Monkey See, Monkey DOOM!
Roleplaying Log: Monkey See, Monkey DOOM!
IC Details

Harley takes the babies out for a gourmand outing. Heroes interrupt. :(

Other Characters Referenced: The Joker
IC Date: April 25, 2020
IC Location: Gotham Zoo, Gotham, New Jersey
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 13 May 2020 01:39
Rating & Warnings: G
Scene Soundtrack: Scorpions - The Zoo
NPC & GM Credits: NPCs by Harley Quinn
Associated Plots

As afternoon stretches towards evening, the Gotham Zoo and Aquarium of Amusement Milebegins closing down for the night. Children and adults alike are all guided out, and the staff begins its usual operations for the end of the night. The patrols to make sure the bathrooms are empty, and that the animals are all present and accounted for.

It looks like it's going to be a quiet end to the day.

Someone says something akin to just that, while setting down the evening meal in the bathouse.

He will come to regret his poor decision in the morning, because he just done jinxed it.

About a half hour after closing time, there is a loud explosion simultaneously at each of the four gates. There really isn't even enough time to clear before a tiny VW bug on huge monster truck tires comes rolling through two of them. A black van comes screeching through another. Doors swing open, and men in clown masks start pouring out, wielding machine guns and bolt cutters. They waste no time in dividing themselves (although the crazy guys packed into the hilariously unbalanced punch buggies take a little longer to get down). They are coordinated, moving to enclosures to start working on the doors keeping the animals contained.

One of the members of zookeepers moves to prevent the meerkats from being loosed, and he gets picked up and thrown into the panda pen for his trouble by the burlier of the set looking to free Timon.

The last gate, for now, seems to be neglec—

Oh, wait. No.

There's fog from a fog machine that's started rolling in, thick, on the humid spring air making it more than a little creepy over there with the street lamps.

Despite popular conception, Gotham isn't always dangerous. Large stretches of the city are perfectly fine, most of the time, especially during the day. Probably everybody who went to the zoo today thought it would be a perfectly normal spring day, because these days there's less 24/7 gang wars and many of the GCPD's personnel are both competent and not bought and paid for. Nobody really wants to say that it has anything to do with a guy dressed up like Dracula who's spent years methodically punching his way through organised crime and then also a succession of costumed weirdos. They'd rather give the credit to Gordon, or the occasional actually competent DA or not obviously wildly corrupt mayor, or maybe that lazy rich guy who funds all those social programs.

There is, of course, a downside. Because while maybe the constant background noise of crime in Gotham has been reduced over the years, it compensates with big, huge, weird spikes.

For example: Clown crime.

Explosions in downtown Gotham are thus not anywhere near as rare as you might hope, but at least nowadays the emergency services have probably not been paid to ignore them. On the other hand, that might mean a huge gunfight in midtown.

On the other other hand, police and fire and EMTs aren't the only ones who listen to 911 calls, and the others have their ways of getting there much faster.

Take, for example, the sleek supercar that races towards the zoo, moving through (or around) traffic with almost supernatural ease. Black and yellow, with a mirrored, almost metallic-finish red wraparound windshield, it's… Actually not bat-themed at all? The windshield does kinda look like a bird, though, maybe.

Though it's not the Batmobile, several million dollars worth of extremely high tech custom automobile is going to also come through one of the wrecked gates, seemingly trying to make up for several minutes' worth of advantage the zoo attackers already have.

Last time Static flew, he rode on a manhole. This time, he's either downgraded or upgraded, depending on perspective. The teenager is making his patrols through Gotham, perched on top of a trash can lid surrounded in purplish electromagnetic energy and sliding through the air. As the commotion of vehicles moving very fast bursts through by the zoo, he shifts his movement. "Man, it was such a nice evening, too."

Swerving low to the ground at a rapid pace, Static makes it to one of the gates with goons, the air electric as he passes by. The gate's trashed. Well, that makes things easy for him, as he probably isn't making a stealth approach on the goons, and doesn't really want to, either.

That same purplish electricity starts to surround the gate's fragments, and starts bending bars off it, as Static's hands wriggle with, well, static.

"Alright, guys! Balloon animals are made that-a-way, please organize in a single-file line and stop clowning around, understood?"

They're probably going to start shooting. Static's gonna try and bend the bar around one or two of the goons, or at least whack them with it and send them thudding to the ground, hard.

And then the fog rolls in. That's not good. Not good at all, as Static just mutters a mild curse under his breath.

It's not the first time Carolus Sinclair has been in Gotham City when interesting times came to pass. Not that interesting times are hard to come by in this city of all places. Unlike the last time however, he isn't cruising around the //specifically/ bad side of town out of sheer morbid interest. That doesn't stop him from winding up within smelling distance of trouble with a capital T.

The scent of amassed oiled guns elicit a twitch out of his antennae… but he ignores it, at first. It's not that strange, and there are plenty of reasons well-maintained firearms might be moving about. It's the specific /movement/ patterns of the scent trails that really capture and keep his attention, though.

Following by explosions.

Carolus sighs heavily into his microphone, prompting a cringe from the other end of his video conference. He waves two hands, "I have to go. They look like they're coming along fine, so just keep things going."

He disconnects the call, closes his laptop's lid, and climbs out a window of the townhouse, disappearing into the night with a flutter of wings. Armed. Coordinated. Attacking… the zoo? Carolus is absolutely confused by this. What's the point, exotic animal trade?

All the attention is turned inwards, Carolus reasons with himself… and he can see a rather fancy-looking car speeding in on his fly over. He can smell a strong scent of ozone. So instead of swooping into the fray, he lets /those/ guys take center stage and buzzes down to the destroyed gates.

Extending both right hands palm-outwards, he begins to extrude silk and running lines of it rapidly back-and-forth across one of the entrances to seal it back up.

The fog, though…

That's some showmanship. He doesn't like that.

Carolus taps a badge clipped to his shirt with a prominent X displayed on it, and asks over secure comms for a team that is ABSOLUTELY NOT LOCAL AT ALL, « I don't suppose I'm not the only one in town on business, am I? »

Clown Crimes.

Gwendolyne Stacy has an abnormally good opinion of clowns. In fact, in her 'strictly superior reality', she regularly went to combination burger joint jamboree palace 'Clow World', which was like a giant New York amusement park attached to a pretty wicked homestyle burger place. It was wonderful. Bright, colorful, joyous, and not creepy at all.

