Ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry Bomb!
Roleplaying Log: Ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry Bomb!
IC Details

Okay, sure. The last time Harley harassed Gotham, she brought a tank. This time? This time she has something entirely new cooked up to terrorize the poor people of the city.

Other Characters Referenced: Moonstar
IC Date: April 05, 2020
IC Location: Gotham City - Upper East Side - Robinson Park
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 06 Apr 2020 05:07
Rating & Warnings: Some cursing.
Scene Soundtrack: Cherry Bomb by the Runaways
NPC & GM Credits: NPCs by Harley Quinn
Associated Plots

The last time Harley Quinn decided to throw a grand soiree for Gotham, it meant that days of terror concluded with her grand parade through Old Gotham with a tank. She was arrested. She fixed that situation.

It starts on WGTH, an Oldies station.

"HelloOOOOOOOOOOooooOOoooOOooOOooOOoooOOoooo, Gotham! Thank you so much fer joinin' me this evenin'! Usually yer evenin' DJs would be weaving their spell of nostalgia from their public station, but I decided that it was time fer one of my oldies but goodies! …Well, kinda. Anyway, here's the thing, this is yer favorite Queen Cee, Harley Friggin' Quinn, hijacking their feed and here ta play a game! Across the city, I've placed 13 great surprises. But I ain't tellin' no one where they are. NOT UNLESS YER CALLER NUMBER 7! So go on! Gimme a ring, and see if you can find one of the clues. If ya can guess, ya get ta be a hero! And if ya can't…"

Harley's shrill voice drops theatrically low and sultry as she murmurs against a microphone, "Joke's on you."

Back to the bright and cheery, she continues, "So call me! On the line! Call me, call me anytime…"

An old style jingle follows with surprisingly high production value, singing out ten lovely digits.

* * *

On the sidewalk about three blocks from a blues club and bar, there is a red-haired woman in a bomber jacket, blue jeans, and combat boots. She's leaning against a lamppost and smoking a cigarette, absently toying with a guitar pick. The woman looks pretty normal – only the right side of her face is a ruin of burn scarring, and a patch covers what should be her right eye. The left is crisp blue.

She seems content to finish her cigarette in peace, at least until things start going pear-shaped. The radio broadcasting from a nearby business wafts the sweet, dulcet tones of Harley Quinn, which sounds pretty normal, at least until she starts going off the rails into crazy town.

Wait, that implies she ever stops living there.

Isa Reichert frowns around her cigarette, eyeing the loudspeaker a business or two down she's listening to and frowning even more.


The word is heavily accented in Russian, tone gravelly and scratchy from too many years of hard drinking and smoking. Isa's already moving, striding down the street so fast she's not quite running, elbowing people out of the way where she has to. Her destination? A pay phone about a block distant, in sight but out of reach, as she fumbles in her pocket for quarters.

Guitar pick, guitar pick, crumpled dollar bill, book of matches, handful of pennies… ah. Quarters. Isa picks up the pace, sprinting the last few meters and using the corner of the booth to fling herself around the doorway into it. She's already shoving quarters in and dialing the numbers.

She remembers all ten, in sequence.

This is probably stupid and her superiors are probably going to yell at her, but this sounds serious, and if she can help prevent something awful from happening, it's a small price to pay.

The red-headed woman waits impatiently, absently tapping her fist against the glass and waiting for someone to pick up.

"<Come on, come on, come on.>" This, muttered under her breath in Russian.

* * *

It had been some time since Ryan had been to Gotham, around Thanksgiving to be more precise spending the holiday with his new friends he had made. This time however his trip to Gotham was for business. He is here tracking down a potential lead in his investigation that brought him here to Gotham this night.

As Ryan is making his way through Robinson Park to his potential lead, the craziness that Gotham is known to have awakened again and sturs up more chaos.

As Harley's voice blasts over the WGTH Ryan listens to her 13 great surprises she has placed through the city. Now Ryan has never run into Harley before but he has heard stories about her and the Joker and the mayhem and destruction they are known to cause. After Harley finishes her talking and her digits are given, Ryan sighs to himself. "Of all the times for the lady clown to act out on why did it have to be tonight dang it!"

