Girl's Night Out Mark II

Author's note: LordGrise came up with the opening of the last chapter and the majority of this chapter is mostly his writing. Why Frosties you ask? Well… that was a minor accidental bit of dialog that just grew as LordGrise and I decided that the DC universe had only restricted and haphazard access to unstable molecule ladies undergarments; which of course just makes them that much more desirable. I came up with the idea of Frosties in Chapters 5and 6 of What to do about Magik (still not sure how I came up with that idea). Having created the idea that Frosties are rare, it just led to the need for the girls to all visit the Marvel universe for some shopping. With the result of Selina and Harley now cornering the market for Frosties in the DC universe (and likely not sharing with anybody who was/is rude; just know that is going to cause problems… oh well).

Which, of course, brings humorous thoughts as to the value of Frosties. Somehow I get the image of the Penguin having cash, diamonds, passports, and a pair of untouched black lacy Frosties in his private safe; and the image of Catwoman opening said safe and taking just the Frosties. Leaving an outraged Penguin shouting that somebody has taken his panties… Yeah… a very unique and possible disturbing thought.

Why Deadpool? I figured somebody had to ogle the feast of female flesh and who better to perv on them then Deadpool? Which… means that Deadpool is… well… you just know that will cause problems (giggle). But, this is a humorous work after all.

This chapter is dedicated to Thisisfunwhattooksolong as LordGrise and I just so love his reviews (hint hint).

Part 8a: THREE DAYS LATER

Opportunity meant risk. That was the prime thought of Bruce as he glanced at the attached inventory spreadsheet. Hmmm, apparently Selina had cleaned out the Men's wear as well. Opportunity, in this case, was that Selina and Harvey had apparently cornered the market in Frosties. A market that would significantly decrease in value if the entire supply was released onto the market in one fell swoop.

Risk in that having several billions in underwear, dear lord, that was the actual potential value at current prices if the attached Excel spreadsheet was correct, which meant that panties and bras were worth far more then their weight in gold, or even diamonds. Bruce then had a thought that prompted a chuckle: The idea of central banks having keeping Frosties as a reserve currency or even monetizing Frosties ETF (Exchange Traded Fund…). Bruce could see the headlines now: Today the Dow Jones rose 200 points while the Frosties index rose 310 on anticipation of increased demand on news of a successful bank heist by the notorious all female crime gang named Pussy Riot…

Also risk in what would the super powered female population do if they discovered that Frosties were being kept off the market? Bruce had another chuckle over the thought of Amazon island finding out… then a grunt as Batman thought about Amazon island finding out….

Apparently this was a one time thing according to a note from Selina, her acquisition, while 'legal' had apparently annoyed some interdimensional powers that be rule committee that governed such things involving Hell Lords so no more mass acquisitions of Frosties via Illyana; but apparently gifts to actual friends were still allowed.

Batman shook his head. No… this sudden influx of Frosties was just going to be trouble. Better get with Diana to let her know about the situation. Hmmm… apparently there were also custom male Frosties underpants for each of the male bat clan members; see attached photo…

Another bat grunt. One that communicated some slight embarrassment at the revealed bat thong which had a little Catwoman emoti grin next to it. Then a grunt of resigned acceptance to the inevitable. Then a grunt of enjoyment upon seeing the group photo.

Batman decided to impatiently skim ahead to learn just what had happened to the Batmobile.

Part 8b: Skeeter (Some time after the ladies had gone into the club)

In the final analysis, it was absolutely not his fault.

So the ladies had gone inside, and with them all the paparazzi who were taking pix and trying to name the unknowns. Skeeter, with the limo, had not even rated three minutes; a measly half dozen photos, all of them focused on the ladies as they left, and he was left in relative peace to find his spot in the secured garage. There were already half a dozen other vehicles in there; among them were a pair of limos for the Ghost Dragons, and a ten-man van for the Demon's Head dudes, and of course the Rolls that belonged to the one and only Oswald Cobblepot (A.K.A The Penguin). Strictly speaking, it was hard dry parking spots, and every man for himself; but the little guys were little guys, and it was just easier for everyone to be cool. So there was a couple benches and a picnic table; there was heat, and one of those food truck set-ups right outside the actual garage space, where you could get water or sodas or a decent coffee, and anything from a Danish to egg rolls to a semi-home made personal pizza if you liked.

