woman seated upon the curved table and using clawed grip to pluck ice cubes from the tray and drop them in her glass while that sapphire green eyes dance along the stage with approval and then out across the masses enjoying themselves with a gluttony this place dared to offer to those of questionable intent.

And right there in that cornered section next to The Woman was Melody. Though not as finely poised at her, she was curled up, feet upon the seat, on top of her knees is a laptop which is held tuck and tight with her fingers. This time, there was no game being played, but random bits of code lining the computers as her eyes flash an unearthly glow depending where the lights would hit. Every now and then she would stop, gazing towards The Woman with a little bored expression, until the laptop was snapped shut, feet lowered, hardware put to the side to lean elbows upon the table.

"So, I'm going to tell you a joke. And you're going to like it." She says to her, turning so that she was face to her side, her face taking on an all too serious expression.

"So. I tried to catch a fog today." She pauses, for dramatic effect. "Mist."

And she waits. Waits long enough for her features to crumble and she was set to giggles. Her hands clap with a spot of glee and a wiggle was issued that made specially curled hair for this small event to bounce.

The wayward X-Man Gambit has made the Tin Roof Club his favorite 'dive' in Gotham. He frequents it when he can find the time. Time lately being something he has had plenty of, not even his 'family' in Westchester knows he is back from down south. Back from home with news about the Collector, the Guilds and that ever nasty Darkhold. No, he stopped here first, one of his favorite spots on the planet.
"Embrasse moi tchew!" The Cajun spits out at the man across from him, the sly smile on his features daring, challenging. "You try that again. See what I do to you…" The person in question a rotund little bearded man with pinched scowling features. The reason for the attitude from the laid back rogue? Who knows. No one seems to be aware but the thief and the chubby porn producer looking individual. As sharp and heated as it is it seems to bleed off as the man slips back in to the grip of the Club.
A light noise escapes the dark haired scoundrel and he plucks the toothpick from his lips to replace it with another, the mint sucked out of that one. He's dressed in a black two-piece suit, the buttons of the maroon shirt underneath undone and tussled, like he might have slept in the outfit.
"Another Whiskey Sour, mon ami." He motions the tender at the Diamond Bar. Yeah, he's rubbing elbows with the high-rollers.

What is it they say about playing with fire?

It was months past, some time in October, when Kwabena Odame willingly entered the Darkness. Entered may not exactly be the right term; swallowed up by it, devoured by it, transported into its netherworld of twisted evil. He had business to conduct there; a plan to sort out. In and out, done. That's how it was supposed to be.

Except, of course, that once he disappeared into the shadow, he didn't come back. He was simply gone, inexplicably.

What goes into shadow is either devoured, or spat out.

Behind the blood red curtain, there's no shortage of shadow to be found. A wealthy man, his net worth earned through questionable means, looks hungrily upon the stocking-clad leg strung across his lap. Another handful of Benjamin's are plunged between the young woman's thong and suspender, followed by a perverse growl when she answers by running her heel down the inside of his trousers. The man leans forward, staring at the woman with eyes that drip of lust. "Marry me. I have a fucking fortune I could share with—"

The shadow behind them suddenly bulges, snuffing out much of the light. An unearthly noise fills the chamber, the floorboards creaking and rattling. The rich man and his escort suddenly go toppling end over end, bowled off their sofa by the sudden disgorging of a man from the shadow.

The man is naked, skin covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Hair has grown unkept into a messy tangle of African curls, and an untended beard has taken up residence upon his face. There, Kwabena lies, curled up in a ball where he shivers, uncontrollably.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!" Its the questionably wealthy man, though it's doubtful his voice will be heard over all of the thumping music…

Catwoman, in her languid sprawl upon her side, has her arm resting along dangerous curves, fingers rising and falling to the beat, when fingers curl those metallic claws flash and press - dimpling into the pliable contour of her hip, threatening to tear that liquid black asunder should due pressure be applied…

Melody's joke is heard, and for a moment there is a blank expression upon Catwoman's face, but when Melody breaks into her own laughter Catwoman cannot help but smile, the laugh unable to be kept back now, shaking shoulders while lips curl, her head moving back and forth in a slow shake at the sheer /cheese/ factor that joke wrought.