Ryan takes in a deal breath and lets out another big sign, then pulls up his mask over his face and pulls his hood over his head. "So much for that lead now! Now I need to help put a stop before anyone gets killed by this crazy lady. Ryan pulls out his Bluetooth earpiece and puts into his ear and X-Men cell phone and dials the digits that Harley gave and with muck maybe he will be caller # 7, probably not with his luck though. while he dials in the digits, He is making his way to the nearest vantage point be it a building or tall tree inhopes to get a more birds eye view of his surroundings.

* * *

The Deadscooter putts along the Gotham Streets carrying the rider known as Deadpool. He's fairly quiet for once, rocking a wide brimmed sombrero and a fake mustache over his mask. He's paying little to no attention to anyone and everything that may be around him as that very slow scooter continues to ride down the street.

Armed to the teeth, as per usual, Deadpool isn't even worried about the legion of randomized Gotham family scum that are shooting after him. Bullets just rip through the flesh of Deadpool and while he may be in pain, he's too busy shifting the Deadscooter into the next gear… which only makes it go one mile per hour faster.

Deadpool comes up to a corner and puts his arm out to signal before turning the Deadscooter down the next block so that he may try to make sure that nobody is harmed in is… hasty(?) escape.

There's a boombox attached to the back of the Deadscooter which is playing some Twisted Sister through the speakers right now. Deadpool's even bopping along to the beat. And there goes a final bullet through him.

* * *

IN HER SOOPER SEKRIT HIDEAWAY, Harley pulls on a very vintage curly cord that belongs to a very vintage rose-colored phone. A man in a latex clown mask beside her clicks a few switches so that the call is very audible to the radio listeners. "Is this caller number seven? Do we have lines on this thing. Whatever. HELLO, CALLER! Thank ya SO MUCH fer callin' in tonight's game! Ya get the first clue. Why did the fisherman stay out to sea fer three days?" Stammering fills the other side of the line. "Ahhh, he was hopin' ta catch a BASS-oon! HA! So. There it is! A CLUE. GOOD LUCK!!!"

There's a slam of the phone, and then Harley's voice cuts back in. "Okay, so, I'm bored already. LET'S TAKE ANOTHER CALLER!"

That would be when Isa gets lucky, and Harley's voice rings through the line. "HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO, and thank you fer calling Harley Quinn's Fun Connection! Who am I talkin' to tonight?"

* * *

Hopefully her agency superiors will understand that she was busy hopping into the line of fire to potentially save civilians, and overlook whatever mess this whole incident manages to develop along the way.

Isa taps the side of her fist against the glass for a few seconds as the line rings, already turning to eye outside the phone booth, skimming the street to see if anything actually changes out there.

Nothing yet. Her eye narrows.

A guy on a scooter putts down the street at negligible speeds, wearing a sombrero and a fake moustache, pursued by bullets and…

What the hell?

The line picks up before she can contemplate that too much.

Isa has to physically shake her head to clear it and shift her mental gears back to the problem at hand. She frowns around her cigarette, taking precisely half a second to consider out how to approach this.

"Isa Reichert." The voice is low and hard but still clearly a woman's, grizzled as though from drinking and even heavier smoking. The words themselves are strongly accented in Russian. She keeps her tone neutral. "Was not always good with puzzle, but figured, 'why not?' You have clue?"

* * *

Ryan gets to his vantage point on a nearby roof, surprise surprise not caller # 7, but thankfully someone is as Ryan hears the clue announced over the radio station broadcast.

Ryan ponders the clue given knowing that the answer is never going to be simple "Ok think, 'Why did the fisherman stay out to sea fer three days?" Stammering fills the other side of the line. "Ahhh, he was hopin' ta catch a BASS-oon.' Bass-oon? Bassoon! That's an instrument, usually used in orchestras or concert bands. That means this surprise must be at some kind of music performance here in the city."

Ryan believes he has figured out the clue now wonders where the heck this could be. Gotham is a big city and there could be dozens of places having some kind of music performance in the city. Ryan closes his eyes and using his telepathy, stretches out his mind to read people's thoughts in hopes of learning of a location where a musical event might be taking place that would have bassoon being played.

