Clowning around
Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2026 8:20 am
This story was supposed to be one single long one-shot, but it ended up becoming longer than expected so I chose to split it in two. Next part should be out in a few days. It's meant to be a follow-up to "Pretty Perfume", so I advise to briefly check that storyline before readint this story.
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As always, links at the end. Enjoy.
**************
Gotham City’s Museum of Natural History was a peculiar choice for a social event, but far from the most ludicrous ones. Pamela supposed the rich liked the idea of partying next to unique gems and stuffed extinct animals.
In spite of its peculiar setting, the charity gala looked like any typical social event of Gotham’s wealthy elite. Fancy food, fancier clothes. Some performers were entertaining the guests, encouraging them to donate more money. Since it was for a charity, the organizers hadn’t dared to hire bunny girls or similarly scantily-clad women. Instead, the performers were dressed as famous super-heroes.
There was even a Super-Girl and a Wonder Woman.
Ivy concealed her disgust.
Playing the part of Veronica Vreeland proved to be as easy as Pamela had expected. Few people remembered now that Poison Ivy had begun her criminal career under the guise of a socialite. She was still an expert at small talk and etiquette.
Thus she exchanged friendly smiles, drinks, and pleasant conversations with the other guests even though she was gagging internally.
At the same time, she was planning the next step of her operation.
So far, so good. Everything was going according to plan. Harley and her gang had acquired their disguises and invitations, and were currently mingling among the guests. General Vreeland was under her control – one kiss on the cheek with her lipstick filled with mind-control serum had done the trick.
It was time to begin the second phase. The prison transfer of her henchwomen was supposed to begin in a few hours. With General Vreeland’s accreditation, she could access the military facility in which it was taking place. Ivy could hardly wait – if she had to endure one more inane conversation with a bachelor of Gotham, she was going to strangle someone...
Someone spoke behind her: “Excuse me.”
Pamela hid her annoyance. Who was disturbing her NOW?
The woman was a familiar face.
Victoria – “Vicki” – Vale. A particularly annoying and nosy journalist. She and Summer Gleeson were a pain in the ass of a lot of Gotham’s criminals, Pamela included. Little snoops always sticking their noses where they shouldn’t, and who of course – OF COURSE – always had to be rescued in the nick of time by the Bat Family.
Vicki Vale was an attractive-looking white-skinned woman with green eyes, and smooth orange hair that reached up to her armpits. She was clad in a light beige long party gown – plain, but elegant. The dress was sleeveless, fitted around the waist, and adorned with white lace around the collar and shoulders. Vale was also wearing white elbow-long gloves, and beige high-heels. Her gold jewels matched the dress – in that they were discreet but elegant.
“Ms. Vreeland. I just saw you discuss with your father. Care to share some military secrets with the press?” the journalist joked.
Pamela concealed her dislike for Vicki Vale behind a sickeningly sweet smile. “Ms. Vale. You do realize even generals aren’t always on duty. Can’t he just spend a private moment with his daughter?”
“Oh. Of course.”
“Now, if you excuse me. I have an important phone call to make.”
Pamela walked away, without giving Vale an opportunity to prolong the conversation. It was probably a bit too rude for her cover, but Ivy didn’t have time to waste. According to her intel, Vreeland and Vale weren’t exactly close, so it shouldn’t look out-of-character to snub her.
Once she was sure the nosy journalist wasn’t eavesdropping, Pamela grabbed her cellphone.
“Harley. I’ve got General Vreeland wrapped under my finger. Time for your diversion. I need some of your girls to impersonate caterers, and plant the gas bombs in the museum’s vents.”
“Okie dokie.”
No need to add anything else. Ivy trusted Harley more than anyone else. Even more than Violet and Lily, who were her oldest accomplices. Her friend was loopy, but when it came to criminalizing she was both resourceful and reliable.
Pamela returned to General Vreeland.
“Daddy. I think it’s time to leave the party. You have a prisoner transfer to check.”
Like the good little puppet he had been turned into, General Vreeland nodded. He took his phone, and made a call. “Lieutenant Cox? Get my car ready. I must leave at once.”
**************
“Ah, public restrooms… Is there a better man-made invention than them?” Harley sighed. “The alpha and omega of all infiltration worth its salt.”
“Hold that thought, boss. I spot a candidate.”
Harley and one of her Harleys were waiting next to the door of the women restrooms.
Erica Zhang – nickname “Harley Quinns” – was a slim Chinese-American young woman with brown eyes and a black wig to conceal her half-black-half-pink dye. She was considered the bold one of Harley’s gang. (Well, the bold*er* one.) Zhang felt like she had a reputation to uphold.
Therefore, her plan had to be bold and straightforward. As in ‘intercepting the first girl of the catering crew unlucky enough to pass next to the restrooms and pestering her to follow her out of sight’.
(Of course, Harley had green-lighted the idea immediately.)
The unlucky candidate was a young woman with segmented bangs framing her face, light brown hair tied up into a high ponytail, light brown eyes, a smooth slightly tanned skin, a few freckles on her cheeks, and a diamond-shaped face. She was wearing a white button up shirt with a tight collar, a black bow-tie, a red waistcoat with gold buttons, black trousers, a brown belt with a golden buckle, and matching black shoes.
The young caterer was humming a little song to herself, oblivious to her surroundings.
Erica blocked her path.
“You, I need help. My ring fell into the sink. Go retrieve it.” she barked.
The girl froze, brutally taken away from her reverie. Her eyes darted left and right in fear and confusion.
The unlucky caterer was in a tight spot. On the one hand, she wasn’t supposed to give up her station to deal with such a problem. On the other hand, she didn’t want to get in trouble with an acquaintance of the wealthy elite.
“Madame. I’m part of the catering crew, not the cleaning crew.” she attempted to explain.
“It’s the same.”
“It really isn’t.”
Erica huffed like a true spoiled girl who never had to work once in her life. “Missie. The janitor is a MAN. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see me enter the restrooms with a MAN.”
“Yeah! Think of her reputation!” Harley added.
The poor caterer stammered. She was young and inexperienced, it was her first time working in such a big event. “I’ll… I’ll see what I can do…”
“Finally!”
The caterer entered the restrooms. In her back, Erica exchanged a wink with Harley, and walked after her unsuspecting victim. Right before closing the door, she hung on the knob a ‘Closed for Cleaning’ sign she had previously snatched from the restrooms’ closet.
Harley leaned against the door, whistling innocently. Through the frame, she soon heard the sounds of a brief scuffle.
A shriek of terror and a dull sound, being followed by a slump. An awkward pause. Then a bathroom stall door being opened and a limp body being dragged across the room. The rustles of clothes being swiftly removed. A ‘Heave ho.’, and a mean comment about the woman’s weight. Some rummage through a closet, and the sounds of tape being wrapped and ripped.
Harley interrupted her eavesdropping when she saw an other guest approach out of the corner of her eye. She recognized famous journalist Vicki Vale.
“Excuse me? Is the bathroom occupied?”
Harley didn’t move away from the door. She knew Vale by reputation. The journalist was the nosy type.
Harley tapped the ‘Closed for Cleaning’ sign. “Trust me. You don’t want to go inside right now. There’s a big mess inside.”
The other woman did an awkward facial expression – half-smile, half-grimace. “I’ll… come back later.”
“Shouldn’t take too long anymore. Give them ten minutes.” Harley commented as Vale was leaving.
**************
The Museum of Natural History had several storage rooms. Some were used for the unused exhibits, others for the supplies of the snack bar. Hannah was hiding in one of the latter – the one in which the supplies of the current gala had been stored.
On the account that she was the only member of the Harleys who wore glasses, Hannah Borgman – nickname “Hanuquinn” – had been dubbed the ‘smart one’ of the gang by the others – their boss included.
Hannah was a thin young Caucasian woman – more lean than slim – with an oval-shaped face, brown eyes, and a dark brown wig concealing her half-blue-half-black hair.
The damn thing itched like crazy.
Being the ‘smart one” meant that Hannah knew the value of remaining quiet the time to ambush someone in a storage room, and could actually follow through with the plan. But barely.
The poor caterer who had entered the storage room to restock on supplies didn’t know what hit her. Literally.
In her case, it was a bottle of expensive wine.
“Don’t drink too much folks. It’ll get to your head.” Hannah commented.
Unfortunately, nobody was around and conscious to hear her quip. Being smart had disadvantages.
Hannah shrugged, and took a closer look at her victim.
The woman was in her early thirties, with a thin albeit plain figure and Asian features. Her face was oval-shaped. Her hair was jet black and smooth, fashioned into a short square cut.
Hannah dragged the unlucky caterer by the legs, laid her behind some shelves, and stripped her of her uniform – socks included. The unconscious woman was left clad in a light pink full-cup bra and plain grey hip-hugging knickers.
Hannah found some electric cables and a roll of tape in a supply drawer. She used them to bind the caterer's wrists behind the back, then she bound the calves together. Finally, she wrapped a few layers of package tape around the upper-arms and shoulders to restrain them. She also used the tape to gag the woman.
Leaving the trussed up caterer concealed inside the supply drawer, Hannah removed her party dress, only keeping her wig and underwear, and slipped into the caterer uniform. She left her former outfit concealed with the unconscious staff woman.
As she exited the storage room, she texted her boss to inform her she was in disguise.
Next, she sent a text to the rest of the gang, because she was anticipating Harley had forgotten to give them the instructions.
Finally, she returned to the gala area of the museum. Harley was the one carrying the gas bombs in her purse – Hannah needed to regroup with her.
She scratched her head as she was walking. Damn wig! Damn itchy wig!
On her way, Hannah passed across Vicki Vale who was strolling along the corridors. She ignored the journalist though – the woman was probably looking for restrooms in which someone wasn’t being mugged for disguise...
**************
Nine minutes after Vale’s departure, Erica exited the restrooms dressed as a woman of the catering crew. She adjusted her waistcoat, her collar, and her little bow tie.
“Nice.” Harley commented with a thumb up.
“Check out my phone’s new wallpaper.”
Erica showed a selfie of her doing the V-sign next to the unconscious caterer, bound hands and feet and gagged with duct tape, and seated on the toilet seat clad in white cotton briefs with a blue waistband strap, and a white t-shirt bra with blue edges and shoulder straps.
“Sick.” Harley nodded.
She gave Erica a gas bombs disguised as perfume bottles.
“Doctor Demeter’s special blend. Half of them are for Hannah. It’s time to spice up this party...”
**************
Shona Choudury (Bonny Quinn), Antonia Moore (Harlem Harley), and Carlita Alvarez (Carli Quinn) were playing the part of the air-headed socialites glued to their phones. It was quite useful to conceal the fact they were waiting for their next instructions.
Shona was a light-skinned blue-eyed woman with half-orange half-black hair concealed under an auburn wig. Antonia was a black-skinned brown-eyed woman with half-black half-white hair concealed under a black wig. Carlita was a light-skinned Latina with brown eyes, and half-purple half-black hair concealed under a brown wig.
“A shame Harvey couldn’t come with us.” Carlita commented, referring to ‘Harvey Quinn’, the only male member of their gang.
“Would be awkward to see him in a dress.” Antonia replied with a snicker.
“I wouldn’t mind.~” Carlita playfully retorted.
“Don’t worry. I’m taking plenty of pictures for him.” Shona intervened. “He’ll-” Her phone bipped. “Aha!”
“Is it the boss?”
Shona read the message, and lost her enthusiasm. “No. It’s the Temp.”
The two other women groaned in annoyance. “Not again...”