It was hard to -not- laugh.

Though Remy appears to be back and in no laughing terms, the wired connection to security already told her of his arrival, the small disturbance easily looked over but her eyes do seek him out, wondering when the man suffering from a form of withdrawl is going to join them without putting them at risk.

That is when another disturbance is put through the comm unit. What they may not hear, security cameras pick up with ease and it is radio'd through, two of the large guards that stood on that side of the curtains now pulling them back to try and discreetly withdraw Kwabena from what he interrupted.

From Remy to the back room, those eyes shift, narrowing as goggles are pulled down over her eyes and she murmurs. "Show me the visual feed."

"Madame, this is fucked, he came out of /nowhere/…"

All this has the way the front doors fling open going missed by Catwoman, at least for now…

To drive the point home?

"You get it! Fog is like mist! And if you try to catch fog it'll fall through your fingers. And you missed!"

There was another crack of the laugh and a smack of hands as her head turns slightly, her smile dying down and head tilted, her skin aglow with yellows and blues as the feed sings through the nanites embedded within her brain and ears. Eyes crawl black for but a second, camera angles accessed, her brows lowering into a frown as figure is seen, naked.. upon the floor.. that ass looks familiar and..

"Why are there cameras back there? That's kind of nasty."

Feeds which would be accessed later, of course.

Melody doesn't look at the feeds, however, her zoom going wide and into the cameras as the sticks that the men in her security room take a step back from knowing that Melody is in play. The sight of Remy had her wiggling once again, shoulders twisting and turning with a dance, glad to see him back and.. the door. What was with that door?

"I'll be back." She murmurs, snapping the internal mind cameras to the side so that her vision could take precedence, slowly sliding her way from the booth to put Chuck Taylor's to the ground, sliding past the bar to issue a tap towards Remy's shoulders in a fun game of peek a-boo.

To the door was her direction, the winters were harsh in Gotham and it was possible that the maintenance man would get fired for this particular hiccup.
"If you be touchin' me again you ball of chum… " The oddly moody Remy grumbles only to spy over his shoulder and catch Melody, "Ah! ma chere. I was wondering when you or de lady of the house would show. It's a busy night, huh?" The toothpick bounces in his lips as he talks, glancing past Melody towards some of the commotion towards the back. "Too much to keep track of, I expected a slower night… " Those red on black eyes drift about behind his shades to settle back on Mrs.Kenway. A tip of his whiskey sour towards her, "Whats your poison dis night?"

Kwabena offers no fight when the big guys heft him. His eyes are staring off into nothing, both haunted and bearing the mania of a caged animal. He's dead weight in their arms, making it a bit more of a struggle for them to carry him off to wherever it is they're going.

Eventually, the man begins to mutter incoherently, but they are words from his native language. "Awu. Awu dabi hawala. Awu hawala unihee, dabi awu, awu, awu!"

The silver eyes are beginning to wax more caged animal than manic. No longer staring off into space, they dart around, inspecting everything. A crack in the floorboards. A power outlet. The meaty hand dragging him along. The glowing red EXIT sign above a door.

"To protect my girls." Catwoman answers Melody before her voice now finally picks back up into the clubs communications. "Bring him here. Please put something around his waist."

"Ma'am.."

"Use your suitcoat, I can buy you another."

The men holding Kwabena now turn to take him towards the front, one left holding him while the other removes his suit coat and cringes as he tries to figure out how to do this without… Touching. Tossing hiom out back was much easier.

Remy holds her focus now as her figure shifts from its lay across the table in feline repose to swing legs down and to a cross, dangling over the edge. An expectant wait for the surprise guests arrival…

That is when the current chatter of the comm is cut off and the argument at the door is also radio'd as well as audible, brought on a razor edged breeze of cold from outside.

"She will want to see her now, the more you argue with me the less —-"

"Who is it?!" Catwoman hisses into the comm now, a sharp annoyance in her tone.

"They say this is Jezebel. I don't recognize her Madame…"

"You know Jez, if you don't recog—."

"Rephrase. I /can't/ recognize her."