* * *

"I dooooo," Harley croons into the phone. "So here ya go: How does a rabbit like his beer?" There's a brief pause, and then the clown on the other end of the line cackles. "WITH HOPS. Good luck, there, Isa! THANKS FER PLAYIN'!"

* * *

The phone quickly clicks and then Harley picks up again. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey! So: here's yer hint…" There's a slamming of the phone again as the caller begins his, "WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU LIT—" "TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES," she tells her listeners, laughing nervously. And then, finally, Ryan will make his way into a call with Harley Quinn herself.

Unseen, she kicks her feet up on the tv tray in front of her. "Harley Quinn, atcher service! Ready to play?"

* * *

The crazy lady on the other end of the line does in fact have a clue. Will wonders never cease? Isa folds her arms and leans against the inside wall of the booth, tilting her head to eye the street outside it again.

All's calm, for the moment.

How does a rabbit like his beer? With hops. It takes a second or two for her mind to switch gears, and to pick apart the thing in the language in which it was spoken. So, it must have something to do with a bar. Maybe that place down the street she was looking at? Great, three blocks of backtracking.

Scowling, Isa doesn't even bother to grace Harley's thanks with a response. She hangs up, pushes out of the phone booth, and power-walks the three blocks back to the bar, growling profanities in two languages under her breath as she goes. The last of her cigarette is puffed out with savage single-mindedness, and once she passes the ashtray outside the bar's door, she crushes the remains into the sand.

The door is eyed for a moment. Is that right? Or is there a brewery here in town somewhere that she doesn't know about? She doesn't spend much time in Gotham City.

Isa growls one last expletive turning to look down the street, searching for something – anything – out of the ordinary. Is it in the bar?

The front of the place is eyed.

Does it have to be in the bar?

"Son of a bitch," she growls to herself, flushing scarlet. She has a troubled history with liquor. The idea of some is pretty nice right now.

Only one thing for it. Time's a-wastin'. Isa Reichert turns on her heel, red hair flying as she shoves open the bar's door, marches inside, and takes a moment for her eye to adjust and to take in the details.

Much like the street, she looking for something (anything) out of the ordinary. But will she find it here, or is her guess wrong?

"I just wanted to hear a fucking guitarist," she growls under her breath, savagely. Her next steps take her up to the counter. Her palm slaps down on the counter, flat and open; surprisingly loud. "Ay. Have situation. Need your help." And then, the magic words: "Will pay."

* * *

As Ryan is trying to get information through his telepathy with no luck it would seem so far, his concentration is abruptly broken when he hears Harley in his ear. which surprises him a bit as he did not expect to actually have his call answered.

As Ryan is about to answer he quickly activates a program on his phone to change his voice sound deeper and more robot-like so she does not hear what he actually sounds like. "Sure Harley Ill play your game. so Where do I find one of these" Sarcastically. "'surprises' you have placed in this city?"

* * *

"Now, now," Harley chastises back, not taking the mockery of her joy well. At all. "I think someone ain't seein' the fun in this. If ya say yer sorry and tell me a joke I haven't heard, you can have yer clue."

Meanwhile, Isa gets the attention of a brunette in a black spaghetti camisole and tight pants behind the bar. "Sure," the other woman says after a beat, walking over and leaning onto her elbows. "What's up?"

* * *

When in doubt, wave billfolds around. It's bound to get somebody's attention sooner or later. What city slicker doesn't like to earn a quick buck?

Isa points out toward the street, where some business or another with external speakers is probably pumping the 'quiz show' out to the general public. She fixes her single eye on the woman, for once uncaring whether the woman's staring at her scars or not. There are more important things going on.

This whole thing might end badly, and there's no time to see if anybody else in the city is trying to do something about it. There's no time for coordination. There's not even any time to second-guess herself and make sure she's going about this the smart way.

The way she figures it, though, a real pair of eyes is better than just one.

"Need to know if anything strange happen around here lately. Last hour. Maybe two." She jabs a finger at the outside and rattles off a string of smoldering profanity in Russian, before remembering herself and growling in English: "Crazy bitch outside threatening something to city. Have clue. Led me here. Want to find clue before something terrible happen. So. You help me, da?"