In this mysterious, brighter place, Ghost Spider had never ever gotten a fear of clowns. Clowns were great! Clowns meant good burger. Which is why, as a dude gets tossed into the panda cage, a hammock-scoop of webs spread under the poor bloke to break his fall. Unimpressed next to the FAST FACTS ABOUT PANDAS: sign, Ghost Spider leans on a kiosk and waggles her finger at the Clown Goons.

"I had such high hopes for themed goons. They really got talked up to me!"

Springing from her lean up and over the goons with an aerial spray of sticky webs, Ghost Spider sticks her landing and goes back to waggling a catty finger at the pair. "But you're not funny, you're not sparking joy, and you're just making me hungry for burgers. I've not found a good burger place in Gotham yet!"

Sometimes the best way to get around is keeping it simple and staying on foot. Of course, if those feet can travel at speeds that break the sound barrier then it's really the only way to go, short of teleportation and dark, mysterious portals.

Explosions are a surefire way to get anyone's attention in a place like Gotham City. It's kind of unusual for it to be happening at a zoo of all places.

"For reals, SIRIN?" Impulse can't keep the note of dubiousness from his tone as he questions his AI helper, who responds cheerily in his earpiece as a map overlays across the inside of his goggle lenses.

"For reals! Oh, it looks like Red Robin is already en route." One can practically imagine the record screech as SIRIN's perky tone suddenly takes an about-face, dripping with sarcasm as a regular Debbie-Downer. "Never mind, he's already there. At this rate you're actually going to be late to the party-"

"What! No!" the speedster sputters and leans into his run as though to shift gears. Sure, there are others headed over if not already at the point in question, but who's he to sit it out?

"IT'S THE BAT!" cries a clown by the small mammal house who was menacing a lady desperately trying to cover the door of the critically endangered brush-tailed bettong, turning his machine gun in the direction of that super fancy car that comes through one of the gates. He's quickly hit in the back of the head, and he rubs his skull through the bright red fake hair.

"That's clearly not the Bat," snarls the clown next to him condescendingly, who is leaner and wearing a mask with moulded blue plastic hair. "Could you stop saying things that make you very obviously the new guy? Ugh. Why did I have to get the new guy?" And then Static arrives. More Established Clown, looks in that direction and grumbles. "Ugh. She hasn't even gotten her ass out here yet, and they're here." He points emphatically for his trainee's benefit. "What are your waiting for? Start shooting!

Team C - which is probably just as much for 'clown' as their best grades in school - has at least managed to tear a huge hole in the lemur cage and someone else probably did their job, too, as a host of small flightless birds come racing up the sidewalk.

Then. From out of the fog, which is starting to turn a sickly shade of green… There's a squeal of joy. "AAAAAH. IT'S PERFECT! RED, RED, RED! Isn't it just perfect?!?!"

Harley Quinn, would-be crime queen of Gotham, sails out of the cloud in her favorite red and black suit and a pair of adorable pom-pom bedecked roller skates. She puts her fingers to her lips, whistling loudly, and summoning her two pets. Of course, both of them are wearing scuba tanks right now, and have specially formed masks over their snouts.

Because it wouldn't do to have the babies inhaling whatever chemicals are in the cloud.

And then there is Team D, trying to figure out how to shoo meerkats out of their tunnels when Gwen shows up. There's a lot of shooting in her direction now, too. "It's okay, honey. We're gonna make you into burger."

Behind the animals and the rollerskater, a figure saunters out of the cloud of fog with her hand on her hip.

Poison Ivy does not seem to have suffered over the winter. She seems a little less GREEN than usual, but that might just be from the poisonous gas cloud. She breathes out a little puff of air to push a lock of wavy red hair out of her face, heels clicking as she moves forwards.

"It's something, alright," she answers Harley with a hand on her hip. She is wearing a slightly dirty white sundress, probably suitable for gardening or other tasks, over what is clearly a traditional high-leotard situation. She has a garter holster; the garter holster has a (small, expensive) spade and (grudgingly) a pair of trimmers to go with it.

She takes in a deep breath. "I want to complain about how this is a prison for animals who haven't done anything to deserve being trapped and bred in captivity," Poison Ivy muses to herself, tapping her chin with one red-tipped fingernail, "but I just feel like there's a good mood in the air despite -" A pause as a skidding super-car bursts into the scene, if not, quite, in the immediate area.

"Everything," Poison Ivy concludes, frowning. Her eyes turn heavens-ward for a moment, as if to look for something, and she relaxes when it happens. Her eyes then turn towards - "Harley, your employees are being menaced," Ivy says to her, before turning on one heel, considering the problem, and —

A panda bear raises its paws in surprise as one of the scenic tufts of (not-quite-edible) bamboo abruptly rumbles for a moment and then - of all things - contracts. The concrete between it and a particular point outside of the panda enclosure sprouts cracks exactly one per meter, and as Poison Ivy calls ahead, she says, "Excuse me, Miss! Hi! Can you look over here? Yoo hoo," and she waves an arm, standing up on the balls of her feet

JUST as a violent living bamboo-spear cluster erupts out of the concrete, directly beneath the Ghost Spider! As life remains unfair, it erupts not merely tall, but to bamboo-forest heights with groaning and crooked agony.

"You… are going to turn me into burger?" Ghost Spider repeats, lenses widening in surprise, and then narrowing in incredulity. Her right hand works into a fist, her shoulder setting. "You really think you two knuckleheads are going to? Let me tell you a little secret, genius:"

She takes a step forward, rubberized sole papping into zoo blacktop. The soles of her feet tingle, seismic forces of potentia like an earthquake rumbling underneath her. She ignores it. "There is *nothing* scary about cl-"

A voice calls out to her, and in the throes of Walking Down the two D-Team Goons, Ghost Spider's white hood cranks over to look at Poison Ivy.

A goon swings a punch, and Gwen's hand comes up dismissively to block the fist, spinning the guy the wrong way jjjust a skosh. "Hold on, I'm talking." She chides.

"Um, yes? Hello! You shouldn't be here, it's da-"

It's Dangerous is indeed true, as the explosive jagged potentia of a bomb burns from beneath her. Doing the Stupid Hero Thing, she shoves away the goon that attacked her as the bamboo explosion crumbles under her, heaving her up into the air and jamming sharp pointies into her back and side for the trouble, getting her an immense amount of spiny air as she gets tangled in the growing shoots.

Struggling to escape with her limbs tangled and hefted up into the sky saved only by the grace of her nearly stab-proof costume, Ghost Spider is quite a bit worse for wear. She does have a great view of the Zoo, though. That's nice.

