Warning: for very brief usage of misogynistic language.
"One thousand six hundred thirty-seven bottles of beer on the wall—"
"Captain..."
"One thousand six hundred thirty-seven bottles of beer—"
"If our captors don't do it—"
"Take one down, pass it around—
"I'll kill you myself!" Techie finished irritably.
"I don't know why you're still singing," Al said passively, "that party died of alcohol poisoning awhile back."
"One thousand...you made me lose count!"
"Good." Six voices answered in unison.
"Well," Captain said huffily, "what else am I supposed to do until we get to where we're going? We've already played ISpy."
"And what a thrilling first three minutes that was."
"It's not my fault there aren't any windows back here."
"You haven't gagged her yet why?" Techie asked, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her forehead to soothe the threatened migraine before it really got going.
Rachel and the backdoor guard—who still didn't have a name as far as their charges knew—shared a look.
"We can take it."
"You didn't think to pack a gag," Christine said shrewdly after a moment of consideration.
"Great. We've been kidnapped by amateurs." Al hung her head. "This is just embarrassing."
"Not as embarrassing as forgetting a basic kidnapping staple like a gag, I'd imagine." Christine smirked. She was treated to a death glare from the young woman guarding the van's back doors, but was unfazed.
"Look, I know this is against hostage and captor interaction one-oh-one," Techie said as reasonably as she could manage considering how frazzled she was, "but could you maybe give us some indication of who you are, what you want and why we're heading to New England?"
Both captors traded a look of mild panic and blurted in turn:
"How did you—"
"We're—"
Christine pointed towards the windshield, where the sun was going down. "We're heading north east. There aren't many places places to go in that direction that aren't the ocean, and since we're not up to our necks in water yet..."
"We could be taking you to Canada," Rachel said stubbornly.
"You wouldn't risk the border," Christine said with another maddening twist of her lips.
"I like you less and less," Rachel mumbled.
"Meanwhile, I like her more and more," Al said quietly. "Damn it."
"I know," Techie agreed. "It just isn't fair. Why can't she just be all hateable, all the time? Stupid people and their stupid three dimensions and redeemability—" the Captain made a peep of protest, but Techie cut her off before she got any further, "—which is totally a word because I say so."
The Captain rolled her eyes as the van slowed and turned a corner. It came to a stop, the brakes squeaking a little more than sounded healthy, and the driver turned off the engine.
"We're here already?"
None of the kidnappers said anything one way or another, but the driver's door popped open and she hopped down out of her seat. Her door slammed behind her, she crossed in front of the windshield and then seemingly disappeared.
Nothing happened.
Thirty seconds went by. Al cleared her throat.
A minute. The Captain stretched leisurely.
Techie cracked her knuckles around the minute and a half mark.
After another three minutes, the back doors of the van swung open. The girls got their first good look at the driver, a curvy, muscular blonde with at least thirty pounds on the heaviest of them and three inches on the tallest. She had a jacket draped over her arm, but to the trained eye, a protrusion in the fabric gave away the fact that it concealed a gun.
"Our room is ready," she chirped in a surprisingly high pitched Minnesota accent. "Come on, ladies."
Grumbling, the henchgirls and reporter climbed out of the vehicle, stepping on each other in the process, while the other two kidnappers urged them along with pistols. Once out in the parking lot, the girls tried to reorient themselves after several hours in a cramped and rapidly darkening van. If you'd asked them what they were expecting, they probably couldn't have told you in detail, but they definitely weren't expecting to be dropped at the front door of a fancy hotel, complete with red carpet and doorman.
"Why can't we get kidnapped like this every time?" Captain asked quietly as she was shuffled up the walkway.
Christine gave the girls a sideways glance "I don't know what you're talking about. I always get kidnapped this way."
"Oh, good, I hate her again," Al said with a sigh of relief. "I was starting to worry about myself."
Once they burst into the hotel lobby, the girls were immediately led away towards the elevators, garnering a curious yet disdainful look from a middle aged woman with a teacup poodle who clearly did not approve of...something. Nobody else seemed to pay any attention to the large group of young women, beyond a bellhop who nodded at them with a smile and asked conversationally, "Here for the convention?"
