Dancing at The Punchline!
Roleplaying Log: Dancing at The Punchline!
IC Details

The Punchline shows that it knows how to throw a party!

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: July 04, 2019
IC Location: The Punchline, Gotham
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 11 Jul 2019 22:05
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 (Language)
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits: Harley Quinn
Associated Plots

OOC Note: Due to the interference of RL, this scene was abruptly cut short. In order to not penalize the gracious players who attended that evening, this portion of the log has been posted to be counted towards their respective activity timers. Thank you to everyone who came, and for your understanding! XOXO ~ HQ

It's nine o'clock on a Thursday night, and perhaps the responsible people aren't out for a night on the town.

But a little bit of irresponsibility's okay, isn't it? Just for a night?

Well, that's what The Punchline is counting on.

FOMOstic, a six piece band with a not-quite-right 40s look (but close enough for government work!) and vocalists that promises a big band sound, has been running through an introductory set for the past half hour. And bar is already in full… well, swing! The tables have been pushed away from the floor, some secreted away to a storage room, all to make room on the main floor for the handful of dancing pairs who are already trying out the floor that still has the shine of a new wax on it.

It's just an instrumental for now, bright and brash, as the vocals chatter off to the side of the stage where the lighting is a little dimmer.

And at the door, they're just taking a modest cover charge as people pass by the two bouncers at the door.

Is that…

No, it's just a coincidence.

The woman with the red hair and the slightly unhealthy pallor sitting at the bar, legs crossed, in a vintage-esque flapper dress and her hair pinned up into something between a bob and a chignon isn't Poison Ivy. Sure, she's probably riding on that style given the decorative glass-and-wire faux-laurels accent but that could just be like, Amazon chic. She has a hip flask! Poison Ivy wouldn't have a flask.

It certainly wouldn't have something blue in it, and based on what she's pouring into a champagne glass, it is definitely blue-adjacent. It's probably Midori or something.
This person, let's call her Pamela just for reference, seems to have just finished a dance, based on the slight disarray of her hair. Hey, everyone needs a break sometime.

At least it's not a black tie event.

That's mostly what's been running through Alex's mind as he steps through the doors and into the club. While not exactly a tux he is wearing a nice enough outfit. Sports jacket in a blue so dark as to be nearly black, white button up shirt with the neck and one button down undone. Black slacks to provide a bit of contrast to the jacket. For the time being he's meandered around listening to the band, watching people, and otherwise making small talk when appropriate but rather than the 'prowl' of a man who's come stag and on the look out, it's just an easy night out with that touch of awkwardness that shows sometimes when meeting so many new people. Even however brief.

Alex takes a breath and blows it out in a slow exhale then walks over towards the bar to order himself a drink. Nothing to crazy, just a rum and coke and leaves a modest tip. Definitely not a high roller this one.

"Trust me, Bruce, you're gonna love it. They have the weirdest chocolatier…"
To what is certainly no one who keeps up with the tabloids' surprise, Katherine Rebecca Kane has been a somewhat semi-regular presence at The Punchline since its auspiciously lively opening. Semi-regular of course because, well — Kate is a very busy trustfund layabout, and one can't expect her to waste her life getting drunk at just one club, can they?

That'd just be sad.

Today, though, she's not alone; because nothing says family like dragging blood relatives to potentially questionable locales that people of their status should certainly not be just loitering about, Kate floated an invitation to check out the thrilling festivities of Gotham's hottest spot to her cousin, Bruce, which was certainly an invitation and not a firm insistence, and it was certainly ust to check out the thrilling festivities, and not to wonder over the proprietor who is most certainly not Harley Quinn.

Certainly not.

Regardless, Kate arrives when Kate arrives and not a second sooner, dressed for success in a lovingly punkishly rendered rendition of retro rockabilly attire: a short-sleeved, white button up and bright red bowtie complements well her black and white pinstripe cigarette pants and red suspenders nicely; the 'punkish' comes from the way her short hair is done up in a messy fauxhawk for the evening. And the combat boots. Probably. Good for stomping, as one sometimes needs to do, in a swingin' retro club scene.