At that note now Catwoman's attention is split, her goggles being lifted from her face to rest atop her crown as she looks towards the door and gestures them in. Several girls in their 'street wear' unfit for the chill and two men that look like thugs, but each bears a small claw effigy scar beneath their left eye. Flanked by secuity they are weaving their way to the table, some dancers even pushed aside because in their grip and being kept concealed is a body wrapped in blankets.

Instead of going to the door, her attention was now focused upon Remy. She stops in her tracks, sliding up to the bar as if she were the coolest of the cool, an arm leaned against the counter top as she flashes her drinking buddy a grandiose smile. "Gimme what you got." She pauses. "For a pork chop!" And then, she was laughing and clapping again, this time wiggling standing up, and with a quick lean in she gives him an awkward hug as she was prone to do.

It really didn't matter if he rejected, cause she was going in for the kill, the kill of hugs and cuddles until she sparkles yet again, the chatter catching her attention. "Uh.. somethings wrong I think.."

She steps away from him now, her gaze falling upon the crew that just entered the door, a frown upon her face as she glances back towards Remy. "Way too busy tonight.." She comments, remembering his earlier statement. If she was going to see what was up, she might as well go back.

Though, something else catches the little hackers attention, the men covering the one with the coat, her face scrunches as.. no. Couldn't be.
"For a what?" Remy looks confused a moment, "Maybe you two sheets to de wind already, Melo… " The hugs, the Cajun can return those, an easy arm loop around to pat on the backside while not spilling a drop is all to casual and easy for the man.
"When something not wrong here?" A small shrug and he turns to walk the direction of Catwoman, Kwabena and rest of the brou-ha-ha. "Les go see whats amiss." He motions with two fingers to the tender before they depart though, meaning two more sours, another for him and one for his companion. THEN they're off.

Still, no fight is offered, even when the suit coat is wrapped around his waist and he's put upright onto his own two feet. The man's naked hands and feet seem weathered, as if he'd survived in the wild for some time. Meanwhile, the wealthy businessman and his escort are being questioned.

"I'm telling you, the son of a bitch came right out of the wall!"

"He's right. But it was more like…" The dancer ponders. "It was like the wall became shadow, and spat him out."

Crazy talk.

Once they have brought Kwabena into the main room, his eyes begin to dart around with a renewed paranoia. The music, the people, the fog and the lights, all so unfamiliar. Memories of another place, locked somewhere deep within. For, you see, he may have been gone from this world for naught but three months. However, in the Darkness, time is meaningless. He's virtually unrecognizable, given the years that passed while he was trapped within that horrible place, but there are very few with silver eyes like those.

Kwabena's lips peel back into a feral sneer, and a hissing sound comes from his mouth. Fingers clench and muscles tighten, but he still refrains from moving once they've brought him out.

Even if some people are /moved/ out of the wa on the dancefloor it is passed off as a momentary disruption and they are shuffling back to their dance with themselves, with a partner, or in obvious seek of one by the lascivious display the put on without being on stage themselves. The men of the self created and proclaimed 'Alley Cats' cross with the 'ladies of the night' here in East End forming their own group of foresworn allies to catwoman. Known by face, nicknames and markings they place upon themselves they keep watch where Catwoman cannot be, and feed her the information. East End is truly hers… Or was.

Kwabena now revealed in all facets is recognized by Catwoman, though his hiss wrought sneer brings her eyes to narrow and with split attention she is gesturing to Melody. "Wasn't this the one you were romping with a few months back? Is this how you left the poor thing?" A light clicking tsk from pursed lips. It would have come with a small playful smile if something coming with that group did not bring a weight to her shoulders.

Remy's approach now gets a small lean, her lips pressing to his cheek in a subtle sweep.. Likely an unspoken apology before she is snaking his whiskey sour from his grip and into her own.

The group stops at the foot of the platform that gives one step up to her personal table, shuffling as the blanket wrapped body is brought forward, others stammering.

"We tried to tell her it was too good to be true.." A couple of the girls said between sobs, mascara riddled down cheeks in a picturesque display of forlorn whores.