Think, Reichert. No, think quicker. There's no time.

"Will pay you even if crazy bitch outside only rattling chain." A brief look is cast to the bottles stacked neatly behind the counter, somewhere between longing and hurt. It would be really nice to sample some of the good stuff, but that's a rabbit hole she doesn't want to go down, and a metaphor that leads her right back to the mission critical situation at hand, eye turning back to Black Spaghetti Camisole Woman. Isa's own smile is both pained and awkward-looking with the right side of her face scarred so. "Time wasting."

* * *

Ryan mutes his phone for a second so Harley does not hear him begin to vent out loud. "Dang it this clown lady. Ugh, really am to a fan of jokes."

Ryan takes a deep breath to help regain focus and try to think of a joke that a clown has not heard of before. He is really bad at jokes. As he is trying to think of one he remembers one he hard one time.

Ryan unmutes his phone begins to speak still in the deep robot-like voice from his program. "I'm sorry Harley I'm not the best at jokes but Ill give it a shot. Hear about the new restaurant called Karma?" A pause. "There's no menu: You get what you deserve."

* * *

The bartender's face disappears into her hand. "Which crazy bitch this time?" she asks before lifting her head to look at Isa. "Is it the crazy plant lady again? Because the last time she went on a rampage near me, I lost my car. I had to walk everywhere for weeks." Gotham. It's a whole new level out here. "I mean, like unexpected weird? Not really. But… But maybe I can help? What kinda weird are you looking for? What was the clue?"

As Ryan delivers his joke, there is silence on the other hand. "I… I guess I can appreciate the effort. So, tell ya what, I'll split the difference with ya. You lose one… and you get a clue on a new one." There's a sound of rustling paper, and then Quinn clears her throat over the phone and airwaves. "How do warehouse workers fight?"

* * *

"Crazy plant lady? No. No, don't think so." The Russian shakes her head emphatically. "Young. Sound like entertainer, on radio. Sound… a little unstable, maybe?" One forefinger is circled around her ear to illustrate the point. "Also, tell really bad joke."

Her head cocks slightly when the woman comments that the crazy plant lady took out her car the last time she rampaged.

"Da, will avoid that one, thanks," Isa offers, with the extreme blandness of someone struggling to accept the kind of weird that lives in a different postal code from their comfort zone. "No, this one probably different. Don't think plant involved."

She has a strange way of speaking, bizarrely clipped and laconic, heavily accented in Russian, but she seems earnest enough. "Unexpected weird. Da." Whatever gets the woman in the black spaghetti camisole talking. "Clue was: 'How does rabbit like beer? With hops.'" That blue eye flicks up to the other woman's, sharp as a hawk's. "Don't know this city. In fact, only first time here today. Is where you come in. Know anything?" That single red brow arches, prompting. "Anywhere here would maybe have to do with rabbit? Pet store or something, maybe?"

* * *

"How do warehouse workers fight?" Ryan ponders the clue for a moment as he now has to figure out the answer to the whole clue in the form of a joke then solve the answer to the location.

After a few moments of thinking the answer comes to him. "Heh, by boxing!"

As Ryan believes he has figured out the answer he pulls his phone and quickly searches online for any boxing fights going on in Gotham in his vicinity as he does not know the city very well.

as he searches Ryan really hopes that he is not the only one trying to find these 'surprises' and that there are others trying to help because he's not too sure he can get all 13 'surprises' on his own in time.

* * *

"There's a long moment, and then the bartender snaps. "Lucky Brewery, maybe?" she ventures. "It's a haul from here, on the edge of town. But their logo was a rabbit's foot, when they were still in business. Didn't make it long."

Ryan's answer gets him a loud recorded studio audience in his ear. "Congrats! NOW. Happy clue hunting!" *Click* In her makeshift studio, Harley looks to her clown-masked assistant, and then frowns. Her voice continues over the radio. "How many clues are we through? Because I'm definitely thinking we stop giving those out, because I definitely thinking that it's not any fun at all if we don't get to share it with this big beautiful city. ISN'T THAT RIGHT, GOTHAM? So, to fill in the time, I think I'm gonna give ya some of my favorite tunes. HERE WE GO. Oh, Bondage, Up Yours by the X-Ray Spex! ….I don't know how to work it! You're supposed to be the tech! Oh my GAWD, GET IT STARTED BEFORE I SHOW YOU WHAT IT MEANS TO—"

The song starts a beat later. "Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard. But I think, Oh, Bondage, UP YOURS! One, two, three, four!