Her smile is a lopsided and lax one as she spins around, hands in her pockets and one red brow hefted just a bit. A whistle slips past her lips.

"Wow, even more stylish than the last time I was here."

This is certainly for something important, and not just because she wanted to force Bruce to go clubbing.

C e r t a i n l y .

Big band music and dancing? Who can resist? Betsy is not one who can resist, certainly, and didn't even try. Purple hair is pinned up with rose gold and glittery pins and ornaments that match the sleeveless sparkling rose gold dress with the high low hem. Her faux glass slippers sparkle and accentuate her legs without much heel, so she's not towering over potential partners. Makeup and other accessories are minimal, and as one might expect from the supermodel, fairly flawless.

She will saunter in as if she's an expected guest or VIP, before she will make her way in a slow, fluid stride for the bar.

Dinah's outfit is a weird club aesthetic. Sexy/Punk? Her leather jacket is made of something too supple for serious street use. Hair worn down and loose, tumbling to her shoulderblades and framing her face. In keeping with the rockabilly theme, Dinah's dressed like James Dean, though his bike jacket was never meant for road wear and his jeans never fit so well. Her concession to the fun: calf-high cross-laced boots in black with a three-inch heel, and studs glimmering in her ears.

Dinah heads right for the bar— true to form— and clambers up onto a stool with a smooth athleticism. Legs cross at the knee with a twist of her hips and she drums short trimmed, neatly manicured nails on the layered old lacquer.

"Manhattan, please," she requests of the bartender. "Maker's, if you've got it."

She turns to look over her shoulder to sweep the crowd with a closer inspection, seeking eyelines to familiar faces.

When his drink arrives Alex takes a moment to stir it with one of those little 'twizzlestick' style straws to get the rum and coke more mixed up together before he takes a small drink. Clearly not in a mood to get himself hammered even if it is a night out at the club. Maybe he has no designated driver. Certain people catch the attention, as they do most everyone else when they arrive or make their presence more noticeable in the club. Some people have to do it intentionally, others just are eye catching by their very being.

Turning to lean against the bar in that practiced casual way that might have come out of watching to much Miami Vice re-runs, Alex's people watches and a small smile lights his face up when he catches sight of Betsy. He just watches for a few moments and then lifts his glass in her direction as her attention might turn his direction. Smile growing he takes another drink but for the moment seems content to wait at the bar and watch the dancing and crowd swell and surge.


Something always explodes when he goes to Gotham. Tony Stark has had long experience with this. Sometimes he doesn't even have to visit for Gotham things to explode on him! It is like a gift that you don't want but keeps on finding you anyway. Those Gotham based explosions.

Even so. Sometimes one must gather their courage and venture forth to slay the beast of fear! Into the lions dean! …of the bat's cave…or the Joker's funhou—well you get the idea!

Which is what brings Tony Stark out to /here/. A club opening in Gotham. A party one might say. A party he even brought guests too! See. He's helping. He's always helping.
Especially when he's not.

Besides he couldn't just let the opportunity pass by to laugh at Kate dragging Bruce out clubbing.

I mean, that is a moral imperative.

Arriving in his own pinstripe suit, the matching hat perfectly styled. He /does/ look like he did just step out of the frames of a 1940s picture. Never mind the fact that there is likely enough electronics and microsystems in said suit to buy some small countries.
"Huh," He drawls out, amused as he glances back over his shoulder towards his friends for the night. "Well! It's a nice place and its not on fire yet! Which I mean is a good sign I'm pretty sure." A pause. "I mean not on literal fire. Metaphorically its burning up, can't wait for the band to start."