Skeeter had just settled down with a set of eggrolls and a bowl of something kinda Mongolian something or other that smelled tasty when the whole thing started. First was the cycle, parked in the alley while its rider, the redoubtable Nightwing, decided to spend a bit of time in the upper floors, presumably harassing the Penguin and/or his closest associates.

In the usual run of things, that would be that... but the Ghost Dragon guys were bored, the Demon's Head guys were bored, and the Iceberg's people were pissed. And the bike was just sitting there. So some circular no-names-dropped powwow was had, and a bunch of high-tech bits and pieces might have been salvaged… or just plain lost. That would have been enough… but then a certain chimbichanga-eating not-a-hero unceremoniously took way more then his two cents worth, and while momentary allies were still taking the taillights, Deadpool dropped-and-rolled out of Betsy's trunk and rode right out of the neighborhood, on a certain somebody's supercycle!

As he rode out of sight, he caroled back behind him. "And a good night to all - and to all a fun night!"

It took Nightwing about zero-point-three seconds to figure out there was a problem with the cycle... and ninety seconds to figure out that the bike was not just missing, but gone an not responding to any tracking attempts. An eternal eight minutes to bring Batmobile #2 from under the WayneCorp Towers, and Nightwing was back in the game and wanting some payback. And there was no better place to start than in a certain secure parking garage.

Of course, by the time he got there, the Ghost Dragons and Demon's Head guys had long since skedaddled... but Skeeter was still listening to his tunes, and finishing off his last egg roll, with extra sauce. So what better place to start than with the supposed no-name flunkie-driver? Alas, that Betsy loved Skeeter every bit as well as Skeeter loved her...

"My bike is missing. And you're involved. Start with the names, and maybe you'll be released. If not, Blackgate gonna be good for you till the Feds come to take you away." Nightwing was on a roll.

From Betsy came the quietest murmur of an engine note, more an indication that she was online than anything else. Skeeter was nearly as calm. "I been here the whole time eating eggrolls. You go chase wherever your cycle is - it's nothing to do with me."

Nightwing had had enough. There were more than enough bits of his cycle by the 'Custom' limo, and Skeeter's cool-boy act did not cut any slack with Nightwing. Robert 'Skeeter' Smith was going to jail tonight, after some time in interrogation explaining what happened to a certain high-powered motorcycle. Nightwing went to open the door…

And Betsy reacted, all four doors locked tight and recessed, even as Skeeter took the two seconds to lock his five point harness in place and engage his stealth system. "I think you can get on with your search; I'm heading out in Betsy. Have a good night."

Betsy/Skeeter eased out of the lot and onto the street, heading for the elevated highways. The Boss-Lady could give a holler when she was ready; he was going to move around some and let things cool off.

Of course, from Nightwing's perspective, Skeeter had just re-designated himself from stupid criminal to stupid criminal attempting to run. The fact that he was Illyana's driver was completely forgotten in the angst of the missing bike and the perceived disrespect.

By the time Betsy had made it to the elevated highways that criss-crossed Gotham, the Batmobile had caught up, and was edging for a push over. For an eternal seven moderate-speed minutes, the Batmobile was the aggressor, attempting to force the limo off the road and/or to a stop in various ways. Skeeter was on full defense, jinking, suddenly shifting lanes, at one point actually falling behind the Batmobile to avoid a full side force maneuver before sliding the full eight lanes over and regaining the lead in the inner breakdown lane, all the while not so much as scratching the paint on any of the civilian vehicles also on the road.

And then Betsy diagonalled across twenty yards of actual grass, and suddenly Betsy was not on a ring road in endless circles, but on an outward bound highway. Moderate speed was quickly no longer in play, and Nightwing was unpleasantly surprised when suddenly Betsy was dead center of the two lanes northbound at a hundred seventy miles an hour, and accelerating. Betsy's board lights were suddenly brilliantly lit, deep-phased luminescence flaring as she began the process of jumping universes.

Nightwing, in full-on single-minded attack mode, closed to within ten feet of the custom limousine and launched a coherent Electro-Magnetic flare/crashworm program, intended to end the situation before they got to the Canadian border. The actinic flare erupted across both vehicles...

And…

Suddenly they were most certainly Elsewhere. Which is when things got unpleasant.

Part 8c: Interruptions

Right before her cell phone rang, Illyana suddenly was quiet. No one noticed for about three seconds, then she flexed power, and suddenly the ladies were inside the bubble of privacy as Illyana opened the phone in conference mode.