(The ‘Temp’ was the woman posing as their chauffeur. Obviously, ‘Temp’ wasn’t her real criminal alias, but they preferred to not talk about her.)
“She’s getting anxious. She thinks people may become suspicious if she stays in the minibus.”
Carlita rolled her eyes. “Scaredy cat...”
Shona muttered to herself the message she was typing: “Don’t-worry-and-remember-you’re-a-chauffeur.-Rich-jerks-would-become-suspicious-if-we-did-NOT-leave-you-all-night-waiting-for-us-in-the-minibus.”
“I wonder why the boss bothers with her…” Carlita complained.
“She does have a soft spot for her.” Shona agreed.
“Must be pity.” Antonia added.
Shona’s phone bipped again. This time, she beamed. “That’s Hanuquin!”
Her two teammates grinned. “Finally! Some action! What does she say?”
“That we must look for practical clothes. Ones that’ll allow us to access restricted parts of the museum.”
The trio glanced around them.
“Half of the security is female.” Antonia commented.
They shared wicked chuckles, then went hunting.
**************
Gladys was the newest recruit of the security team. The young woman was excited. It was her first high-profile job. So many rich folks, so many fancy cars.
Plus, she loved the uniform. Her outfit was not the usual unfashionable jackets and baseball caps! She was dressed in a crisp white collared shirt, and jet black trousers with matching shiny shoes, business jacket, and tie. The overall outfit looked like a business clothing set, but was in truth as comfortable and flexible as a security uniform. The earpiece in her left ear and the small walkie-talkie and handgun strapped onto her belt made her look like a professional. All that was missing were the sunglasses.
When she passed in front of an exhibit’s showcase and saw her reflection, Gladys adjusted her outfit and her haircut. She had black hair fashioned into two shoulder-long braids, and brown eyes. Were the twin-braids too casual? Maybe she should’ve gone for a neck bun… Didn’t want to ruin the effect of her outfit with an inappropriate haircut...
Gladys was interrupted in her thoughts when a Latina with brown hair, dressed in an expensive cocktail gown, rushed towards her.
“Please! I need help! I found a woman passed out in the emergency stairs! I think she’s drunk!”
Gladys remembered the procedure. Drunk guest? Hardly an emergency. But this kind of situation had to be handled with tact and, most importantly, with discretion. No member of the upper-crust wanted to be photographed passed out on a gurney. The instructions were clear. Gladys had to check before calling backup.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I will handle the situation.” Gladys reassured the woman, trying her best to sound professional.
“Oh, thank you!”
Apparently, the twin-braids weren’t bothering the rich socialite. Gladys beamed.
The rookie security guard followed the guest through the emergency exit.
A black-skinned woman was lying on the floor on top of the stairs. A third guest – an auburn-haired woman in a cocktail dress – was kneeling next to her.
“Let me take a quick look.” Gladys said as she went next to the drunk woman.
“Oh. No need to rush.” Behind her, the first guest closed the door.
The frame muffled the sound of the ensuing scuffle, when the ‘passed out’ guest suddenly sprang to life, and grabbed Gladys’ wrist. At the same time, the auburn-haired guest clamped a hand onto the rookie security guard’s mouth to muffle her scream, jabbed a pocket shocker against her neck, and stunned her.
Gladys shrieked briefly, but the sound was muffled by the hand-gag. Then her entire world became dark, and she crumbled limply into the arms of her muggers.
“No need to rush…” Carlita repeated while easing the unconscious rookie onto the floor.
The three ‘Harleys’ made short work of Gladys’ uniform – Shona removed the shoes, Carlita took care of the belt and the trousers, as well as the socks, and Antonia took off the tie, the jacket, and the shirt.
“I love the twin-braids by the way.” Antonia complimented the unconscious security guard.
Next, Shona kicked off her heels, and dropped her cocktail dress onto the floor.
Carlita and Antonia dragged Gladys – now only clad in frosty blue lingerie (sports bra and comfortable boyshorts) – away. They bound the rookie guard’s wrists behind her back with strips of Shona’s cocktail dress, then used a few other strips to bind her legs. They also used the strips to stuff her mouth and gag her. Finally, they seated the security guard in a corner of the emergency stairs, with her right side lying against the wall. Nobody was supposed to use these stairs, so they could leave the underwear-clad guard in the open.
At the same time, Shona slipped into the fancy security uniform. When she adjusted the earpiece, she grinned. “I can hear their conversations. We’ll know the patrols’ schedules.”
“Piece of cake.”
“I’ll grab an other one.”
**************
Phoebe was from Hawaii. Although her father wasn’t a native of the archipelago, she had inherited her mother’s looks – slim body, dark skin, black hair, and brown eyes. Her hair was cut short, and fashioned into a pixie cut.
Being a high-class security had a lot of perks. High pay, low risk. To tell the truth, the main danger of the job was making a social faux pas in front of a rich fart with enough influence to get you black-listed. For a guard in Gotham City, it was as safe as one could get. Usually, Phoebe was pretty satisfied with her job.
Key word being: ‘Usually.’
Currently though, she wasn’t happy with her situation.
Phoebe didn’t like having been assigned the job of ‘babysitter’.
Where’s Gladys?
She mentally complained to herself, and cursed the young guard who had wandered off on her own… again.
The rookie was enthusiastic and eager to learn, Phoebe gave her that. But she was painfully inexperienced when dealing with guests. Since the gala’s beginning, Phoebe already had had to prevent Gladys from making a faux pas three times.
And what was she thinking, with her casual twin-tails?
When Phoebe turned around a corner and saw a worried-looking woman walk towards her in the area where Gladys had been patrolling, she carefully hid her reaction of annoyance.
Make that four. God dammit, Gladys. How many times can a girl screw up in one night?!
The woman was a guest. Clearly not a high-profile lady – most likely an expensive escort of some kind. Still, Phoebe knew to treat this kind of girls as politely as a true woman of the upper-crust. Their type had something to prove, as if they felt they had to compensate for the fact they weren’t part of the wealthy elite. So they tended to be especially crude with the staff.
“Is there something troubling you, madame?”
“There’s a problem. It’s… It’s one of your colleagues… She’s- She’s-”
“Don’t worry, madame. I will handle everything.”
“Oh, thank you…” The woman took Phoebe by the hand. “They’re… They’re here...”
She was leading the guard.
Gladys, I swear to God, if you called a lady ‘ma’am’ instead of ‘madame’ or spilled someone’s drink again, I will-
She couldn’t finish her thought.
They passed next to the emergency exit. The door burst open, then two pairs of hands grabbed the startled Phoebe, and yanked her inside the emergency stairs. Carlita swiftly closed the door.
The ensuing scuffle, and groans, were all muffled by its frame.
**************
The unconscious Phoebe was trussed up and gagged with strips of Antonia’s cocktail dress and tights. Legs tied together, and wrists bound behind the back. She was stripped down to her sea blue bandeau bra and sea blue bikini panties – both undergarments had a pattern of white Hawaiian hibiscus.
Antonia smoothed her newly-acquired trousers, shirt and jacket, while Carlita and Shona dropped the unconscious Phoebe next to Gladys.
“Two down, one more to go.”
“Let’s see what we can get.”
**************
Cheryl’s appearance was the very definition of a professional – with a tight neck bun, and not one hair out of place. Her platinum blonde hair, pointy chin, and icy blue eyes were greats assets to help her look intimidating. It was always a plus for a guard.
However, Cheryl was having a stressful night. She had one big problem at hand. Or, more accurately, two problems. And they were named Gladys and Phoebe.
Gladys was a pain in the butt, but in a way Cheryl found her the less insufferable of the pair. Sure, she was screwing up – down to her wrong haircut. But it was her first gig. She was supposed to screw up. Phoebe was a different brand of annoying. The girl had a few galas under her belt, but acted like she was some kind of veteran. You learned to say ‘madame’ instead of ‘ma’am’. Wow… What an accomplishment… Now, if you could stick to the schedule, and not make every other member of the security team dislike your guts, that would be fantastic...
Thus, when Cheryl saw from afar a fellow security guard who was obviously forbidding access to the corridor she was walking in, she immediately knew either Gladys or Phoebe had screwed up again.
She rushed towards the other woman. “What’s the problem?”
“I was about to call you. We’ve got a situation in the emergency stairs.”
“Who was it this time? Gladys or Phoebe?”
“Both.” the woman replied with a smile.
“Those two… I swear they’ll be the death of me!” Cheryl got a proper look at the security guard’s face. “Wait a minute. You’re not part of the-”
BONK!
An other woman ambushed Cheryl from behind, and conked her on the head. The blonde was knocked out instantly. The first fake guard caught the unconscious woman mid-fall.
“Your death, not at all. Your embarrassment though? Most likely.”
No guest was here to see it. Shona and Antonia had put their new disguises to good use, and forbidden the access to the area.
The limp unconscious body of Cheryl was swiftly dragged out of sight.
**************
Carlita slipped into Cheryl’s security uniform while Antonia and Shona restrained and gagged its former owner with strips of party dress.
Cheryl’s undergarments were bold, to say the least. She was wearing a frilly black demi-bra showing a lot of cleavage, and a matching black lacy thong. Her security uniform had been hiding quite the nice curves as well.
“Who would’ve guessed miss prim-and-proper was hiding a wild side…” Antonia remarked as she stuffed the woman’s mouth with strips of Carlita’s dress.
“She should switch careers.” Shona replied while binding the guard’s wrist behind the back.
“Shona! We’re already stealing her clothes, no need to be rude about it.” Antonia retorted while knotting the makeshift cleave-gag.
“What? I was thinking she should become a masked vigilante. Have you seen some of those costumes? I’ve met lingerie models who showed less skin.”
“Ah…”
There was a beat.
Shona raised an eyebrow. “You thought I meant stripper-”
“I may have thought you meant stripper.” Antonia confessed while shifting her gaze.
Once Cheryl’s legs were thoroughly trussed up as well, they carried the unconscious guard, and dropped her with Gladys and Phoebe. The three trussed up guards were all still unconscious, and lying on each others.
Carlita had finished putting on her uniform.
“Done! How do I look?”
The other two shared a glance.
“Ssssssssplendid!” they quoted.
The three ‘Harleys’ exchanged high-fives.
They exited the emergency stairs and, for good measure, sabotaged the door’s knob to block it.
Then, they pretended to patrol the area. It was only a matter of time before Hannah and Erica were done with the gas bombs.
On their way, they passed next to Vicki Vale who was hurrying in an other direction. The journalist briefly looked at them, but didn’t make a comment. They ignored her.
Probably a bathroom break. Erica HAD hogged the restrooms for quite some time.
**************
General Vreeland’s driver was an officer dressed in some sort of fancy lieutenant uniform: a black beret, a dark green uniform jacket with gold buttons, a matching green below-the-knee skirt, neutral tights, and black shoes. She was in her early thirties, with chestnut brown eyes and a diamond-shaped face with sharp cheekbones. Her hair was black, and tied up into a tight military-style donut bun. She was wearing square-shaped glasses.
The woman saluted.
“General!”
“Lieutenant. I need to oversee the transfer of Ivy’s gang.”
Ivy was using her best mind-control serum on Vreeland senior. He acted exactly as he would normally. Same mannerism, same tone. Except that he was her accomplice to break her henchwomen out.
The request was unexpected, but not illegal or suspicious. Besides, the lieutenant didn’t hold the authority to question it. She however eyed Ivy briefly. “Sir. Is your daughter coming with-”
“I’m bringing her with me.”