* * *

As the bartender muses about an answer and ventures a guess, Isa casually pulls her wallet from her pocket, picking through it with steady deliberation. She is listening, even if she doesn't look like it. Quite keenly, in fact.

"Don't own a car. Too late to call taxi." Finding what she's looking for, Isa plucks out a twenty dollar bill and slaps it on the counter, sliding it towards the bartender. "For you."

Two more are pulled and given to Camisole Lady. "Take me there. Now. Will pay for gas, too." She's already walking briskly for the door, throwing an impatient look over her shoulder. "Come on!"

* * *

As Ryan is looking on his phone for a boxing fight happening he gets a hit, there is a boxing fight being hosted in the shipping district. He pulls up the address and seeing it's a bit of a distance and would take some time to get there, too long on foot.

Ryan jumps down from the roof and uses his telekinesis to soften his landing and hails down a nearby cab. "Can you take me to this address? I will pay you extra if you get me there quickly!

* * *

As the punk musicians screech along to the music, it makes for an interesting backdrop for all of the shenanigans presently underway. Surely, surely, Ryan is right and there are other heroes following up on clues themselves, trying to get to Harley's hinted hijinx spots before something inevitably goes very, very badly for all of Gotham.

The lady in the tank looks at the bills on the counter. "I can't just leave! They'll fire me! And this isn't even half of what I'll make in…" Except that her conscience is already tugging at her. "…tips. Damn it." She pulls her apron off and sets it down, looking at her fellow bartender. "Cover for me if you can. Otherwise, I'll deal with Sal when I get back." She grabs her purse from behind the bar as she makes her way out. "Come on," she says as she slips in front of Reichert with a long stride. "I'm parked behind back." And from there, a very beat-up Chevy Geo Tracker is on its way, until finally Camisole Lady pulls to a stop in front of a large microbrewery with the silhouette of a lucky rabbit's foot charm painted and chipping on the brick siding.

The cab driver looks at the address that Ryan points out on his phone, and then he raises an eyebrow. For a moment, it seems very much like Ryan is going to be out of luck. Except that then the driver shrugs it off. It's not that much worse than some of the other places he's ferried off to. "Yeah, alright, kid. Get in." Another lucky break for Gotham, right, as the driver speeds along. In the grand scheme of timings, it takes Ryan less time tto get to his destination than it takes Isa to get to hers…. but the driver isn't so kind as to take him to the front door. "It's a couple of blocks that way," he says, pointing off in the direction.

* * *

"Your boss have problem, have him talk to me. Will pay." Isa's offer is a grunt as she shoves the door open and gestures impatiently for her impromptu navigator to follow suit. "Da." She's already wrenching the car door open to hop in.

In close quarters, she smells like cigarette smoke and a hint of clove; leather and a slight whiff of oil. A mechanic of some kind, maybe. A hard-smoking one.

She's a quiet passenger, at least, although her fingers drum the inside of the door impatiently every time a red light stops their progress. Barely has the car stopped than she's plucking out her wallet again, and this time she pulls out two more twenties and passes them to Camisole Lady. "Here, if that help any. Can find my way from here."

"Hunh." That blue eye settles on the bartender, frowning as she considers. "Looks quiet. Don't know. I'm going in, though. If you need to get back, go." A glance is cast to the warehouse. "Could be dangerous."

Already she's busily digging in a pocket again, this time producing a small notepad and pencil, scribbling down a number. The redhead passes it to the woman. "You hear or see anything suspicious, call. Leave message."

With that, she's closing the door with a final wave, turning and jogging for the microbrewery's front door. It's a lucky rabbit's foot, all right. Might as well try the front door.

* * *

As the driver stops the car and point out the direction of the address, Ryan hops out of the cab and pulls out a couple of hundred dollar bills, tossing them to the driver. "Thanks and keep the change!."

