#livenin

[yatgb]

Also my cap3 has the most southern accent to ever southern they sound like they came right from the backroads of alabama and thats intentional. I will normalize rural accents if its the last fucking thing i do

[sinner-chan]

Imagine being a Virgo who has the ick for the smallest things and trying to find a place to rent.... the amount of shot that has to align for me to like a place is astronomical

[katsumiiii]

hobie brown x gn! reader

omg was at work and had a hugeeee hobie moment!!

hobie being a nuisance and popping up at your job. let’s say you work at a local pub right around the corner from his apartment complex, be sure to be on the look out for rabid hobies because he will come and beg for your attention.

he always thinks you look so cute in your uniform, a simple black tee and some tight jeans, you never really see the appeal but his gaze lingers appreciatively at the curve of your ass and the plush of your hips.

your coworkers think it’s so cute whenever he pops in, doing everything in his power to gain your attention for more than 30 seconds at a time, whether that be sending you a coy smirk, or looping his fingers between your belt buckles and pulling you in. his goal is always the same, wanting desperately to see that flustered look on your face, and he will get it, no matter the cost.

today the bar had been particularly empty. only a few customers toggled in and out, and they all had simple requests, a glass of beer and the check. the day went on without a hitch, night soon seeped in and you were starting to close down, checking out the last six individuals which sat at the bar.

“surprised hobie didn’t pop in today.” your coworker teased, brushing the side of your shoulder as you wiped off the countertop below you.

“shhh, don’t say his name, you’ll summon him.” you shuttered playfully, grinning at your quip.

“funny funny, so is he sick or wh—”

“wha’s going awn? who you havin’ a chat about?” speak of the fucking devil. you slowly tilted your head towards the seat in front of you and watch as hobie leans his upper body towards your own, sniffing as he licks his bottom lip, tongue clashing with metal.

“what the fuck?” your coworker cackled, shaking their head in disbelief.

“hobie, what a surprise.” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“well you don’t sound too chuffed to see me, love.” hobie tapped his fingernails against the freshly wiped counter, his black polish (which you painted) shinning dimly from the lights above.

“well usually you’re here earlier so I didn’t know if you were coming to bother me or not.” you set an arm beneath you and placed your head against your palm.

“bother? didn’t know that’s what it was.” he shrugged his shoulders, inching his head closer to your slouched figure.

“really? then what would you call yourself?”

“your only source of entertainment. ‘m livenin’ up the place, a bit drab in here ain’t it?” hobie turned to observe the area around him, chuckling at the lack of customers.

“well we are supposed to be closed, bee.” you muttered, turning to place your cleaning supplies into an opened cabinet on your left.

“really? wouldn’t ‘ave guessed that.” he sucked his teeth at the sight of you bent over, nodding his head in appreciation. “why don’t you put that down and come gimme a kiss, hm? been waiting on one all night.”

“yeah, you say that every time you come see me.”

“don’t make it less true.”

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

might change the theme, my dearlings. need a little livenin' up.

[theknightofivanhoe]

Justice League: Question's Hard Drive Ch 7: Bad Moon Rising

Table of Contents

A little treat included in this chapter for anyone who likes their old-school rock music. And a little dive into Helena's past pre-Justice League...

Since their little heart-to-heart over when she could eventually disclose what her nightmares had been about, Question still found Helena spending the journey sitting quietly as he drove on down the freeway. Even after the reassurance he had given her, she still had that very strangely withdrawn expression, staring out at the vehicle lights passing through the darkness. He couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but Question felt unsettled by this change, even the lack of snarky, flirtatious comments Helena would always make. It could only imply just how badly her past had affected her, enough to reveal the cracks in her tough, battle-hardened Huntress persona; cracks that might, or possibly might not relate how her parents’ deaths had affected her. Question promptly reminded himself, concentrating on getting to the cinema, that he would eventually find out if this trauma was even related to her previous grudge on Steven Mandragora, or if it was something else entirely.  

Soon a new decision popped into his head, though he was still afraid of how Helena might react. Glancing quickly at her as she peered out the window, he reached down for the radio. ‘Here goes.’ he thought, and with a click, the radio buzzed with static. Helena turned to Question, not staying anything as a newsman’s voice made it through all the noise. “ - another big day for Lex Luthor’s run for the presidency as he nets a huge donation from billionaire Cameron Kaiser! Mr Luthor brought Mr Kaiser onstage at his Gotham rally hailing the tycoon’s support as significant to his campaign!” Question just groaned at what he heard. Helena just raised an eyebrow at him. Definitely not what he had been hoping for. “ - Of course the endorsement has drawn mixed responses over Kaiser’s past when he briefly served a prison sentence for insurance fraud and an incident with Gotham’s most dangerous criminal genius, the Joker. But Luthor was adamant that Kaiser had only left prison a better man on the path to redemption, which he has made into a strong message for his campaign itself. And we’ll have further developments about the presidential race following a little oldie but goldie and tonight, it looks like there’s a bad moon on the rise…” 

The next thing Question and Helena heard was the funky intro to a certain 1960s rockabilly tune. As the rhythm broke out, Question grew too embarrassed to even know what to do or say. Helena’s facial expression stayed unreadable. Then the singing started. 

‘I see the bad moon a-risin’! I see trouble on the way! 

I see earthquakes and lightnin’! I see bad times today!’ 

As the echoey lyrics and retro groove blared on, Question waited for Helena to protest, ready to kill the music if she did so.  