That specific request definitely went against the rules, but it wouldn’t be the first time General Vreeland bent the rules. Compared to what he had done last time – sending tanks inside Gotham City – taking Veronica with him in a restricted facility seemed almost tame.
The lieutenant knew better than to go against the wishes of her commanding officer. She grimaced, but saluted again. “Sir!”
“Veronica, dear. You will stay with Lieutenant Cox in the car while I deal with the transfer.”
Ivy made her best vapid smile to fool the lieutenant. “Of course, daddy!”
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the officer hide a scornful pout. Good! Her act was working! The lieutenant had already written Pamela off as a non-threat.
Poison Ivy was already planning one step ahead. In Veronica Vreeland’s purse, alongside gas bombs and mind-controlled pheromones concealed as perfume bottles, she was carrying an assortment of cosmetics of her own making – hair dyes and powders – to change her appearance if the need arose.
She anticipated Lieutenant Cox wouldn’t keep her uniform till the end of the night. Better make sure she wouldn’t see the attack coming...
**************
Hannah was satisfied with herself. She had successfully planted the gas bombs in various parts of the building. Hopefully, Erica had done her part as well, and Antonia, Shona, and Carlita were all in disguise.
The operation was running smoothly. In fact, there was only one problem.
Her wig.
Her Goddamn wig.
Her Goddamn ITCHY wig!
Hannah located the nearest unused room, and thus hid inside the boiler room. Currently, the thing was off, but the room was warm and spacious enough.
“Damn crap…”
She briefly removed her wig to scratch her head. Underneath, half of her black hair was dyed a bright shade of blue.
“Ah, much better...”
At the same time, she checked her phone. Her latest text was good news. Shona, Carlita, and Antonia were making good progress. At least they texted so.
Hannah called her fifth partner. “Erica? You’re good?”
“The show is ready.”
“Nice.”
“You’re good too?”
“Yeah, yeah, planted the bombs. Don’t worry. I’ll catch you soon. The others-”
Hannah froze when she suddenly heard a faint rustle. She quickly turned her head.
She caught the sight of Vicki Vale half-way to the door, completely in the open. Apparently, she had been hiding behind the boiler before Hannah’s arrival, and had attempted to leave the room unnoticed.
“Those dresses are very impractical.” the journalist complained. “Can’t sneak around with them.”
Hannah smirked wickedly. “I’ll call you back. Gotta deal with a snoop.” she told Erica. She turned off her cellphone, and menacingly walked towards the redhead. “Vicki Vale. Nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”
Vicki flashed her brightest smile. “I saw nothing, I heard nothing. I’ll be on my way.”
“Leaving so soon? I think not.” Hannah grabbed a roll of duct tape and a coil of cables on a nearby shelf. “In fact, you’ll have to sit this night out… You shouldn’t have messed with the Harleys, little snoop.”
Vicki grimaced. “The Harleys? What, you’re some kind of fanclub?”
Hannah briefly froze, not expecting her victim to criticize their group’s moniker. She lost her smile. Her cheeks flushed red. She was getting angry. “We’re Quinn’s gang! The toughest chicks of Gotham!”
Vale let out a long painful sigh. “Oh great. Just what I needed.”
Hannah lost patience. She moved to grab Vale’s arm. “I’ll shut your big mouth!”
However, without any warning, Vicki blocked Hannah’s wrist, and punched the Harley Quinn fangirl in the guts.
“Oooooof?!” The crook bent forward in pain, the wind knocked out of her.
Vale followed with a neck-chop. The fake caterer collapsed at her feet.
“Not so tough, clown, are you?”
That was the last thing Hannah heard before passed out.
**************
‘Vicki Vale’ dusted her hands...
… then took off her wig and mask.
Selina Kyle rubbed her face, and groaned in annoyance.
“This was supposed to be a simple heist… Enter the party, sabotage the boiler, steal jewels, fake an explosion in the boiler room, and use the confusion to escape...”
She kicked the unconscious woman in the butt.
“Do you know how long it took me to plan all this?!” she ranted. “I studied Vale’s routine for a whole week! I watched hours of footage to get the voice right! Heck, I watched hours of footage of her WALKING!”
She kicked the crook’s butt a second time.
“And these mask and wig? Do you think they were cheap?! I had them custom-made! CUSTOM-MADE!”
The cat burglar drew one long breath to calm herself. It wasn’t like her to lose her temper. But it wouldn’t be the first time Harley ruined a heist of hers. Or the second time. Heck, not even the third time!
It was always the same… The clown-lady showed up, things began to blow up, and Selina had to flee with her tail between her legs before Batman came to beat up every criminal party involved.
“Okay, cool, I’m cool. I can still salvage this.” She grabbed the roll of tape Hannah had dropped. “I just need to make sure you stay put. Then I’ll defuse your bombs before you ruin my heist.”
She bound the crook’s wrists and ankles with tape, then wrapped a couple of layers around her lower face as a gag.
Selina nodded to herself. Hopefully, her plan was back on its tracks…
She put her ‘Vicki Vale’ mask and wig back on.
Of course, things had to go from bad to worse at that exact moment.
Behind her, somebody entered the boiler room.
“Hannah. What’s taking so long? You- Hey! What’s the big idea?!”
The Chinese-American woman was dressed as a caterer. And she was obviously as fake as the one Selina had trussed up with tape.
I bet that’s ‘Erica’.
Whether the woman truly was Erica or not was a moot point at the moment, since she was drawing a pocket shocker and attacking.
Catwoman moved swiftly to dodge the crook’s assault. However, Vicki Vale’s dress wasn’t suited for close combat, and hindered her moves. Her foe managed to grab her wig.
With a victorious smile, she pulled hard on it, hoping to unbalance Selina and hit her in the neck with her shocker.
She wasn’t expecting the wig and mask to come off, and almost fell on her butt due to the lack of resistance.
“What the- wig?!”
Selina saw red. “Those costed me a fortune!” Blinded by rage, she rushed the girl of the Harley gang.
Erica brandished a pocket shocker in a desperate attempt to defend herself, but one hit to the wrist was enough to disarm her.
A painfully one-sided fight followed suit. It left Quinn’s minion lying spread eagle on the floor. Catwoman’s left hook was known to be especially mean, not to say anything about her kicks...
Selina picked up her ‘Vicky Vale’ mask and wig. Both were ripped now.
“Great. My cover is ruined.”
She couldn’t be seen wearing Vicki Vale’s dress without the journalist’s face.
Selina glanced at the defeated minion. “You owe me a disguise, girlfriend.”
Taking a knee, she stripped the unconscious Erica. Under her uniform, the fake caterer was wearing white cheeky panties with a black waistband strap, and a matching full-cup bra. Both had a pattern of little harlequins. Selina considered taking the undergarments too, as a punishment, but ultimately decided she wasn’t that petty.
Plus those were ugly as sin.
She used the remaining tape of her roll to restrain the thug’s wrists and ankles, and to seal her lips with a few layers of adhesive.
Just like Hannah, Erica was wearing a wig to conceal her dyed hair – hers was half-pink and half-black, and compressed under a wig cap.
Selina took the wig, then got dressed in the stolen uniform.
She anticipated the guests wouldn’t pay attention to a new face among the catering crew – they probably wouldn’t even notice her. Of course she’d have to avoid the other caterers – whether they were genuine employees or disguised impostors – but she could use the crowd of guests for that.
“There. I can still salvage this…” she muttered to herself. Hopefully it wasn’t wishful thinking. “Oh, and before I forget…”
She gave a few kicks to the half-naked Erica’s backside.
“… That’s for ruining my plan!”
She crammed the two unconscious criminals into a cupboard, uncaring that their breasts were pressed against each other or their faces were in each other’s personal space. They were in for an embarrassing awakening. (Unless the rumors about Harley’s girls were true, in which case they may find the predicament arousing.)
Selina slammed the door shut.
It was time to do some damage-control. She couldn’t have Harley’s bombs go off before she could rob the guests blind!
**************
Catwoman didn’t have to search for long.
The first bomb was actually hidden in the air vent of the boiler room itself, and disguised as a perfume bottle. The little detonator it was attached to with wires didn’t leave any doubt about its true nature.
Gas bomb it is, then. The perfume bottle is a clear giveaway of Harley’s accomplice.
Selina was fidgeting through the cables to turn off the detonator. She was mumbling insults and swear words to herself during the entire process.
Damn Clown Lady… It’d take her the better part of the night to find all the bombs...
But why would Ivy help with a gala heist? What was the catch? Something wasn’t adding up.
Catwoman froze when she heard a guest fake-cough behind her. “Excuse me. What are you doing here exactly?”
Her first instinct was to jump the woman, knock her out, and stash her away before she could call security.
She didn’t follow it when she got a good look at the young redhead’s face.
“Barbara?! Why are you here? I’ll have to file a complaint for harassment.”
“Why would the daughter of Commissioner Gordon not be attending the charity event of the month?” the redhead retorted.
She was indeed looking gorgeous in a sparkling black party gown. Nobody could have even suspected that the elegant young redhead moonlighted as a crime-fighter.
“Touché. Where did you learn to quip? It can’t be from Batman or his Mini-Me.”
“That would be from you, actually.”
“Okay, fine for the dress. But why are you HERE? The boiler room isn’t exactly part of the gala.”
“I noticed some unusual activity.” Barbara looked over Selina’s shoulder. “You moved from robbery to terrorism?” She sounded disappointed.
Catwoman was painfully aware appearances were against her – what with her right next to a suspicious device. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m defusing them?”
“That depends on the explanation.”
“You see, Harley Quinn-”
“Okay. I’m convinced.”
“That was fast. I’m not complaining though.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, dressed as a caterer.” Barbara added.
Selina’s smile was worth a thousand words. “In my defense, the staff member I mugged was one of Harley’s goonettes in disguise.”
Barbara shook her head. “Robbing a charity gala? Really?”
“Okay, first I never pretended to be some girl scout. Second, I’m not robbing the charity gala, I’m robbing the rich people attending the charity gala.”
“I’ll handcuff you now.” Barbara warned dryly. “Don’t make me pull out the pepper spray. This dress is expensive, I don’t want to scratch it.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
“Why?”
“Because I stole Vale’s identity to enter the gala, and I’m the only one who knows where the real Vicki is. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll never find her again.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow to show how unimpressed she was.
“That’s true!” Catwoman complained. “You want proof?” She showed her a live footage of the real Vicki Vale on her phone. The journalist was deeply asleep, and lying on the backseats of her car. She was clad in her lingerie only – light violet lacy panties with a lace floral pattern, blue translucent tights, and a lacy bra with a floral pattern and a violet color that matched the panties. Her eyes were blindfolded with a scarf. Her wrists and her legs were bound with a few plastic zip-ties, and she was gagged with a strip of tape.
Barbara glanced at the picture. “Why are you filming her?” she asked with a ‘I’m-trying-very-hard-to-not-kink-shame-but-I’m-still-kink-shaming’ tone.
“Blackmail.” Catwoman explained genially. She pocketed her phone. “That’s it? That’s your only reaction? Aren’t you worried for her safety?”
“You’d leave someone to die?” Barbara retorted evenly.
“You’re too insightful for your own good… Still, she could be very sore when she wakes up.”
Barbara rolled her eyes. “Fine. We have more urging matters anyway. First we deal with whatever half-baked scheme Harley cooked up this time. Then, maybe, I’ll give you a head start.”
“Fair enough. But you’ll have to add Ivy to the list.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Gas bombs disguised as perfume bottles? Sounds like her style.”
Barbara nodded. “I’ll call for help.”
