1358/Three Amazonian Red Heads Walk Into A Park And ...

Three Amazonian Red Heads Walk Into A Park And ...
Date of Scene:	08 July 2017
Location:	Metropolis
Synopsis:	The 'Odd Men' appear in Queensland Park, and cause some concern. And a fight.
Cast of Characters:	Grace Choi, 1017, Fairchild, Miss Moreau

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Grace Choi has posed:
    Dusk, in Queensland Park. It's that odd hour, when there are a few stragglers in the park, but it's mostly empty and the police aren't yet kicking people out of it to make sure that no homeless are taking up space and nobody is getting murdered in the shadows.
    Dusk, and all is well.
    Dusk, and Grace Choi, the tallest person in the park presently without a doubt, is enjoying a stroll before her shift starts at Chaney's. Oddly, she is clasping a nail, which, upon first glance might appear to be rusted along the shaft.
    That's when she spots them. A strange group of men. Each, the same size. Each, wearing the exact same black suit, white shirt, and narrow black tie. Each wearing a small fedora, black. Each carrying a cane. Each walking in a single file line, deeper into the park.
    "What the hell?" Grace mutters under her breath. She is no hero. But, there's just some strange shit that simple curiousity prods one into at least looking. And so, deeper into the park Grace goes, as the Odd Men walk around a corner, and, seemingly disappear.

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
This is not the sort of place that women should explore alone, at least at this time of night... and indeed, the plan *had* been to bring an end to the day's investigations of a few of New York's parks and head to somewhere more brightly lit, with more people, and a lot more in the way of food. But Scandal, too, has had her notice caught by that strange parade of oddly-clad and weirdly-similar men and (approaching from a different angle to Grace) is also now skulking after them. The mercenary-turned-student is clad in black (jeans, sensible boots, and leather jacket), and appears unarmed - not even a rusty nail ready to hand.

Fairchild has posed:
    Caitlin Fairchild *definitely* isn't a hero, either. She is normal. So normal. All normal girls have punched a robot so hard pieces of it flew through a building. They just haven't told you about it. Nobody likes to brag.
    Presently, and so very normal, she sits on a park bench with a large backset between her feet, reading a newly purchase collection of the works of Beckett while drinking coffee from a disposable cup which she, most certainly, plans to recycle in the appropriate fashion.
    The gang of oddly-dressed ... whatever's catch her eye, if only briefly. This is, after all, New York City. She's seen MAD Magazine before. She knows what to expect here.
    "They're probably performance artists," she says, to herself more than to anyone else.

Miss Moreau has posed:
It's not just the group of men that are a bit strange out in the park. Cue one Anna Smith, a tall and broad shouldered woman in a ruffled set of suit and pants that definitely trend towards the gothic. The top hat she wears completes the outfit. That lump of a gun not-quite-hidden beneath? Doesn't really fit. In her arms is the dainty figure of Miss Moreau. They are, in fact, walking down a path in the park as Anna spots the men. She frowns, and turns to Moreau.

"Uhh. Hey Princess. Bunch of weirdos."

Moreau frowns as her thug describes them. She opens up her senses towards the men. Just in case.

The pair are a bit ahead of the other three. Now? They're starting to trail after the men, in plain view of the other women.

Grace Choi has posed:
    Scandal and Grace, each get there in time to see something even odder than the way the men are dressed. The small parade of men, in unison, twirl their canes. In unison, they break off, and surround a man who is either a junkie, or a homeless man, or both. And, in unison, each suddenly brings their canes down upon the man in a creepy synchronized attack pattern that immediately bring the man down to the ground. And, in unison, the four men jab the bottom of their cane into the other man, who begins to violently, silently, twitch and spasm.
    And the spasms only get more violent, pronounced, before ... his facial features seem to slowly erase. Fade. Just a faceless, skin-colored smooth edge about him. Just like the four Odd Men. His clothes begin to shift, like static graphic glitches, transforming and shifting into a black suit. A fedora. Crisp white shirt. Polished black shoes. Black, narrow tie. A cane appears in his hand. And, he stands up.
    The four Odd Men are now five. And, seamlessly, they continue as one hive mind, one hive body, into the further depths of the park.
    "Holy blue balls on fire," Grace mutters, too dumbfounded to help save the guy. She just ... stares. Then she looks around, and sees Scandal. She looks back to where the men are disappearing off to. She looks back to Scandal, "Tell me," she says, dryly, "That someone slipped me some goddamn roofies and I'm hallucinating, and I didn't just see the four whackjobs just have a whackjob baby. Please."