Ryan then turns on his GPS on his phone to give him directions over his Bluetooth earpiece and makes a sprint for the location, using his parkour skills along with his telekinesis to take a more direct route and getting through any obstacles in his way, hoping to make up the time he lost from before and get there before its too late.

* * *

Well, Isa's bartender-driver certainly doesn't turn down the pair of twenties, tucking it away into her ashtray. She waits for a long moment, and then tilts her head out the open window. "You're… like… going to be able to get home, right?"

Because there aren't much in the way of people here. And… And…

There's possibly a crazy plant bitch hiding in that building and… And…

She sets her head down on the steering wheel and then puts her car in gear to get the hell out of the area.

Ryan's hopping will eventually lead him to an old converted warehouse that is on an off-night, vacant. Gotta give Quinn some credit, she knows her way around he obscure corners of Gotham. AND THE BEST JOKES, RIGHT? His telepathy will give a heads up that the space is entirely empty; not even security on the premesis.

* * *

"I can take care of myself." Halfway to the door, Isa pauses, glancing over her shoulder. Her grin is just as scarred and defiant as the rest of her body. She lifts her hand in a wave. "Thanks. Hope you don't lose job for this. Safe trip back."

Her hand drops as the car nearly peels out of the parking lot, and she waits until the car is out of sight. Only then does she turn and eye the building, already in motion to walk around to the side. If she can get in there through a side or back entrance, that would be better.

Busting in the front door is for people who have a team, weaponry, bullet-proof vest, and a lot more planning than Isa has the opportunity to do.

Instead, all she has is a S.H.I.E.L.D. access and identification card, and it's not even that good. Wisely, or perhaps unwisely, Isa Reichert lopes around toward the nearest door that looks both unlocked and unpopulated.

* * *

"No one here, that can't be right." Ryan was expecting at least some people here but to be completely empty it makes no sense. Well perhaps this a good thing, if there is a bomb, which Ryan thinks is Harley's surprise, then that means no one should get killed if he can't get rid of whatever this surprise is.

Even though there appears to be no one in the Wearhouse, he is not going to just barge in through the front door. Instead, Ryan makes his way around the building looking for a side door, a window, or even something that most people would not consider unless they had telekenesses.

* * *

Once upon a time, someone cared about Lucky Brewery. In more recent memory, it has become a crash pad for trouble. Graffiti covers much of the lower part of the walls and outbuildings, and none of the doors are locked anymore. Isa will have her choice of places to go. But one door in particular is left widely ajar, and the paint is fresh near it, Ha. Ha. Ha.

And Ryan will find something very similar in his warehouse, finding a side door left hanging open, with a splatter of red and black paint still tacky as it drips down the outside. And the hall inside? Painted much the same in pink and purple tag art: Ha. Ha. Ha.

This is fine!!! This is totally, totally, totally fine.

Meanwhile, the rest of Gotham is still being subjected to Harley's loud music. Music that, for anyone who actually knows her, is the sweet, dulcet tones of her workout tape.

* * *

The one-eyed woman's single blue eye narrows at the state of the building. This is no functional business but a hideout for gangs and street toughs. One hand slips into a pocket, disappointment flickering across her face at the lack of even a pocket knife.

Of all the doors, one of them was left wide open. That can't have been accidental. Isa glances over the wall nearby, checking for anything more specific, and then onto the wall itself, where careless graffiti has been painted.

"Ha, ha, ha, my ass," Isa growls, pulling a scowl and slinking inside, trying to move in a way that presents as small a profile as possible. As soon as she's through the thresold, she eases up against the wall, waiting for her eye to adjust.

If this were a spy movie, this would be where she pulls the burn scar makeup and the eyepatch off, with one eye already adjusted to the dark. But this is not a spy movie. The scars are real. The patch is over an empty socket. And until the eye she has left gets its damn act together and adjusts, she's stuck.

It's wide and waiting to take in just what she's walked into once it does adjust, though. What in the hell are they hiding in this old building?

* * *

As Ryan spots the side door left wide open with all the red and black paint, every fiber of his being is telling him this is a trap, But this is probably the fastest way to get to whatever this surprise is. "Ha, Ha, Ha' huh. What kind of sick joke are you playing crazy clown lady."