The bartender is certainly manned by a pair of men in black pants, black tuxedo shirts, and white bow ties, and they sling their glasses and poison with the flair of an artist. Cosmos and hurricanes and martinis of all variety and hue come from forth the nimble hands, and their waitress counterparts slip by on towering heels as they go up and down what surely must be a perilous climb up the steps to deliver drinks to people hiding in tables up above the dance floor.

The mood is so light and gay, the track lighting so on theme! It's a good place to go to forget everything.

There will be nothing asked for, likely, that will be denied. Dinah finds her Manhattan, with Maker's.

…Except that the chocolatier? Is not here tonight. An opening night gimmick perhaps?
Tonight, there's bar food though. So, there's something.

The trumpet brays loudly as the dancers cheer for a show-off couple who just experimented with the first swing lift of the night. So far, no one's slipped on the newly finished floor. That's a good thing!

The woman who is absolutely not in any way shape or form Poison Ivy watches people come in as she takes a little cocktail straw and slides it into her glass of blue material. She sips at it. It's scenic.

Her eyes flick at everyone coming in. Two people come past her and go for whiskey. She contemplates them for a moment, and slides forwards and up as she puts her attention back towards the purple-haired model approaching with a stateliness usually associated with manors.

"Welcome to the party, Cinderella," she says to Betsy. "Auditioning for princes or just here to dance?"

Shortly after she mentions princes, in comes Tony Stark. This makes Pamela's lips purse in mild displeasure.

"No one told me it was going to be a costume party!"

This exclamation comes from one Bart Allen, young owner of Stark Industries who despite not really having a clue as to what people wore in the medieval 1940s, still looks presentable enough in his dark jeans and his button-up shirt worn under well, a burgundy hooded sweatjacket. His sneakers are all black, pretending to be nicer shoes than they really are. Never know when you need the traction to run, after all!

He peers around Tony as though curious to see if there really is a fire threatening to catch. Really, Tony should know better than to say things like that around him by now. The clarification from the man gains something of an almost disappointed pout before Bart looks around again.


To set this straight: Raven doesn't know how to dress for these things. She never had to worry about it before. Not like it's a problem, however; she figured she needed to dress nicely, but whoever helped her get ready decided to go the extra mile.
Black is a normal color (if not the most prominent) in Raven's current wardrobe, so that part is predictable. The cut and style of the dress is a little less so: although the neckline is modest, the combination of its cold-shoulder look with billowing sleeves gathering loosely at the elbow, its semi-clingy drape, and the shortened skirt seems to work in her favor. Black jewelry is also on her person in the form of bracelets and a choker necklace, only subtle in its glittering whenever she moves.
Stepping gingerly in crisscross-strapped heels, the young woman tilts her head, her not-as-short black and magenta-tinged hair a tousled frame around her face. Smokey eyelids hide the fact she's still working on catching up on sleep, remaining half-lidded as Tony Stark talks.

"Metaphorical is preferable to literal," she agrees with some flatness in her tone, lightly placing a hand on Bart's arm as if to keep him from being totally disappointed by the lack of a real fire. But since he's already thinking of food, that's one less thing to worry about.

Psylocke turns her head with her body lines that are model perfect. She smiles brightly at the lady with the blue drink. "Princes, Princesses, do I have to choose?" She will say lightly, violet eyes alight with mischief. "But I mainly came to hear the music and dance."

Betsy catches sight of Tony Stark, lips curving in a closed mouth smirk, before she will move enough to catch his eye and blow him a playful kiss. Eyes shift back to the mysterious lady with the blue drink. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need to indulge in some libations. If you need a refill, do come find me, won't you?" She'll move to slip away, silky smooth motions as she makes it to the bar near Alex, giving him a wink.

This is one of those times that Bruce will allow his cousin to talk him into something. He's allowed Bruce's society side slip a bit lately and the Punchline is interesting. Never say that Bruce 'Batman' Wayne does not multitask. And so, it only takes Kate one less reason to talk him into going. He'll let her feel like she's won something this once.

