Morrigan walked into the bar known to all villains in Gotham. The place was pretty exclusive- petty crooks were sometimes tolerated, but she had never been there. Penguin's place was a bit of culture shock, with many famed villains in their full costumed glory sitting around a bar, at ease and exchanging stories of heroes and victories and defeats.
She kept her hand near the hilt of her knife. A careless assassin was a dead one. She had started out stupid, some half-baked small-town vigilante who kept scared crooks at bay. That had been before Slade, before Morrigan. That had been some pathetic name, one she couldn't even remember. She took a deep breath, a final addition to her resolve before wading (literally) through the crowd.
Some psycho in a lime green (where were the fashion police? They have a much-needed arrest for crimes against humanity, let alone fashion) jumpsuit and matching mask had found her while she was on yet another casual stroll past a potential victim's house, scouting windows, doors, and neighbors. He'd delivered a verbal invitation (in rhyme, for crying out loud), then hinted that "they" would find her if she didn't show.
She did not expect an infamous woman in a purple leather (maybe fashion police avoided Gotham on general principle, even if Catwoman could pull the look off) catsuit to greet her with a handshake and take her to a private booth. She couldn't have known there were more people to meet- a girl in a skintight jester's outfit and another in a leaf-covered leotard (okay, maybe the fashion police just didn't know where to start).
"We hear you're going for a villain," Catwoman began. "A big one."
"I suppose you know why."
"Past grudges," Poison Ivy supplied, smoothing the leaves on her costume. "I have those, too. Common to bad girls and boys everywhere, even those on the good side of the law."
"But-" they said as one.
"You don't take credit."
"You don't take trophies- no money, no nostalgia."
"You don't like killing."
"I-" Morrigan couldn't even think of a retort to true statements. "So what?" she mumbled weakly. Yeah. That would stop three famed villainesses.
"Girl, before Slade took you, you never hurt a flea. You were some goodie overtime private eye, helping with lost parrots." Harley Quinn was taking charge, a rare move, but her "puddin'" had been in Arkham for three weeks and four days, close to the record of time without a breakout. "After- you were the perfect assassin, and no one even knew you were there for years. You only had a name after ditching that knife."
"I was shooing the cops off my tail. They needed a name to pin to the crimes and their surveillance feed."
"You have someone inside the GCPD, or you're in. Which is it?" Ivy asked. Around friends in this type of dive, she was just Ivy. It simplified matters. Besides, she wasn't poison to her friends, and the unlikely trio had nothing to gain by killing each other off.
"My sources are confidential."
"You're bluffing, but you're good at it." Catwoman smiled the way only a feline, or the closest a human could get to one, could. "So, what makes you tick? I love pretty things and adrenaline. Ivy loves plants and plots, and poison does things to you. Harley loves Joker." Catwoman grimaced at the last three words- no one ever understood her fascination. Maybe lunatics just needed each other.
"Got that right," Harley said happily, glad the conversation wasn't (for once) why she should leave him, he wasn't good enough for her, or that he didn't love her.
"I- want to get him. Slade. The police can't. Heroes have failed. I saw him wreck too many lives. And this is payback." Morrigan spun her knife without paying much attention, a nervous habit.
"Sometime, someday, to someone, you have to talk, Morrigan. Really talk. Everyone needs to vent sometimes, you know. Even Bats." Catwoman was serious.
"From all inside rumors, you have someone to talk to," Ivy purred, earning a curious look from Catwoman. Purring wasn't one of Ivy's usual tics.
"Wh- what?"
"The cop, silly," Harley giggled. "Mr. Tall, Dark, and Not-as-Handsome-as-Mistah-Jay-but-still-pretty-good-lookin'."
"I heardyou threatened to kill. An informant saw the conflict, said you were a complete icicle under pressure- cool, sharp, and with the potential to kill. Not one of the spindlies- one of the nice-sized ones." Catwoman watched Morrigan like she was a butterfly underneath a cat-claw.
"Cool as a cucumber," Ivy added to Catwoman's diagnosis. "He's a rookie, ain't he? Think about it- why's he on special-duty stakeout? That stuff's either for veterans or someone pretty special."
Morrigan shrugged. "He's something special. Looked more nervous when I moved one certain way, so I know where to take him down."
"Enough about him. About you-"
"What's next?"
"When Slade's gone?"
"Does the Morrigan disappear?"
"Find a new nemesis?"
"Turn to more profitable crimes?"
"Take over the world?"
"Pair up?"
"I don't know." Morrigan interrupted the tirade of questions. "I've never really thought of Slade being fully gone."