Ryan could find another way into the building but he has no idea how much time he has, so Ryan pulls out a couple of flashlights and has them floats them in the are using his telekinesis to help him see better, then pull a couple of metal balls just in case he needs them. Now he make his way to the door and cautiously moves inside looking for any possible traps or anything unusual.

Alright, Gotham, we have someone narrowing in on one of my amazing surprises!

Do Isa and Ryan know that Harley Quinn is broadcasting their progress? That she knows where they are as soon as they enter their respective abandoned buildings?

So, I've got the perfect soundtrack to get us through the fifteen minute countdown! I'm so glad that I have //all of you to play along with!//

WGTH comes alive with a new sound now. It's the end of the world as we know it… It's the end of the world as we know it… It's the end of the world as we know it… And I feel fiiiiiine.

The way forward for both Isa and Ryan is tremendously clear with nary a trap in sight, and it will lead them both through their separate twists and turns with equal ease. She goes left. He goes right. They'll both need to climb a set of stairs if they intend to keep following the trail of Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha that will lead them down the way. Isa is also treated to the sight of spray painted bunny rabbits – barely more than scrawls. Ryan will find a stencil job that mixes in with the lettered laughter, of a Jack in the Box.

No traps. No henchman. Just clear sailing.

* * *

There is no radio in the pocket of Isa Reichert as she ventures into the warehouse. She simply didn't think to bring one. That's just as well, though; she would be infuriated if she knew her name were being broadcast on the airwaves, and without that knowledge, she can approach this all with a clear head.

Mostly. Aside from the fact that her nerves are singing with paranoid adrenaline.

Against her better judgement, Isa darts forward, adopting a shooter's slinking run without holding a weapon. She does, however, pitch to a halt at the staircase in front of her, staring at it in something between horror and fury. To a woman with only one eye and no depth perception it's a daunting prospect.

Fury wins. Isa throws herself up them and uses the metal railing to keep herself from stumbling too badly. By the time she reaches the top, she's huffing, not quite out of breath but very nearly there, gaze sweeping the room and settling on the rabbits sketched in spray paint.

She bares her teeth and curses fluently in Russian. It's a sign she's on the right track, at least.

She doesn't stop cursing as she runs, though.

* * *

Ryan cautiously continues his way down the very obvious path made for him to follow. As he continues along his way with no traps sp far, even in the places Ryan expected a trap to be, which makes Ryan stop and think for a moment. No guards, no traps, an obvious path to follow. This crazy clown lady wants this surprise to be found, but why?

With this thought in mind Ryan continues down this path made for him to follow. As he does he can't help but feel like he being watched somehow, stoping to look around his surroundings and doing a quick mind sweep of the area to make sure no one is actually here, still not picking anyone up. despite not picking anyone up he still can't shake this feeling. still regardless of this Ryan continues to cautiously push forward to whatever surprise is at the end of this.

* * *

Up the stairs.

Ha ha ha ha…

Down one more hall.

…Ha Ha Ha HA….

And then both Ryan and Isa, with their different timings… will see one door that definitely stands out among a sea of doors. In Isa's case, it's been decorated with fairy lights since there's no power anywhere in the building. They twinkle and shine. They lay out a path into a room where a foot locker has been set in the middle of the floor, spotlighted by a flashlight hung from the ceiling by dry cleaning hangers.

Because Ryan's building du soir has power, he's blessed with red rope lighting! And a bona fide flood light. It shines on a similar foot locker.

Neither are particularly noteworthy, save that their spraypainted metal finishes are marred by spraypainted love notes from one H. Quinn. Both are locked with a heart-shaped lock only JUST big enough to get their hatches over the loop of the latch.

* * *

Once again Isa drags herself up another flight of stairs, definitely winded by this point. Wheezing, she pulls herself up over the landing, trying to simultaneously catch her breath and see what's waiting for her. Situational awareness isn't always in her wheelhouse. She only has one eye.

Even for a woman with just one eye, though, that door stands out. Isa is slinking towards it, but she doesn't pass the threshold right away. She instead glances down each side of the corridor, even going so far as to hold her breath for a second or three, listening.