"We couldn't get the plates, there were none, it was too fast Leonne. I swear, we tried and when we heard the scream.." One man says, another interjects..

"I tried to grab him out of his SUV, but that motha' fucka' had his drive floor it… I slipped in blood." His hands rose and the brownish red stains were evidence…

"When we're able to sleep, things are okay." She comments towards Remy, but she wasn't going to make mention of the ass grab until days later. When all the commotion died down and it was put out of everyone's mind. She held onto grudges and commented upon things /super/ late. As is her way.

Following behind Remy with her own drink in hand, her eyes remain placed upon Kwabena with a critical gaze,, until it was lifted and a frown was placed upon her lips at his state and..

Shell shock sets in. She didn't know what to do about it, but he was alive and.. safe now? Though his current state says otherwise, she gives a faint nod towards Catwoman, failing to see the joke and a mechanical order given through comms to draw the man towards her room. If that would make a bit of difference.. remembrance of the interior.. she didn't know what would.

It was the visage of the bloodied man that made her stomach crumble, her hand lifting to cover her mouth as she turns her back to the entire scene. She was getting used to blood and carnage but.. one had to prepare for something.. like that.

No ass grab! Appreciative pat. Remy has an eye for fine art and the human body is the finest of them all, he very much likes to consider himself an expert in that particular subject. He and Melody are close but nothing more than drinking buddies, she should be used to his flirtations and at times inappropriate habits by now.
The brush of a kiss from Selina gets a return smile and a brow quirk as she takes one of those sours. "Ah, merci. Thank you for taking de extra load off." The smile edging higher at the corners as he glances towards Kwabena, "I hope dis one is up to date on his shots, he lookin' kinda feral." The /other/ glass that is yet to be stolen from his hands lifts to his lips once it's down again he speaks, "Remy, Remy LeBeau." The rest of this business, he's trying to keep a blind eye too. As best he can at least. This is after all a professional establishment and he is trying his best to keep his nose out of Gotham's special quirks.

Silver eyes dart to Catwoman when she speaks. There is a brief moment where the manic expression fades in favor of something more inquisitive. Quickly it returns when his eyes fall upon Remy, and the others who have come in.

Wasn't this the one you were romping with a few months back? Catwoman's words echo in Kwabena's mind. It's a language he hasn't heard or spoken in approximately two and a half years, but it serves as a splice between this world and the place where he'd been.

When his attention strays past Melody, a similarly inquisitive look momentarily vanquishes the manic nature. His head even tilts to the side, just so. However, before anything else can happen, he turns toward the scene of gore. His head tilts the other way, and the inquisitive look doubles in intensity. Like a knowledge-hungry child reading the encyclopedia, or a mathematician carefully poring over an impossible equation. "Awu," he whispers. "Awu hawala namanu."

A smile curls lips beneath an unkempt beard; a smile of fascination. An appreciation of something beautiful. He takes a single step toward that body, wanting nothing more than to rid it of its blanket, perhaps to feast upon its freshness. The tongue licks it's lips before the muscle grab him by the shoulders and pull him back where he belongs.

…a few months back?

Months. No, that was more than months. Two years, at least… he'd stopped counting after day 453; even counting the days was nearly impossible in a place without sunrise or sunfall.

We couldn't get the plates… …too good to be true… …it was too fast Leonne. I swear… Is this how you left the poor thing? Remy, Remy LeBeau.

This was his home. Some of these people his friends. They were speaking English. The blood looks so delicious.

It all closes in upon Kwabena like a curtain of suffocating black. The manic expression returns, only this time, it looks as if he might strike. And, if it is who they suspect him to be, that wouldn't be a good thing at all.

Fortunately, the half naked man nearly disappears into a cloud of black smoke. The suit coat falls to the ground, and the cloud goes bursting toward the ceiling. Gone.

"See?!" Exclaims the man who was in the back room with the woman. The woman throwing her hainds up in the air and walking back into the back room with an irritated flick of the heavy velvet curtain.

"Clock's still tickin' baby.." Muttering under her breath. /This shit must have mescaline/. Though just to be sure… Her hands are smoothing over the wall and she is looking under the chair when the man comes back in..