“Wonderful! You do that, I’ll finish defusing this bomb. Don’t forget to tell them I’m on your side.”
“For that, I will need the coordinates of Vicki Vale. Immediately. And also you to destroy all records. No blackmail material.”
Selina sighed. “… Fine…”
Oh, how she wished she lived in a universe where the cat-themed thief had the upper-hand on the red-haired goody-two-shoes.
Alas…
**************
Harley Quinn’s psychology was a hotly-debated topic. A lot of people called her crazy. She and her accomplices thought she was ‘quirky’ and ‘eccentric’.
Whatever the truth was, one thing was certain however. Harley wasn’t stupid.
So when Erica and Hannah grew quiet all of the sudden, she quickly began to suspect something was up.
It’d be like the Bats to come and ruin their fun – right when the best part was about to begin.
She wished she could detonate the bombs right now, but she couldn’t do that before finding her two teammates. The gas itself wasn’t lethal, but they could be lost in the confusion – police was bound to arrive soon, security would search everywhere. She couldn’t rescue them in time. Besides, it was too soon anyway. Ivy wasn’t in position.
Fortunately, Shona, Carlita, and Antonia were still responding.
“Girls. We have some party-poopers. You know what to do.”
In the meantime, Harley would go searching for her missing partners.
**************
With Barbara’s help, locating the gas bombs proved to be easier. The redhead could walk in plain sight without fear of being ousted. Then she’d discreetly text their locations to Selina.
For obvious reasons, the fake perfume bottles were concealed out of sight in air vents. Thus, it wasn’t hard to defuse them without the guests or the guards noticing.
Selina defused a bomb in an empty exhibition room.
She was alone, Barbara was busy scouting the next aisle.
“And one more-”
“Freeze!”
“Not again…” Selina complained to herself.
The smartly-dressed security guard was an auburn-haired woman in her early thirties, with blue eyes and a short sleek low ponytail. The handgun she was pointing at Selina wasn’t for show.
Unfortunately, she was out of reach. No way Catwoman could knock her out before she’d shoot. The cat burglar was confident in her acrobatics – outspeeding the girl’s reflexes was well within her range. But one loose gunshot would be enough to trigger the alarm.
Selina began to speak. “Now, you see, miss, I swear this is not what it looks like…”
“Hands up! I’m calling security!”
“Wait! I swear I’m on your side! You’re gonna tip them off and ruin everything!”
However, before the guard could grab her walkie-talkie, a figure clad in a black bat-suit – previously concealed by a cloaking device – suddenly appeared behind her.
Black Bat swiftly jabbed a small dart between the woman’s neck and right shoulder. The gadget released a powerful jolt that knocked her out instantly. It then injected the guard with a strong sleeping drug.
The guard moaned faintly, then her limp body collapsed. Black Bat caught her under the armpits, and silently laid her onto the floor.
Catwoman whistled between her teeth. “Good save! Forget Babs’. I want you for my sidekick.”
Cassandra Cain glared silently. She didn’t need words to convey her refusal. She didn’t even need to take off her mask.
“Bat-suits are overrated. Cat-suits are the new trend for young ladies.” Selina insisted.
Things might have become ugly, but then they heard footsteps nearby. Barbara was catching up with them.
“Cass’! Why did you do that?! I could’ve told her Selina was working for my dad!”
Black Bat shrugged, and did a few hand signs.
“Yeah, I can see you panicked.” Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s not gonna like it…”
The three of them all knew who she was referring to. Cassandra’s bat mask didn’t betray any emotion, but Selina easily pictured the young woman’s grimace. Batman was a bit adamant about his ‘no collateral damage’ rule.
Batgirl sighed. “Well, what’s done is done.” She checked the security guard’s pulse. “No allergic reaction. She’ll sleep for a while, no need to bind or gag her. We’ll leave her somewhere she can’t be hurt.”
Selina butted in. “But first… We need to talk about your outfit.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Your dress is fine… for Barbara Gordon, the young socialite. But right now we need Batgirl. You won’t keep up with us in high-heels and a party dress. At least, in a guard uniform you can run and jump around. Throw in a different haircut, and nobody will guess this acrobatic red-haired guard is the commissioner’s daughter.”
Barbara and Cassandra shared a glance. The latter tilted her head. The former spoke up: “That’s true, but…”
“Come on! I’m not asking you to ‘do a Huntress’. Just take this woman’s uniform. Plus, we can’t risk Harley or Ivy recognizing you. They might connect the dots, and deduce your secret identity.”
The two younger girls saw her point, but still didn’t look eager.
Catwoman groaned to herself, and conceded: “Ugh. Fine. We’ll tell Bruce I was the one who mugged the girl.”
**************
Carlita, Shona, and Antonia were displeased to see some of their gas bombs had been sabotaged. The elusive party-poopers had even either stolen or hidden the perfume bottles, so they couldn’t reset the bombs.
They hadn’t come across them though. Their targets were quite good at remaining unnoticed.
Thanks to their stolen earpieces, they could spy on the transmissions of the security team, but didn’t get information from there. Whoever was defusing the bombs, they weren’t working with the security team. In fact, it looked like they were purposefully avoiding the guards.
“Still no sign of the buzzkills.”
“Harley hasn’t found anything either.”
“Maybe we should stop laying low.” Carlita proposed.
“Only as a last resort.” Antonia retorted. “Harley said it’s too soon. Ivy isn’t ready. The transfer hasn’t begun yet. Plus we might not be able to recover Hannah and Erica if the alarm is set off.”
“Last time I heard of Hannah, she was planting a gas bomb in the boiler room.”
“Let’s check there.”
**************
In a corner of a storage room for unused museum exhibits, Cassandra laid the auburn-haired security guard against a wall.
“Sorry about that. I was hoping you’d be wearing less revealing underclothes.” Barbara said to the unconscious woman.
The guard was indeed wearing lavender lacy tanga panties, and a burgundy bandeau bra.
Catwoman bit her lower lip to refrain herself from saying it was far from the most revealing undergarments she had seen in her years of stealing uniforms. She knew Mini-Batman couldn’t take a joke.
Barbara and Cassandra found a sheet normally used to protect exhibits from dust, and covered the underwear-clad body of the guard.
“You’re not binding her?” Selina butted in.
“Cass’ new gadget is stronger than our knock-out gas. She’ll sleep for four hours.”
Barbara was wearing the security uniform. Using an elastic, she tied up her hair, and fashioned a professional-looking ponytail.
Catwoman nodded appreciatively. “Would you look at that... You rock that outfit. Nobody could guess you’re the prim and proper Barbara Gordon.” She turned towards Cassandra. “What about you? Wanna grab a second guard?”
Black Bat snubbed her, and turned her cloaking device on again.
“She knows how to make her point across, I’ll give her that.” Selina dryly commented.
Besides, having an invisible girl at hand would be useful.
**************
The boiler room was seemingly empty, but acute ears could pick up faint sounds coming from a maintenance cupboard. The piece of furniture was rocking slightly. Its frame was muffling moans of distress.
Carlita, Antonia, and Shona shared a knowing glance. They didn’t need to speak.
The three women opened the cupboard, and were greeted by the sight of Hannah and Erica tightly trussed up and crammed inside. The faces of both women were quite red. It was clear that all the rubbing and grinding in a tight space hadn’t left them indifferent.
Antonia chuckled briefly. She couldn’t help it. It was nervous. “You two… need a minute to finish?”
Her two friends moaned and groaned angrily.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
They released the two women.
“Who did that to you?”
“It was Catwoman!” Erica spat. “She stole my uniform!”
“The nerve!” Shona exclaimed. “You don’t steal a stolen uniform! What about honor among thieves?!”
“I’ll won’t let her get away with this!”
“You won’t get far in your underwear.” Hannah remarked while rubbing her limbs.
“Leave the buzzkills to us.” Carlita said.
Hannah nodded. “I’ll help Erica get an other set of clothes.”
**************
After they had arrived in the facility in which the transfer would take place, Pamela had let General Vreeland go on his own. She was confident in her mind-control serum. He’d do exactly as he’d been told.
Currently, Ivy was waiting in the car. The vehicle was parked inside the military facility handling her henchwomen’s transfer, next to the main building. There was nobody in sight. Thanks to the walls nearby, they were in a blind spot. Ivy had checked for security cameras, and there were none here – they were all on the fence and access booth.
Her chaperone, Lieutenant Cox, was sitting on the car’s hood. She was looking thoroughly bored, and didn’t pay any attention to her charge.
Pamela’s phone bipped.
Harley’s text wasn’t good news. Ivy concealed her anger, and turned off her device.
She wasn’t satisfied with the latest turn of events. While the gala heist was supposed to be a distraction, it had been exposed too soon.
Ivy decided to go by the assumption the Bats were already aware of the heist at the charity gala. With some luck, they didn’t know yet about Ivy’s true goal. But it wouldn’t take them long to deduce she was involved – and that she had an ulterior motive.
It was time to improvise.
Ivy exited the car.
Lieutenant Cox sprung to life faster than she expected, and blocked her path.
“Miss Vreeland. I know your father is the general, but you can’t-MPPHHH?!”
Ivy shut the woman up by grabbing her neck and planting a kiss on her lips.
“MHHH?!”
The lieutenant briefly struggled with wide eyes, but she was quickly overpowered when the mind-controlling serum in Ivy’s lipstick entered her body.
“Mhhhhh...”
The black-haired woman stopped squirming. Her gaze became vacant. The aphrodisiac effects of Ivy’s mind-control lipstick worked on all women and men, no matter their sexual preference. Lieutenant Cox surrendered to the redhead’s embrace and returned the kiss – which of course made her absorb even more mind-control serum.
Ivy interrupted the embrace. Her mind-control lipstick was merely a tool to make her victims more suggestible. Ivy didn’t care to prolong the kiss once her victim was under her full control.
Lieutenant Cox stood still, her face devoid of any expression.
Pamela snatched the woman’s badge. “Your ID has a picture.”
The mind-controlled woman nodded without a word.
“Good thing I came prepared.” Ivy mused, absentmindedly tapping her purse. She then instructed: “Give me your glasses and your uniform.”
The mind-controlled woman obeyed wordlessly. She took off her beret, kicked her shoes away, slid her tights down her legs, and unbuckled and let her skirt fall onto the ground before stepping out of it. Then she unbuttoned her uniform jacket and took it off, before pulling off the plain white shirt she wore underneath.
At the same time, Ivy also undressed herself. She tore Vreeland’s gown and tights into strips.
Once the lieutenant was down to her undergarments (plain white briefs with a grey waistband strap and a matching t-shirt bra), Ivy instructed her to cross her wrists behind her back and stand still. She swiftly bound the woman’s hands, then bound her legs. A thicker strip of dress made for a fine cleave-gag.
Ivy opened the trunk of Vreeland’s car. “Hop inside.”
Lieutenant Cox obeyed to the best of her ability. Ivy helped by heaving her into the trunk.
“Stay here, and sleep for the night.”
The officer obediently curled up on herself, as if to take a nap.
Ivy then threw the remaining strips of Vreeland’s clothes and jewels in the trunk with the bound-and-gagged woman, then closed the trunk.
She searched the content of her purse. Inside, there was a bottle of hair dye camouflaged as make-up product. She used the car’s rearview mirror to carefully apply a black color matching Cox’s. She had made the dye herself – its quality surpassed any cosmetics on the market, and it dried almost instantly. Then she got dressed in the lieutenant’s uniform, and tied up her hair to copy the woman’s tight bun. She removed the lenses of the glasses, and put them on her nose.