‘Don’t go around tonight! It’s bound to take your life! 

There’s a bad moon on the rise!’ 

Question’s hand was at the button for off, before he caught sight of the corners of Helena’s mouth twitching. Her eyes glinted in what seemed like amusement. 

‘I hear hurricanes a-blowin’! I know the end is comin’ soon! 

I fear rivers overflowin’! I hear the voice of rage and ruin!’ 

“Ah, sorry - ” Question went nervously over the music, but Helena’s hand slipped over his hand very gently. “Don’t be…” she replied, her stare laced with that romantic thrill he remembered from when they had been having dinner. “You mean you - you want it?” Question couldn’t tell if he was hearing her correctly. “Baby doll, I think we just found our song…” Helena was giving him that sweet smile, her eyes soft with endearment. 

‘Don’t go around tonight! It’s bound to take your life! 

There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright!’ 

For Question, this change in Helena’s mood was pretty welcome, the song clearly livening the journey up. “Then our song it’ll be.” he agreed, and pumped his foot on the gas pedal as the track broke into its catchy guitar solo. The increase in the car’s speed, accompanied by the tune, made Helena smile even wider as she watched Question drive. His sporty-looking automobile gliding through the traffic at night with that 60s beat thrumming away made for quite a spectacle. ‘Always the eccentric charm…’ Helena contentedly thought to herself. 

‘Hope you’ve got your things together! Hope you are quite prepared to die! 

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather! One eye is taken for an eye!’ 

“You know, Q, this little number’s got you written all over it.” Helena commented, lightly boogying to the song. “Really?” Question dryly asked with a small tilt of the head. “Oh come on.” Helena snorted. “All that Armageddon, end-of-the-world talk, it’s like this band wrote it with you in mind.” “I guess I should look into them about that…” Question suggested, mainly to humour her. “Now don’t be petty, Q.” Helena teased and leaned in, kissing his cheek, which he didn’t mind at all. “I might start blaring a vinyl of this through our flat if things get too boring.” “Wonderful…” grumbled the long-suffering Question. 

‘Well, don’t go around tonight! It’s bound to take your life! 

There’s a bad moon on the rise!’ 

Don’t go around tonight! It’s bound to take your life! 

There’s a bad moon on the rise!’

On the last guitar chord, Helena sat back and relaxed as the newsman’s voice returned. “And that was ‘Bad Moon Rising,’ that funky folk rock number by the rootin’ tootin’ Creedence Clearwater Revival who remain a favourite, particularly of those of you who know your 60s and 70s. Please, stay tuned as we bring further reports on - ” 

Although she was looking forward to the movie and was very much cheered by the song, Helena still found it hard to stay this way. Those memories from back at the restaurant were just waiting for the next ripe opportunity to stab at her heart once again. She turned from the view of the city buildings to her date himself who was getting her to the cinema. For over a minute, she fought to make a decision on what to say. The radio commentary went by in multiple garbled voices, before Question heard Helena’s soft voice. “Q, I’m going to tell you everything.” Hands still on the wheel and foot on the gas, Question didn’t look back at her. Was that in his head? “You’re - now?” he asked disbelievingly. He hadn’t wanted to force Helena into doing so. “I don’t want us to go on with our date unless I’ve got it all off my chest.” Helena insisted, turning to him to emphasise her point. “Well, I know-” Question could tell where she was coming from, but he still felt a little ashamed that he might have imposed all this upon her. “I don’t want to have made you - well - intimidated you into - ” “Q, I know what you mean.” Helena stated with a look of understanding on her attractive face, which had no mask, either the one she wore as Huntress or her emotional one, to hide her thoughts from her admirer. “I am ready for us to share this secret.” Question’s head inched her way, but turned back to the view of the highway. “You don’t want to wait till after the movie?” he suggested. “No, I won’t be able to enjoy the rest of our date until all of this is out of the way.” Helena reminded him, clearly unwilling to back out. “If anything happens to either of us, I just want you to know in case…” Her heart nearly sank at the very idea of losing Question. Even if she were unarmed, she would pull her enemies’ arms from their sockets if it meant protecting him. But what if Question made it out, but lost her? “Just…let me do this for you. I owe it to you for helping me with Mandragora.” “Okay, Helena.” Question’s deep, mysterious voice gusted through the dark-haired woman’s ears and she stared at him, even as he stared out at the road ahead. “I’m listening.” That was all Helena needed, before she thought back to that particular stage in her life. “All right.” she answered, the emotion her lightly husky voice weighed down by all the burden of her past. Casting her eyes on the vehicles shooting on through the night, Helena prepared herself. “It started a few years ago. I wasn’t long into my gig as Huntress, but wasn’t yet recruited into the Justice League. I was hot on Mandragora’s trail, following a few tips and breadcrumbs here and there, until I made it to Gotham City…” 

A few years ago...