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
Scandal is not exactly the sort to spring heroically into action in most circumstances, nor is she easily shocked... but right now, she's looking stunned, and even a bit sick. Looking around in response to being spoken to, she double-takes, blinking in evident surprise at Grace - before finding a lop-sided, bleak little smile. "I can't say for sure quite what you think you saw. But what *I* just saw was extremely strange. And frankly rather frightening." Not that the (much) smaller woman sounds as if she's about to flee in terror.

Fairchild has posed:
    Caitlin doesn't see any of this.
    What she does see, is the mournful beauty of "Ill Seen, Ill Said." One of Beckett's final works, it depicts in stream-of-consciousness form the world of an elderly woman as she prepares to die, no doubt a reflection of Beckett's own fears and experiences during his final years.
    Caitlin also takes a small sip of her coffee, and idly taps her backpack back and forth between her feet.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Miss Moreau and her companion are...well, they've seen strange things in Gotham. They're part of the strange. But as the tophatted thug and her companion take their place in vague stealth behind a convenient tree, the thug lets out a gasp. Moreau puts a hand to her mouth.

"How...how odd. Anna. Do you think those canes would sell? Magic perhaps?" Grin.

Then Moreau's companion is pulling out an SMG, while Moreau opens her red book. A low incantation, Power flows from her, and a small creature appears in her hand. It's...a trio of squirrels. She shoos them off. The squirrels start making for the procession of Odd Men.

Grace Choi has posed:
    What Caitlin -will- see, is three more men, and one woman. Four more Odd Men, approaching her in a single line. Just as the other troupe did. It is almost like deja vu in how exactly they not only look the same as the other group, but they're walking the same exact path, too. As if the universe were stuck on repeat. They each are approaching Caitlin, now. Each, taking a synchronous position around her. Each, faceless. A measure of smooth skin where eyes, nose, mouth, and ears should be. Non-entitys? Forgetabble. Or, maybe not.
    Each of the four tip their hat to Caitlin, as if they're going to put on a show. Each raises their cane up in the air, twirls it, as if to begin that show. Then each cane falls onto the normal, cheerful girl who punches robots through buildings. And hits her. -Hard-. Hard enough that it may well hurt, and a lot at that, if she isn't getting out of the way. They're unaware, however, she might not go down as easy as the others have. The Odd Men have not yet picked out Caitlin's nature.

    As Miss Moreau conjures the squirrels, the five other Odd Men stop, almost seem to be static-jolted out of their routine. In unison, each turns. Each featureless face turns, pointedly, eyes on Miss Moreau and her thug. Each seems to blur in a static shift, like when one's cable box isn't working right and the data signal is stuck.
    Then, in a blink of an eye, each of the five Odd Men are no longer where they were.
    Now, they surround Miss Moreau, and her thug-friend. Three turn their attention to Miss Moreau. Two, to the squirrels. Each raising their canes up, to smash into their targets.

    "...first 10 foot spiders, now this. The hell. This is my goddman park." Grace Choi seems to be getting a headache. She frowns, though, searching for where the strange-as-#*$& men disappeared to, out of of thin air. It takes her a few moments before she points, "There." Just in case Scandal didn't see them. "Stay here. Or, get the hell out. I'm going to go pound something into the ground." Not seeming to care that at least one of those Odd Men might be an innocent person.