Skeeter was NOT happy. His voice was thin, and subtly distorted, as a never-ending moan of frigid wind blew in the background, even thru Betsy's armored windows. "This was NOT my fault! I TRIED to get away from the stooped… uh, the hero guy, the young one. Nightwing! Uhm… Boss, why is this an open call?"

Illyana groaned as she noticed the photos from Skeeter, then she answered with a tone of irritation. "I wish that escape could have been conducted without the wrecking of the Batmobile...! The Bat is going to be so pissed. Is Nightwing okay?"

Skeeter's voice was small. "He's fine, Boss; he's in the lux seats in the back on account of how Betsy won't let him sit up front. Uhm… can I tell you how things went down? Betsy still needs to calm down a bit, anyhoo..."

Illyana's entire mood changed, relaxed back into her restrained amusement. "Tell Betsy to put him thru to Oracle so he can tell his side of the story, and you tell us yours, and Bats and I will sort it out next time I'm here. Just tell it from the top."

Skeeter also relaxed. "Calls placing now, Boss. Okies, so Nightwing back there, he decides he's going to rattle the Penguin's cage right after you ladies went in the front, and leaves his cycle in the alley while he goes to the roof access, okay? So there were Demon's Hand guys, and Ghost Dragon guys, and a couple of Penguin's guys, right? They decide to do a bit of undo to the cycle. I had no part in it; I had food, and I wanted nothing more than to eat an' drink, okay? Yeah I watched but… not my problem. Right?"

Illyana was patience personified. "Of course, Skeeter. Go on." But did make a mental note to remind Skeeter that Bat property was to be thought of as a topic of concern going forward.

Skeeter continued, his confidence growing. "So they're in the middle of unhooking the taillights, and the Merc with the Mouth makes his break, scatters them all, and steals the cycle, okay? Last seen going west. Still nothing to do with me, okay? I didn't untie the guy, or unlock the trunk, or anything. I was in the driver's seat with my eggrolls and a pony of Flying Monkey's fermented ginger ale, okay? Next to no alcohol, I swear. Uhm, Betsy might've dumped him out of the trunk… he was really nasty in the seat, if you grasp my meaning, and she's fastidious about that sort of thing. You'd have to ask her. Anyway, he leaves, and all the various gentlemen all decide to go elsewhere. Still nothing to do with me."

Illyana was almost dreamy. "Of course, Skeeter."

"So Batboy takes almost ten minutes to come back down, and I'm the only guy in the secure garage, right? So he has to rattle my gourd, right? I tell him I have no part in the whole thing. And instead of letting me be and going after his cycle, he decides to flex a grudge in my face, and tells me I'm going up the river if I don't tell all! Like I even knew, right? Then he tries to pop the door open so he can pull me out, okay?"

Harley broke in. "The nerve of it, Skeeter-dude! You're cool as a cucumber! So what happened next?"

Skeeter was in fine form. "Well, what da hell was I supposed ta do? Just let The Boy Blunder buttclaw me before shipping me off to Blackgate and the Feds? For nothing I actually did, just like the first time, right? So me and Betsy, we tried to leave, okay? Calm, quiet, just another set of wheels in the night. Yeah, Nightwing tried to fender bend us before we were even on the highway, then tried to run us off the road about four or five times, then he jiggerpoked Betsy electronically when we were getting ready to Jump!" A moment's shouting was overheard thru the phone, Nightwing was defending his actions to his wife apparently, and then Skeeter was back on the line. "Then the freaking idiot is in another reality with us, an we're his only way back, so what does he do? He tries to blow out a tire while I was still loopy! Betsy kinda got mad at that last bit, and uhm… well she ended the mess. Forcefully, yeah, but non-lethally, I'd like to point out, Boss? It could've been a hell of a sight worse."

Orphan and Catwoman were clearly in on the call Oracle was presiding over, and they were both nearly as unhappy as Oracle, but not, it seemed, with Skeeter. Harley and Ivy, by comparison, looked smugly amused. The Marvel heroines were simply calm, awaiting details, while Mazikeen looked bored.

Illyana's voice was on point. "Skeeter, where are you now? Right now?"

Skeeter's voice was rattled a bit. "Uhm, Niffleheim, pretty sure. Outer Winter Wastes, Betsy says? That's when Junior tried to drop an RPG on us, and Betsy lost it. Oh yeah, the Dragoness says hi, and she'd love to hang out with you sometime. She asked me to pass that on, next I saw you. This counts as, right?"