In a recently-purchased apartment, a relatively decent, clean place with greyish-white walls and a row of tall windows overlooking office blocks and some of Gotham’s grander buildings, Helena Bertinelli was laying low to plan her crusade against the vile Steven Mandragora. One cool, clear afternoon, she had set up a pair of large black cylindrical tackling dummies on a gym mat in her living area. For several minutes she was throwing punches and karate chops at these dummies on either side of her. Grunting and yelling through her combat practice, she twirled in a number of roundhouse kicks with all the swiftness her athletics had earned her, her bare feet pounding into the rubber the way a nightstick would bludgeon a person. Her goal, to kill Mandragora where he stood for her parents’ deaths, sent electricity angrily buzzing through her body that she was personally forging into a dangerous weapon. After some more thrusting of fists and legs, Helena rolled herself down into a handstand and kicked one foot forward, the other behind so she caught both dummies. “Hyah!” With her biceps holding her up as firmly as a pair of steel girders, Helena instantly glanced at the framed photo sitting on the surface of the dining table. Halfway through landing her feet back on the mat to position herself in a cat-like crouch, she couldn’t help but take in the image of herself, when she was a young, pretty girl in an elegant purple dress happily sitting in her beautiful mother’s lap, the older lady classily dressed in a white gown capped with a gold necklace and her raven hair flowing in rich tresses. Laying a strong hand on the young Helena’s small shoulder was her father in one of his favourite black tuxes, the scar over his right eye and down the side of his square-jawed face serving as a story to tell of the close encounters he had gone through with all sorts of opponents. All of this, Helena’s world, all of it had been crushed under Steven Mandragora’s fists! Swallowing, she drew in a harsh breath and prepared herself to spring for one of the dummies. ‘God bless you, mother, and father.’ she prayed in her head. ‘Trust me, your little Helena’s gonna make you proud…’ 

The high-pitched bleeping of her cell phone punctured her train of thoughts, causing her to instantly drop her stance. An exasperated Helena sat herself down on the mat and crossed her legs in a lotus position. Her vibrating phone was sitting on the floor beside where she had been practising, making it easy for her to reach it. Helena picked it up and put it to her ear. “Hello?” She listened to the voice on the other end, staying in her yoga pose. “Yes, sir, uh, principle.” she responded. “Sure. Everything’s set. I called Miss Gordon. Yeah, I’ll be there to take the kids. Yeah…they’ll enjoy it there, I’m sure. Not at all, sir. Thank you, sir. See you then.” Ending the call, she placed the phone down before rising to her feet . 

Sparing another wistful glance at her childhood self in the photo, Helena contemplated the two lives she was leading since her parents’ deaths. By day she had high school students to teach English. By night, this teacher had justice to serve and scores to settle. Like that ‘Dark Knight’ guy everyone here in Gotham was talking about. Yes, Helena knew well that people were comparing her to…whoever that masked man was. After making a mug of coffee, she sat on her couch and looked out at the calm, sleepy streets below. She had no interest in partnering with Gotham’s own local hero. He held back too much. Helena sipped her drink, thinking back to the news she had seen of him and those kids, his so-called ‘family’ beating up madmen and robbers who they would hand over to the cops to lock away. She found it distasteful, the way they called themselves ‘caped crusaders’ and yet handled even the most psychotic criminals with such kid gloves. For their own sake, they would do well to stay out of her way when she located Mandragora. 

Hours later, when the sky over Gotham started to darken, Helena looked out at the sun rays faintly shining orange over the surrounding buildings. She headed into her bedroom and kneeled down, pulling open one of the drawers under her bed. Out of this drawer she lifted her mask, magenta with a metallic sheen, white lenses shaped like scowling eyes and horn-like prongs adding to its imposing design. Helena stared down at it, her past stoking her grief and rage like fire. The messages she had intercepted and discussions among criminal networks she had spied on would all culminate with this one moment, her against Mandragora, a moment that would end with one walking away alive, the other lying stone dead. It left Helena in a state of melancholy how she was mainly leading this life because of that one night at her family estate. Evening was already closing in, and it was time to continue the hunt. ‘Ready or not, Mandragora…’ Helena thought as she reached another hand into the drawer. ‘Here I come.’ 

A black-gauntleted fist bashed into the stubbly jaw of a bald man in a brown leather jacket. A frightened brunette girl in a green hoodie lay on the ground staring up at her rescuer who had leapt seemingly out of the shadows of the small alley. Dazed from the punch, the thug turned back to the woman glaring at him through her mask’s lenses.

Outfitted in a black crop top, matching bikini bottoms and tall high-heeled boots, the holster at her waist and her flowing cape coloured in the same striking magenta as her mask, Huntress raised her fists and parted her bare legs in preparation for the fistfight to come.

“Do excuse me if I make the streets a little safer for girls at night.” she taunted the thug who grew very angry at being challenged in this way. “I make girls like you PAY for messin’ with me!” The thug threw himself bodily at his attacker, the young girl he had been after screaming in fright. 

Huntress swung a foot in a karate kick that caught the man’s chest with one great smack! This got a gasp of pain from him, the girl gasped at what she had seen the mysterious woman do. Though he stumbled back, the man only snarled and lunged his hands forward to grab Huntress, who threw herself into a somersault over his head! Landing right behind the confused thug, she snatched him by his jacket collar, yanked him towards herself and headbutted him in his angry face! Howling as he clung to where she had just battered him, the thug had no intention of either surrendering or fleeing for safety. “You…I’m gonna -” He reached out for Huntress while keeping his left hand over his sore face, but she just wove straight past him and caught his right arm in both hands. “LET GO OF - ” The thug and Huntress wrestled with one another furiously, pulling and straining back and forth in the confines of the alley. All the girl could do was huddle up in fear against the wall, wondering how this was going to end. With a warlike yell, Huntress bent the thug’s arm. CRACK! The resulting sound got the thug screaming in agony. Huntress saw her chance, putting the sole of her boot to his stomach and shoving him to the ground flat on his back. Desperate to bring this woman down, the man caught her round the leg with his still-working left hand. “AGH! After this I swear I’ll -” Huntress just crashed her knee down onto his jaw, sandwiching his head painfully up against the stone! By now his injuries had become too much and all he could do was wail, the girl simply shocked at all this. “It’ll be alright, kid…” Huntress told her, pressing her knee against the thug’s head. The girl could only watch as this vigilante tortured the man groaning and whining under her weight. “Now get going, quick. I want to have a little word with this scum.” Being so afraid of both the man who had attacked her, and to an extent, the woman who had just come to her aid, the girl picked herself up and ran down the alley to find help. 