"You betcha!" Minnesota Blonde answered with a convincing grin as the ragtag band came to a stop in front of the elevators. As if on cue, the doors flew open and Captain, Al, Techie and Christine were pushed inside. Buttons were pressed, movement was felt, Captain got nauseous about halfway up but mercifully kept her Arkham breakfast down, and then the elevator came to a stop.
With a ding! the doors popped open, and it was back to being herded through the hotel again, down one hallway, then another, across a sky walk and a few more hallways for good measure. After what felt like forever, they finally stopped in front of one of the hotel rooms. Minnesota Blonde slid a key card into the door lock, opening it, and what lay beyond was astounding.
"A king sized suite?" Captain asked incredulously. "For a kidnapping?"
"Standard procedure," Rachel said, giving Al a shove.
"God damn it, am I the only one who spends most of her kidnappings in the trunk of a Volkswagen Beetle?" Techie asked.
"Now don't get too comfortable." The still nameless kidnapper gave them a little smirk. "The suite is for us."
Christine, whose demeanor had started to return to somewhere near cocky, sputtered a little at this. "Then where are we supposed to sleep?"
"The bathroom." Rachel gave a cheeky little smile.
Christine blinked. "This is some sort of very, very unfunny joke, right?"
"Karma," Al whispered, her lips thinning out. "That bitch."
"We've been over this, Al," the Captain said as they were pointed at the open bathroom door, "Karma is a concept, not a person."
"Still a bitch."
"And don't say bitch!"
"You guys can rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to sleep in the tub," Minnesota Blonde said with a barely restrained giggle, slamming the door behind them.
As far as bathrooms to be held hostage in went, this one wasn't too bad. It was about the size of a standard motel room, had a tub and separate shower as well as a little room off to the side which presumably housed the toilet.
"No windows," Captain said, looking around.
"We're nine floors up," Techie was already on her knees in front of the sink, throwing open the cabinet doors underneath. "Wouldn't do us any good anyway."
Al went straight for the shelf near the bathtub, full of fluffy white towels and flung them all on the floor in a heap. Then she gave Christine a little push towards the toilet room. "Start grabbing stuff, princess, we're taking inventory."
"Like what?"
Techie flung a few tiny shampoo bottles over her shoulder. They landed amongst the towels. "Everything that's not nailed down."
"And a few things that are." The Captain was unscrewing the mirror from the hinges that attached it to the medicine cabinet. She set it on double sink's counter top and then joined Techie on the floor.
"You don't seriously think we're getting out of this, do you? They have guns!"
"Yeah, and Egypt's got the Nile." Another little bottle from under the sink sailed across the room and landed near the towels. "What's your point?"
"Oooh, alcohol!" The Captain waved a little stack of individually packaged moist towelettes.
"Even if we get out of here, we don't have a car..."
Al got up on the edge of the tub and started fighting with the shower curtain hooks that weren't meant to come off. "Then we get to introduce you to the magical world of automotive theft."
"Welcome to the dark side." Techie flashed her eyebrows at Christine and gave her a smile that spoke of a secret that the reporter wasn't in on.
Al gave up on the shower curtain hooks and just opted to start unscrewing the rod itself from the wall. She took it down gently, careful not to make any noise with it, and shoved it at Christine, who almost fell over with it.
"Take off those ridiculous shoes, sweetums," Al said, clucking her tongue at Christine's high heels. "They're no good to us on you."
"Yeah, there's gotta be at least a dozen little pokey bits in those." Captain nodded at the shoes, moving to what appeared to be a closet. "Bound to be useful."
Christine dropped the shower curtain rod and staggered back, falling against the door. "No. You can't have my shoes. They're Van Dynes!"
"That...means something," Al said uncertainly.
"It means she has terrible taste," Techie muttered under her breath, flopping onto her back and slipping under the sink to get a look at the plumbing.
"It means you're not getting them is what it means!" Christine turned around and started pounding on the door with her fists. "Help! We're planning an escape! HELP!"
Meanwhile the Captain, who seemed to have zoned out during this little drama, popped out of the closet with a hair dryer in hand. "Jackpot!"
The bathroom door burst open just as Christine backed away from it.
The kidnappers all had their guns out when they flooded the room. Al dropped her bar of soap, Captain dropped her hair dryer, and Techie sat up so fast that she neglected to avoid hitting her head on the sink.