He's dressed up in a proper tux - tailored as one may expect of a Gotham elite - complete with bowtie and fedora and black and white leather wingtips. He's in theme, but the tux puts him over into Fred Astaire category and less Big Band. Stepping inside, the music washes over the pair and he glances toward the woman next to him with a smirk. "I hope you're not expecting me to dance. You know I have two left feet and what will everyone think if the only dance I can get is from family? My reputation would be ruined." Adjusting his cufflinks, they glint a little. Are they gems?

Immediately, his eyes move around the dance floor, the bar, the exits, the ceiling, the points where someone may be watching. It's cursory, like a trained FBI agent might do. Then, his hands tuck into his pockets, almost as if he's abashed by Tony's brashness as the man enters. He gives the pinstripped showman a grin. "Just give the place a few minutes with you here and I am sure catastrophe will strike. Don't worry, I've got my phone prepared, it will be sure to make around a million hits on YouTube."

And then he descends toward one of the tables around the ring of the dance floor, not being one for the bar.


A gathering of clouds. The distant thrum of a helicopter. A shape falls from the sky. *WHAM* Into the center of the street.

Thor; Son of Odin. Adorned with dark hauberk, crimson cape, and knee-high leather boots he rises from his point of impact and gives the bouncers a wide grin. Spinning his hammer twice he makes his approach only to stop — grimacing — as a black sedan crawls into his path and blocks him.

Tony Stark and his entourage exit. A joyous baritone shouts, "Tony Stark!" and then Thor comes around the back of the limo. He merges into the billionaire's party pressing his presence directly at the Iron Man's side as if they were old friends.

Fire? No wait. Metaphorically on fire? Thor squints. It begins to rain. A precautionary measure. Soaking the line.

Thor does not seem to notice as someone to his rear moves to pay the bouncers on the entourage's behalf. He hooks the hammer to his belt, "I did not know you had an heir," Thor is heard saying with plain surprise as he looks first to Tony and then to Bart Allen. The Asgardian's voice then lowers as if understanding the discretion needed when producing random heirs, "Does Lady Potts know?"


Mjolnir rests upon a chair at one of the tables rendering it completely immobile. Let all who are unworthy know that: This seat is taken.

Meanwhile, Thor is at the bar where he has procured at least 20oz of suds for himself and another 20oz for his friend Lord Allen. Unprompted he tries to pass Bart the glass, "Did you find any food?" Thor asks and then wordlessly offers Raven his own glass.

Betsy's approach is not lost on Alex, nor is the conversation with the lovely red-head with the blue drink not to far down the bar. "Looks like you will have your fair share of options tonight Betsy, I believe a literal Prince of Asgard just came in too." He says at Betsy's wink to him. "And we've got the Prince of Gotham over there, Bruce Wayne, lots of potentials for you." Another small drink of his rum and coke is taken as he tries, and fails, to hide a wider smile from the supermodel. Lowering the now mostly empty glass and resting it on the bar Alex looks around and then leans closer to Psylocke, "I'm starting to feel a tad underdressed." He admits.

Responsible people — people with jobs to go to in the morning — are certainly not going to be out for a night on the town on Thursday night. But though Warren Worthington has become slightly more responsible than he used to be a decade ago, he certainly still doesn't have a day job per se, so nine o'clock on a Thursday night is still when the evening really starts for him.

In fact, it might be a little early, by his usual standards.

That might be why he arrives a shade late, a familiar blonde in tow on his arm. Owing to the weather, he's in light grey linen, the suit set off by a tie in a dark shade of maroon; though really, anywhere he goes and however he's dressed, his main and most striking accessory will always be the pair of white wings, impeccably preened, folded neatly at his back.