Fairchild has posed:
    "Uhm."
    "I'm sorry," she offers apologetically as they begin to gather around her, "I don't really have any extra money, I'd be more than happy to tip you - you've obviously put in an enormous amount of work getting your routine synchronized and I'm sure the matching outfits weren't cheap at all but - hey!"
    It's around that point they start to hit her.
    Caitlin is forward thinking enough to keep her costume with her at most times, even while she's really doing her very best to not stand out and to not be a super-person and to not attract the attention of secret government agencies that regard her as a weapon they would very much like to recover.
    It's in her backpack!
    Which ... well, which isn't that useful. She isn't about to try to change behind a tree or anything. I mean, for one, she doesn't all fit behind most trees, and the last time she tried that Sarah ended up seeing a *lot* and it was so awkward Sarah kept looking at her and sighing for *days* after, obviously just mortified by having breached etiquette in such a fashion.
    "Stop!" she protests, looking ... not particularly perturbed, nor injured - though the cap of a cane manages to catch against a seam along her shoulder, tearing a long rip and leaving a flap of fabric hanging down to expose the sports bra beneath and the right side of her abdomen, obliques and all.
    "Seriously, that hurts! I said," she repeats, book dropping to the bench beside her as she raises and shoves the palm of each hand into a sternum with enough force to send an ordinary man flying backwards a dozen feet or more, "Stop!"

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
Scandal nods warily to Grace, not quite sure who this latest Glamazon redhead might be or what she might be able to do against these strange foes... but she finds herself momentarily torn between the urge to help this afternoon's acquaintance (Miss Moreau) and the other threatened person - who in fact looks to be the stunning young woman she briefly mistook for Kay the day before. That's sufficient to end her hesitation: Moreau has a heavily-armed bodyguard and now a giant (and foul-mouthed) warrior-maid to assist her, as well as whatever strange powers are contained in that book. Caitlin might indeed be as powerful as Kay... but she might also be another wholly-mundane look-alike, like Liana.

Decision made, Scandal moves onto the grass, using its cushioning to muffle the sound of her footsteps as she sprints closer - brows lifting in surprise as Caitlin is not only attacked, but surives it and mounts a counter-offensive.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau's thug gasps, and immediately she's trying to bowl over Moreau. It partly works, and has the pair in a small tangle of limbs as three canes come down hard enough on Anna's right shoulder that she screams. There's definitely going to be some deep bruising there. But this thug is tough. Rolling off of her Boss, she levels her gun at one of the cane wielding Not Men. A trigger pull, and a flurry of bullets race for the thing.

The squirrels don't even get out of the way. In fact, they all but lean into the blows. Moreau, a bit dazed from gunfire more or less right by her ear, runs her finger down a bit of the page she's on.

The two fuzzy cute things suddenly puff up, and then they both explode like furry little pipe bombs, and with double the force on their assailants. Moreau is already flipping pages again, before drawing a sword from her cane.

Her thug is on the verge of passing out after those three solid whacks. She's already shoving a syringe into her side.

Grace Choi has posed:
    Two squirrels explode.
    The third is, for lack of better word, assimilated. It's furry facial features take on a smooth, pristine featureless expression as it, too, dons a miniature black suit, tie, shirt, shoes, and top hat. And then it is running up, to Miss Moreau, and running up her legs, up her body and about to seriously whack her in the face with a cane when Grace literally grabs it off the sorceress's shoulder with one huge hand, and hurtles it into the nearest tree.
    The thug? Well. The thug is no longer a thug, as three canes prod him. His transformation is as all the others have been. And, Miss Moreau has just lost one gang member who will no longer be able to really answer the question if the canes would sell well, or not.
    Now? Now it's a matter of pure survival.
    Miss Moreau is forgotten a moment while the thug's transformation is finished off, leaving three others to focus on the newer, bigger threat. One attacks Grace's knee, the other two, her body, and Grace snarls and growls a bit of profanity as she goes down, surprised at the strength of these monsters. As one of them raises their cane again, she manages to grab it. And, grab the next one falling. Breaking the canes? Doesn't seem to work. She tries. So she does the next best thing. She -pulls-. Featureless face meets featureless face. Hard. Like the two stooges, their heads make a satisfying connecting sound, and the two Odd Men sprawl backwards, staggering. But not yet down, and out.

    As Caitlin's attack goes not-unseen, the other two Odd Men (and Odd Woman) pause. Their canes go down, onto the ground, Charlie Chaplan style. They shift again, against reality. And, suddenly now, there are four Odd Men. And, two Odd Women.
    Three on one, they surround Caitlin, and Scandal each.

