258/Frozen Assets

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Frozen Assets
Date of Scene: 03 May 2017
Location: Iceberg Lounge, Gotham City
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Batman, 184, Batwoman




Batman has posed:
In an exclusive, VIP-only back room of the Iceberg Lounge, a man enclosed in a full-body suit sits with his hands steepled at the head of a table.

"I think it is time to significantly expand our influence. I have heard rumors that a day could come soon when I am no longer cursed to wear this cold suit."

"Well, boss--ah, Mister Freeze, sir--these rumors, they're, ah, they're a little crazy, sir," replies one henchman in a thick fur coat. He breathes out a small cloud, teeth not quite chattering.

"Yeah, I mean, magic?" asks another.

Mister Freeze inhales deeply. "The time has come for a new business model. If we are to run Gotham, we need to consider how to use the resources available to us. So I have invited a possible...business partner," he adds after a brief pause.

Molly (184) has posed:
What constitutes a good way to spend a night? It's not scrubbing pots and pans. Nor is it a ritual to build a tracking compass attached to her mobile phone. Sometimes a girl needs to get out. Molly Carpenter is a one-girl party, but being among others is much more fun.

The young woman turns over the paper invitation. Many mystics don't mesh well with science, and she would probably be one of those sorts. The address brings her to the kitschy club name, and she wrinkles her nose, turning up glacial blue eyes at the sign and then whatever passes for a bouncer. Or bouncers, it's possible a flotilla of muscular fellows are sailing around.

A moment of analysis finds her squaring her shoulders. She raises her chin and boldly sails forth, her tall, glinting boots the start of pure goth. Blue lipstick, blue hair, none of that is terribly out of the ordinary for ravers. Maybe they let her through, since she defines barely legal in Cosmic Wikipedia.

"I'm supposed to be at a meeting," she announces simply enough. "In there. Meeting people for a good time." Such will be supplied to get her where she needs to go. The most unlikely business partner in the existence of Gotham, surely.

Batwoman has posed:
There's a black and crimson shadow overlooking the lounge from the outside. It is a young woman, garbed in black armor emblazoned with a crimson bat across the chest. The wind sweeps past her, billowing through her long crimson hair. Half a wraith then, visible only in the red, blacks, and dark grays of a feral beast. A harbinger presaging doom.

Kate- Batwoman- is quietly crouched on the roof across the street with a small pair of binoculars in hand. She is counting the guards and anyone else she expects will put up a fightas she goes through the door. While she holds up the binoculars with one hand the redhead is checking her gun with the other. It's more of a muscle memory thing; pop the magazine, check the clip is loaded with a thumb, reload. She could do it in her sleep.

The woman frowns faintly when she notes another person heading toward the back and checks her equipment. "...these rumors, they're a little crazy..." She can hear the meeting perfectly through he bug hidden under the ashtray.

For now, Katherine settles back to wait.

Batman has posed:
"Ahh, miss? Miss?" a nearby bouncer says timidly. He's wearing a fur-lined coat that wouldn't be out of place on Hoth. "I'll show you the way. Follow me."

He begins winding through the lounge, around the edge of the dance floor and by the bar, through the hall and past the kitchen to the VIP lounge--this particular VIP lounge in a renovated deep freezer.

Inside, Mister Freeze pushes himself to his feet, standing as the bouncer and escorted party enter.

"Good evening," he says flatly. "I'm pleased you could join us. I am called Mister Freeze." He waits a moment before continuing. "I understand we have similar interests. Preferences. Business...savvy. You were highly recommended by certain parties."

All around him, his hired help tries to keep from visibly shivering in their thick wrappings.

Molly (184) has posed:
For a rule, Molly blends in like a black peacock among mallard ducks. Putting one's finger on what precisely stands out can be difficult, but it largely rests in the way she carries herself through the world like she belongs to it, the bulletproof confidence of a twenty-year-old in the mix. Timid isn't part of her nature, but she gives the bouncer in his fluffy jacket a widening smile. "Awesome. Nice threads, it really fits the theme." On her part, she wears neither a uniform or a leotard or anything to suggest she would prefer to be on the pistes of Chamonix.

Despite having those elaborate boots and a dress slashed and deconstructed as a part of its elegance, she has little trouble navigating around various tables and dancers. In passing, she watches the milieu of people. Those who stick out as interesting beg attention. Also, measuring exits, because the fire marshal of Gotham may be an arch-enemy here, but he still probably has exit signs put up here. Just in case.

By the time they're in the freezer, she hasn't lost that easy smile. "Hello. Such a proper invitation, how could anyone resist?" Her head tilts and the shattered heart of an Ice Age reveals itself in the swaying strands of her hair, though the braids are mostly pinned in place. No dye job is ever going to produce that dimension or sheen. "Exciting times we live in. I'm intrigued. You seem to have the advantage of knowing me, so introductions seem suitable. Molly will do, Mr. Freeze."