Fifteen minutes later, the shower curtain rod, towels, moist towelettes and even Christine's shoes were all confiscated. A few things that the girls hadn't thought to grab were also gone, and they sat near the bathtub, exiling Christine to the other side of the room near the shower so that they could glare at her better.
"I hate her," the Captain ground out.
Al's eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch, turning them into nothing but slits, "I hate her more."
"They're not even good shoes!" Techie was easily the most indignant of all, or at least the one who was loudest about it. "It's not like they're Drew McFee's."
The Captain gave a little huff, made a fist and stretched her arm out in front of herself. Techie and Al caught on and did the same. "On three."
Christine seemed to panic a little. "What...what are you—"
"We're deciding," Al gave her another glare, "where we're going to sleep. Without any towels for pillows, you know?"
Their hands bobbed three times in the air before their fingers came unfurled; Techie, rock, Captain, scissors and Al, paper.
"Al gets the bathtub," Captain announced. "Techie, you sleep sitting up on the toilet, and I'll curl up in the shower."
Christine looked around the room for another sleeping option that might be mildly comfortable. "What about me?"
"Enjoy your stay at Hotel Floor, cupcake," Al said.
"Traitorous cupcake," Techie amended venomously.
Christine sighed and looked so dejected they almost felt sorry for her. "I guess this means continuing the interview is out of the question..."
"You're damn right that's what it means," Techie snapped. "Look, what do you want to interview us for, anyway? We're boring."
"You're..." Christine seemed reluctant to continue, "...accessible."
"I'm not sure if I'm insulted or not," Al said slowly. "What do you mean accessible?"
Christine hesitated once more. "It...it means..."
"It means she's not a big enough reporter to get an interview with any of the A-list villains," Captain said helpfully, without an ounce of malice, "but she can get an interview with the hired help."
Whatever might have been left of Christine's bravado disappeared and her shoulders slumped. She looked like a balloon that had just been popped. "That's exactly what it means."
"That's endearingly pathetic," Al said flatly.
"I'm sorry you're a bad reporter. Would you like a hug?" the Captain asked, offering her outstretched arms.
Christine glared at her, but without any real heat. "I'm a good reporter. I get the story. I always get the story."
"Yeah, but what you do with it ain't so hot," Techie said.
"Hey, you try writing to satisfy tabloid editors and see how good your stuff is," Christine snapped, suddenly on the defensive.
"So work for a not-shit newspaper," Al said.
Christine suddenly became very interested in the floor and muttered something just barely above the range of human hearing. "Thwnthrmuh."
"What?"
Burning eyes turned up to stare at the girls. "They won't hire me."
"Oh."
"When I got out of school, none of the ...big...newspapers would give me a job. Not even an internship." Every syllable seemed to be fighting its way valiantly past Christine's pride to escape from her mouth. "They said I wasn't the right...type."
Techie gave her a knowing look. "Boobs were too big, huh?"
Christine gave a sad little sigh. "Tabloids were the only ones hiring, and I had rent to pay. Made some decent money at it, so I started working for everyone who'd take me. Gotham Confessions, Crime Crush! those sorts of things. Before I knew it, I was a name. Not a very respectable name, but still."
"Let me guess," Al said, "you've got a good enough reputation that means you're in demand with the tabloids but bad enough that you're box office poison to the real newspapers."
The reporter sniffed and nodded sharply. "You three were going to be my big break. This interview...someone at The Gotham Bugle was interested."
The girls traded glances.
"But now..." Christine buried her face in her hands, drawing her knees up to her chest. Her shoulders started to shake. She let out a little high pitched whine that morphed into a sob, and then...
Silence.
More silence.
Christine sniffled a few more times and wiped her face with her sleeve before peeking up at the other three women.
Al started to slowly applaud. The Captain and Techie joined her after a second.
"Bravo!" The Captain cheered. "I almost bought that."
"I laughed, I cried, I got indigestion," Techie said. "Really, I experienced the whole spectrum of human emotion."
"That was the biggest crock I've ever heard," Al said, a slow grin creeping its way across her face. "I think it deserves something. "
"Oh, definitely," the Captain and Techie said in unison.
"Okay, Ms. Dean, you just earned yourself an interview."
Christine, rather than being upset that they'd seen through her ruse, gave them a completely forgivable self satisfied smirk. "Fantastic! Now, I must have a pen around here somewhere..."