"I think there's some sort of plant wizard here too, guys!" She adds, (un)helpfully.

The Redbird - the very car that once carried the woman responsible for this whole mess to a hospital after she was buried under a burning dive bar, does that count as irony? - comes to a skidding halt despite not actually getting shot at with a machine gun, which is actually a change of pace. It idles there, engine rumbling menacingly but not really seeming to do anything. There's no big dramatic opening of the top, no guns pop out of it or anything like that.

Almost like…. ….Some kind of a….

About two seconds later, Red Robin drops out of the sky in a dramatic flutter of billowy black cape (this part is cooler at night but it still works), like a vaguely bird-themed meteor falling towards the less experienced of the two closest Clown Goons, who seem more distracted by Static than they do by the not-quite-the-Batmobile. Maybe it's not the decoy he'd planned, but it still works.

"You know, you guys were a lot scarier when I was thirteen," the Red Knight offers, somewhat conversationally, his collapsible staff deploying all but noiselessly. "Have you ever considered moving to a line of work with a better dental plan?"

Get it, because ninjas in capes keep punching out all their teeth.

What distracts Red Robin, albeit briefly, is his suit computer's awareness of other signals in the park. One, an encoded comms line he isn't familiar with, but also…

"Impulse," oh no, is he psychic now? Does he know exactly where Bart is at all times? "That guy with the electricity is on our side. Ghost Spider is nearby, too. So just beat up clowns."

Well, Static doesn't get a chance to wrap them in a metal bar before they start shooting. "Cripes!" He shouts, pulling up an electrical barrier that surges and flickers when the bullets impacting it, forcing him to start moving as the bullets stop against the shield, and drop the bar. Instead, he turns his hands on one of the rifles, and with a crackle of fingers and some jazz hands, moves to toss it backwards into him and knock him off his feet. "Woops, hand slipped." The masked figure quips, looking over.

There's a lot of people here, as he finally notices the high-tech car. He gives the car a wave, and waits for the driver to come out.

The driver never comes out, and instead drops from the sky. Well. That's awkward. "Nice entrance! Man, I should take notes. Animals are getting loose, if we can keep these guys pinned down, I can help close the bars up."

Grife how does he do that- No, that's…really a pointless question. Impulse's surprise lasts for all of a nano-second as he remembers who's talking to him. "More spiders and an electric guy. Okay." He should pay more attention to meetings. at least his objective is clear. "On it-!" he shoots back.

Wait, was that an odd echo in his voice? Nah, probably just the wind interference. The red and white blur moves way too fast for normal eyes to track when several similar streaks branch off from the first.

"FOOOOoRE!" comes a shout from out of nowhere- really it's hard to gauge considering it's off a distance while Impulse just appears seemingly out of the blue, coming out of top speed with a kick to whoever of Team C's clown brigade is unfortunate to be in front.

Scents. Carolus recognizes a few here. The ozone was self-explanatory, and he's encountered Red Robin enough times to know who came out of that car. Ghost Spider's stands out sharply— it's almost enough to get him thinking about her tales of Clown World when he notices the actual theme of the goons going around here.

He'll never grasp the love of clowns that Ghost Spider's reality has.

He goes relatively undisturbed, since he is focusing on the outer perimeter… but after listening to what's going on within the zoo itself for even this long, he concludes that silking up the entrances really isn't going to do a lot to /stop/ these clowns exiting. Might slow them down, but it's probably not worth dedicating time to each and every exit.

For a small while his attention is held by the changing color of the fog— and Ghost Spider's abrupt positional change /would/ have gone unnoticed as completely normal if she hadn't started complaining about plant wizards.

He ascends from the gate he'd been sealing, spiraling around the sudden structure of murderous bamboo — suffering some lacerations that he strictly /wouldn't/ if he hadn't chosen to get in close with it specifically — and reaches out to offer Ghost Spider an exit opportunity.

"Don't say clowns aren't scary around here. They escalate over things like that." The mothman advises, pulling up if she takes the lift and giving her an aerial springing off point.

"Pardon me!" Carolus calls through the fog a moment later, "But what exactly is it you're trying to accomplish here? Is this an ethical issue, or…"

He trails off, unsure what /else/ it could be.

"I don't think I've done anything worth being murdered for, recently." Ghost Spider asides, awkwardly taking Carolus' hand from the tangle she's in and allows herselt to be yanked out, using the leverage her sticky feet gain to shove off and swing back to earth to land in a crouch atop a large bathroom structure.

"I mean, at least in *Gotham*. I probably picked up a few murder flags from random encounters with themed muggers in New York!"

She joins Carolus in questioning. "What's your, uh, motivation? I'm Ghost Spider, by the way!"

"Oh, don't call 'em my employees," Harley says to Ivy, her expression suddenly horrified as she looks to her rose-tressed bestie and frantically shakes her head. "They're not my employees. Mistah J is very emphatic that I am to, under no circumstances, consider them my employees."

Once they're far enough ahead of her cloud that the two hyenas at her heels will be out of the toxic reaches of the cloud, the woman in the twin-tailed cap stoops and starts rapidly pulling the safety gear off of them. "Okay, boys. The spoilsports are already here, so you're gonna need to make this more a fast food snarf than a gourmet stroll, ya get me?" Bud is already pulling at the scuba harness Quinn's unfastening, laughing all the while as he spies a pair of quail that are racing to find cover under a shrub nearby. He tears off as Harley clucks her tongue, the mask still hanging around his neck as she works on Lou's gear next.

The two clowns who were going to hopefully have perforated Static by now, narrowly avoid perforating each other while trying to perforate Red Robin. They don't respond to anything he says, save to growl angrily.

And then there is the matter of Team C, who has the larger of the two masked men suddenly doubling over. There's more gunfire that swings wildly in the direction of where Impulse was, and the bullets crack the glass of the zebra enclosure as they find nothing but air.

So, what is it being accomplished here? Harley straightens and plants both of her gloved hands on her hips. "Why, this is Bud and Lou's Exotic Meat Tour! So I advise ya let the party boys through."

Poison Ivy taps her chip at Gwen's words. "I bet she's a lovely person," Ivy says, sour as a lemon, and turns her attention towards -

Her eyes narrow. "Ugh," she says. "Damn it! HARLEY! It's Wonder Boy and his sassy baton. Get your dogs fed."