Naturally, the temperature doesn't bother her. Hell; her breath doesn't even mist.

Batwoman has posed:
Kate shakes her head slowly, her expression just a thoughtful frown. She takes a deep breath and slowly exhaled, remaining perched where she can easily reach the building should anything occur. She's listening particularly clsoely to the young woman's voice. Someone entirely new. that's not something she can say often with meetings like these.

As Batwomen she would never admit to nerves. That doesn't mean that she doesn't check her utility belt to make sure all her equipment is in order. Just in case. There's a frenetic intensity to her even though she manages to movewith care largely through force of will. "Mmm." She licks her lips lightly and surveys what she can seee of the buildling through the binoculars one more time. Takes notes on who comes in and out.

If they are planning on expanding it's almost certainly going to end in blood. The air is pregnant with the possibility of future murder. The shadows are always darker on nights like these. And that, of course, is where you'll find a Bat.

Batman has posed:
Mister Freeze nods from within the clear bubble covering his head.

"Molly," he says. "I understand that names are important to you. I did not want to call you by something that may not have been appropriate or accurate. Please," he says with a gesture to a chair. "Sit."

Freeze himself slowly sits back down. "For some time I have worked to show this city what it is like to live as I do." He taps his chest. "Normal temperatures are pain. Boiling. Searing. The cold is a comfort."

He exhales slowly. "What would it take to herald in an unending winter to this city? Where I might walk freely on its streets? Where my wife..." He trails off, looking at the table surface. "Where my wife," he says, composing himself, "could be returned to me?"

Freeze leans forward just a bit. "You may be surprised at the things I would do for such an arrangement."

As he leans forward, his leg scrapes the underside of the table, millimeters away from where the bug has been planted.

Molly (184) has posed:
"Mmm." Noncommittal, she's learned the lessons from a master of ambiguity. Her skirts rustle, the mishmash of taffeta and lace and voile speaking in feminine textures. She puts her hand to the back of the chair and gives it a spin, even if the design might not normally allow it. Sinking into the snug confines, she angles her knees towards one side, and rests her elbow against the arm -- if any -- for a comfortable position.

There are next to no signs of her actual nature, but for that compelling magnetism that might have been there before, or not. Bangs brush the sculpted curve of her face, a travesty blotting out a sliver of her visage.

Listening with an unusual measure of gravitas for someone so young, he won't have any interruptions. Mr. Freeze speaks without her piling up any questions, though they might be ticking away behind that carefree smile. Dismissing her as a party girl or a feckless student is so easy.

"You don't aim low," she observes, her nails glittering with icy iridescence. They might just be chips stolen from the melting glaciers. "What drives you to project your preferences on all of this city? You're talking about two separate needs here, let us be clear. On the one, an outward need. And the other, your wife."

Batwoman has posed:
Now that has Kate's full attention. That voice... it's distracting, enough to pulll the woman's attention from her work for just a second. it's a good thing that on top of her notes she also records anything the bug catches. Molly's words have Batwoman's brow arching, hidden though it is by the black mask she wears. Then that leg is scraping right by the bug.

There's a soft, hoarse cry of pain as the feedback of noise that close to the sensitive microphone almost makes Batwoman think better of keeping the receiver in her ear. She shakes her head slowly, ears ringing for a moment while she recovers from the momentary distraction.

"I just wish I had a way to see that meeting," the female Bat murmurs, shaking her head slowly. She picks up the binoculars- the binocular-camera, really- and grabs a few photos of the building, and a couple people in the front of who look like they are doing something illicit.

The hardest part is waiting.

Batman has posed:
"One might be understood as a component of the other," Mister Freeze responds, staring at Molly. "You seem as unperturbed by the cold as I am. Would you not rather have a city--or even a world--where that is the norm? Where winter's snows have settled for good?"

He smiles a thin, cold smile, to which his henchmen seem a bit unsettled, and they glance back and forth among one another. "You look like her, you know," Freeze says. "I have not felt her touch in some time. I--"

Freeze stops himself, swallowing a lump in his throat and slamming his palm on the table, which dislodges the bug, falling imperceptibly to the icy floor, its transmitter compromised. "I want to feel the wind on my skin. I want to dance with Nora's cold cheek against mine. I want those who hurt her to pay, where it's too cold for the /bat/ to fly."

"Tell me, Molly," he adds, "is that such a terrible thing to want? Which part is the separate need, really?"