Finally, Pamela adjusted her beret, and pinned her stolen ID badge onto her jacket. It was time to take matters into her own hands.
viewtopic.php?t=12187
As always, links at the end. Enjoy.
**************
Gotham City’s Museum of Natural History was a peculiar choice for a social event, but far from the most ludicrous ones. Pamela supposed the rich liked the idea of partying next to unique gems and stuffed extinct animals.
In spite of its peculiar setting, the charity gala looked like any typical social event of Gotham’s wealthy elite. Fancy food, fancier clothes. Some performers were entertaining the guests, encouraging them to donate more money. Since it was for a charity, the organizers hadn’t dared to hire bunny girls or similarly scantily-clad women. Instead, the performers were dressed as famous super-heroes.
There was even a Super-Girl and a Wonder Woman.
Ivy concealed her disgust.
Playing the part of Veronica Vreeland proved to be as easy as Pamela had expected. Few people remembered now that Poison Ivy had begun her criminal career under the guise of a socialite. She was still an expert at small talk and etiquette.
Thus she exchanged friendly smiles, drinks, and pleasant conversations with the other guests even though she was gagging internally.
At the same time, she was planning the next step of her operation.
So far, so good. Everything was going according to plan. Harley and her gang had acquired their disguises and invitations, and were currently mingling among the guests. General Vreeland was under her control – one kiss on the cheek with her lipstick filled with mind-control serum had done the trick.
It was time to begin the second phase. The prison transfer of her henchwomen was supposed to begin in a few hours. With General Vreeland’s accreditation, she could access the military facility in which it was taking place. Ivy could hardly wait – if she had to endure one more inane conversation with a bachelor of Gotham, she was going to strangle someone...
Someone spoke behind her: “Excuse me.”
Pamela hid her annoyance. Who was disturbing her NOW?
The woman was a familiar face.
Victoria – “Vicki” – Vale. A particularly annoying and nosy journalist. She and Summer Gleeson were a pain in the ass of a lot of Gotham’s criminals, Pamela included. Little snoops always sticking their noses where they shouldn’t, and who of course – OF COURSE – always had to be rescued in the nick of time by the Bat Family.
Vicki Vale was an attractive-looking white-skinned woman with green eyes, and smooth orange hair that reached up to her armpits. She was clad in a light beige long party gown – plain, but elegant. The dress was sleeveless, fitted around the waist, and adorned with white lace around the collar and shoulders. Vale was also wearing white elbow-long gloves, and beige high-heels. Her gold jewels matched the dress – in that they were discreet but elegant.
“Ms. Vreeland. I just saw you discuss with your father. Care to share some military secrets with the press?” the journalist joked.
Pamela concealed her dislike for Vicki Vale behind a sickeningly sweet smile. “Ms. Vale. You do realize even generals aren’t always on duty. Can’t he just spend a private moment with his daughter?”
“Oh. Of course.”
“Now, if you excuse me. I have an important phone call to make.”
Pamela walked away, without giving Vale an opportunity to prolong the conversation. It was probably a bit too rude for her cover, but Ivy didn’t have time to waste. According to her intel, Vreeland and Vale weren’t exactly close, so it shouldn’t look out-of-character to snub her.
Once she was sure the nosy journalist wasn’t eavesdropping, Pamela grabbed her cellphone.
“Harley. I’ve got General Vreeland wrapped under my finger. Time for your diversion. I need some of your girls to impersonate caterers, and plant the gas bombs in the museum’s vents.”
“Okie dokie.”
No need to add anything else. Ivy trusted Harley more than anyone else. Even more than Violet and Lily, who were her oldest accomplices. Her friend was loopy, but when it came to criminalizing she was both resourceful and reliable.
Pamela returned to General Vreeland.
“Daddy. I think it’s time to leave the party. You have a prisoner transfer to check.”
Like the good little puppet he had been turned into, General Vreeland nodded. He took his phone, and made a call. “Lieutenant Cox? Get my car ready. I must leave at once.”
**************
“Ah, public restrooms… Is there a better man-made invention than them?” Harley sighed. “The alpha and omega of all infiltration worth its salt.”
“Hold that thought, boss. I spot a candidate.”
Harley and one of her Harleys were waiting next to the door of the women restrooms.
Erica Zhang – nickname “Harley Quinns” – was a slim Chinese-American young woman with brown eyes and a black wig to conceal her half-black-half-pink dye. She was considered the bold one of Harley’s gang. (Well, the bold*er* one.) Zhang felt like she had a reputation to uphold.
Therefore, her plan had to be bold and straightforward. As in ‘intercepting the first girl of the catering crew unlucky enough to pass next to the restrooms and pestering her to follow her out of sight’.
(Of course, Harley had green-lighted the idea immediately.)
The unlucky candidate was a young woman with segmented bangs framing her face, light brown hair tied up into a high ponytail, light brown eyes, a smooth slightly tanned skin, a few freckles on her cheeks, and a diamond-shaped face. She was wearing a white button up shirt with a tight collar, a black bow-tie, a red waistcoat with gold buttons, black trousers, a brown belt with a golden buckle, and matching black shoes.
The young caterer was humming a little song to herself, oblivious to her surroundings.
Erica blocked her path.
“You, I need help. My ring fell into the sink. Go retrieve it.” she barked.
The girl froze, brutally taken away from her reverie. Her eyes darted left and right in fear and confusion.
The unlucky caterer was in a tight spot. On the one hand, she wasn’t supposed to give up her station to deal with such a problem. On the other hand, she didn’t want to get in trouble with an acquaintance of the wealthy elite.
“Madame. I’m part of the catering crew, not the cleaning crew.” she attempted to explain.
“It’s the same.”
“It really isn’t.”
Erica huffed like a true spoiled girl who never had to work once in her life. “Missie. The janitor is a MAN. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see me enter the restrooms with a MAN.”
“Yeah! Think of her reputation!” Harley added.
The poor caterer stammered. She was young and inexperienced, it was her first time working in such a big event. “I’ll… I’ll see what I can do…”
“Finally!”
The caterer entered the restrooms. In her back, Erica exchanged a wink with Harley, and walked after her unsuspecting victim. Right before closing the door, she hung on the knob a ‘Closed for Cleaning’ sign she had previously snatched from the restrooms’ closet.
Harley leaned against the door, whistling innocently. Through the frame, she soon heard the sounds of a brief scuffle.
A shriek of terror and a dull sound, being followed by a slump. An awkward pause. Then a bathroom stall door being opened and a limp body being dragged across the room. The rustles of clothes being swiftly removed. A ‘Heave ho.’, and a mean comment about the woman’s weight. Some rummage through a closet, and the sounds of tape being wrapped and ripped.
Harley interrupted her eavesdropping when she saw an other guest approach out of the corner of her eye. She recognized famous journalist Vicki Vale.
“Excuse me? Is the bathroom occupied?”
Harley didn’t move away from the door. She knew Vale by reputation. The journalist was the nosy type.
Harley tapped the ‘Closed for Cleaning’ sign. “Trust me. You don’t want to go inside right now. There’s a big mess inside.”
The other woman did an awkward facial expression – half-smile, half-grimace. “I’ll… come back later.”
“Shouldn’t take too long anymore. Give them ten minutes.” Harley commented as Vale was leaving.
**************
The Museum of Natural History had several storage rooms. Some were used for the unused exhibits, others for the supplies of the snack bar. Hannah was hiding in one of the latter – the one in which the supplies of the current gala had been stored.
On the account that she was the only member of the Harleys who wore glasses, Hannah Borgman – nickname “Hanuquinn” – had been dubbed the ‘smart one’ of the gang by the others – their boss included.
Hannah was a thin young Caucasian woman – more lean than slim – with an oval-shaped face, brown eyes, and a dark brown wig concealing her half-blue-half-black hair.
The damn thing itched like crazy.
Being the ‘smart one” meant that Hannah knew the value of remaining quiet the time to ambush someone in a storage room, and could actually follow through with the plan. But barely.
The poor caterer who had entered the storage room to restock on supplies didn’t know what hit her. Literally.
In her case, it was a bottle of expensive wine.
“Don’t drink too much folks. It’ll get to your head.” Hannah commented.
Unfortunately, nobody was around and conscious to hear her quip. Being smart had disadvantages.
Hannah shrugged, and took a closer look at her victim.
The woman was in her early thirties, with a thin albeit plain figure and Asian features. Her face was oval-shaped. Her hair was jet black and smooth, fashioned into a short square cut.
Hannah dragged the unlucky caterer by the legs, laid her behind some shelves, and stripped her of her uniform – socks included. The unconscious woman was left clad in a light pink full-cup bra and plain grey hip-hugging knickers.
Hannah found some electric cables and a roll of tape in a supply drawer. She used them to bind the caterer's wrists behind the back, then she bound the calves together. Finally, she wrapped a few layers of package tape around the upper-arms and shoulders to restrain them. She also used the tape to gag the woman.
Leaving the trussed up caterer concealed inside the supply drawer, Hannah removed her party dress, only keeping her wig and underwear, and slipped into the caterer uniform. She left her former outfit concealed with the unconscious staff woman.
As she exited the storage room, she texted her boss to inform her she was in disguise.
Next, she sent a text to the rest of the gang, because she was anticipating Harley had forgotten to give them the instructions.
Finally, she returned to the gala area of the museum. Harley was the one carrying the gas bombs in her purse – Hannah needed to regroup with her.
She scratched her head as she was walking. Damn wig! Damn itchy wig!
On her way, Hannah passed across Vicki Vale who was strolling along the corridors. She ignored the journalist though – the woman was probably looking for restrooms in which someone wasn’t being mugged for disguise...
**************
Nine minutes after Vale’s departure, Erica exited the restrooms dressed as a woman of the catering crew. She adjusted her waistcoat, her collar, and her little bow tie.
“Nice.” Harley commented with a thumb up.
“Check out my phone’s new wallpaper.”
Erica showed a selfie of her doing the V-sign next to the unconscious caterer, bound hands and feet and gagged with duct tape, and seated on the toilet seat clad in white cotton briefs with a blue waistband strap, and a white t-shirt bra with blue edges and shoulder straps.
“Sick.” Harley nodded.
She gave Erica a gas bombs disguised as perfume bottles.
“Doctor Demeter’s special blend. Half of them are for Hannah. It’s time to spice up this party...”
**************
Shona Choudury (Bonny Quinn), Antonia Moore (Harlem Harley), and Carlita Alvarez (Carli Quinn) were playing the part of the air-headed socialites glued to their phones. It was quite useful to conceal the fact they were waiting for their next instructions.
Shona was a light-skinned blue-eyed woman with half-orange half-black hair concealed under an auburn wig. Antonia was a black-skinned brown-eyed woman with half-black half-white hair concealed under a black wig. Carlita was a light-skinned Latina with brown eyes, and half-purple half-black hair concealed under a brown wig.
“A shame Harvey couldn’t come with us.” Carlita commented, referring to ‘Harvey Quinn’, the only male member of their gang.
“Would be awkward to see him in a dress.” Antonia replied with a snicker.
“I wouldn’t mind.~” Carlita playfully retorted.
“Don’t worry. I’m taking plenty of pictures for him.” Shona intervened. “He’ll-” Her phone bipped. “Aha!”
“Is it the boss?”
Shona read the message, and lost her enthusiasm. “No. It’s the Temp.”
The two other women groaned in annoyance. “Not again...”
(The ‘Temp’ was the woman posing as their chauffeur. Obviously, ‘Temp’ wasn’t her real criminal alias, but they preferred to not talk about her.)