"You're a workaholic."
"You're a homicidal goodie two-shoes."
"Not really a bad girl."
"Never seduced a victim."
"Never played the helpless-girl-in-costume card."
"Never thrown a knife."
"Or packed a gun."
"You'll go down like a lead submarine if Batsy ever takes the inclination."
"Unless . . . "
"Unless . . . "
"Unless you know tricks of the trade."
"Have police backing."
"Turn on the charm."
"Let it all loose."
"Let your hair down."
"Get off your high horse."
"Batsy Junior hired us to talk to you, sweetie, but we'd do it for free, given the thought. The little treats were just bonuses, like when you trick on Halloween and you get candy, too." Catwoman sounded familiar with emphasis on "trick" in trick-or-treat. "Slade's a hot topic."
"Dangerous."
"Crazy," Harley added. She would be able to judge that much.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Keep safe. We might be on the other side of the law, but girls have to stick up for each other. Supers are lonely, hero or villain or vigilante."
"Keep smart. Don't be afraid to come here for info- Pengy treats you nice, or we say something to him. More like cause some severe physical trauma, but you get the idea and so will he- I think he already does."
"Keep makin' 'em think. While they chase you for sources, they don't consider you a full baddie. They want you on their side. If they offer you a deal, make the choice. If you go with them, you're one of them. If you decide to slog out the less-traveled road, we'll be there."
Catwoman glanced at her watch a few minutes after Morrigan left. The assassin had taken a few further bits of advice, but had fled pretty early for a bad girl. It was time for Selina to call a Dr. Logan about Mistofelees, and give a hint. He'd saved her cat, so she could clue in a person 'Wing kept on speed dial. 'Wing didn't like animals. Dr. Logan was green. Case closed. As far as she knew, Nightwing still thought he'd dropped his phone. She just had needed to steal it- curiosity kills a cat, but satisfaction keeps it fat. Fat cats have more time to play, her favorite hobby.
"Garfield, cats need to stick together," she purred into the mouthpiece after dialing.
Miles away, a green man stared at his phone, checking the caller ID. "Um- this is Garfield Logan. Nightwing, what's going on?"
Shoot. Caller ID. Well, it would be funnier if 'Wing knew she had stolen his phone, anyway. "This isn't 'Wing. It's Catwoman. I just met someone that I think your friends might be interested in."
"What is it?" He already had a notepad, grabbed from the surface of his desk. He was in his tiny study of the apartment while Raven was watching some movie. Some Lifetime movie. Something was seriously wrong, and he needed help that no one would give him.
"Morrigan- the assassin. She just left the bar. She may or may not be open to a deal with police. Confront her- one of you ought to be able to figure out who she is. She's in-department, as you know."
"Can you help me?" he asked. Okay, Gar. You're desperate. This proves it.
"With what, doc?"
"Relationship problems," he blurted. When she didn't burst out laughing, he took the silence as consent. "Raven and I have been going out for four years. I'm thinking about proposing. She's acting really, really strange. She's hyper-sensitive, moodier than ever, becoming a full-fledged alcoholic, and watching Lifetime movies."
"Raven Teen Titans Raven? Gothic I'll-kill-you-if-you-come-closer Raven? Raven who sent Dr. Light into a happily lit cozy padded cell in Arkham Raven?" Catwoman asked, stifling a laugh.
"Yes."
"You mean- you're not kidding. You're seriously not kidding. Raven is watching those horrid things? What did you do?"
"Nothing unusual! All I did was go out golfing and ask her to get take-out for dinner! She said the week before that golfing was a pretty stupid sport, but the best to take up out of the meetings that were planned."
"Maybe you didn't do something," Catwoman said, as cryptically as she could.
"Like what?"
"What are you asking me for? Having estrogen doesn't mean that I know exactly why she's acting strange- the movies are odd behavior, right?"
"Right."
"So, ask her what's wrong."
"You've heard of Raven?"
"Mm-hm."
"She'll kill me."
"Entirely possible with any girl, in the right state of mind. Now, I have crimes to commit, darling. I can't be on the phone with you all night. Now, if you were thinking about asking her, don't delay it. That's a bad move. Just- ask the instant it feels somewhat right."
"Got it."
She hung up, snapping the phone closed. She was going soft. That had to be it. Or . . . she was making sure the veterinarian she had chosen to further the health of her cat was in a good mental state. That sounded much better. No crimes tonight- she was exhausted. Maybe Ivy and Harley were still at Pengy's- she could use a little more of a girl's night out. On second thought, maybe she needed a nap.