With the girl out of the way, Huntress glared down at the man she was keeping pinned to the ground, listening to his panicked cries. “Okay, punk…” she started, her knee like a vice over his head. “A while ago I heard you and your gang at that club back there having a pretty interesting discussion, before you decided to go after that defenceless girl for your own sick amusement.” “Take your - AGH! Take your knee off my head, you filthy little - ” The thug’s furious shouting became a cry of fear when Huntress drew her purple crossbow out of her holster, the tip of its arrow pointed squarely at his face. “Don’t even go there…” Huntress harshly warned, keeping the weapon steady and a finger on the trigger as her opponent shivered under her. “One of your pals mentioned someone I’m looking for.” Hearing all this, the thug found himself torn between two options. Either he could try to throw this woman off him and brutalise her for humiliating him and breaking his right arm, or he could spill so he would at least survive and see another day, particularly when he had a crossbow bolt hovering in front of his bruised face. “Uh…Uhh…” Whether he was intending to shout at her again or cooperate, Huntress’ rage bubbled to the surface even as she kept her knee on him. “Come on!” she barked instantly, the arrow ready to pierce the thug’s face. “Tell me what you were saying about Steven Mandragora, or I’ll - ” “Our boss!” the thug burbled, his skull feeling as though it could crack like an egg any second. At this, Huntress moved her knee, her crossbow still trained on his face. “Your boss…?” she repeated, giving him a sceptical look from under her mask’s lenses. “Our - our boss - our boss, he, he’s meetin’ up with this Mand - Mandr - Mandragora guy…” the thug confessed and slumped his head back, the fight well and truly taken out of him. “They’re talkin’ about - about a…about a partnership! Our group, we’re - we’re - plannin’ - plannin’ somethin’ major, somethin’ that’ll impress Man - Mandragora!” Huntress listened with a scowl as the thug explained this like a misbehaving boy who had to own up to his actions to his parents. “The boss - the boss wants - he wants Mandragora to…to cut him in on the action!” he weakly continued. “He wants a place in - in whatever Mandragora has planned! That’s all I know! Look - I just - I just do the things they tell me to do!” Huntress curled her lip contemptuously at how this brute lay there coming undone in such a pathetic fashion right after he had terrorised that poor girl. When she heard footsteps down the alley, the vigilante got to her feet. “Thank you. Now that you’ve been of some help, let’s hope your prison cell has cable.” Huntress aimed her crossbow over her head, fired a grappling bolt and went whooshing up to the rooftops, where she disappeared. “Aw, no! Not prison! You can’t do this! I’m innocent, I tell ya!” the thug shouted, but his broken arm and other bodily injuries prevented any chance he had of getting up and escaping. 

A man in a blue cap and trousers and grey jacket, a police officer, appeared beside a stern dark-haired woman in grey trousers and brown holster shoulder straps over her black shirt. Both were being led by the girl the thug had chased. “That’s him! He grabbed at me while I was walking home!” the girl told the two officers, pointing down at the man. “Okay, you know the drill.” the older woman, Renee Montoya, said to the cop who marched towards the thug. “No! She’s a dirty li’l liar! It’s not true! I never grabbed nobody!” the thug ranted, too weak to fight off the cop clapping handcuffs around his wrists. Montoya, a seasoned detective and one of the few reliable officers in Gotham’s Police Department, noticed the bruising on the thug’s face and how limp his right arm looked. “Doesn’t he look a little roughed up?” she asked the girl as the cop pulled the struggling criminal down the alley. “A woman in a mask, she appeared out of nowhere and protected me from him.” the girl answered, which got Montoya raising her eyebrows. “Yeah, might she have been a friend of a certain Dark Knight?” “I don’t know. Probably. But she really pounded the living heck out of the guy. For a minute I thought she was going to kill him.” the girl explained nervously. Montoya frowned at just how brutal this woman sounded. Whoever she was, she didn’t sound like someone from ‘his’ camp, unless one of them had gone crazy and he wasn’t paying much attention. “Well, at least she stopped short of doing that. And you’re safe, that’s what ma - ” Montoya was interrupted by the buzz of the radio on her belt, then a gruff male voice with a strong Brooklyn accent called out, “Bullock to Montoya! Come in, Montoya!” “Excuse me, kid.” Montoya told the girl and pressed a finger to her radio. “Go ahead, Bullock.” “We need you back here. They got a possible lead.” the man on the other end informed her. “They’re anticipatin’ some big mob-related activity any minute.” “I’ll be there pronto, Bullock.” Montoya assured him. “Look, don’t take long.” Bullock was urging her. “Sources say this could be somethin’ major-league. Even the commish has got the jitters.” Montoya huffed at this. “Come on, kid.” She turned to the girl and led her on. “I’ll just walk you home, then I gotta get back to it. Duty calls, you know.” Glad to have the extra protection, the girl followed Montoya out of the alley, though she curiously glanced behind her where that woman in the cape and mask had first appeared. Who was she? 