And then something happens near her and she looks back over her shoulder towards where Carolus is moving to help the Ghost Spider out of the cunning bamboo trap. The Ghost Spider speaks. Ivy narrows her eyes. Her attention rests on the Ghost, but her eyes flick momentarily back to Harley. For a moment she is uncertain - as if sensing some subtle similarity…

Then she answers Carolus. "That's a very splendid question," she says. "Top points for quick thinking. We're here to get these precious pets a proper round of exercise and a natural diet. Everything you buy these days to feed animals is ninety percent corn mush and extruded synthetic nutrients," Ivy says, "but as you're no doubt aware, these animals eat meat in the wild."

"Oh, not JUST meat," Ivy continues, "but all of the animal - the entire thing - even some of the skin, I'm told. You know, while it's hard to believe, I've heard hyenas are the ones who do most of the hunting in the African veldt. You hear so much about the lions, and you might have heard the lionesses do most of the work. But even THEY, more than half the time, just run off the hyenas…"

Poison Ivy trails off.

She sees another streak of red in the fringes of her vision.

The bamboo in which Carolus and Ghost Spider were so recently ensconced bends towards her. The long stems rustle as they tense - Ivy grasps one of them and pulls it down a little farther, as if mulling something.

"How old are you now?" she calls towards Red Robin. A moment later she lets go of the stem of bamboo, which SMASHES forwards — it will probably put a crunching crack in that exterior toilet structure, and perhaps also a meddlesome Spider.

"Meat tour?"

That's from Impulse (?) who stops there in front of Harley and her laughing boys, with an armful of squirming meerkats. "…oh." Yeah, that's bad.

Meanwhile with Team C, Impulse (?!) fingers the cracked glass to make sure nothing's gone through- most importantly that no zebras have been shot in this picture, and then tsks at the clowns. "You should be more careful with those!" he chides, charging right for them. And then he's behind two of them, trying to knock their heads together so he can relieve them of their weapons- or mostly their bullets. And he'll take the other ones too. No bullets equals no accidents!

And somewhere by Red Robin, Carolus, Gwen and Poison Ivy, yet another speedster sighting as Impulse runs on by, trying to gather up loose birds.

…it's fine.

"It's all about misdirection," Red Robin explains to Static, since the clowns aren't very talkative today. "Goons see a car like that, they usually shout 'it's the Bat!' and start shooting at it, so they make a great decoy. Honestly, you'd think they'd learn, but…" Well, he's seen some of their CAT scans.

There's not that much time for heroic conversation just at the moment, though, because there's still clowns with guns, who are definitely not Harley's goons but are in fact the goons of someone else who probably considers them even more disposable than the onetime psychiatrist does… But who also might, just maybe, give them a nice bonus if they bag one of the Dark Knight's former sidekicks. Though really, if you think about it, there's even odds the Joker would kill them for taking the fun away from him. Honestly it's not a career with a lot of job security.


The best defense against getting shot, assuming you aren't bulletproof, is to just not be where the bullets are. In the dark, this is easier, but fast, unpredictable movements are a good way to not get shot (the costume actually is bulletproof, but not that bulletproof) as you keep the shooter guessing. Keep him having to reorient his aim. Leave him open for you to throw a small yellow disc at him, if you're into that sort of thing: The disc, which has the vigilante's stylised bird head in profile logo on it, breaks easily on impact with the gun, or the clown, or the ground… And from inside erupts a fast-growing, sticky green goop designed to quickly and nonlethally incapacitate.

Also it's extremely gross.

"Old enough to drink, Doctor Isley," the Red Knight calls back, doing his best I'm-Batman-and-I'm-in-control-of-the-situation. Neither of these things are true, but fake it 'til you make it. "Did you miss the inside of Arkham that much?"
Well, the goons are distracted. Mostly! As Red Robin deals with them, Static thumbs-up at him, considers, and pushes forward towards the exhibits they were smashing up. "Yeah, no, I don't even have a reply to meat tour." He thought up several, but his mind refused to speak them.

Harley wants to feed those animals to her hyenas. That's no bueno. So, he flashes his hands at the bars, moving them, and starts barricading the doors of the exhibits with their own metal, heading up to the animals. "Alright, back inside!"

Next focus: the clown leader. Static makes a sudden spin on his trash can lid and blasts right to her. "Hey, lady! You talk too much!" Electricity surges in both his eyes and his gloves, as a purple bolt of taser-burst lightning goes careening for Harley. He's hoping it'll distract her long enough for the others to do their thing regarding the animals and the goons. On the downside…

He's probably getting hyena-bitten, if she focuses on him.

"Murder flags? People tend not to be too keen on going in for the kill once the adrenaline rush has died down. Joker's bunch…" Carolus doesn't finish the thought. He realizes too late — as Ghost Spider vaults away — that he should have, because that shared cultural hatred of clowns just doesn't exist.

"Exotic meat tour." He repeats, dully. It's an indirect explanation, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate Poison Ivy being direct about it. The mothman's antennae rise and fall, his nose scrunching up a little as he gets a better whiff of the toxic cloud. He's forced to go wide, much of his superior mobility diminished by an unwillingness to risk the cloud too bodly.

"While I share your self-evident hatred of PetsMart," Atlas calls down to Poison Ivy, "I think that anyone who can arrange such an organized /zoo raid/ is capable of arranging for a similarly intense game hunt without causing quite this much damage."

"Is that the 'fun' part of all of this to you?" He wonders. It is not a rhetorical question.

There's only so casual you can act with supercriminals (nee supervillains, depending on stylings, but the actual label is *touchy*) but Ghost Spider is hanging pretty casually. Even Red Robin knows the photosynthetically shining Poison Ivy!

"So, you're here to release the animals, and feed them something other than corn? I mean…"

This rattles around in her head with an obvious sort of alternating left-right squint of consideration exaggerated through her big mask-lenses.

Dropping to the blacktop, her arms come up in a big 'what are you going to do' shrug, palms uplifted at shoulder level. "Everyone in this dimension is made out of corn, extruded or otherwise. I'm *sure* you've tasted the local swill they call soda, right? It's like everyone forgot to use real sugar! The drink game around here is *weak*."

Doctor Isley. Oh! Ghost Spider remains amicable even after the bamboo plant wizard turns out to be the… green woman.

Gwen really should have expected this.

"If you're just going to do something illegal at the county level, arguably less cruel than what is being done to them, and is absolutely covered by insurance, why bring the idiots with guns?"

An accusatory finger is levelled at a clownfaced goon.