Illyana's right eyebrow rose, and she might even have smiled a touch. Her voice remained immaculately calm and in control, though. " Skeeter? Who is the Dragoness?"

Skeeter was clueless. "What? Uh - local top critter, I guess? She offered to eat Nightwing... I explained she'd need to wait in line, that you had first dibs, okay? I uh, I kinda explained who you were. I mighta exaggerated a touch, keep him from becoming a chew-toy. I graciously got his stupid ass in the back, he's at least not being pissy, at least not while he was talking to me. Look, the thing is, Boss-lady, this is not my fault, okay? I tried to leave. Several times. Now the Batmobile is still technically salvageable, right? Mostly, anyway… it's gonna need some stuff... and… a lot of work…"

Skeeter stopped for a moment, and Oracle took advantage of the silence. "He wants to speak to you, Magik."

Illyana was all business. Put him on."

Nightwing was embarrassed; how many times had it happened that his life was unequiviqually saved by the criminal who put him in harms way in the first place? "How do you… I accused him of being involved in my cycle being stolen! And then he ran!"

Around the table, the Girlz expressions were all mixtures of embarrassment and amusement; he really was whining. Illyana's voice was courteous. "Nightwing, when you come on too strong to someone, it's not unnatural that they flee, regardless of guilt or innocent. And I don't think my driver had anything to do with the stealing of your cycle if he says he didn't. My people tend not to try to lie to me."

Illyana's words were like a cold splash of water to his face, awakening him to just how utterly unprofessionally he had acted tonight. "Uhm… So your associate... Wasn't involved in wrecking and then stealing my motorcycle?"

Illyana was the avatar of grace and serenity. "No. Apparently the other hoodlums in the parking garage began matters, and then this… individual named Deadpool ended matters. Deadpool was our prisoner, and escaped custody, so some portion of the matter falls upon me as well. Thus, allow me to correct matters as much as possible tonight."

Illyana returned to the open line, and business. "Skeeter, call Frankie and the goblins, and put a rush order on the job."

"Sounds like a good band name." Opined Harley, to the agreement of the other girls.

Illyana continued after a snort of a laugh. "Full nine yards, including munitions. Good thing Frankie likes a challenge. I agree this was not your fault, or Betsy's, either. I'll settle it for now, and Batman and I can make things right the next I drop in." The a tone of awe. "Dear Gods, Mazikeen is starting a dance off."

Illyana hurriedly finished the conversation. "Deal with it, Skeeter: either he comes home with rebuilt Batmobile tonight as in here local, or he rides with you when you come to pick us up. Under no circumstances do you leave him with the goblins, you hear me? I'd never hear the end of it; his father and his wife would BOTH come and hunt me down to make their displeasure known. I'll call you when we're ready for pickup."

Part 8d: Voice mail (hours later)

Message 1: Lady Resputin? Frankie heah. Okies, dis 'Batmobile', first time I ever worked on one a' dese, is screwed but good, but not so badly we can't get her good again. Betsy says, kinda sulky, that she hit twenny t'ree times. My scrying matches: I got thirty shots fired, twelve -point-seven by ninety-nine mil mixed feeds; seven clean misses, eleven bounces, an' fifteen paydays inta da front end, full auto. Somewhere in dere towards da end the forward munitions on'na Batmobile kinda started cooked off, just ta make things interesting; dats when da driver, Nightwing fellow, I heah? bailed. Hey, you do like da best, so what d'ya expect when Betsy fires for effect? You should be damn glad she decided ta shoot at da engine, an' not da driver, awright? Now it happens ta be I got a fair match for da front end from another reality where things didn't end so good. So, rear end from one reality, front end from another, and lots of elbow grease an' welding in the middle. A little bondo, some paint, better than new.

Message 2: Forgot to mention, munitions, Fritz is hardcore about dat; your guy is gonna hafta pay cash dere. He says it's cool? So, all in all, one medium favor owed by youse, an' we agree it ain't gonna be a hit job.

Message 3: We'll have da job done by da end a da night, Batmobile back in town before dawn or we owes you da favor. Might be ten minutes ta dawn, but we'll get'er done.

Message 4: Fritz has a question for ya: dis batman guy, he ain't a vampire, right? Ya know how Fritz gets about vampires.