Elsewhere, Helena was walking down more of Gotham’s bleak, forbidding alleys. Except now she was now out of her Huntress mask, gloves, cape and boots. With the information she had handily got from the thug back there, she had put on a sharp-looking dark purple jacket over one of her seductively short black turtleneck minidresses with matching stiletto heels. Completing her undercover attire was a pair of earrings that each hung a tiny silver crucifix, a show of her Catholic faith. Holding her favourite satchel over her shoulder, she stayed alert for any figures that could pose the slightest threat. No matter how frighteningly claustrophobic the litter-strewn alleys looked, Helena strode on in the directions that would lead her that much closer to her goal. There would be more stepping stones before she found Steven Mandragora, but now she could see the pieces of the puzzle coming together. 

When she saw the next alley from across, Helena headed up to the double doors of the very same club where she had spied on those men. She could hear raucous guitar music pounding continuously from inside. ‘Here goes…’ she told herself.

As the music inside drowned out the clicking of her heels, she pushed her way through the doors into the seedy, dark space that was barely lit up by a reddish-purple glow. There were several people, tough-looking men and simpering women with glasses and bottles of alcohol crowded around tables and slot machines. The rock music screamed and roared on through Helena’s ears, but she put on her most innocent, airy smile in order to blend in. Sashaying past menacing goons who either leered at her or at other women, or just went on drinking, two of them at a table locked in an arm-wrestling match, she peered around the place hoping to find any of those other men she had overheard. Once she got to the bar where a short balding man in an apron and round spectacles sorted through some glasses, Helena took one of the tall seats and placed some dollar bills onto the counter. “Your driest martini, pal.” she requested. The bartender got out a bottle, filling a glass and adding a lemon slice before passing it to Helena who grinned in appreciation. Just as she took a sip, the rock tune still hammering on through the club, Helena noticed the bartender freezing and glancing past her. “>Huh-hum< S’cuse me, miss…” There was a British cockney accent in the male voice behind her instead of the expected American one. Rotating her seat with martini in hand, Helena looked up with that ever-innocent smile of hers at the tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal grey leather jacket, a black vest and blue jeans. It was one of the men she had eavesdropped on! He was staring down at her with a slightly suspicious expression on his strong-jawed face, his hair and sideburns shaven down to the barest stubble. “Y’do know this club’s private, right?” He seemed like he was trying to get her to leave without coming across as aggressive. “Oh, sorry, sir.” Helena responded, widening her smile and putting a hand to her chest to keep up her ‘brainless beauty’ facade. “I just - I - didn’t see any sign saying private in the first place. I swear I shan’t cause any trouble…” She sipped her martini as the British-accented man towered over her. “Yeah, well,” he started, thinking of what to say next. “I’m afraid there’s some delicate stuff - I - I mean - ” He stopped and Helena put her glass to her lips when she caught the little slip-up. ‘Delicate stuff…good, good…’ she thought, crossing her legs which she hoped would catch the Brit’s eye and give her an advantage over him. “I mean, it ain’t safe for you ‘ere, ma’am. Know wot I mean?” he explained awkwardly. Helena couldn’t let this man send her out, or she would lose Mandragora’s trail. But she also couldn’t risk making a wrong move and drawing too much attention to herself. “Relax, big guy…” she sweetly replied, lifting a hand and lightly poking the Brit in his wide chest, which did catch him slightly off-guard. “I always hang out in places like this. Besides, I’m starting to get a little comfy here…” For good measure, she traced her hand along her thigh and watched the Brit dropping his gaze downwards. “I - uh - well I think - ” He was trailing off, though it seemed he was still determined to see her out. “I dunno, I’ll ‘ave to ‘ave a word with -” 

“What’s going on, Lonny?” Another man’s voice, American-accented and younger this time, broke through the screams of guitar music and the chatter from the crowd.

It was another one of the men Helena had spied on. This one was tall and angular, possibly in his thirties if not late twenties. He had that classic ‘bad boy’ look about him, the way he wore his tar-black hair in a slick pompadour with a brown leather jacket, a purple polo shirt and black trousers. Lonny, the Brit, turned to this other man while Helena listened. “Well, you see, this lady ‘ere, she just came in without no permission. I’m just tryin’ ter let her know it’s priva - ” “It’s all right, Lonny, I got this.” the other man smoothly reassured him, turning to Helena who got a good look at his long-chinned face that featured an arrogant smirk and shockingly chiselled cheekbones. Those cheekbones made his face look as if it had been sculpted from marble. “Come on, guys, can’t a girl finish her pretty expensive martini?” she pleaded, shooting him and Lonny her most alluring look with pursed lips and eyelids lowered. The younger man with the cheekbones and pompadour (‘Elvis’ she decided to call him) clearly liked what he saw as his dark eyes hungrily took in the sight of this woman in a tight little minidress reclining in her seat, her jacket drooping around her so he could catch a hint of her upper arms and those crucifix earrings serving to sweeten the deal. “Better idea: why not have yourself an extra glass,” he proposed, settling down into the seat next to her and slapping some money onto the bar. “On me.” Then he said to the bartender, “And my usual.” Lonny grew confused at this. “But - but Par - ” “That’ll be all, thank you, Lonny.” the young man interrupted as the bartender placed a second martini and a beer bottle in front of him and Helena. Helena keenly observed ‘Elvis’ take the bottle for himself and move the other martini towards her. 