"But if you're gonna threaten to kill a whole bunch of people for hyena-feed, that's another story entirely. That's really not cool! And, also, really."

Ghost Spider emphatically shakes her head, her accusatory finger dropping. "You can't feed people to animals while complaining about extruded corn. The /people/ are full of extruded corn too. That's just extruded corn product feed with more steps. There's no ethical consumption under capitalism!"

"DEFINITELY START WITH THE PENGUIN, LOU! NO ONE LIKES PENGUINS. Squawking, waddling busy bodies with no appreciation for a joke…" They're actually puffins, but… close enough. She has baggage, okay?

As Harley hears her name (meaning she misses when Impulse whizzes ahead of her to collect birds away from her hungry pets), she pivots in place on her skates. She had been following behind her pets, joyously cheering them on in their pursuit of dinner. Now her face falls. "Aw, man!" she whines sadly at mention of Wonder Boy, not really catching right away which one. "Really? And they're not dogs! Everyone! Why does everyone keep comparin' 'em to dogs?"

Digging into a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, Quinn digs out a walkie talkie. "Crank the cloud to 10, huh? I need less 'ambient gloom' and more 'laugh yer cares away'." A beat later, the green cloud begins to creep further into the zoo. Quinn barely looks up in time to see lightning coming her way and she goes flying backwards with a scream. It draws both Bud and Lou's attention in a hurry, and both of them turn to attack whoever hurt their Fur Mama. Feathers fly in Lou's wake, as a poor duck definitely bit the dust.

It's not really that the clowns aren't talkative, you know. It's that they're really only able to focus on so many things at a time. Shooting. Shouting vague obscenities. As Red Robin's disc explodes and covers one pair, they become a lot more explicit. ". THIS IS WHY I HATE TA GET PAIRED WITH THE NEW GUY. THIS IS BEGINNER'S BAD LUCK."

Also, Ghost Spider's accustory finger gets a rage-filled bellow. "Aaah! It's another hippy! SHOOT IT." More gunfire.

Static successfully staticks! And then hyenas come at him. "Oh-"

He goes flying back himself, into an animal enclosure. He'll be able to get out, but first he'll have to make sure, y'know, those animals don't get out.

And then run away from hyenas that want to eat him.

He's firmly distracted for the rest of the mission, it seems.

Gwen can't continue badmouthing CORN while a fully automatic weapon sprays hot leaden death her way.

"Who gave you guns?! YOU'RE THE ECOTERRORISTS HERE!" She hollers back, springing from her casual standing position into a front-roll, and from her roll to an odd capoiera bounce from her forearms and elbows into an Unreasonable Amount of hangtime.

With a flick of her arm, a glob of webbing slings towards the gun as Ghost Spider has to spend her full round just dodging, weaving, and swinging around jagged air-ripping lines of molten ballistics. "Please, be consistent! You're giving a bad name to good clowns, everywhere!"

"Wow who can hate penguins?!" Or puffins! "We can't be friends anymore, Harley!" The speedster is all sad-faces as he stops long enough to make sure Harley sees his disappointment. And then he gets a face full of flapping wings, which cues him to make for the birds' enclosure to deposite his next armload.

It seems that right on the heels of that Impulse's disappearing does another go dashing by with a net, for reasons. He screeches to a halt as he catches a glimpse of curling green mists billowing in.

"Uuuuh… Double-R, we got a big ol' green gas leak."

"Wait!" Ghost Spider has her arm around a goon bent slightly at the knee with her foreleg. "Robin, you know him?"

She flexes her bicep, cutting off oxygen to the brain of the goon. "Hey, are you Impulse? I'm Ghost Spider! We've not hung out yet. Robin recruited me, hi!"

She is elbowed in the face, rolling into a headbutt and a more pointed choking with her waving hand becoming a bracing hand against the goon's back of the neck. "Let me just—"

She's busy. Guns are rude and a goon has lost his breathing priveleges until he goes into nappy time-out from consciousness.

"I don't know, I'm pretty cold on penguins!" Carolus calls towards Impulse, because it's just /too/ easy. He retreats further as the cloud of fog thickens and grows — presumably — more noxious. He's about to comment on the particulars of hyenas, because he is that sort of nerd, but he's now too far away to really plausibly be heard.

And he's tired of this.

Ascending further into the sky, he tries to get enough altitude to trace the Inevitable Goondsquad operating the fog machine. Once he's identified them — assuming it's possible once he gets enough height — he simply swoops down and tries to carry one of the operators away, binding them with threads of silk as he goes.

If that proves successful he simply attempts to repeat the feat, diving down to grab-entangle-and-deposit in a quick set of motions until there's no one left to man the machine.

It doesn't occur to him that he is stealing somebody else's gimmick.

See, the real value of goons is this: Sure, they might never actually beat whatever costumed hero is causing their boss trouble, but they have an unfortunate talent, at least when applied in liberal enough amounts, for keeping meddling do-gooders busy, and thusly unable to meddle in whatever fiendish scheme is afoot, until it's too late. Or close enough to too late that it becomes really exciting.

For example…

…we got a big ol' green gas leak, Impulse informs him, while trying to keep the puffins from getting eaten by hyenas. Static does a better job of that, though, by making himself a target for both Bud and Lou. Which, hm. Hmm.

"Red Robin," the vigilante corrects, by this point it having become a reflex. Maybe he should've gotten a different codename, but he was working with what he had at the time, and you know how names can stick. Trying for something else now would be weird, like if Ghost Spider decided to be Spider-Woman or something.

"And yes. Impulse, Ghost Spider. Ghost Spider, Impulse. Ghost Spider, keep the clowns preoccupied. Impulse, make some wind to hold back the Joker Toxin. Do not, and seriously I mean this, do not breathe it in. Not even becomes you're curious about how it smells." There's no need to say who that's directed at, Bartholomew Henry Allen II.

"I have a plan," the Red Knight adds, which is hopefully reassuring.

But it shouldn't be, because his plan mainly involves the two hyenas that chased off Static, and more goop bombs. So he can get hostages. Hyena hostages.


Who can hate penguins? Anyone who has ever ended up on the wrong side of Oswald Cobblepot. Clearly, Impulse needs to add that particular joy to his repertoire to understand fully. But he revokes his friendship over it, and something grows even more sour in her expression. "Told ya we couldn't be friends, anyway," she mutters as she reaches into her messenger bag and extracts her canister gun. She pulls out a cylinder and loads it, aiming it for the space in front of her best friend to give Ivy some breathing room for an escape as the underlings start to give out under the stress. She growls under her breath, "I got all the friends I need." She then fires the canister, shouting, "GET OUTTA HERE, SWEET PEA. I GOT THIS." She's not certain she does, but she'll say it anyway.