He's not in theme. But then, this was a bit of an impromptu stop for himself and Alison.
"Now I know you said it would be prudent to start trying to make some inroads on connections in Gotham, and I agree, but I just have to warn you — the city is absolutely lousy with Waynes and Kanes and et cetera," he tells his companion, "and if you would believe, they're even more stuck-up than my folks."

For those who may have seen the papers weeks ago announcing opening night at The Punchline, or who have visited since it did, they might recognize when Lena Zelle - who, no, is CERTAINLY not Harley Quinn - steps out of the kitchen… if they notice her subtle entrance at all. Her dark hair is done up to perfection, a la Veronica Lake, and her winged eyeliner game is on point.

Her gown is floor length with only one strap, made of a bow. The dress is a clinging and glittery black number with no back to speak of. It slits to just above her right knee and ripples as she walks, giving her a flattering mermaid silhouette accent and showing off the very avant garde designer pair of shoes that somehow looks like it is two pairs of shoes stacked on top of each other, one a pair of bright purple stilettos tucked into a pair of cork platform wedges in black matte leather.

She doesn't look happy. Rather, she looks altogether flustered as she takes a place on the wall by the kitchen door and takes a moment to rest against it with eyes closed and center herself.

Raven glances over at Thor, who is openly offering her his glass of suds. Either the lack of sleep has gotten to her, or she is just caught off-guard by the Asgardian and his presence. Red lips part, then press together, then part again. "No thank you," she declines as gracefully as she can, holding up a slender hand. The same hand also encourages him to go ahead and keep it.

Oops, there are two familiar faces. Dinah's 'totally chill, not interested expression' is replaced by a pleasant smile when she spots Bruce and Kate making their entrance. Well, entrance, among entrances— lot of power couples in the club tonight.

Dinah pivots off her stool and watches Betsy saunter off, along with about half the club, as Not-Pamela gets the brushoff from Not-A-Princess Betsy.

Alex just gets a wryly sympathetic smile and a roll of one shoulder in a shrug, and then Dinah's off her stool with a smooth rolling step (in heels!) and heading for Bruce and Kate, drink in hand. "Hey Bruce," she says, with a wry grin. "And Kate. What brings you down from Crest Hill to downtown?" she quips. "If Dick sent you here, tell him he's not off the hook for denting my bike's rims," she advises them with a familial sort of banter.

At least they got in before it started to rain, nothing that a few laps around wouldn't dry off. Bart finds himself swept up in the wake of Thor's entrance, but the bar is usually where one can also acquire food, isn't it? So he's not trying too hard to go anywhere else. He grins at Raven as if to reassure her- for what? He doesn't know but she's got that look on her face. Getting those subtle Raven-expressions down, pat!

His head lifts as he catches a glimpse of another familiar face, a hand raising to wave enthusiastically in Warren and Alison's direction. When he turns he finds a very large glass being shoved towards him. Amber eyes blinking, he sniffs at it, nose wrinkling. "This isn't cherry coke…" Food? "Um. Not yet? Maybe we can order something? I've never been here so I'm not sure how it works."

"Warren, I swear. I know that you all have grudges going back to some great Yacht War of 1802," Alison happily sasses back, "but I don't even know where you get all the disdain. I've heard fantastic, philanthropic things about the Waynes. And Kate Kane was an absolute delight."

Her smile is iaijutsu: a heartbeat-quick glimpse of sharpness out to cut Warren Worthington, before it's seamlessly returned to its sheath, and her bearing softens back down to its public warmth. Though the Dazzler officially sings no more — her career destroyed with her outed mutancy — Alison Blaire still wears her iconic white, a tea-length cocktail dress of soft, gauzy lace. She's knotted her yellowy hair into a messy chignon, where its gilded flyaways frame her recognizable face.

She lays her fingertips on Warren's elbow, attention only taken away when she sights Bart's greeting — Tony's ward, she recognizes. Alison answers him with a wave of her free hand.