“Sorry about him. It’s not very often we get such a hot chick showing up at our little joint.” Aware of how guys like him had a habit of addressing her in this fashion, Helena gave this man a smirk of her own in order to appear flattered. “Believe me, tiger, you’ll find this chick’s more than just a pretty face…” Acting all laid-back, she rested an arm against the bar and sipped her martini. This got Elvis himself turning from his beer to the raven-haired woman whose company he seemed to really enjoy. “Indulge me, then, sweetie. What other nice little…assets do you squeeze in that tight little dress of yours?” Keeping herself from choking on her drink at that…turn of phrase, Helena tilted her head and stretched her lips into a wider smile to give the impression that his words amused her. “Well, I happen to have a few…connections.” She needed to drop a word or two that could get Elvis hooked. At least then she could compel him to spill any secrets he might be holding. “Will any of these…connections get mad that you’re hanging around the bar with me?” he asked partially in jest. Helena sipped from her glass and thought quickly. “Not bad, honey, but a relative of mine did some, well, business if you like, with Rupert Thorne.” Deciding this little namedrop would do nicely, she made sure to frown. “We’ve had to move on since then, what with that lunatic in the mask and cape, and all the other costumed animals trashing this city as we know it.” 

“Rupert Thorne, huh?” Elvis repeated with a certain amount of interest. “And what’s it to you?” Helena teased, hoping this was going the way she thought it was. “Not to worry, cutie.” Elvis arrogantly told her. “In a few short days, things in Gotham will be off to a fresh start.” “Fresh start? Do tell.” Helena persuaded, putting her glass to her lips. “Gladly. So tomorrow night, my uncle’s got me leading a little operation.” Elvis explained, taking a glug from his beer. “It’s gonna be a big one. After that, things are gonna change around here. See, babe, all those fedoras and Chicago typewriters are ‘Number 1 Ancient History street.’ Gotham City’s future lies in the very latest stuff, like what those masked geeks use, only we’re more daring, we have guts. Oh, and expect a bit of blood and guts along the way. When we get started, minds are gonna be blown, if our guns don’t blow ‘em first.” Listening to this psychopath loftily monologue about this bright future of his, Helena knew she had to steer the discussion to a certain name. “Wow. Can’t wait to hear about it…” she replied dryly and took another sip of her martini. Leaning towards the long-chinned Elvis lookalike, she decided to reel him even further in. “If you’d like, I could speak with my connections, see what they think if you succeed in this job, and they could soon have a little proposition in store for your uncle.” Elvis lifted an eyebrow and faced her with his continuous smirk. “A girl with some mob blood in her. I like it…” he drawled, his fingers dangling the beer bottle by its rim. Helena grinned back, when in reality she was simply anxious to have her parents’ killer in her sights and pull the trigger of her crossbow already. But she needed to keep this going just a little longer first. “Well, tiger, I always have an eye for business.” “In more ways than one, huh, babe?” Elvis purred, his ogling nearly causing Helena’s stomach to twist. But this wasn’t the time to feel disturbed. It was now or never. “There is one name I have…special interest in.” she mentioned as she prepared another sip of her drink. “Special interest? Do go on…” Elvis urged, hunched at the bar. It freaked Helena out how he looked like some predatory animal about to pounce. “You haven’t heard of a…Steven Mandragora, have you?” Helena questioned carefully, lightly holding her breath. “Heh, small underworld, huh?” Elvis responded smoothly as ever. The sounds of head-banging music and the crowd’s chatter came close to spoiling Helena’s focus. “You’re in luck actually. He’s meeting up with my uncle in a few days.” the man explained, which got her silently breathing out in relief. “A lot’s riding up on this job tomorrow. We’re already building a massive fortune, some of it from what the old gangs lost, thanks to those knights in long underwear.” He tipped the bottle to his mouth then smacked his lips at the refreshing flavour of beer. “All we have to do is pull off the mission and Mandragora himself will be sitting down to dinner with my uncle. From there, there’ll be a new boss in town.” 

Helena now decided she had this sucker right where she wanted him, and in a short while, he’d lead her to the other sucker who killed her parents. Putting down her now empty glass, she raised the one Elvis had ordered her. “Well, to a fresh start.” she replied. Elvis clinked his bottle against hers and they both swigged their drinks. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me where I can meet up with you tomorrow?” Helena then asked, gauging the oily-haired gangster for a reaction. “It’s a date, honey-bun.” he agreed with that simpering stare, which she was trying her best not to put her fist through. “The Jack C. Grissom building, down Palance Avenue, 11pm.” Helena winked at him and pointed at him with the same hand with which she was holding her martini. “Gotcha.” Then she tipped her glass to her lips. She hoped to catch this guy when he was executing whatever tomorrow’s plan was, but she might need his next location if she failed. 