The goon under Ghost Spider's arm drops suddenly, and he was the more experienced of the bunch. His crime buddy, at the prospect of being left solo, starts to make a run for it. A very grateful zookeeper sighs in relief behind the solid door separating her and the feeding room from the rest of the world.

As Static disappears into an enclosure, Bud and Lou start heckling at the wall. That is until Quinn screeches for them, "BABIES!" Their ears prick and then they start racing back. Of course, that will put them on a collision course for Red Robin, who they'll be more than happy to take chunks out of instead if their bared teeth are any indication.

Meanwhile, Carolus will find himself first with a sprayful of bullets sent in his direction, and then with an armful of gas-masked clown. Then a second. But the fog machine isn't particularly discriminating. So if he isn't careful about his breath, he'll find himself with lungs full of Joker Toxin. …Joker Toxin that has been weakened to something far less lethal (surely, surely, a mistake in the formulation), but Joker Toxin all the same.

"Laaame," comes the speedster's shout in response to Carolus. And as Ghost Spider handles her clown, Impulse comes up beside her for a proper hello. "Ghost Spider? Sweet. Yup, Impulse, that's me. Welcome aboard. You got this? Cool."

Gosh Harley, he wasn't serious. Impulse doesn't get much of a chance to explain otherwise as the woman's locked and loaded to cover for Pam Isley. He jerks his head up as Red Robin speaks up again, cupping a hand to his earpiece, and for a moment he looks ready to object to something but then shuts his mouth again. Instead he ends up reaching out to snag someone blurring past- which turns out to be a very convincing doppleganger. Impulse has a twin brother, who knew? Regardless of how strange this might look, he seems to think nothing of it as he gives himself a look and a firm shake of his head. Then they both look at their wrists despite the lack of watches, and the latter one vanishes with a pop.

"-oh right, wind." He takes a deep breath and then dashes off again, right into the midst of the green mist. And then he starts to circle until it starts to get sucked into as tight a funnel as he can manage.

Shooting at Carolus at night while he's in the air is— well, it's difficult. On the first pass he finds himself inhaling too much of that stuff— which is to say, practically any at all. His lips begin to curl back involuntarily. It doesn't have him laughing yet— his dosage threshold is almost certainly several times that of a regular person. All the same, he realizes the danger quick enough to do something about it.

The second clown is relieved of his mask entirely. Carolus squishes his antennae rather painfully to make it work, but he does make it work, taking a moment to spread a handful of silk across it so that he isn't clown-presenting along the way.

The gunshots that /did/ strike cause him to jerk and dart in the air, but they don't bring him down. It's like somebody hit him hard enough to stagger him, but the plating just beneath the surface of his skin is too tough to actually penetrate. There's a bit of blood from broken skin, but it doesn't seem awful.

What's /actually/ awful is going to be recuperating through the Joker toxin. His face muscles are so violently, forcibly tensed that Carolus is quite certain he can't actually speak comprehensibly just now.

Carolus doubles back 'round on securing the awful garish gas mask, and goes about the business of turning the fog machine off altogether.

Ghost Spider rolling her eyes is an obvious thing, the lenses riding up her face incrementally. Gwen knows exactly this sort of leadership. 'Do the thing you're already doing!'. Classic leadership 101.

Well, hearing about the killer death smoke is going to kill her to death if she smells it gets a pretty real reaction - even if it is the 'weaker stuff'. "Ah, crud. You do that…"

Holy crap that kid's fast!

"And I'll…"

Gwen has an armful of goon, and another making a runner of it. "Don't go through the death smoke!" She calls after him, before heaving the goon safely up on top of the restroom structure near the enclosure, safely head above fog. With a thumbs up to the zookeeper, she watches Impulse work — until she hears more gunfire aimed Carolus' way. "Everyone has LOST their gun priveleges today!" She calls, running after the idiot with an automatic - it's irrelevant, Carolus has it under control - but she's worried.

"You know, if I had a nickel for every time I fought a villain at a zoo," Red Robin mutters to himself. "…I'd have ten cents, but it's still weird that it's happened twice."

Of course, the last time was in New York, and there was a hyperintelligent gorilla and a brain in a jar involved, and Spider-Man had to fight mind-controlled children. See how much better Ghost Spider has things? Not one mind controlled child. No. Just guys in clown masks with guns and nothing to lose.

Anyway, the hyenas.

On the grand scale of things, Bud and Lou are probably lucky that it's this former Robin they're dealing with. Jason Todd would probably just shoot them if he were in this situation, and god only knows what Dick would do. Even the current Robin would be worse: Damian's predilictions being what they are, he'd either try to decapitate them or adopt them. And who's to say which is worse?

Red Robin, privately hoping that his armor holds up to hyena bites, aims to get his staff up in the way of the incoming snapping jaws, to use its length to catch both of them at once - that way, when the taser charge runs through the weapon, it shocks both Bud and Lou at once. Shoving the hyenas aside, the vigilante adds another goop bomb for good measure, careful to avoid throwing it anywhere the goop might obstruct the hyenas' breathing.

"Time to pack it in, Harley," Red Robin calls, either way. "Before this goes worse for you."

It isn't hard to figure out how to turn the fog machine off; it's a commercial creature meant for ease. Carolus gets in switched off, and now all that's left is to dissipate it as swiftly as possible.

The clown making a run for it loads back up into one of the monster-truck-wheeled VWs, hoping to be able to tear it back out of the zoo grounds before he gets wrapped up like everyone else.

And that leaves Harley herself. Who definitely fires her canister. It explodes, and makes a way for Ivy to clear out by way of a new entrance through a garden space that will give Ivy more than enough backup.

And then she hears Bud and Lou both yelp simultaneously.

Pale blue eyes turn in Red Robin's direction, and he'll know in moments which side of Harley he's about to get. Her rage-filled shriek is ear-splitting, and in that moment there's nothing but an overprotective fur mama who is watching her precious charges hurt. "Yer gonna pay fer that, bird brain!" And with that, she skates towards him at full throttle. Along the way, the pale jestress squats down as she rolls to pick up a piece of shattered gate. "NO. ONE. HURTS. MY. BABIES."

This is going south. She knows this is going south. But the part of her brain that comes out every so often for others to see—the one that defies her paramour's catastrophic influence and hold and would remember the kindness Red Robin had once paid her—is presently nowhere to be found.