Miss Moreau has posed:
"Anna!" Screams Moreau as the thug falls silent. She can hear the turning happen. Her face contorts into vile anger, but before she can act, her own squirrel is bounding up her! But the valiant Grace Choi yanks it off, and then it's tossed away!

KABOOM! Scratch one tree.

Swallowing her anger, she backs off as Grace joins the melee. Sticking her sword in the ground, she flips one more page. With the reprieve, she can incant.

"Oh by my Mark and my Power, honor our pact and come forth to thy Mistress! SHIRAHEBI!"

Reality trembles for a moment, and a massive white-scaled snake melts into existance, the size of a bulldozer. It's eyes are a deep red, and between them, a circular, black mark seems burned into the creature's scales. Hopping up onto the creature, she gently rubs the thing's head.

"Shirahebi, save our valiant knight. And crush these who dare pluck a petal of the White Roses without my permission! Devour them, smash them, let me smell their blood in the air!" Commands the mage. The snake's tail trembles, and long spikes of bone erupt from within, blood dripping from them. That tail raises, and then swings for one of the Odd Men that are attacking Grace. Spike first.

Fairchild has posed:
    The statuesque redhead (no, not that one, the other one) opts to deny fate at least part of its prize, glancing down at the rip on her hoodie and deciding it can *probably* be mended. At least, with what's wrong with it *now*. She pushes her shoulders back and gives them a little toss that sends the garment falling down her (large and very remarkably muscled) arms, catching it in one hand and then tossing it back onto the bench.
    Her cup of coffee, tipped over its side, is on the ground - she hopes she remembers to pick that up after this is over.
    Caitlin grabs a handful of fine apparel in one hand and then the other in a single smooth motion, arms flexed and core tight as she hurls one into the air - as far as she can, which is shockingly far - and then hurls the other against its remaining, non-airborne companion, hoping to send him tumbling away at the intense impact of his ally-turned-projectile.
    "This is profoundly dumb," Caitlin murmurs to herself as she tilts her neck to one side and then the other, producing a little cracking noise. She raises her left hand into the air and, without looking, manages to catch the stranger she tossed upwards, and then to send him flying towards the ones gathering around Scandal.
    "Hey! You're the le - uhm, I don't remember your name. You thought I was your wife! I'm still not, but - ('God, what does that have to do with anything?' she thinks) do you know what these things are? Because I don't. But they tore my hoodie, so now I'm throwing them."

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
It's probably a good thing that Scandal's presently got her back to the magically-conjured giant snake; as it is, she's paying rather more attention to Caitlin than might be wholly wise. It's definitely a major plus that this particular giant redhead seems to be startlingly combat-capable; it's rather distracting that she seems to feel the need to undress mid-combat.

"Yes, I'm the le- - you're right," she agrees, tucking into a dive-and-roll, before kicking off the ground to flip over her own ring of opponents - using her greater-than-mundane strength to get a bit more height than ought to be possible, though she's nowhere near to matching the obviously-paranormal displays of her companions. Her plan's a simple, and characteristic one: refuse to play the game others set up for her, and blind-side her ally's opponents. Keeping on the move, she tries to the tuxedo-clad swarm's numbers against it, aiming kicks and strikes at wrists and elbows with the intention of separating the assailants from their canes. And she's not holding back, putting all her (admittedly puny, on the Fairchild scale) might into her blows.

Grace Choi has posed:
    No matter how hard -any- of the featureless Odd Men are getting hit, their canes are not snapping. Nor are they able be disldged from their hands, rather as if the canes were a literal part of them as much as any leg or arm would be.

    One of the Odd Men are impaled by the massive snakes bonetail. Grace recieves a solid knock to the jaw, but she's able to counter by grabbing another Odd Men and literally suplexing him directly into the bone tail of the snake again. Time to body stack?

    Scandal is hit, and hit -hard- on the back, followed up by a cane to the jawline. That will be felt, come morning, no doubt as it'd be enough nearly to knock a bull out as hard as the thing hits.

