-:-
Aaaand—this is where I'm going to die.
-Will & Grace.


Worm Tea-:-

This is not a surprise, this is not a letdown, this is not a disappointment.

This is the worst idea in the entire history of Creeper having existed on earth since being born into the world from the toxic waste that had created him.

"You don't have to bring any money with you, but you might want to put on something more durable. Some leather body suit like your kitty-cat friend wears to turn Bat's on would be nice, but your old suit would be good, too," had been what he'd required the evening before their so-called "date" and Harley was grinding her teeth the entire morning after she'd been STUPID enough to request the name of a leather goods shop from Selina and just bought a simple black one that was a two-piece with boots attached and looked vaguely like something SWAT teams in the secret service wore before they busted in the doors of an international arms dealer, their own guns blazing. The pants part looked normal enough when she draped her black winter's coat over it when the Creeper met her at the appointed time the next evening atop her apartment building's roof and said, "Hello. Beam me up, Scotty," by way of greeting.

Except, it wasn't a greeting, it was code. It was code, more specifically, for the little earpiece radio snug in his left ear and before she even opened her mouth to say the basic, "Don't call me Scotty," all of her molecules had dispersed, transferred and reformed on the bridge of the Justice League's (sweet mother of God, could their lights in the entry way be any brighter? She lived in Gotham for fuck's sake—sudden, onset light even in its most basic forms was kinda really bad and made her go temporarily blind—she couldn't imagine Batman had designed it that way) Metro-fucking-Tower.

The glare she adjusted on Creeper's stupid, happy, grinning face spooked the hell out of the poor tech that had done the deed in beaming them up, but that was not even close to being a comfort. She couldn't blame the guy for flinching enough to take a step back—her baby face with the holes in the side of it did not go well with unmasked, absolute rage—but it did confirm for her that Creeper shouldn't have continued smiling when she opened her mouth to scream her head off at him.


"Karaoke is absolutely out of the question."

From across the room and in the reflective glass of the mirror that Jack had put up about a week after the Creeper had taken up residence in his head and started driving him up the wall without something to direct his attention to, the yellow loony sat atop the desk that Jack was currently working at in his office of the news station; his gloved hands were cradling his chin and he was pouting, but that meant nothing to Ryder as he sorted through deadlines on foreign affairs that he really should have finished two days ago.

"But she can actually sing, which is more than I can say for us," Creeper whined from his glass frame, only visible when Ryder lifted his gaze to look at him, otherwise just doing whatever motions were available to the other personality inside Jack's head, "It would be awesome to see her rock out like that freaky chick with the monster costume fetish."

Jack's dark eyed gaze tilted up from the writing about Russian political movements that insisted violence on their gay community just for existing to lift an eyebrow at the mirror while Creeper absently looked out through the window at a pair of pigeons fucking out on the corner of the street's intersection while a pet cat in the window of the coffee shop adjacent to them (a little blue Persian that the owner kept around to hunt jumbo sized mice and made pretty good work of them) seemed to be contemplating how it could get out and eat the both of them, "Tori Amos?"

"No, silly; Lady Gaga. Rawr, rawr, rawr-oh-oh. Blonde babies all the way."

Jack signed his name on some of the papers that required his signature and contemplated that, yes, while it would be just lovely to listen to that New York borough drawl sing some classic rock and make both him and Creeper get even hotter under the collar than they usually were around her, he was also aware that the harsh lighting in every karaoke bar in the world would cause her to sweat blood from the stitches she sported like her badge of rebirth from hell.

"Still, no karaoke."

It had been difficult beyond measure to put together the resources to capture Joker in a way that would both put Creeper in a good position to ask for help a couple times from Gotham PD, and to make it possible to get a good laugh out of Harley (and she needed a good laugh. Pain was becoming more difficult for her to mask in recent months with her iron will and her snark and while Creeper still thought she was the most beautiful thing on two legs with a vagina in the middle, Jack thought she could use a break from being manhandled and looked down on by the world at large) so, he was not going to ruin this one chance he'd had, like, ever, to take her for a night out with subjecting her to Creeper's awful singing.


Taking up courting the woman snarling at him like the lionesses of the great African wildlife reserves—from across the landing area for the transporter, the Gotham hero noted Mister Terrific looking disapprovingly at the both of them as Green Arrow stood beside him with files on a report back from Bialya, just looking astounded that his eyes were telling him one thing at the display and his ears were telling him another—was a little like, to Creeper and not to Jack because he had better ways of putting things that were complicated and unimportant in the long run, but…anyway, trying to get Harley to do anything with him or around him was like taking up taxidermy.

Taxidermy in its literal translation, mind. Not the way it had been sorted and turned into something either important or grotesque, depending on what source it was sited out of.