“She’s getting anxious. She thinks people may become suspicious if she stays in the minibus.”
Carlita rolled her eyes. “Scaredy cat...”
Shona muttered to herself the message she was typing: “Don’t-worry-and-remember-you’re-a-chauffeur.-Rich-jerks-would-become-suspicious-if-we-did-NOT-leave-you-all-night-waiting-for-us-in-the-minibus.”
“I wonder why the boss bothers with her…” Carlita complained.
“She does have a soft spot for her.” Shona agreed.
“Must be pity.” Antonia added.
Shona’s phone bipped again. This time, she beamed. “That’s Hanuquin!”
Her two teammates grinned. “Finally! Some action! What does she say?”
“That we must look for practical clothes. Ones that’ll allow us to access restricted parts of the museum.”
The trio glanced around them.
“Half of the security is female.” Antonia commented.
They shared wicked chuckles, then went hunting.
**************
Gladys was the newest recruit of the security team. The young woman was excited. It was her first high-profile job. So many rich folks, so many fancy cars.
Plus, she loved the uniform. Her outfit was not the usual unfashionable jackets and baseball caps! She was dressed in a crisp white collared shirt, and jet black trousers with matching shiny shoes, business jacket, and tie. The overall outfit looked like a business clothing set, but was in truth as comfortable and flexible as a security uniform. The earpiece in her left ear and the small walkie-talkie and handgun strapped onto her belt made her look like a professional. All that was missing were the sunglasses.
When she passed in front of an exhibit’s showcase and saw her reflection, Gladys adjusted her outfit and her haircut. She had black hair fashioned into two shoulder-long braids, and brown eyes. Were the twin-braids too casual? Maybe she should’ve gone for a neck bun… Didn’t want to ruin the effect of her outfit with an inappropriate haircut...
Gladys was interrupted in her thoughts when a Latina with brown hair, dressed in an expensive cocktail gown, rushed towards her.
“Please! I need help! I found a woman passed out in the emergency stairs! I think she’s drunk!”
Gladys remembered the procedure. Drunk guest? Hardly an emergency. But this kind of situation had to be handled with tact and, most importantly, with discretion. No member of the upper-crust wanted to be photographed passed out on a gurney. The instructions were clear. Gladys had to check before calling backup.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I will handle the situation.” Gladys reassured the woman, trying her best to sound professional.
“Oh, thank you!”
Apparently, the twin-braids weren’t bothering the rich socialite. Gladys beamed.
The rookie security guard followed the guest through the emergency exit.
A black-skinned woman was lying on the floor on top of the stairs. A third guest – an auburn-haired woman in a cocktail dress – was kneeling next to her.
“Let me take a quick look.” Gladys said as she went next to the drunk woman.
“Oh. No need to rush.” Behind her, the first guest closed the door.
The frame muffled the sound of the ensuing scuffle, when the ‘passed out’ guest suddenly sprang to life, and grabbed Gladys’ wrist. At the same time, the auburn-haired guest clamped a hand onto the rookie security guard’s mouth to muffle her scream, jabbed a pocket shocker against her neck, and stunned her.
Gladys shrieked briefly, but the sound was muffled by the hand-gag. Then her entire world became dark, and she crumbled limply into the arms of her muggers.
“No need to rush…” Carlita repeated while easing the unconscious rookie onto the floor.
The three ‘Harleys’ made short work of Gladys’ uniform – Shona removed the shoes, Carlita took care of the belt and the trousers, as well as the socks, and Antonia took off the tie, the jacket, and the shirt.
“I love the twin-braids by the way.” Antonia complimented the unconscious security guard.
Next, Shona kicked off her heels, and dropped her cocktail dress onto the floor.
Carlita and Antonia dragged Gladys – now only clad in frosty blue lingerie (sports bra and comfortable boyshorts) – away. They bound the rookie guard’s wrists behind her back with strips of Shona’s cocktail dress, then used a few other strips to bind her legs. They also used the strips to stuff her mouth and gag her. Finally, they seated the security guard in a corner of the emergency stairs, with her right side lying against the wall. Nobody was supposed to use these stairs, so they could leave the underwear-clad guard in the open.
At the same time, Shona slipped into the fancy security uniform. When she adjusted the earpiece, she grinned. “I can hear their conversations. We’ll know the patrols’ schedules.”
“Piece of cake.”
“I’ll grab an other one.”
**************
Phoebe was from Hawaii. Although her father wasn’t a native of the archipelago, she had inherited her mother’s looks – slim body, dark skin, black hair, and brown eyes. Her hair was cut short, and fashioned into a pixie cut.
Being a high-class security had a lot of perks. High pay, low risk. To tell the truth, the main danger of the job was making a social faux pas in front of a rich fart with enough influence to get you black-listed. For a guard in Gotham City, it was as safe as one could get. Usually, Phoebe was pretty satisfied with her job.
Key word being: ‘Usually.’
Currently though, she wasn’t happy with her situation.
Phoebe didn’t like having been assigned the job of ‘babysitter’.
Where’s Gladys?
She mentally complained to herself, and cursed the young guard who had wandered off on her own… again.
The rookie was enthusiastic and eager to learn, Phoebe gave her that. But she was painfully inexperienced when dealing with guests. Since the gala’s beginning, Phoebe already had had to prevent Gladys from making a faux pas three times.
And what was she thinking, with her casual twin-tails?
When Phoebe turned around a corner and saw a worried-looking woman walk towards her in the area where Gladys had been patrolling, she carefully hid her reaction of annoyance.
Make that four. God dammit, Gladys. How many times can a girl screw up in one night?!
The woman was a guest. Clearly not a high-profile lady – most likely an expensive escort of some kind. Still, Phoebe knew to treat this kind of girls as politely as a true woman of the upper-crust. Their type had something to prove, as if they felt they had to compensate for the fact they weren’t part of the wealthy elite. So they tended to be especially crude with the staff.
“Is there something troubling you, madame?”
“There’s a problem. It’s… It’s one of your colleagues… She’s- She’s-”
“Don’t worry, madame. I will handle everything.”
“Oh, thank you…” The woman took Phoebe by the hand. “They’re… They’re here...”
She was leading the guard.
Gladys, I swear to God, if you called a lady ‘ma’am’ instead of ‘madame’ or spilled someone’s drink again, I will-
She couldn’t finish her thought.
They passed next to the emergency exit. The door burst open, then two pairs of hands grabbed the startled Phoebe, and yanked her inside the emergency stairs. Carlita swiftly closed the door.
The ensuing scuffle, and groans, were all muffled by its frame.
**************
The unconscious Phoebe was trussed up and gagged with strips of Antonia’s cocktail dress and tights. Legs tied together, and wrists bound behind the back. She was stripped down to her sea blue bandeau bra and sea blue bikini panties – both undergarments had a pattern of white Hawaiian hibiscus.
Antonia smoothed her newly-acquired trousers, shirt and jacket, while Carlita and Shona dropped the unconscious Phoebe next to Gladys.
“Two down, one more to go.”
“Let’s see what we can get.”
**************
Cheryl’s appearance was the very definition of a professional – with a tight neck bun, and not one hair out of place. Her platinum blonde hair, pointy chin, and icy blue eyes were greats assets to help her look intimidating. It was always a plus for a guard.
However, Cheryl was having a stressful night. She had one big problem at hand. Or, more accurately, two problems. And they were named Gladys and Phoebe.
Gladys was a pain in the butt, but in a way Cheryl found her the less insufferable of the pair. Sure, she was screwing up – down to her wrong haircut. But it was her first gig. She was supposed to screw up. Phoebe was a different brand of annoying. The girl had a few galas under her belt, but acted like she was some kind of veteran. You learned to say ‘madame’ instead of ‘ma’am’. Wow… What an accomplishment… Now, if you could stick to the schedule, and not make every other member of the security team dislike your guts, that would be fantastic...
Thus, when Cheryl saw from afar a fellow security guard who was obviously forbidding access to the corridor she was walking in, she immediately knew either Gladys or Phoebe had screwed up again.
She rushed towards the other woman. “What’s the problem?”
“I was about to call you. We’ve got a situation in the emergency stairs.”
“Who was it this time? Gladys or Phoebe?”
“Both.” the woman replied with a smile.
“Those two… I swear they’ll be the death of me!” Cheryl got a proper look at the security guard’s face. “Wait a minute. You’re not part of the-”
BONK!
An other woman ambushed Cheryl from behind, and conked her on the head. The blonde was knocked out instantly. The first fake guard caught the unconscious woman mid-fall.
“Your death, not at all. Your embarrassment though? Most likely.”
No guest was here to see it. Shona and Antonia had put their new disguises to good use, and forbidden the access to the area.
The limp unconscious body of Cheryl was swiftly dragged out of sight.
**************
Carlita slipped into Cheryl’s security uniform while Antonia and Shona restrained and gagged its former owner with strips of party dress.
Cheryl’s undergarments were bold, to say the least. She was wearing a frilly black demi-bra showing a lot of cleavage, and a matching black lacy thong. Her security uniform had been hiding quite the nice curves as well.
“Who would’ve guessed miss prim-and-proper was hiding a wild side…” Antonia remarked as she stuffed the woman’s mouth with strips of Carlita’s dress.
“She should switch careers.” Shona replied while binding the guard’s wrist behind the back.
“Shona! We’re already stealing her clothes, no need to be rude about it.” Antonia retorted while knotting the makeshift cleave-gag.
“What? I was thinking she should become a masked vigilante. Have you seen some of those costumes? I’ve met lingerie models who showed less skin.”
“Ah…”
There was a beat.
Shona raised an eyebrow. “You thought I meant stripper-”
“I may have thought you meant stripper.” Antonia confessed while shifting her gaze.
Once Cheryl’s legs were thoroughly trussed up as well, they carried the unconscious guard, and dropped her with Gladys and Phoebe. The three trussed up guards were all still unconscious, and lying on each others.
Carlita had finished putting on her uniform.
“Done! How do I look?”
The other two shared a glance.
“Ssssssssplendid!” they quoted.
The three ‘Harleys’ exchanged high-fives.
They exited the emergency stairs and, for good measure, sabotaged the door’s knob to block it.
Then, they pretended to patrol the area. It was only a matter of time before Hannah and Erica were done with the gas bombs.
On their way, they passed next to Vicki Vale who was hurrying in an other direction. The journalist briefly looked at them, but didn’t make a comment. They ignored her.
Probably a bathroom break. Erica HAD hogged the restrooms for quite some time.
**************
General Vreeland’s driver was an officer dressed in some sort of fancy lieutenant uniform: a black beret, a dark green uniform jacket with gold buttons, a matching green below-the-knee skirt, neutral tights, and black shoes. She was in her early thirties, with chestnut brown eyes and a diamond-shaped face with sharp cheekbones. Her hair was black, and tied up into a tight military-style donut bun. She was wearing square-shaped glasses.
The woman saluted.
“General!”
“Lieutenant. I need to oversee the transfer of Ivy’s gang.”
Ivy was using her best mind-control serum on Vreeland senior. He acted exactly as he would normally. Same mannerism, same tone. Except that he was her accomplice to break her henchwomen out.
The request was unexpected, but not illegal or suspicious. Besides, the lieutenant didn’t hold the authority to question it. She however eyed Ivy briefly. “Sir. Is your daughter coming with-”
“I’m bringing her with me.”
That specific request definitely went against the rules, but it wouldn’t be the first time General Vreeland bent the rules. Compared to what he had done last time – sending tanks inside Gotham City – taking Veronica with him in a restricted facility seemed almost tame.