    Caitlin is worse off. Sure, a couple of them are thrown, one is slammed into a tree - another caught in the tree branches, while the third is a good few hundred feet away.
    But then the rest of them swarm in. The numbers. Their strength has increased. And now they're just beating the holy hell out of her, rapidly pounding their canes down on Caitlin's body, shredding her hoodie. Shredding her pants. Even her footwear, with an almost maddened haze about themselves.

    Yet, those attacking Grace, and Miss Moreau? They seem to pause. Shiver. Shift. And, then they're suddenly away. Standing in the center, between Grace and Miss Moreau and the mess of Caitlin, Scandal, and the other Odd Men. Eerily waiting. Frozen. As if someone had turned a switch off.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Now somewhat removed from the brawl thanks to a massive pile of snake, sitting side-sattle on the serpent's neck area, Moreau's enhanced hearing picks up a familiar voice.

"Miss Savage! Would that be you I hear? Oh dear, I do hope you do not always end up in situations like this. Please do not be turned into...whatever these uncouth gentlemen callers are. Shirahebi tells me you would look horrid in a top hat." Comes Moreau, voice as sweet as ever despite having just made her serpent impale a monster.

She doesn't turn from battle, though. A few more pages are flicked, and she hops down. One last pat to the giant snake, and it fades away.

"Mmm...no....no...there we are!"

Another low incanation.

"Dendrobatidae!"

Frogs stand in a line a few feet in front of Moreau. Four blue-skinned and black speckled frogs the size of great danes. They cheeks sage oddly, their features bloated, and that same symbol sits on each of their foreheads. With a snap of Moreau's fingers, they bloat more, puffing up like puffer fish.

Miss Moreau clears her throat loudly. "Ladies! I would suggest not being in the vicinity of those beings for at least two seconds. I would hate to harm such brave, strong warriors!" A giggle, long and slightly unhinged as bloodlust fills her heart. The smells of battle make her heart beat faster, not the least of which being the violence the strong women around her have performed.

The dart frogs vomit forth green-brown goop that flies through the air as if shot by cannons. It spreads, the sticky substance adhereing to anything it touches. And it burns, and creeps, one part acid, one part natural venom made one hundred times worse by Miss Moreau's spellwork.

Fairchild has posed:
    Thankfully, Caitlin removed her hoodie. It's right over there, on the bench. Just one rip! She's sure it can be mended. She finds herself rather pleased she removed it, then, as a gang of preposterously strong, cane-wielded freaks decide to make sport of her.
    What she IS wearing - well, that doesn't last long. Between whatever is the strange nature of canes, and the sheer number of them falling upon her, and the strength behind them, it doesn't take that long. In the end, she finds herself wearing: a pair of leggings so ripped they've turned into leg warmers, a pair of grey boy-shorts that are now more like a thong, the underband of a sports bra with a strap hanging down against her abdomen, and a now-tattered bra.
    Somehow, she's still covered *exactly* enough to prevent any television station to air footage of this assault from being fined by the FCC.
    "You're all stupid, you all look weird, that was the *only* outfit I *had* and I *hate* this town!" decries Caitlin Fairchild, furious and abandoning restraint in favor of hitting everyone close to her right in the sternum with enough force to send a steel door flying off its hinges.

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
Scandal's no Wolverine... but she's been riddled with .50 cal machine gun rounds as Amanda Waller's prelude to a job offer. The pain of the cane-strikes is for now is very real, but she's confident that nothing has broken - and that in a few hours at most, everything will have repaired itself. So she channels the pain into the controlled anger that comes so easily to one of her bloodline, and focuses on avoiding getting trapped by the swarm. With the canes seemingly immovable, she switches to trying to dislodge hats - just in case they are the root of power, as they are for at least one supervillain out there - but soon enough she's simply concentrating on trying not to get hit by stray frog-goo, flattened by a flying Odd Man, or hit by a furious and delectably underclad Caitlin.

Consequently, Miss Moreau's polite warning goes unanswered for the time being.