She comes at him, swinging.

Oh good, that takes care of the extra smoke-gas-stuff. Impulse would give Carolus a thumbs-up but he's kind of preoccupied. At least with it contained within the funnel, he doesn't have to hold his breath. But where's he supposed to put this?

A blur splits off from the still running speedster as he sends off another of his speed scout, who zips off to pop over where Red Robin is finishing rounding up the hyena duo. "Hey R-squared, what're we supposed to do with the green stuff now?" he asks, thumbing back in the direction of Impulse (the original). Harley's shouts draw his attention belatedly. "Uh-oh." Impulse (clone) dances off to the side to avoid her wild charge.

Ghost Spider is pretty happy, all told, with how this is going. This sentiment broadly includes Harley going completely mental on (Red) Robin. The goon who pulled a runner so hard as to get in a truck and peel out isn't getting chased down by her, at least.

"So how do you feel about just letting them run? If you chase them down every time, they're just going to stand their ground. It's bad for the future, don't you think? Plus, it's not like anyone died, right?"

Gwen pans to the gas'ed Carolus. "Hey! Atlas! Are you okay?"

"He's probably OK." Gwen asides to Impulse. "So you've got… super… lung powers? And can split yourself?"

She nods. "That's cool. I'm sticky."

"It's a new development," Impulse admits. The splitting thing. "Sticky's kinda neat." Is it really? Then again, this is Bart.

"Yeah. He's good to take two dogs and an angry lay, right? He's a ninja… bird person, right? Like how I'm a spider person and Atlas is a moth person? He's got like… super reflexes, right?"

Ghost spider considers the fist-and-pole fight going on.

"Should we help? He hasn't asked us to help - and I'm out of goons."

Carolus is sort of getting his bearings over by the fog machine. His head turns towards the blur that is Impulse handling the gas— waiting for his endeavor to clear enough of the fog to feel safe breathing the outside air again. Impulse may not have the time to offer a thumbs-up to /him/, but Atlas does offer a thumbs up to the speedster in passing anyway. Before he answers Ghost Spider, his upper left hand partway lifts the CLOWN GAS MASK, evidently producing one of his own silk before removing it fully. It's not functional the way the gas mask was — the idea is solely to cover the grotesque thing happening to most of his face.

He offers Ghost Spider a wobble of both left hands as he discards the clown gas mask, then draws out his phone with his auxiliary right hand and types a response.

His antennae are bent and uncomfortable-looking.

Inhaled too much of that stuff. Little facial control.

Away goes the phone.

In response to Ghost Spider's query about Red Robin, he points towards the two hyenas.

Afterwards he points between Impulse and Ghost Spider, making a rapid thumbs-up thumbs-down motion to ask how /they/ are in a thoroughly roundabout way.

Possessed as he is of one of the keenest human minds on Earth, natural ability honed through years of study with the Batman and other mentors, as well way more practical experience than anyone should have to go through, Red Robin notices a few things, in quick succession.

One, there are two Impulses.

This is especially worrying because the vigilante hasn't had a concussion in ages.

Two, and honestly this is the more immediately problematic one: Harley Quinn is trying to give him a concussion.

A lot of people in Gotham have paid the price for underestimating the Arkham Asylum doctor-turned-patient, because after all she's just Joker's ridiculous gun moll, right? And she probably weighs five pounds soaking wet. Naturally, though, the former Boy Wonder knows exactly what it's like to be underestimated, because once upon a time he was a skinny thirteen year old in a green and red costume thrown into the dangerous world of clown crime and/or getting thrown off of buildings by blind heroin dealer/martial artists who look like what would happen if HGH became sentient (it's a long story).

The sound of the chunk of shattered gate hitting the vigilante's battle staff is an ear-rending screech of jagged metal on smooth, with Harley's augmented physique and Red Robin's whatever-peak-human-means own turning the clash into something more dangerous than your average stick-swinging. But the Titan is purely on the defense now, the featureless white lenses of his cowl locked directly on the madwoman.

"They're fine, Harley. Just knocked out, which is better than you had planned for everyone here." The staff is a blur, perfectly controlled movements meeting Harley's wild swings again and again - but always just in time, sparks flying off of the metal. Maybe he's trying to let her rage wear itself out. Maybe he's hoping she'll see reason.

It's true, either of those would be nice: What he was actually waiting for was his suit's capacitors to build up another taser charge.

When it does, when his cowl's HUD signals him that it's ready, he suddenly switches from defense to offense. Trying to slip his staff past whatever guard the onetime Dr. Quinzel might be able to put up so he can give her one (nonlethal) hell of a shock.

"Oh, he got gassed! Uhhh…"

The white-and-black hero dismisses her text messaging program and for some unclean and heathen reason, opens up Yahoo Search to look up 'how to treat gas toxin'.

"Wow none of this is helpful, because I don't have broncho-dialators or portable oxygen. Uhhh… Well, water will probably help… And I don't have a cup. Wow, I'm the infintely useless Ghost Spider. Alright, gonna find a water."

Abandoning her LEADER in his TIME OF NEED (defined as: the period that his tazer fist is charging - not long), Ghost Spider swings off to find the concession stand.

When she returns, she has a four-packof blue raspberry slushie and a tall Gotham Zoo novelty sippy cup doubtless full of water in a little webbed baggie. She does not return immediately, as she still had to POUR four jumbo icees.

The sad part is that Harley had intended to pull her punches and really only intended to give the hyenas some variety in their mealtime experience. Because she's a good and responsible pet owner that way. The Joker Toxin was cut to incapacitate, not kill. The clowns… were really just to keep people from taking her into custody.

But the greatest lies are the ones we tell ourselves, and Harley — unregulated and encouraged along every dark impulse she has — can only hear them. Red Robin tells her that her pets are only knocked out; her thoughts speak of a temporary situation. And she cannot go back to Belle Reve. Cannot, cannot, cannot.

The fact that she is now outnumbered and has to get her babies to safety without help left… is not doing great things for her notoriously unreliable even-headedness. So they fight, with Quinn on her skates and still somehow being ungodly balanced and bendy and Red Robin holding her off. And then that charge comes up. And then Red Robin makes contact with her center in a solid strike.

And Quinn goes flying backwards on her skates and finally skidding down the walkway.

She tries to get up, although there are numerous convulsions that make it harder given her choice in fun footwear.

Gwen watches Harley go down, lenses wincing. "Should I…"

"… pour another slushie?"