The lieutenant knew better than to go against the wishes of her commanding officer. She grimaced, but saluted again. “Sir!”
“Veronica, dear. You will stay with Lieutenant Cox in the car while I deal with the transfer.”
Ivy made her best vapid smile to fool the lieutenant. “Of course, daddy!”
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the officer hide a scornful pout. Good! Her act was working! The lieutenant had already written Pamela off as a non-threat.
Poison Ivy was already planning one step ahead. In Veronica Vreeland’s purse, alongside gas bombs and mind-controlled pheromones concealed as perfume bottles, she was carrying an assortment of cosmetics of her own making – hair dyes and powders – to change her appearance if the need arose.
She anticipated Lieutenant Cox wouldn’t keep her uniform till the end of the night. Better make sure she wouldn’t see the attack coming...
**************
Hannah was satisfied with herself. She had successfully planted the gas bombs in various parts of the building. Hopefully, Erica had done her part as well, and Antonia, Shona, and Carlita were all in disguise.
The operation was running smoothly. In fact, there was only one problem.
Her wig.
Her Goddamn wig.
Her Goddamn ITCHY wig!
Hannah located the nearest unused room, and thus hid inside the boiler room. Currently, the thing was off, but the room was warm and spacious enough.
“Damn crap…”
She briefly removed her wig to scratch her head. Underneath, half of her black hair was dyed a bright shade of blue.
“Ah, much better...”
At the same time, she checked her phone. Her latest text was good news. Shona, Carlita, and Antonia were making good progress. At least they texted so.
Hannah called her fifth partner. “Erica? You’re good?”
“The show is ready.”
“Nice.”
“You’re good too?”
“Yeah, yeah, planted the bombs. Don’t worry. I’ll catch you soon. The others-”
Hannah froze when she suddenly heard a faint rustle. She quickly turned her head.
She caught the sight of Vicki Vale half-way to the door, completely in the open. Apparently, she had been hiding behind the boiler before Hannah’s arrival, and had attempted to leave the room unnoticed.
“Those dresses are very impractical.” the journalist complained. “Can’t sneak around with them.”
Hannah smirked wickedly. “I’ll call you back. Gotta deal with a snoop.” she told Erica. She turned off her cellphone, and menacingly walked towards the redhead. “Vicki Vale. Nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”
Vicki flashed her brightest smile. “I saw nothing, I heard nothing. I’ll be on my way.”
“Leaving so soon? I think not.” Hannah grabbed a roll of duct tape and a coil of cables on a nearby shelf. “In fact, you’ll have to sit this night out… You shouldn’t have messed with the Harleys, little snoop.”
Vicki grimaced. “The Harleys? What, you’re some kind of fanclub?”
Hannah briefly froze, not expecting her victim to criticize their group’s moniker. She lost her smile. Her cheeks flushed red. She was getting angry. “We’re Quinn’s gang! The toughest chicks of Gotham!”
Vale let out a long painful sigh. “Oh great. Just what I needed.”
Hannah lost patience. She moved to grab Vale’s arm. “I’ll shut your big mouth!”
However, without any warning, Vicki blocked Hannah’s wrist, and punched the Harley Quinn fangirl in the guts.
“Oooooof?!” The crook bent forward in pain, the wind knocked out of her.
Vale followed with a neck-chop. The fake caterer collapsed at her feet.
“Not so tough, clown, are you?”
That was the last thing Hannah heard before passed out.
**************
‘Vicki Vale’ dusted her hands...
… then took off her wig and mask.
Selina Kyle rubbed her face, and groaned in annoyance.
“This was supposed to be a simple heist… Enter the party, sabotage the boiler, steal jewels, fake an explosion in the boiler room, and use the confusion to escape...”
She kicked the unconscious woman in the butt.
“Do you know how long it took me to plan all this?!” she ranted. “I studied Vale’s routine for a whole week! I watched hours of footage to get the voice right! Heck, I watched hours of footage of her WALKING!”
She kicked the crook’s butt a second time.
“And these mask and wig? Do you think they were cheap?! I had them custom-made! CUSTOM-MADE!”
The cat burglar drew one long breath to calm herself. It wasn’t like her to lose her temper. But it wouldn’t be the first time Harley ruined a heist of hers. Or the second time. Heck, not even the third time!
It was always the same… The clown-lady showed up, things began to blow up, and Selina had to flee with her tail between her legs before Batman came to beat up every criminal party involved.
“Okay, cool, I’m cool. I can still salvage this.” She grabbed the roll of tape Hannah had dropped. “I just need to make sure you stay put. Then I’ll defuse your bombs before you ruin my heist.”
She bound the crook’s wrists and ankles with tape, then wrapped a couple of layers around her lower face as a gag.
Selina nodded to herself. Hopefully, her plan was back on its tracks…
She put her ‘Vicki Vale’ mask and wig back on.
Of course, things had to go from bad to worse at that exact moment.
Behind her, somebody entered the boiler room.
“Hannah. What’s taking so long? You- Hey! What’s the big idea?!”
The Chinese-American woman was dressed as a caterer. And she was obviously as fake as the one Selina had trussed up with tape.
I bet that’s ‘Erica’.
Whether the woman truly was Erica or not was a moot point at the moment, since she was drawing a pocket shocker and attacking.
Catwoman moved swiftly to dodge the crook’s assault. However, Vicki Vale’s dress wasn’t suited for close combat, and hindered her moves. Her foe managed to grab her wig.
With a victorious smile, she pulled hard on it, hoping to unbalance Selina and hit her in the neck with her shocker.
She wasn’t expecting the wig and mask to come off, and almost fell on her butt due to the lack of resistance.
“What the- wig?!”
Selina saw red. “Those costed me a fortune!” Blinded by rage, she rushed the girl of the Harley gang.
Erica brandished a pocket shocker in a desperate attempt to defend herself, but one hit to the wrist was enough to disarm her.
A painfully one-sided fight followed suit. It left Quinn’s minion lying spread eagle on the floor. Catwoman’s left hook was known to be especially mean, not to say anything about her kicks...
Selina picked up her ‘Vicky Vale’ mask and wig. Both were ripped now.
“Great. My cover is ruined.”
She couldn’t be seen wearing Vicki Vale’s dress without the journalist’s face.
Selina glanced at the defeated minion. “You owe me a disguise, girlfriend.”
Taking a knee, she stripped the unconscious Erica. Under her uniform, the fake caterer was wearing white cheeky panties with a black waistband strap, and a matching full-cup bra. Both had a pattern of little harlequins. Selina considered taking the undergarments too, as a punishment, but ultimately decided she wasn’t that petty.
Plus those were ugly as sin.
She used the remaining tape of her roll to restrain the thug’s wrists and ankles, and to seal her lips with a few layers of adhesive.
Just like Hannah, Erica was wearing a wig to conceal her dyed hair – hers was half-pink and half-black, and compressed under a wig cap.
Selina took the wig, then got dressed in the stolen uniform.
She anticipated the guests wouldn’t pay attention to a new face among the catering crew – they probably wouldn’t even notice her. Of course she’d have to avoid the other caterers – whether they were genuine employees or disguised impostors – but she could use the crowd of guests for that.
“There. I can still salvage this…” she muttered to herself. Hopefully it wasn’t wishful thinking. “Oh, and before I forget…”
She gave a few kicks to the half-naked Erica’s backside.
“… That’s for ruining my plan!”
She crammed the two unconscious criminals into a cupboard, uncaring that their breasts were pressed against each other or their faces were in each other’s personal space. They were in for an embarrassing awakening. (Unless the rumors about Harley’s girls were true, in which case they may find the predicament arousing.)
Selina slammed the door shut.
It was time to do some damage-control. She couldn’t have Harley’s bombs go off before she could rob the guests blind!
**************
Catwoman didn’t have to search for long.
The first bomb was actually hidden in the air vent of the boiler room itself, and disguised as a perfume bottle. The little detonator it was attached to with wires didn’t leave any doubt about its true nature.
Gas bomb it is, then. The perfume bottle is a clear giveaway of Harley’s accomplice.
Selina was fidgeting through the cables to turn off the detonator. She was mumbling insults and swear words to herself during the entire process.
Damn Clown Lady… It’d take her the better part of the night to find all the bombs...
But why would Ivy help with a gala heist? What was the catch? Something wasn’t adding up.
Catwoman froze when she heard a guest fake-cough behind her. “Excuse me. What are you doing here exactly?”
Her first instinct was to jump the woman, knock her out, and stash her away before she could call security.
She didn’t follow it when she got a good look at the young redhead’s face.
“Barbara?! Why are you here? I’ll have to file a complaint for harassment.”
“Why would the daughter of Commissioner Gordon not be attending the charity event of the month?” the redhead retorted.
She was indeed looking gorgeous in a sparkling black party gown. Nobody could have even suspected that the elegant young redhead moonlighted as a crime-fighter.
“Touché. Where did you learn to quip? It can’t be from Batman or his Mini-Me.”
“That would be from you, actually.”
“Okay, fine for the dress. But why are you HERE? The boiler room isn’t exactly part of the gala.”
“I noticed some unusual activity.” Barbara looked over Selina’s shoulder. “You moved from robbery to terrorism?” She sounded disappointed.
Catwoman was painfully aware appearances were against her – what with her right next to a suspicious device. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m defusing them?”
“That depends on the explanation.”
“You see, Harley Quinn-”
“Okay. I’m convinced.”
“That was fast. I’m not complaining though.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, dressed as a caterer.” Barbara added.
Selina’s smile was worth a thousand words. “In my defense, the staff member I mugged was one of Harley’s goonettes in disguise.”
Barbara shook her head. “Robbing a charity gala? Really?”
“Okay, first I never pretended to be some girl scout. Second, I’m not robbing the charity gala, I’m robbing the rich people attending the charity gala.”
“I’ll handcuff you now.” Barbara warned dryly. “Don’t make me pull out the pepper spray. This dress is expensive, I don’t want to scratch it.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
“Why?”
“Because I stole Vale’s identity to enter the gala, and I’m the only one who knows where the real Vicki is. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll never find her again.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow to show how unimpressed she was.
“That’s true!” Catwoman complained. “You want proof?” She showed her a live footage of the real Vicki Vale on her phone. The journalist was deeply asleep, and lying on the backseats of her car. She was clad in her lingerie only – light violet lacy panties with a lace floral pattern, blue translucent tights, and a lacy bra with a floral pattern and a violet color that matched the panties. Her eyes were blindfolded with a scarf. Her wrists and her legs were bound with a few plastic zip-ties, and she was gagged with a strip of tape.
Barbara glanced at the picture. “Why are you filming her?” she asked with a ‘I’m-trying-very-hard-to-not-kink-shame-but-I’m-still-kink-shaming’ tone.
“Blackmail.” Catwoman explained genially. She pocketed her phone. “That’s it? That’s your only reaction? Aren’t you worried for her safety?”
“You’d leave someone to die?” Barbara retorted evenly.
“You’re too insightful for your own good… Still, she could be very sore when she wakes up.”
Barbara rolled her eyes. “Fine. We have more urging matters anyway. First we deal with whatever half-baked scheme Harley cooked up this time. Then, maybe, I’ll give you a head start.”
“Fair enough. But you’ll have to add Ivy to the list.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Gas bombs disguised as perfume bottles? Sounds like her style.”
Barbara nodded. “I’ll call for help.”
“Wonderful! You do that, I’ll finish defusing this bomb. Don’t forget to tell them I’m on your side.”