"The rearrangement of skin" being the literal translation of taxidermy.

"Why would you bring me here for dinner?" Harley finally asked after it became very easy to tell that her hissing expletives and the like were doing nothing to either make her feel better or make him give a damn about putting her in a rather uncomfortable position. The heel of her left boot tapped up and down with little clicks that gave the impression of gum being stuck to them and her hands fisted inside the front pockets of her black coat.

Creeper grinned at how her slouching to make it possible to cram her hands into the bottom of the pockets made her look like a grade school student caught in her mother's finest. The coat was obviously from the men's department of some thrift shop, because he could still smell the faint odor of mothballs and dust and a kind of cologne that brought to mind the underside of leather when it's been baking in a black car during a summer heatwave.

Jack agreed with a light tremor in the back of Creeper's right eye as if he were jump-starting a migraine that didn't get off its feet before rolling over to die or devolve into a simple twinge.

The red boa around Creeper's backside swayed when he reached into it and tugged out a little paper plane that looked like it was made of some of that expensive paper that offices in New York used to sign away special offers to diplomats. It was heavier than normal paper and the ink smudge more easily, which is how Harley knew, when he unfolded the paper and straightened it out with Mister Terrific glaring even more at the crazed hero, that they probably would be leaving the damn building as soon as the stupid bastard dropped the paper off and went blah-blah-blah with Terrific for a few moments.

He didn't even have to explain, so she made to wave him off; one hand raised and fanning the air like he was a bad puppy in from the rain and giving off a bad scent, when he placed a five dollar note in her hand from where it had been tucked up in his skivvies (a will of iron, Harley had, not to drop the money after seeing that) and he pointed a long finger over to where heroes and a few members of the staff went in and out of every few moments, some of them holding coffee cups or nibbling donuts, "Just grab us each a bit of black speed water and I'll meet you at one of the tables. Don't worry, Question's out chasing Huntress, so the table in the far back should be open."

Her pointer finger almost drove a hole into the green rag-paper as he bounded off and left her to just look after him a moment before she huffed loud and glanced over at the entry to the apparent cafeteria.

Luckily for her, the only person staring at her was Green Arrow and Creeper seemed to be blocking his eyeline when he handed the paper to Terrific, perhaps making the attempt to give her the opportunity to leave for the food court without the archer going after her—questioning what the hell she was doing in the middle of Metropolis, in the middle of one of the main hubs for the super hero community like one of those aggressive bees that stumble into an enemy hive to destroy it—and she appreciated that, a little bit, as she turned and made for the coffee bar in the back of the cafeteria.

She contemplated the five dollars as she passed the entrance of the food court, shoulder actually coming into contact with that cowboy hero Vigilante as he made for the teleporters with that odd British, chainmail adorned blonde Shining Knight; both of them carrying a drink and Shining Knight biting into a bacon glazed biscuit.

It was a bit of a hard brush and Vigilante almost dropped his drink (smelled like simple black Columbian, and didn't look like it had sugar sludge on the bottom) when he turned to apologize, "Sorry, ma'am."

"'S fine," she replied absently, noting the prices of the coffee bar and not even sparing the brunette a glance since there was nothing to glance back at as Shining Knight reminded Vigilante they were in a hurry.

When both of them were out of sight, Harley grinned quietly with just the edge of her lips tilting up, blue eyes scanning signature coffees as well as ice coffees and regular stuff while she stood in the back of the line behind mostly just the tower's normal human staff in their purple and black oriented uniforms, but also third from behind The Atom and STRIPE.

Oh, how she had forgotten how easy heroes forgot what their opposites looked like out of costume, and the perks that came with it.


Bud was pissed and Lou was getting a little tired of following him from rooftop to rooftop with the Bat-Man's cubs following after them and calling to them like they were dogs. Whistling wasn't going to work on them unless they were Mommy; from anyone else it was just insulting as hell.

Bud skidded to a minor halt to look back over his shoulder (a human could barely notice, wouldn't notice, but compared to other males of the spotted hyena specie, Bud and Lou were absolutely gigantic, eight inches taller than even the alpha females that roamed around the Gotham Zoo like they owned the place—Lou being just a little thinner and more humanly feminine in features than Bud) and see how far the Red Chirper was behind while yelling at the newest cub that had the unfortunate smell of the Bat-Man all over him accompanied by the Pissy Little Bitch not even the Green Lady liked.

"I can't believe father sent us out to babysit fleabags that belong to his enemy," the Bat-Cub complained loudly and impolitely as Red Chirper bounded across the tip of a flagpole to launch over to the third building the hyenas had jumped to before of the boys, "I mean, if she's holding something over his head, at least he could be following her around instead of investigating something as pitiful as fraud on his company. This Creeper and the woman could be conspiring to do something tedious and highly damaging to property rather than "going out" as Father said—"

Whistle.