"Aw, look at him. Good to see Tony hasn't completely corrupted that one yet," she says aside to Warren. "I'm sure he's trying. Network the best you can, anyway. I think we should be aiming to get a satellite office for Aegis in Gotham."

"You never know, Bruce. You might just pull off an impressive Charleston if you tried."
Of course Kate feels like she's won. But she's a graceful winner, and thus she does not rub it in Bruce's face.

She lets the subtleties of the Smug Smirk do that for her.

"You're right, though. It would ruin your rep if the only dance you could get is from family. My suggestion is to start looking for alternatives, before I have to give you a pity dance for all the world to see."

Also, her words. Those too. Still, very subtle.

While she talks to Bruce, though, Kate lets her peripherals do the work for her, keeping an eye on their surrounding environment and what she can hear past the heady, jazzy thrum of music and shouting and dancing. No sign of the chocolatier. It brings a small frown to her lips, if briefly, perfectly timed with the sift of her pale fingers through her muss of red hair. Her brows lift just a bit as she catches sight of Dinah, too, and —

— a red head in a flapper dress in a club owned by Definitely Not Harley Quinn —

"Really?" Kate mumbles to herself.

Couldn't she have splurged a bit for a wig—?

For right now, though, the redheaded Kane heiress just lets her thoughts stew at the back of her mind as more people enter. Some she recognizes, by reputation as well as passing encounters: "Don't let Bruce get to you," she says consolingly to Tony, for example. "He's just worried about finding a dance partner… huh. Holy shit — is that Thor?"

It certainly is Thor. And that certainly is Thor's hammer. Resting on a seat. Kate's brows scrunch inward just a bit in thought. She chews on the inside of her cheek as Dinah approaches.

"Bruce promised to indulge my bad habits for exactly one night and I mean to make him regret it," is her honest (?) answer to Dinah with all due glib wit, flashing the blonde a hint of a grin. "But first… there's a once in a lifetime opportunity I gotta take." She looks Mjolnir-wards. "Care to join me?"

And off she walks, a short distance.

Towards Thor's hammer.

And so it is that as Warren is just in the middle of completing his thought of '… they're even more stuck-up than //my folks.'// that he might see Kate Kane.
Grabbing Thor's hammer with both hands, muscles straining and right boot planted on the seat of the chair as she tries to lift it with every fiber of her being.

"FUCK. What kind of Norse superbullshitglue is this??"

And largely failing. But. "Shit—!"


At least she's trying. Some things you just gotta go for.

So there is Thor. Having two glasses of beer for his companions. Neither companion accepted either glass. When Raven politely declines there is a beat of hesitation and he drinks it down. Then Bart seems to stall. Certainly, Thor can get another later and so he drinks that one too.

Setting both glasses upon the counter he looks towards the kitchen where LENA ZELLE stands and directs them both that way. Except she is clearly not dressed as 'the help' which even Thor can recognize and so he holds up two fingers ordering two more beers.


Thor's attention goes towards the sound. Then towards Mjolnir. The Son of Odin smiles broadly departing the bar even as two beers are place upon it.

When he arrives at Kate he extends a hand, "It took more than a thousand years for me to become worthy," says the heir to the immortal realm, "Perhaps in only a century or two you too can bear its burden."

It was totally not a brush off! It was leaving potential conversation for later while Betsy makes her polite rounds of greetings! Alex will get a brush of her fingers along his sleeve of his sports coat. "Stop. You look handsome." She will flash him a warm smile as she orders a Gibson from the bartender, before she's turning. She will wait for her drink, before she will saunter over to Warren and Alison, offering the mandatory air kisses to cheeks. "You look wonderful, as always."

Her head turns, as she watches Kate. "It's lovely to see her again. She does have a certain joie d'vive, doesn't she?" Which Betsy very much appreciates in people!