"I say we take this elsewhere.." But he cannot help but take advantage of her 'seeking position'.

Shift. That was it, Catwoman is parsing it all with that man and Melody, but her brain comesto a complete blank and halt when Gonzalo bears his hands to her. Her eyes trail from them to the front of his shirt and down to his pants and the white ADIDAS, now pink, red, black tie dyed.

Her upper lip draws back…

"He was paying well, he offered her $10 Grand, all the finery. Us girls we do good here Leonne, but no one has ever offered /that/ good and Jez wanted to be sure. He wanted the best and she wanted us safe.."

Catwoman's clawed hand goes up and clawed fingers splay, her other hand bringing the sour to her lips for downing. When the glass falls is when her other hand finally does upon the blanket, tugging it and in turn drawing them nearer.

Though at the final point she slides from the table, liquid shadows in her step as the small cluster spreads to allow her through, those remaining unmoving are the ones keeping the body aloft.

Peeling back the blanket her whole body goes rigid. Sometimes some things just sound worse then they are, but seeing it…

Jezebelle, whose real name was Hailey Daugherty no longer looked like herself, she bore two x's carved over her eyes, jagged from the struggle, wavering and peeling down her cheeks into mockeries of tears where empty sockets stare upward. The gruesome picture did not stop, the weapons used were one chopstick made of honed metal, another a stiletto switchblade, both in the arteries of her neck like Frankenstein plugs, the only thinks keeping her from bleeding out…. At a more rapid pace.

She was alive, barely, her shallow breaths rattling through blood in her lungs.

"Out…" Catwoman's voice is low at first, a hoarse whisper to her guards.

"Close the Club."

"Outout…"

"OUT!"

But if they know better, Remy and Mel are not included in this. Her yell brings a wave of silence, the music stopping.

Hearing Kwabena's voice had her turning back, her eyes watching him, and once they meet.. yeah. It was undeniable. Especially when he turns into smoke. "SHIFT!" She screeches out.. but it was too late. He was gone. Her hand reaches up to smack against the side of her face, her eyes wide, almost everything hitting her at once makes her want to snatch the glass from Remy's hand. But she was a nice person, she doesn't snatch, nor will she ask. She was just.. unusually silent.

That was until her eyes fell upon the girl, and a loud, retching sound slips from her lips, her hand covering her mouth as she turns yet again. Her face? Buried safely into Remy's arm, especially with the promise that the three of them would be drinking this night until the cows come home.

She knew that the order wasn't for her, she lived in this place, practically breathed it. Jez was usually the one to show Melody videos on how to properly apply make-up. She liked the lady. She really, really did. And to see her like that made her heart hurt.

"This place always keeps the most interesting sorts." Remy comments about Kwabena before taking his final drink from the now empty glass. His hand then reaches for where his pack of smokes was but instead hits a case of toothpicks, with a sigh he shoves one in to his teeth.
"Do I wanna know what be goin' down? Remy really is trying to be a good boy." Not that he can claim he is much for discipline. He's failed on that road, time and time again. A true pagan of the good times that he is.

From that back room a giddy squeal followed by a giggle breaks the record screeching silence, but one guard goes back there and that stops. "What the hell, man? I still have time.." The guard is shoving a hundred in the pocket of his unbuttoned white shirt, lipstick smeared across the exposed portion of his chest. Though as he is shoved out towards the exit and the girl is ushered to the back his sweep across the Club lets him know he is not the only one.

The crowd is pushed out the nearest exits, the cold winds slicing through the place at this midnight hour, even clearing out the smoke tha no longer pushes from machines, neon lights flickering and making this seem like a broken down and eerie surrounding as a napkin tumbles and twists across the empty dance floor.

The body of Jezebelle is left upon the table reverently, the sobbing women also being taken to the back while the blood soaked man is the only other left standing save her body guards, Mel, and Remy.

"Lock down the streets. Close off East End. I will be giving you and your boys lists. Every and all SUVs left in /my/ town are to be traced, tailed, and checked. No one comes, no one goes without me knowing." Her voice is trained, and as Jez tries to breathe and look with non existent eyes it all ends in a cough of blood and a seizure.