Just then a black man with a short beard and a grey hoodie came into the club and went up to Lonny who was playing on a slot machine. Something the man said to Lonny got him gaping back in shock before he strode up to where his boss was still trying to smooth-talk Helena. “And what may I - Ugh! What is it now, Lonny?” Elvis demanded in annoyance, whipping his head back to his right-hand man. “It’s Wade! The coppers got ‘im! He’s ‘ad an arm broken and they’re marchin’ ‘im to the station.” Lonny explained worriedly. “Chill out, Lonny.” Elvis interrupted, looking away from the Brit. “I’m sure we didn’t tell him too much about tomorrow. They won’t get jack out of him.” Helena tried to hide her amused smirk, knowing exactly what they were on about. Lonny looked apprehensive over how Elvis so casually dismissed the news. “Uh, you sure? I think -” “Tomorrow goes as planned.” Elvis abruptly insisted, his back to the cockney goon. “Can’t a guy talk business with a hot babe? Get back to partying or something.” Helena watched as Lonny tried to argue further. Eventually he walked away, returning to the slot machine he had been playing on. “Where was I? Oh, yeah,” Elvis continued, sipping from his bottle before smiling at Helena flirtatiously. “So what may I call you, gorgeous?” Getting into character with her sweetest, sloppiest grin, Helena delicately sipped her drink. “The name’s Amy. Amy Casamento.” She couldn’t let this guy connect her either to Huntress or her civilian identity. At least using her mother’s maiden name would make her alias sound believable enough. “And you are…?” With his eyes hooded suggestively, the ‘bad boy’ leaned back against the bar and took a swig of his beer. “Call me Paris.” he answered, purplish-red light dancing across the side of his thin face. “Paris Franz.”

Chapter 6

Chapter 8: TBC

[greer-morgan]

"Hell of a first day to pick," she noted. "Hope you're willin' to learn quick," Greer warned, but there was no threat behind it, just a little hope for his sake that he could manage at such a big event. Cade's comment did her make her laugh though. "Excellent point. Alright, tequila it is then." She was easily sold and slid the menu back onto the pile it'd come from. "Eh, wouldn't say I blame him. Kid's been through some shit." Conny, Ren, the nurse, everything leading up to that-- he probably hadn't slept once in the three months he'd been out of the arena. "But I guess livenin' things up can't hurt. You allowed to drink behind the bar? Pour us both out a shot, will ya?"

"Fantastic you're not picky, because I'm not very versed at this yet, first day," he replied, leaning over to take a look at the tequila drink she was pointing at-- thankfully one he understood how to make. Even if he hadn't, though, he'd give it his best shot for a girl with an accent as cute as Greer's. "Does a bear shit in the woods? It's tequila, it can't not be worth getting." He started to pull the tequila off a shelf behind him. "And, I mean, all the best to Nano and all, but he's not... the life of the party. We've got to liven it up somehow."

[saturndivine]

Pisces suns are so brave, idk how yall live like this

[sweetest-honeybee]

“Don’t forget that there’s people much less fortunate than you and don’t have a home and a job and stuff, so count your blessings”

Alright but shut the fuck up, I’m still allowed to complain without you making me feel guilty for it.

[minniewoos]

The hallyu wave is amazing, change my mind

[bamby0304]

If my neighbour doesn’t turn their alarm off in the next five minutes I’m gonna go out there and throw a brick through someone’s window.

[hyenahunt]

Secret Service: GLOBALISM - 3

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Kohaku, Niki

Proofreading: bakemonoremy (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: haranami

Kohaku: SOS, SOS… Now that I’ve deciphered the distress signals you were sendin’ out, I can’t turn a blind eye.

Location: Osaka

Kohaku: (I bet that dumbass is the same. Even though he’s been sayin’ that he’s not gonna participate in SS, an’ he doesn’t give a hoot about it...)

(He’s clearly tryin’ t’get involved with all his might.)

(Last night, when I was chattin’ with him and Jun-han, Hiyori-han told me that Madara-han used a secret code durin’ one of his guerilla lives.)

(They couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but I asked my older sister who’s good at that sorta thing fer help, an’ she was able t’decipher it.)

(The results were worse than I could’ve imagined. Madara-han wove two different kinds of ciphers into his song, an’ it looks like Vice Prez-han was only able t’understand what it was sayin’ on the surface.)

(Madara-han made it so that I’d be the only one who could crack the message that was hidden underneath, though maybe even he wasn’t sure if I’d succeed or not.)

(It was pure luck that I was able t’decipher it, after all. I was so ticked off by his selfishness, I couldn’t even think straight.)

(But he snuck that code in hopin’ that I’d be able to notice it.)

(I dunno what you were thinkin’ in that moment, or what your aims are...)

(But I heard your message loud an’ clear, Madara-han.)

Madara: ���♪~♪~♪”

Kohaku: (Hmph. Look at you, merrymakin’ an’ livenin’ up the festival. It looks like you’re havin’ the time of your life.)

(This is probably what ya wanna do more than anythin’ else…)

(But you’ve gotta sell off even these precious, happy moments like a commodity.)

(You’ve got it rough, Madara-han.)

(That’s exactly why I can’t leave ya alone.)

(You’re my partner in Double Face. Even though you’re a real bastard — arrogant, stubborn, distant, an’ too goddamn noisy…)

(Once I rip off all those masks you’re wearin’, I know I’ll be able t’see the real you.)

(SOS, SOS… Now that I’ve deciphered the distress signals you were sendin’ out, I can’t turn a blind eye.)

(Double Face is a unit of villains that kills other villains, a tool that others can use t’crush whatever evil they want.)

(But we, Crazy:B, sing fer people like you, who can’t do anythin’ but tremble an’ cry — fer the lonely people that no one else cares about.)

(That’s why I—)

Niki: Kohaku-chan.

If you don’t hurry up and eat, your takoyaki’s gonna get cold, and that’d be such a waste!