Molly (184) has posed:
Molly's laughter warmly rises, sunbeams striking glass at a low angle. "We aren't here to talk about my wishes, so much as we are here to discuss yours. Nothing quite so rude as a girl invited to a meeting who proceeds to chatter on about her own interests and nothing else." The tip of her head sends those lapis, ultramarine, and aquamarine strands brushing along her delicate nape and across the studded black halter neck of her dress. "And truly, I cannot abide being rude to a good host."

A lazy curl of her fingers encourages Mr. Freeze to keep talking. Certainly if he'd met her assumptive mother, or the real one, things might be going very differently. On the other hand, most of his contingent might be flattened against the wall with fear and terrible desire. Differences in approach, then.

On the other hand, the evident longing bleeding out meets the uncontrolled rise of her mantle. No visible signs emerge, it's just a temperature fluctuation so sudden and sharp that it likely hurts joints and makes electronics squeal in response. Lights brittly hum. The chair groans under even her weight, the metal components stressed. A bracing moment, really, as she forcibly claws back the sudden plunge into Siberian territory immediately around her.

"Giving you conditions to dance with your Nora, this is not entirely so difficult. A night, a week, a month. I suppose on the parameters and requirements you have? For clearly you do have some notion in mind. The right to dance with your wife is quite a bit different than meting out justice against a crime. And do recognise, good sir, that I see a very clear line delineated between one and the other. Oh, one is the consequence of the other. They're not in the same dish of the scales, though, and they're weighed differently. You may say what is a separate need. One is a pain of the heart. Ever so personal. The other is an affront to you, an offense against her, no? Different coins."

Batwoman has posed:
The microphone starts to shriek as the room chills and Kate finds herself cursing loudly for a second. If someone were listenign she would bein enormous trouble. As it is she is stuck waiting for long seconds until she can find out what is going on. Long, breathless seconds left listening to the beating of her own heart.

Slowly the microphone starts transmitting again, if only to allow Kate to hear the last two words being spoken. When she glances down she is handling her gun again. So she goes over her count on the guards, just to conclude once more that it would be stupefyingly bad to go inside.

A moment later a Bat takes to the sky between the night club and the neighboring building, the crimson lining of her cape outlined against the sky. She alights upon the night club roof and begins to survey her new surroundings. Perhaps Kate got tired of waiting.

Batman has posed:
Mister Freeze frowns, his brow furrowing deeply as the room grows almost painfully colder for a brief time. The assembled henchmen stand still, save for their chattering teeth and shivering hands.

Freeze says, "I had thought...I had /hoped/...that you would understand. That your experiences, your essence, would inform your perspective here. I see that I was wrong." He looks away for a moment. "I let my passions warm my heart. A weakness, I confess."

He stands. "If you are unwilling to join forces, to be a partner, then I have no use for you. 'Winter' indeed," he scoffs. "I am uninterested in a season that lets itself wane. You clearly have the power to make a change. That you deny it...you are nothing like Nora at all."

"Men," he says, glancing to his goons. "Show her out. As nicely as she prefers."

Molly (184) has posed:
The Sidhe smile has been called many things. For the children of summer, it can be akin to standing in a spotlight, given the sole and persistent favour of a cherished celebrity or cultural icon. Some can bring a sigh of relaxation or butterflies in their stomach, a giddy joy. Maybe those rare few seeing a high Sidhe in full joy can share in the celebration, left delirious and drunk. Molly professes to have none of these things. Winter is the sharper knife, the Court of Air and Darkness full of all those sensual whispers and possibilities shared under the cover of nightfall. No less bracing, no less miraculous, but in their youngest queen, the effect is probably a fair bit muted.

"You //do// realise the only thing I denied you was betraying your wife." Her tone is remarkably smooth. "You're throwing out the baby with the bathwater. I tell you your limits so you know where mine stand. Devising an arrangement is built on respect and mutual understandings. At this point, I wouldn't say anything about trust because you've got no reason whatsoever to trust me. I'm a stranger. I embody something that might fit inside your worldview but, we can both agree, there is a world of difference between a conception of an idea and the real thing. So." She rests her elbows on the table, looking up through her frosted lashes. Snow on black kohl. And her lips were red as blood... Blood in the arteries, deprive of oxygen, the shellac of an icicle kiss. "But, of course, suit yourself. You want to choose to misconstrue me, you go right ahead. I'll make sure to let my superiors know where you stand."

In a rustle of clothing, she hops up from the seat, twiddling her fingers. "I'm good, gents, really. Your boss isn't interested, I get that. No need to trouble yourselves either."

Batwoman has posed:
Kate is watching the exits now, sitting atop the roof. The silence is oppressive, the black and red shadow perched atop the Night Club roof. She ish ardly moving at this point, listening as Molly is being escorted from the club. Too many questions. Too many details as yet ungiven. Her notations are precise, but this one? Is a question mark. So the Bat prepares to follow the womanonce she's exited the club.