"Now!"

The order is barked as guards come in to hold Jez down and the Aleey Cats exit into the night, closing the doors behind them.

"It's a threat, but not one I can peg single blame to. Search all surveillance all over east End Melody." Her voice is apathetic, though when Jez's seizures slow Catwoman's voice cracks.

"Then Remy may not want to stand too close."

Instead of watching the girl upon the table and those surrounding her, her eyes took to those who were ushered out the door. Keith, her beloved friend, would make sure that none put up a fuss or try to steal un-popped bottles during their vacation of the club scene. Her hand draws from her face to her forehead, eyes still wide, curled hair soon uncurled as she smooths her hand back, the constant closeness she keeps with Remy serves as a reminder that things would be alright.

She didn't have to look to know that the woman was suffering. She could hear it. The damage was too extensive for her to even offer up a spot of blood for healing. It wouldn't be a spot. It would be enough to kill Melody herself and she was sure that the woman wouldn't want to live through the trauma she suffered. Most would kill themselves to forget.

Once the order was given, all Melody could do was nod, drawing herself away from the crowd to the closest table to sit. Her arms aptly folded along the table to provide cushion for her head that is instantly felled as soon as she snapped her consciousness into the signals and waves of East End.

"Dis is sick. Need to get her a doctor… " Remy whispers watching the scene unfold. "Or put her out of her misery." A gulp of his sour and he glances at this present before ducking away from the situation. A quick scan through his phone and he pulls it up, mashing a few keys. "Pick up pick up." Next number, "Fence, dis is Remy. I'm in Gotham… no, I ain't cheating on you. This serious homme, you got any of your people close to East End in de medical profession? I wait. Call me back soon as you can." The call ends and he waves a hand in the air, "Someone do something for her."
One of the rogue's hands reaches out and places itself on the woman's shoulder. "Hey, chere, listen to Remy's voice. You be in good hands here, away from Gotham real soon, somewhere nice, somewhere wid a lot of sun and some smiling faces." An exertion of his will, of his mutant gift as well and he just speaks in the most euphonious, soothing tones he can. Looking from Melody to Selina as if one of them could offer more help than what meager amount he is able. His gift of 'hypnosis and subversion' is really just a trick of the mind. Not something to the extent of what a Xavier or a Psylocke or a Jean could pull off. Maybe it will help. Maybe not.

Catwoman is standing there with no motion coming yet while Remy seeks to soothe her and melody goes to work as well as the self-proclaimed lead of this 'homage' group of 'Alley Cats' to bring East End to a shut down. This was not just a murder, this was the lead girl beneath Catwoman on the streets for her people, this was an act of silent war.

No longer silent.

Catwoman says nothing as she moves to Jezebelle's side, one hand pressing to her shoulder and she leans down to whisper in her ear, her cheek pressed to the bloody woman's own.

No fanfare, no show of it, as her mouth opens and her body rises in seek of air like a grounded fish Catwoman's other hand rises and shoves that stiletto deeper, bringing the woman's body to a still. Her suffering over.

Rising to a full stand Catwoman looks to her two friends, a tear falling through her own blood stained cheek, but her voice held no signs of remorse. "I will bring order to Gotham my way. They will all pay."

"Lets keep our heads with us on this one, Selina. Revenge never dun no good for anybody…" Remy says quietly while his hand draws free of the dead girl's shoulder. At least it's over for her. The vibration of his phone going off has him lifting it up, "Ey, Fence. No, it's okay. Turns out not need one anyways. I tell you bout it some other time, yes, yes, Il faut je m'en vas." The call ends and he looks from Melody and Selina once again before turning around to stride up towards the bar, he'll mix himself some drinks since everyone is being ushered out the door. No, an entire bottle is in order. He'll share with them of course…

Melody was done with a rise of her head, her attitude somber. She'll talk to Catwoman later, there was no sense in getting to business right now. This all needed to be processed, not to mention the footage. And like a sad puppy following someone with food, she follows Remy towards the bar, hopping up upon the stool, a quick lean over to snatch an empty glass which is placed right in front of her.

"I'll have that drink now."


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