Betsy speaks to 'Pamela'. Pamela sips her drink, thinking thoughts of green for a moment, and then curling her lip slightly when Tony Stark gets the attention. "Oh," she tells Betsy, "I will," and as she does this she gets up to her feet, swirling round her glass. She holds it with the stem between her fingers and puts her other hand on her hip.
Pamela's attention turns… but before she can do more than generally identify the presence of Thor, who is after all something of a sight for thor eyes and easily spotted from across state lines, something else moves.

Pamela moves that way, away from where Bart Allen is obtaining BEER. She closes towards Lena. "If it isn't the belle of the ball," Pamela says, sliding up to prop up the wall besides her. Another sip of the mystery blue substance, and she says, "Going to make the rounds?"

Her eyes flick back towards the sight of Katherine Kane striving with…

Pamela makes a stifled little 'hnfh!' of laughter but strives to keep a straight face.

Alex smiles at Betsy, "Thank you Betsy. You're too kind, as always." And finishes his drink to move in Betsy's wake over towards Warren and Alison, or that was the plan. The crash of the attempt on Mjolnir gathers his attention like it does so many others and eyebrows shoot upwards. A step is taken in that direction but the Asgardian Heir makes it there first and so Alex is caught in a moment of 'Now what?'.

Fortunately it lasts only a moment and Alex is able to continue back over towards where Betsy has greeted the other two in particular high-brow fashion and instead he just opines, "You're looking lovely as always Alison, it's always good for someone to outshine Warren and keep him grounded and humble." His tone is friendly and amused to the pair. "Warren, I'm surprised to see you both here actually, but then the crowd has gotten rather illustrious hasn't it."

"Once in a lifetime, huh?" Dinah flickers a look from Kate to Bruce, and a dimpled grin crosses her features. "I might steal you for a dance then," she advises Gotham's favorite son. Her balance rests over her left foot and she sips from the glass cradled in her fingers. Ice clatters as the amber bourbon flows over and around it.

She's a practiced barhopper, and curls her drink in close to rest against a collarbone. Wary of someone knocking it out of her hand— Dinah's not exactly rolling in the dough and someone smacking her drink away would probably put her night into a tailspin.

"Can you even dance, or— uh, hang on," she clarifies, and laughs as she's more or less dragged away by Kate. Not physically, but Kate's On A Mission, and if nothing else, Dinah's a good wingwoman. She watches with bemusement as Kate attacks Mjolnir, just shaking her head and sipping from the cocktail straws in her drink.

"Oh shit!" Dinah tries to catch Kate as the whole thing goes pear-shaped, but only with her non-drinking arm. Kate's tough, and Dinah's sure as heck not going to risk upsetting her beverage for the sake of Kate's ego!

Still, y'know. Make sure she doesn't break a neck, or something.

Barbara Gordon is late. She comes tumbling in through the front door, pink-cheeked and walking backwards as she laughs awkwardly at the couple behind her who had to endure her word-vomit at the bouncer while trying to dig out her ID. "Sorry again," she offers with a gawky wave. Now she's turning around, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear, and giving the hem of her short, dark denim skirt a little tug. She takes in a big breath, taking in the entire interior of The Punchline.

She teeters left and then right on the thick heels of black combat boots with blue laces that match the same color of her lean sleeveless top that is tucked into her skirt's waist. Then she spots Dinah and beelines for the blonde, only spotting Kate and then… Bruce Wayne.

In the back of her mind, a little part of her groans. Babs manages to cover it up by just looking chargrined as she nears Dinah Lance.

After greeting Alison and Warren, Alex smiles, "Well I'm sure you two have elbows to rub with important people and such. It was good seeing you all again." He offers a wave to the pair and then heads away from their circle of influence to wander closer towards the band that is playing. He gives the fracas around Kate, Dinah, and Mjolnir a fairly wide birth on the way before finding a table to lounge at rather than the bar. Capturing the attention of a waitress he orders another Bacardi and coke then snakes a chair for himself at the table he's chosen.

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