Grace Choi has posed:
    Acid, acid everywhere. Sickly smelling, sticky, cloth-eating acid. It is sprayed by the frogs, and hits Scandal - most likely making her clothing look a lot like Caitlin's, as well as that of the few Odd Men remaining clustered about the two girls who haven't yet been bitch-smacked a fair distance away from Caitlin.
    Whether it is Miss Moreau's attack, Caitli's stand, the fact that Grace and Moreau have taken a few down and Scandal and Caitlin are taking others down, a combination of the above or something else altogther isn't clear.
    But as with the others, suddenly the remaining Odd Men go even more oddly still. Frozen. Again, they scatter-shift, as if bits and bytes of them were being altered and this was all on some computer monitor that couldn't quite process the graphics.
    Then, they, along with the prior mentioned three previous ones, including those knocked out or impaled are togtether, en masse.
    Those that were incapacitated remain so, laying next to their counterparts. All frozen.

    There is a blur on one of the expressionless faces. A digital rendition of a face appears there. One eye blocky. Another eye that of a female model. A nose. And, a Max Headroom haircut, and mouth.
    A male voice speaks. "Grace Choi. How's Bana-Midghall treating you? Scandal Savage. Nice to see you. Tell your father I said hello, next time you see him, would you? And, Caitlin Fairchild. You -really- ought to invest in better wardrobe, my dear. Tsk. A woman should not be showing that much skin. You'll raise a fuss. And, Miss Moreau, is it now? Or is that what you're going by, these days? Perhaps one day I'll drop by your little hangout, and say hello to the rest of the White Rose. Anna's told me -so- much about everyone. She's a real peach."
    The mouth turns into a computerized over-accented smile, and makes a 'ha ha' sort of jovial, soundless laugh, before continuing, "I want to thank you, all. Few kinks to work out yet. We'll see you all soon. Ta-ta."
    The Odd Men move into action, those that are still able to move, twirling their canes in one syncronized motion, slamming them into the ground.
    Reality seems to shift again. And, no Odd Men remain. Even those impaled or unconscious, even the tiny little squirrel - all gone.

    Grace has the good sense to just stare at all of this. To look at Moreau, and then, to shake her head. All she can say? "I need a goddamn drink. Several goddamn drinks." And, as if presuming Moreau will follow her with a backward glance to the crazy magess, she wanders towards Scandal, and Caitlin.
    She glances, for a bit longer than polite, at Caitlin. "Well. My mood's improving already, at least. You should come to all my fights," she tells Caitlin.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau pauses, and lets out a breath. There's a pause in the combat. Have they won? Moreau thinks so. She opens her mouth, ready to speak to the others, but then that shifting and that /voice/.

The mage falls to her duff, hands trembling. She loses hold of her book, and those frogs are gone. The scarr on her face is more pronounced as she outright snarls like some sort of dog.

"H...how dare....I do not know who you are. I do not know what Power your possess. But for the crime of shaming my dear Anna, for mocking my Family, the fate you shall know will be worse than a thousand tortured executions!"

And then, once sword and cane are one and the Odd Men dissolve from reality, she stands up. Tears streak down sightless eyes.

Her book is neatly back into her side-ribbon. A calming breath, and she hmph's in the direction of where the Odd Men were. Her cane taps along, and she makes a show of running up alongside Grace.

"Well, it seems at least we can all skip introductions. Charmed, I am certain. Hello again, Miss Savage. Miss Choi, you have my thanks. I am in your debt, and so, drinks tonight are on me. And Miss Fairchild?"

A sweet, sweet smile, tinged with a blush. "I...if your clothes are damaged, I think I have an extra set in the car, if one of you would drive." A giggle.

"Perhaps you would look lovely in a corset. I can help you put it on. I have a feeling we will all be working together for a spell, I should see you properly dressed!" Comes Moreau with a note of finality. Poor Cait, and the corset, might be doomed.

Fairchild has posed:
    It's really, really hard to find clothes that look even remotely feminine when your shoulders are that broad, your arms are that big, *and* your breasts are that - uh, well, 'impressive.' But for once Caitlin's size in the first two areas proves to be profoundly useful, as she manages to drape her left arm across now-bared breasts and to completely cover the parts that are supposed to be covered, what was left of her sports bra and the (terribly utilitarian, really, the cheapest one you can find in a size like *that* still runs upwards of eighty bucks) one beneath it now sizzling on the ground.
    She's also blushing, but that should be a given.
    "THIS IS WHY MAD MAGAZINE MAKES FUN OF STUPID NEW YORK!" is Caitlin's response to the mouth. It's terribly clever. She is a GENIUS.
    And then she sits back down on the bench with a huff (really, she sort of
    drops down onto it, which - well, there's quite a bit of jiggling, her arm isn't THAT big) and sits there with her bottom lip pushed out.
    "We should've gone to California."
    And, as Caitlin begins to remove the tattered remnants of her sneakers from her feet, she responds to Grace:
    "Huh?"