Batwoman considers her options for a long time and then resolves to watch for vehicles for the moment. Marking a car isn't particularly difficult. At least, not for her. Then she can consider how she is going to get those answers for this problem. So once again she returns to the utillity belt...

Batman has posed:
The goons shrug. "All the same, we don't mind walking you out," says one.

"Yeah, it's a bit warmer out in the rest of the club," whispers another.

"Plus," says a third, "gotta maintain the reputation, you understand."

They begin to politely escort Molly from the refrigerated VIP lounge and toward the exit. Mister Freeze, meanwhile, stands motionless and expressionless at the end of the table.

When he's the only one left in the room, he explodes in rage, destroying the furniture around him by freezing it solid with his gun and then smashing it to pieces. After he's ruined it all, he hangs his head. "Nora..." he says softly. "I'm sorry."

Molly (184) has posed:
"No, I totally get it," murmurs the girl. Life used to be so much simpler. "I don't want you to get in trouble for doing your jobs. If he comes round to his senses, point out that I never said anything either way."

Maybe Mab will smile in amusement on this. Maybe Harry Dresden won't make her scrub floors for a week. She chooses not to consider it, giving a swishy little wiggle of her hips when they hit the dance floor.

The gentlemen escorting her might just find the cold taken with her, pulled into an aura. She can't make it last forever, but she can at least give them a temperature boost in exchange for the presumed protection they offer.

Then, soon enough, she's disgorged into the masses, stepping through them. A phone isn't worth it, unfortunately; they just don't like her boss. Thoughts rotate around calling up a minion, in due course. And wiggling to the music, because sometimes it's good to have fun.

Batwoman has posed:
Well. That makes things interesting. it doesn't take long to change. The costume all but disappears and soon enough Katherine Kane, the redheaded, blue-eyed intense heiress finds herself in one of her favourite little black dresses at the entrance to a certain night club. She checks herself in a small compact mirror, ensuring that her lips are just theright shade of red. Like everything, Kate is precise about her makeup.

People tend to move out of Katherine's way when she walks. it might be the intense, blue-eyed far stare or the fact she's taller than most of the men. She softens that raw energy with aquiet smile but still. Crowds shift and people watch as she makes her way out onto the floor.

It's just a matter of dancing with the right people, smiling or offering the occasional bored look and slowly meanderign through the crowd toward Molly. Besides, let's be honest. If Kate had to pick a dance partner on the floor Molly would be the belle of the ball on any night. Not just the one where she's also a target. Kate hates it when her two lives bleed together but tonight it's jus the name of the game. For that sake she's all smiles.

Batman has posed:
A man in a sleazy suit with a pair of aviator sunglasses leans lazily against the bar. "Whatta show, am I right or am I /right/?" he asks to no one in particular. The bartender rolls her eyes and moves to another customer.

"Malone," says a barfly next to the man in the sleazy suit, "Shut up or I'll have you-know-who kick you out for buggin' me. I put in a lot of cash to this place. I'm somebody here."

"Alright, alright," the sleazy-suited man says, frowning and sipping an appletini.

Molly (184) has posed:
Let's be honest: having blue hair makes you a really obvious candidate for absolutely everything in question. Especially when oblivious and freely dancing, arms raised and generally in a fine mood. The shining attitude, brightened by good music, gives her reason to forget her cares. Mostly. Of course she's being observed every moment of it, she has to assume, and the Winter Lady tosses her head as she bounces along to the other hot young things. Cool young things, anyways.

The gap in the crowd tells so much: someone is coming. Doubly it's someone of interest. A look flashes that way, curiosity shown in icy lapis brows rising and a quickening swivel to her hips, the movements smooth rather than manic. Long as drinkers at the bar don't act funny, it's all good.

A wordless Hi! is plenty friendly enough. See? She's the nice winter one.

Batwoman has posed:
The wordless Hi! draws an arched brow and a bright smile. It's the first genuine one of the night, though only the subtle would notice the difference. Kate is a little bit more aloof, more driven, but it doesn't change the meaning of the interaction. It's like a smaller dance as a lead in to the real thing.

Kate has spent a lot of time on the dance floor. She moves like she was born to be here, hips undulating in time with the music and her body flexing as she bounces in turn, close enough to Molly to be 'in' that group without actually being on top of her. Whether it's for her appearance or her dancing ability might be unclear but it doesn't take a genius to tell that Molly's drawn Kate's attention, though. She isn't really hiding it. She just isn't cramming it down the Winter's throat.

The heat of the dance floor is quickly growing more intense, the stench of pressed bodies in a close space. In these confines Kate too starts to lose track of her worries. Which is fine so long as she keeps track of her target. Even if they are only sort of dancing together... For now, at least.