Her tone is honest - she's not sure what's the protocol here for what was, all in all, a slightly destructive fistfight. We'll ignore the automatic weapons.

"I think I tapped the blue razz though. Think she's down for Coke-flavor? Or… is she more a cherry person?"

"GaaahI'mgettingdizzy~" comes the barely intelligible babble of words over the Titans' comm. By now the green within the air funnel's moved up higher and higher, hopefully to an altitude where it can dissipate without any terribly lasting effects.

…which is good because Impulse finally starts to slow, his last steps tottering as he stumbles a bit before flopping over. He'll be fine. He just needs the world to stop spinning. …not literally. "-slushie..!!" A hand shoots up. Seems his hearing's still working.

The speed scout winces as he watches Harley go flying, and he follows suit, if only to make sure she's okay, at least for as long as he's still able to stick around before whatever mysteries of mad science ala Tony Stark and the Speed Force decide to rubberband him back to his original.

Ghost Spider delivers slushie to Impulse with a delicate transfer to the extended hand. This is important, before it becomes a slushie-based paradox.

A slush in the timestream.


For two people with no(?) superpowers, it's a pretty crazy fight. Red Robin might not be the preternatural acrobat Nightwing is, but he keeps up - if only just - with Harley's madcap gymnastics with a certain cold, precise aplomb, something more in the vein of the Bat Himself than the cheerful antics of one of his sidekicks. In the end, it's a close-run thing, with the vigilante barely avoiding a chunk of iron gate across his head. In the end, it feels… Unsatisfying. It shouldn't: Harley might not have been intending for anyone to get killed at the zoo, but she was already a murderer. Gleeful, unrepentant. That Joker Toxin could just as easily have been a full dose, and Atlas would probably be rattling his last, torturous breath right now. By all rational metrics, this is a very bad person, getting stopped in the act.


"What are you doing, Harley?" Red Robin asks, although it's probably rhetorical because he just electrocuted her. "Weren't you getting away from the Joker? All for… What? The same old dumbass clown goons, attacking a zoo?" Sirens get louder, the GCPD (department motto: 'better late than never') finally arriving at the scene. "Just… Go quietly, okay?" Except… Poison Ivy is still out there, somewhere.

With a sigh, Red Robin turns towards where Ghost Spider is trying to help Atlas with… Slushies.

"Here," he says, producing what looks like - and is - a sleek, high-tech inhaler from somewhere in the mysterious depths of his utility belt. "It's the antitoxin. Don't leave home without it." Has he got one for fear toxin, too?

Of course he does, don't be ridiculous.

Ghost Spider is trying to fix Atlas with a big stupid sippycup of water, *Robin*. That's rude, she's not stupid! She's just unprepared and, frankly, too trusting of clowns both in general and specifically for Gotham.

"Oh. Inhaler."

Gwen moves another blue razz slushie to her hands, swapping the jumbo of sugary delicious 'blue flavor' for the inhaler.

"Atlas, Ro-"

She will be better about this. She is a teammate!
"Red Robin has an inhaler, c'mere!"

As she leaves, jogging to get the inhaler to Carolus, she spins to walk backwards. "So that's a no on getting her one? That's fine - but the ice might help her head, too. It'd be nice of you!"

She turns to pelt after Carolus so his One Smiley Day would end in minutes instead of painful and toothy hours.

An empty slushie cup later, Impulse has peeled himself off the floor, dusting himself off as he surreptitiously looks for refills. His 'twin' comes hopping back, vanishing like some bad mirage, and all at once the speedster's on his feet and moving to check on the others. Not at all surprised is he that Red Robin's got treatment for the Moth guy.

He finally returns that thumb's up and gives Ghost Spider one for good measure before he trots over to help out Harley, if only after another look at Red Robin. He's really letting her go? Oh don't get him wrong- this works out fine for him because he's still not sure how the whole friendship thing between himself and Harley is- it's complicated-er, apparently.

Atlas accepts a SLUSHIE, but doesn't actually do anything with it. He only really takes it because he literally has hands to spare. As it is, his face is still frozen in an uncomfortable position that he would describe as rather akin to what he imagines lockjaw feels like. Which isn't to say he isn't going to drink it, or that he is completely unable. But he's not about to do what he'd need to our here. His antennae — lopsided and bent — twitch. He nods at Ghost Spider.

He nods at the suggestion that Harley is probably a CHERRY SLUSHY kind of person. She just seems it, even if he doesn't know her that well. The colorfulness of it, he thinks, would appeal to her.

It's only when Red Robin comes to the rescue with an INHALER — brought soon after by Ghost Spider — that he really gets an opportunity to do anything about his predicament other than conceal and wait it out. The mothman looks between Red Robin and Ghost Spider, and then nods towards the Red Knight.

He swaps SLUSHIE for inhaler wholesale — in fact, pushing the slushie back off on Ghost Spider entirely — before beginning to undo his improvised mask. It's unpleasant to look at, but what's /more/ unpleasant is Atlas using his lower set of hands to manually manipulate his face into a configuration that accommodates using the inhaler.

It takes a moment more after that for the effect to settle in, and for him to lower his hands. Carolus works his jaw animatedly for a moment before he offers a nod and a, "Thanks." by way of an all-clear.

There's still an uncomfortable amount of tension and some awkwardness there, but nothing compared to the awful smile that preceded it.

The jestress, unsteady now on her roller skates but growing steadier, holds a hand over her gut where she’d been struck and digs her claw-bent fingers into the quartered-joining of her shiny spandex.

Red Robin makes an impassioned statement, as creatures of his Bat-clan do. Behind Harley Quinn’s domino mask, there is the spark of changing light… So easy to miss. But then… Then the GCPD. The light changes again, and there’s nothing but the visible rise of her fight or flight reflex as she turns to look over her shoulder.

And Red Robin keeps talking. It drags her attention back to him… only for confusion to surface in every fiber of her.

He’s letting her go?

Quinn looks desperately torn for a moment after that, skate-racing to her hyenas and then physically stopping just shy of picking them up. The goo keeps her from lifting them up. “Aaaaaaaaaah,” she says while flailing, growing only more frantic as the cops draw nearer. She moves to pick them up again, but again draws short.

But there’s no time to hem, or haw.

She looks for Impulse so that she can point a finger at him in warning, and then to her pets. ”NOTHING BETTER HAPPEN TO THEM!”

And then she’s actually turning to go. And she actually goes before someone tries to take her into custody after all.

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