“For that, I will need the coordinates of Vicki Vale. Immediately. And also you to destroy all records. No blackmail material.”
Selina sighed. “… Fine…”
Oh, how she wished she lived in a universe where the cat-themed thief had the upper-hand on the red-haired goody-two-shoes.
Alas…
**************
Harley Quinn’s psychology was a hotly-debated topic. A lot of people called her crazy. She and her accomplices thought she was ‘quirky’ and ‘eccentric’.
Whatever the truth was, one thing was certain however. Harley wasn’t stupid.
So when Erica and Hannah grew quiet all of the sudden, she quickly began to suspect something was up.
It’d be like the Bats to come and ruin their fun – right when the best part was about to begin.
She wished she could detonate the bombs right now, but she couldn’t do that before finding her two teammates. The gas itself wasn’t lethal, but they could be lost in the confusion – police was bound to arrive soon, security would search everywhere. She couldn’t rescue them in time. Besides, it was too soon anyway. Ivy wasn’t in position.
Fortunately, Shona, Carlita, and Antonia were still responding.
“Girls. We have some party-poopers. You know what to do.”
In the meantime, Harley would go searching for her missing partners.
**************
With Barbara’s help, locating the gas bombs proved to be easier. The redhead could walk in plain sight without fear of being ousted. Then she’d discreetly text their locations to Selina.
For obvious reasons, the fake perfume bottles were concealed out of sight in air vents. Thus, it wasn’t hard to defuse them without the guests or the guards noticing.
Selina defused a bomb in an empty exhibition room.
She was alone, Barbara was busy scouting the next aisle.
“And one more-”
“Freeze!”
“Not again…” Selina complained to herself.
The smartly-dressed security guard was an auburn-haired woman in her early thirties, with blue eyes and a short sleek low ponytail. The handgun she was pointing at Selina wasn’t for show.
Unfortunately, she was out of reach. No way Catwoman could knock her out before she’d shoot. The cat burglar was confident in her acrobatics – outspeeding the girl’s reflexes was well within her range. But one loose gunshot would be enough to trigger the alarm.
Selina began to speak. “Now, you see, miss, I swear this is not what it looks like…”
“Hands up! I’m calling security!”
“Wait! I swear I’m on your side! You’re gonna tip them off and ruin everything!”
However, before the guard could grab her walkie-talkie, a figure clad in a black bat-suit – previously concealed by a cloaking device – suddenly appeared behind her.
Black Bat swiftly jabbed a small dart between the woman’s neck and right shoulder. The gadget released a powerful jolt that knocked her out instantly. It then injected the guard with a strong sleeping drug.
The guard moaned faintly, then her limp body collapsed. Black Bat caught her under the armpits, and silently laid her onto the floor.
Catwoman whistled between her teeth. “Good save! Forget Babs’. I want you for my sidekick.”
Cassandra Cain glared silently. She didn’t need words to convey her refusal. She didn’t even need to take off her mask.
“Bat-suits are overrated. Cat-suits are the new trend for young ladies.” Selina insisted.
Things might have become ugly, but then they heard footsteps nearby. Barbara was catching up with them.
“Cass’! Why did you do that?! I could’ve told her Selina was working for my dad!”
Black Bat shrugged, and did a few hand signs.
“Yeah, I can see you panicked.” Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s not gonna like it…”
The three of them all knew who she was referring to. Cassandra’s bat mask didn’t betray any emotion, but Selina easily pictured the young woman’s grimace. Batman was a bit adamant about his ‘no collateral damage’ rule.
Batgirl sighed. “Well, what’s done is done.” She checked the security guard’s pulse. “No allergic reaction. She’ll sleep for a while, no need to bind or gag her. We’ll leave her somewhere she can’t be hurt.”
Selina butted in. “But first… We need to talk about your outfit.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Your dress is fine… for Barbara Gordon, the young socialite. But right now we need Batgirl. You won’t keep up with us in high-heels and a party dress. At least, in a guard uniform you can run and jump around. Throw in a different haircut, and nobody will guess this acrobatic red-haired guard is the commissioner’s daughter.”
Barbara and Cassandra shared a glance. The latter tilted her head. The former spoke up: “That’s true, but…”
“Come on! I’m not asking you to ‘do a Huntress’. Just take this woman’s uniform. Plus, we can’t risk Harley or Ivy recognizing you. They might connect the dots, and deduce your secret identity.”
The two younger girls saw her point, but still didn’t look eager.
Catwoman groaned to herself, and conceded: “Ugh. Fine. We’ll tell Bruce I was the one who mugged the girl.”
**************
Carlita, Shona, and Antonia were displeased to see some of their gas bombs had been sabotaged. The elusive party-poopers had even either stolen or hidden the perfume bottles, so they couldn’t reset the bombs.
They hadn’t come across them though. Their targets were quite good at remaining unnoticed.
Thanks to their stolen earpieces, they could spy on the transmissions of the security team, but didn’t get information from there. Whoever was defusing the bombs, they weren’t working with the security team. In fact, it looked like they were purposefully avoiding the guards.
“Still no sign of the buzzkills.”
“Harley hasn’t found anything either.”
“Maybe we should stop laying low.” Carlita proposed.
“Only as a last resort.” Antonia retorted. “Harley said it’s too soon. Ivy isn’t ready. The transfer hasn’t begun yet. Plus we might not be able to recover Hannah and Erica if the alarm is set off.”
“Last time I heard of Hannah, she was planting a gas bomb in the boiler room.”
“Let’s check there.”
**************
In a corner of a storage room for unused museum exhibits, Cassandra laid the auburn-haired security guard against a wall.
“Sorry about that. I was hoping you’d be wearing less revealing underclothes.” Barbara said to the unconscious woman.
The guard was indeed wearing lavender lacy tanga panties, and a burgundy bandeau bra.
Catwoman bit her lower lip to refrain herself from saying it was far from the most revealing undergarments she had seen in her years of stealing uniforms. She knew Mini-Batman couldn’t take a joke.
Barbara and Cassandra found a sheet normally used to protect exhibits from dust, and covered the underwear-clad body of the guard.
“You’re not binding her?” Selina butted in.
“Cass’ new gadget is stronger than our knock-out gas. She’ll sleep for four hours.”
Barbara was wearing the security uniform. Using an elastic, she tied up her hair, and fashioned a professional-looking ponytail.
Catwoman nodded appreciatively. “Would you look at that... You rock that outfit. Nobody could guess you’re the prim and proper Barbara Gordon.” She turned towards Cassandra. “What about you? Wanna grab a second guard?”
Black Bat snubbed her, and turned her cloaking device on again.
“She knows how to make her point across, I’ll give her that.” Selina dryly commented.
Besides, having an invisible girl at hand would be useful.
**************
The boiler room was seemingly empty, but acute ears could pick up faint sounds coming from a maintenance cupboard. The piece of furniture was rocking slightly. Its frame was muffling moans of distress.
Carlita, Antonia, and Shona shared a knowing glance. They didn’t need to speak.
The three women opened the cupboard, and were greeted by the sight of Hannah and Erica tightly trussed up and crammed inside. The faces of both women were quite red. It was clear that all the rubbing and grinding in a tight space hadn’t left them indifferent.
Antonia chuckled briefly. She couldn’t help it. It was nervous. “You two… need a minute to finish?”
Her two friends moaned and groaned angrily.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
They released the two women.
“Who did that to you?”
“It was Catwoman!” Erica spat. “She stole my uniform!”
“The nerve!” Shona exclaimed. “You don’t steal a stolen uniform! What about honor among thieves?!”
“I’ll won’t let her get away with this!”
“You won’t get far in your underwear.” Hannah remarked while rubbing her limbs.
“Leave the buzzkills to us.” Carlita said.
Hannah nodded. “I’ll help Erica get an other set of clothes.”
**************
After they had arrived in the facility in which the transfer would take place, Pamela had let General Vreeland go on his own. She was confident in her mind-control serum. He’d do exactly as he’d been told.
Currently, Ivy was waiting in the car. The vehicle was parked inside the military facility handling her henchwomen’s transfer, next to the main building. There was nobody in sight. Thanks to the walls nearby, they were in a blind spot. Ivy had checked for security cameras, and there were none here – they were all on the fence and access booth.
Her chaperone, Lieutenant Cox, was sitting on the car’s hood. She was looking thoroughly bored, and didn’t pay any attention to her charge.
Pamela’s phone bipped.
Harley’s text wasn’t good news. Ivy concealed her anger, and turned off her device.
She wasn’t satisfied with the latest turn of events. While the gala heist was supposed to be a distraction, it had been exposed too soon.
Ivy decided to go by the assumption the Bats were already aware of the heist at the charity gala. With some luck, they didn’t know yet about Ivy’s true goal. But it wouldn’t take them long to deduce she was involved – and that she had an ulterior motive.
It was time to improvise.
Ivy exited the car.
Lieutenant Cox sprung to life faster than she expected, and blocked her path.
“Miss Vreeland. I know your father is the general, but you can’t-MPPHHH?!”
Ivy shut the woman up by grabbing her neck and planting a kiss on her lips.
“MHHH?!”
The lieutenant briefly struggled with wide eyes, but she was quickly overpowered when the mind-controlling serum in Ivy’s lipstick entered her body.
“Mhhhhh...”
The black-haired woman stopped squirming. Her gaze became vacant. The aphrodisiac effects of Ivy’s mind-control lipstick worked on all women and men, no matter their sexual preference. Lieutenant Cox surrendered to the redhead’s embrace and returned the kiss – which of course made her absorb even more mind-control serum.
Ivy interrupted the embrace. Her mind-control lipstick was merely a tool to make her victims more suggestible. Ivy didn’t care to prolong the kiss once her victim was under her full control.
Lieutenant Cox stood still, her face devoid of any expression.
Pamela snatched the woman’s badge. “Your ID has a picture.”
The mind-controlled woman nodded without a word.
“Good thing I came prepared.” Ivy mused, absentmindedly tapping her purse. She then instructed: “Give me your glasses and your uniform.”
The mind-controlled woman obeyed wordlessly. She took off her beret, kicked her shoes away, slid her tights down her legs, and unbuckled and let her skirt fall onto the ground before stepping out of it. Then she unbuttoned her uniform jacket and took it off, before pulling off the plain white shirt she wore underneath.
At the same time, Ivy also undressed herself. She tore Vreeland’s gown and tights into strips.
Once the lieutenant was down to her undergarments (plain white briefs with a grey waistband strap and a matching t-shirt bra), Ivy instructed her to cross her wrists behind her back and stand still. She swiftly bound the woman’s hands, then bound her legs. A thicker strip of dress made for a fine cleave-gag.
Ivy opened the trunk of Vreeland’s car. “Hop inside.”
Lieutenant Cox obeyed to the best of her ability. Ivy helped by heaving her into the trunk.
“Stay here, and sleep for the night.”
The officer obediently curled up on herself, as if to take a nap.
Ivy then threw the remaining strips of Vreeland’s clothes and jewels in the trunk with the bound-and-gagged woman, then closed the trunk.
She searched the content of her purse. Inside, there was a bottle of hair dye camouflaged as make-up product. She used the car’s rearview mirror to carefully apply a black color matching Cox’s. She had made the dye herself – its quality surpassed any cosmetics on the market, and it dried almost instantly. Then she got dressed in the lieutenant’s uniform, and tied up her hair to copy the woman’s tight bun. She removed the lenses of the glasses, and put them on her nose.
Finally, Pamela adjusted her beret, and pinned her stolen ID badge onto her jacket. It was time to take matters into her own hands.