She slinks into the room, trying to turn and regard every corner at once. Flowing into a crouch at the footlocker under its makeshift spotlight, which Isa completely ignores because she's trying very hard not to be freaking out right now, she settles on her heels to regard the lock.

They look like the kind of tiny locks used for jewelry boxes that you'd find at a craft store, and which generally aren't strong enough to serve as any kind of security whatsoever. She scratches her jaw, considering the contents of her pockets.

After a moment she stands up, circles around until she's facing the lock directly, and—

Kicks the thing, as hard and as squarely as she can. Her boots are reinforced. She shouldn't feel a thing. It should be enough to break the lock, if it's just a cheap craft store piece. If it's a real lock with actual engineering and metallurgy behind it, however, she is very probably screwed.

…Isa's really hoping it's a cheap craft store piece.

* * *

As Ryan is following this path his dislike for this situation, along with his adrenalin continues to rise, still, he pushes on following this path until he hits the red rope lighting his way to a door that is obviously the one this clown lady wants Ryan to go through. Ryan then from a distance opens the door with his telekinesis just in case there is a trap, surprisingly once again no trap. slowly he makes his way to the door and looks inside to find footlocker lit up in the center of the room. As Ryan spots the footlocker his survival instincts kick in and does not want to go anywhere near the footlocker.

Ryan gives the rest of the room a quick glance for a way to quickly get out or even a way to get the thing out of here but no such luck it would seem, she really wanted to be sure that gets found and opened by someone. This is when Ryan starts to wonder what could Harley surprise be. "What could be in the box I wounded, a bomb set to go off as soon as I opened it, poison gas maybe."

After a few moments of looking around the room and at this box one last time, Ryan then gets a safe distance away from the box and using his telekinesis, will rip the tiny heart lock off the footlocker and then slowly lift up the lid, keeping a good distance just in case.

* * *

Isa kicks off the lock with no real effort at all. Ryan tears it off with his telekinesis, but he doesn't need to do anything more. Because both boxes, as soon as their jostled, spring open.

And a loud fog horn starts sounding, and then…. the worst possible thing happens.

Multiple battery powered fans start spraying glitter EVERYWHERE. Silver, pink, purple, and green… A thick cloud of tiny plastic particulate covers a ten foot radius with the most insidious crafting supply known to man.


Quinn is losing her mind laughing as she watches the entire thing, courtesy of a nanny cam in each footlocker lid. OH. AND THERE'S ANOTHER ONE GOING OFF. She loses her mind all over again.

And everyone in Gotham tuned into WGTH? Is now allowed to listen as Quinn laughs herself into a wheezing state. "CAN'T. BREATHE." She tells her assistant. "CAN'T. BREATHE."

* * *

A loud foghorn starts blasting in the confined space of the room. In the same instant Isa claps her hands over her ears and grimaces. Almost in slow-motion, she notes the fans clicking on, the tiny whirr of their motors announcing the payload of…

Isa has just enough time to roar, infuriated, and cover her face with her arms and hands.

It takes her a very long time to pat down the rest of her clothing.

She never does get it all out of her hair.

By the time she gets home to Roosevelt Island, it's a miracle that she hasn't assaulted someone or broken anything. Especially when she gets weird looks for being covered in bright and colourful glitter sparkling in outrageous hues that mankind has yet to dream up.

On the other hand, Isa Reichert will remember this, and remember it for a very long time.

* * *

As soon as Ryan hears the fog horns he knows something is about to happen, so he quickly tries to throw up a telekinetic shield to protect himself. unfortunate despite his quick reflexes and training he has been getting from Moonstar he is not fast enough and gets hit by all sorts of glitter of many different colors. Ryan quickly runs out the room to not get hit with glitter but its to lat the damage it done.

"Glitter! Dang it that crazy clown lady. ugh, I hate glitter, it never goes away no matter how hard you try." Ryan tries his best to get himself clean off of all this dang glitter, even with his telekinesis to help, he still can't get it all.

With the night spent and his lead probably gone now because of this commotion, Ryan makes his way to the central station to get a train ride back to Winchester where the X-mansion is and get himself cleaned up and try to put that crazy night behind him.

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