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
Scandal - not being possessed of Caitlin's near-immunity to harm, though she is at least somewhat more durable than a mere mortal - is rather distracted for some little while, as she performs the frantic and strange dance of "arrgh, my clothes are melting; get the acid off me before it eats me alive".

She winds up slightly less naked (and a lot less *imposing*) than Caitlin... but doesn't have a funky superheroic costume in a conveniently-sited backpack. Thus, she shoots Miss Moreau a deeply embarrassed look, and nods as she clears her throat. "I, ahh, might take you up on that," she says hoarsely, trying not to get hypnotised by staring at Caitlin. "I *had* thought that New York would be comparatively quiet."

Grace Choi has posed:
    "Rather fight those things than nail-face and puppet master spiders, any day of the week," mutters Grace. She lifts her chin, though, to Moreau, offering, "Not a problem. No idea where those whackjobs came from, though. Damn." She shakes her head, offers her hand first to Scandal, "Nice moves, back there. Saw a couple. You can fight." She sounds impressed. Pleased, even. "Always good to meet another girl who can handle herself. We need more."
    Then, she looks over at Caitlin, and summarizes, "Basically, I just said you're hot, and said more or less I wouldn't mind taking you to bed."
    Meet Grace Choi. No filter.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Miss Moreau pauses as soon as the words leave Scandal's lips. There's an almost childish grin on her face, marred by a glowing blush. With speed that no non enhanced blind woman should have, she's suddenly moved from Grace's space right into Scandal's personal space. Then she's trying to latch onto an arm. There's a very Cheshire air to her all of a sudden.

"I /knew/ I liked you for a reason, Miss Savage! Oh, this will be fun! A few changes to the hair, some makeup...oh, and I have that small hat in the back seat! Maybe a pair of heels, and..." Clap clap clap! The suddenly giddy woman plans aloud what is starting to sound suspiciously like a makeover.

She should use those poison frogs more often if this is what happens in the aftermath!

"A mystery, dear Knight, that we shall solve. I suggest our first step, Ladies, is capturing one of those creatures. Preferably my Anna. I would know her horrid cologne anywhere, and no amount of bodily modifications will remove it's scent." Grumble.

And then she swats the ground angrily with her cane.

"And those rude callers stole my squirrel!" Offers Moreau, scandalized.

Pause. Cue her blushing further. She smiles, too, giggling nervously.

"Dear Knight, I am happy to inform you the back seat of my car is both expansive, and soundproof."

Fairchild has posed:
    "Oh. Well, thank you," Caitlin offers, "I'm not really very good at fighting. I never actually had to do it until a couple of months ago. If you really think about it I think it's rather depressing just how rapidly you pick it up, how swiftly you find yourself acclimatized to it, once you have violence thrust upon you." The humility and the depth of her words are, it must be said, easy to miss as she sits there almost entirely naked and with a routinely-readjusted arm held against her enormous chest.
    She gives a discontented little sniff as she unworks the still-knotted laces of her shoe and pulls off what now wouldn't function as even a slipper, throwing them with some degree of bitterness into a trashcan positioned nearby the bench. She pulls her backpack up, seats it next to her and unzips it - there are a few books, a cellphone, and an enormous, wadded-up ball of leather with twin boots stuffed atop it.
    "Oh! No, I'm okay, the acid didn't really affect me at all other than the obvious inconvenience of ruining what was left of my top. I definitely don't need any help getting into bed tonight, that's for sure! I really doubt I'm even going to bruise much."
    She ... CAN'T be for real.