Lou chuffed and led the way to the next building which stalled Bud rearing around and biting the little brats on pure principal of getting on their nerves. Red Chirper was nice enough to them since he started popping in every week to the den and checking up on Mommy or hanging out like a good conscious for Jason (funny, Mommy hadn't found another more fitting name for him or the perky blonde female yet) but the surprise that had started following him around was less than an optimal thing for the hyenas or for their matriarch. He insulted her left and right, looked up to the Bat-Man without actually looking at his deep, profound flaws, had Blue Bird coming back from that disgusting city that left their fur smelling rank for a week to make sure the Bat-Cub didn't kill another human or domestic animals at every turn and—this was by far the most important thing between the two spotted animals—was needlessly snide to Kitty while doting on Isis like she was that Egyptian goddess Teekl liked to bring up when she showed up with Klarion to visit and hang around.

Which brought Bud and Lou back to why they were trying to lose the two cubs in the first place. When they found out their Mommy was going out with the Creep, they had called up Teekl through that weird symbol she had carved into the side of the outside of their den's roof and made arrangements that they were spend a night out at Robinson Park for the evening with Teekl and Isis. A human might confuse this for a date while the spotted African born animals really just thought of it as time well spent since being cooped up in the den all the time wasn't good for them and Isis didn't like going to Robinson park alone since the Green Lady had gotten into a fight with Kitty the year before. Teekl just wanted the opportunity to spend some time in the most dangerous city in half of America without Klarion spoiling the fun she might have.

'If he makes that complaint one more time, I swear I'm going leave a hole in his leg,' Bud grumbled as the two pitched onto a bakery shop roof, winding carefully down another set of fire escape stairs and hauling tail through the annex of an alley, blending in shadows as the Bat-Cub tried to jump straight from the roof and to the escape stairs where some of the metal came loose and his foot crashed through since they were old and rusted out.

'Oh, shut up, Bud; Red Chirper has enough to deal with without us eating the cub,' Lou replied, mellow as usual, even out of breath as they crossed over from another alley and into an open sewer grate that the Crocodile had shown Mommy a long time ago that would never get fixed because the city couldn't afford to do anything helpful near their territory; or they were afraid to, 'Besides, we're almost home free. They'll get tired and head back to the den to wait like good little cubs when they decide walking through the sewers isn't how they want to spend the night.'

Bud jumped into the pretty empty sewer tunnel first, paws hitting concrete immediately as the sewers around their Mommy's territory was dry most of the time, re-routed to another chain in case of emergency, 'I hope so. Don't think we can keep the girls waiting too much longer before they run out of rats to tear up.'


"You know, I always knew you were crazy. Everyone knows that you're crazy. But Batman vouched for you, so I assumed you were the good kind. And now you lead me to negate my belief in him as one of the leaders of the League by bringing in the Joker's—"

"Not his anymore," Creeper interrupted Mister Terrific, handing over his paperwork while maintaining his jovial disposition, for no other reason, perhaps, than because Green Arrow was still staring, dumbstruck, as Harley waited in line behind completely oblivious League members and the tower's staff, contemplating over coffee and the small baked goods they kept on menu, "She's a free agent, and I'd like it a lot, Mr. T, if you'd remember that before I get so bored that I cry."

Terrific snatched the paper from the hunched, invulnerable hero, glaring at him and grinding his teeth like he was trying to keep his head from exploding, "Why did you bring her here?"

"Well, I had a date with her, but you said you wanted my write up about my last mission, so I thought, why not give her some coffee before I try and make her happy for the first time since I humiliated her ex? She doesn't eat enough and our food is just a little above prison junk—"

"Why would you want to go on a date with her?" Arrow asked suddenly, Harley having ordered a chocolate mint frappe and a small mocha cappuccino and wandered over to a table at the far end of the food court that usually was only taken by the Question and him, which made it taboo most of the time among other people to sit there.

"I haven't had a date interesting enough to pay for with my own money in a lovely long time, G-Man. Plus, she needs a little cheering up."

Terrific tucked the report into his breast pocket, walking away like this conversation—this morbid curiosity—wasn't worth his breath, "If you wanted to cheer her up, you should have mailed her a kitten, not committed a security breech that could put other people in danger."

"She doesn't open her mail often enough," Creeper replied back, smile wavering in annoyance as he started towards the food court, hips swaggering like he was trying to flip Terrific off with his ass, muttered under his breath when he was positive the other and Green Arrow couldn't hear him, "And it's not that big of a deal anyway, jackass. She's really not interested."