Grace Choi has posed:
    Grace looks amused, over to Scandal, then to Moreau. "Oh, she's adorable, isn't she?" She nods though, to Moreau, "I work at Chaney's. Can get us a discount. If you're buying, I'm drinking." And she glances over to Scandal, grinning slyly, "I'll bet I can put down more than you," she challenges, in friendly manner. "We can even make a bet of it." What they could make a bet of? Well. She doesn't suggest. Just yet.
    Cailtin gets another chuckle, then a shrug, "It's life. In New York, and Metropolis. Deal with it," she tells Caitlin, and pats the girl on the back. "Besides. You obviously can take care of yourself. Not many girls can throw a guy a few hundred feet while losing half their clothes and still be effective."

Scandal Savage (1017) has posed:
Scandal double-takes as Moreau rushes to snare her arm... but she's willing to allow it (with the other providing assistance in covering herself), in hope of securing clothing and a ride back to where she's staying. "I'll just borrow the clothes, if that's all right, Miss Moreau," she says carefully. Then she resumes boggling at Caitlin, at least for a few moments. "I suspect that at least two of us would be delighted to spar with you, if you wanted to. Explore what we could teach you about unarmed combat, and laying hands on people. Though it's clear that you're a major-league 'super' if all *that* gave you nothing more than a risk of a little bruising. As for drinks... perhaps. Though I think that I'd best see if there's anything I can wear in public before I commit to anything."

Fairchild has posed:
    "I can't drink," Caitlin sees fit to interject. "I'm underaged. Given my metabolism I'm not sure if I could even become inebriated, but even if I were to decide to try it wouldn't be for another few years yet."
    Caitlin pulls one boot out of her backpack and then the other, slipping her feet inside and then managing to secure the buckles with one hand - her left, well, it has rather more important things to attend to than just making sure she doesn't traipse around barefoot while looking for a bathroom or some other, private place to change into her costume.
    "I don't... I don't really do the, uhm, the super-person thing. I - I mean, I'm glad I was in a position to help you, but I don't ... I don't like to attract a lot of attention? I have some, uhm, some not-good people looking for me so it's in my best interests to keep a low profile."
    Caitlin stares off into the distance for a moment, jaw tilting side to side, and then wonders aloud, "Why would anyone want to make a bet I'd need help getting into bed?"
    She turns her head to Grace and she asks, apparently not having heard Miss Moreau - her ears still buzzing a touch with adrenaline - "Uhm, do have a car? I kind of could really use a ride home, the subway doesn't sound very appealing right now. I have this," she hefts up her backpack, "But it's pretty attention-grabbing and I'd rather not deal with that after - well, all of this."

Miss Moreau has posed:
A deep, sucking sigh. Miss Moreau visibly deflates as Caitlin quite neatly trashes the effectiveness of the venom-acid she worked so hard on. It took /months/!

"D...didn't affect...all that research...so much testing..." Moreau is trying not to cry here. Her villainess pride is a little crumbly like teacakes right now.

Then she throws on a plastic smile for Grace's sake. "May we all deprive the good tavern Chaney of all it's sinful intoxicants, and a third of it's victuals! I propose an immediate toast as soon as Miss Savage is properly attired!"

That last notion has her perking up again. She leans in just a little bit more.

Partly because the feeling of a rather unclad Scandal Savage is a delight to her senses. Partly to keep from wanting to swat Caitlin with her cane. The sightless woman shoots a look to the sound of Grace. 'REALLY!?' it all but screams.

"Miss Fairchild, your ride is on me. We simply require a driver. ...But why not a few drinks? You are young. Rules are meant to be bent at your age. Won't it be a thrill, drinking with us three? After such valiant displays, I must insist!"

That glaringly white sedan is nearby. Neither expensive nor cheap, there's a small hanging rack with a few pieces of the complicated getup that Moreau is wearing. Thankfully the two women are vaguely similar in height and build! A click of her keys, and doors open. It's dangled in the air.

"Who's up for driving! Not you, Miss Savage! Into the back!" She tries to shove Scandal in. Moreau isn't strong by any means, but is fully willing to use her cane to 'encourage' the woman and follow in after. Why? To help poor Scandal into the clothing. With all the tactile relish she can muster unless tossed aside. Moreau might look very, very wolf like for a few minutes.