Kohaku: Oh, you’re right. People who waste food are itchin’ for divine punishment.

Niki: I think it’s fine, as long as you don’t throw the food away without even eating a bite of it~ But, as a chef, I want people to enjoy food when it's at its yummiest.

I always do my best to calculate how I can get my customers to savor it the most.

Kohaku: Ya don’t really inspire much faith as an idol, Niki-han, but the things ya say as a chef hit real hard...

It’s a bit too late for this, but are ya sure ya didn’t choose the wrong profession?

Niki: I’ve been telling you guys that this whooole time!

That being said, though… I only noticed this recently, but I can be both an idol and a chef. Juggling two careers makes me hungrier, and it takes up more time and effort.

But the more I work, the more money I get. And that means more yummy food!

Taking up something new doesn’t mean that you have to throw away everything else you’ve been holding onto.

Kohaku: That’s obvious, ain’t it? What’re you actin’ all high and mighty for?

Niki: Yup, it’s totally obvious! Which is why I can understand that, even though I’m a big dummy.

Kohaku-chan. You’ve been staring at that video of your partner in, uh, Double Face for a while now. What’s he doing? Is he at the Awa Odori Festival?

Kohaku: Beats me. I heard that Madara-han’s been doin’ a buncha different stuff in Shikoku, though.

Niki: Hm… I dunno the specifics, but he’s your friend now, isn’t he? So you just can’t help but worry about him, huh?

Kohaku: ...Well, I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t care.

Niki: Yup. You always treasure your bonds with people, Kohaku-chan.

Even though the creation of our unit was a total coincidence, you really do love us like we’re your family. That makes me pretty happy.

Until Rinne-kun came barging into my life, I was on my own most of the time. So I really longed to experience that kinda love that I was starved of.

But now, my life’s so rowdy I’m almost sick of it! Every day is such a blast, and I think I’ve been feeling fuller lately. Nahaha ♪

Kohaku: What’re ya tryin’ t’say?

Niki: If you’re hungry, you should just say so. And you should eat the things you want to. There’s nothing to be ashamed of at all.

Kohaku: ……

Niki: So if you’re worried about your partner, you should go and check on him. If you wanna ask something, just ask. If you wanna say something, just say it.

I’ll figure out a way to cover up for you. So don’t worry; go ahead and do whatever you’d like. It isn’t like us at all to hold ourselves back.

Would we really be Crazy:B if we followed the rules and obediently stayed put in our region?

It’s not like we’re salarymen who have to put on suits that don’t even look good on us, chipping away at work day after day.

There are people who can’t and don’t wanna live that way…

Which is why we, as Crazy:B, are gonna reassure ‘em that that’s totally okay!

Let’s stay true to ourselves and enjoy life — there’s no need to deny ourselves of anything. C’mon, you need to have fun and be happy!

Kohaku: ……

Niki: That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

They can’t hold me back with these stupid rules! I’m gonna eat takoyaki…!

Kohaku: I was startin’ t’feel a lil’ moved, but it turns out you were talkin’ bout food the whole time!

Niki: Well, yeah! I can’t take it anymore! I can smell yummy things in every single corner of this cityyy!

They’re just gonna fine us a little if we go against our orders! So, basically, it’s like I’m paying a little extra for my food! That’s all! There’s no way that’d be enough to stop me from eating the things I want to~!

Kohaku: No, hold it right there! The management gets t’decide how much we get fined, and they aren’t exactly fond of us. So we might be forced t’retire straight away—

(But still… Even though it turns out he was jus’ waxin’ poetic about food, Niki-han’s right.)

(It ain’t like me t’hold myself back from doin’ the things I wanna. I’m not gonna live my life with dull, dead-lookin’ eyes.)

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[neatotothethirddegree]

i also livenin the mariachi band anon :))

No way you guys,,, :0

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

It wasn’t uncommon to find Butch cutting it up in a bar in his down time; the atmosphere reminded him of his time in the Wild West, when he and his old partner would hit up saloons for fun—promptly before starting bar fights and nabbing all the wallets they could in the midst of the chaos.

Now it was just nice to drown out all his troubles with a good ol’ glass of liquid courage and if a fist fight happened to arise, he would surely be jumping in just for the fun of it.

Having just entered, the blonde peers around, the smell of liquor and cigarette smoke burning his nostrils as he carries himself towards the bar near the front. There were people of all sorts taking up space at the tables and chatting away, a few were even in the back playing billiards! It was lively tonight, just the way he liked it.

Approaching the front, Butch already knows what he wants, all he need is the bartenders attention but just as he goes to call out to them, a friendly stranger catches his attention. Turning his head to find a woman giving him a tired but friendly smile, he can’t help but smirk at their offer. He had only just entered and already someone was offering to buy him a drink. This night was shaping up to be interesting already!

Leaning against the bar with an elbow, his free hand resting at his hip, he snorts in amusement at their clarification and gives a nonchalant shrug. He too was alone, this usually being his means of social interaction lest he trek all the way into the city…and those folks were no fun! Always in a hurry and crabby in mood.

“Sure, friend, f’yer buyin’.” The cowboy grins wide, that tooth gap of his making itself known. He’s just glad some burly stranger isn’t sizing him up for a change or making some unoriginal sarcastic quip about his unconventional outdated wear. “That’s awful generous’f ya,” He says, taking a seat next to them and grabbing the bartenders attention, albeit a bit obnoxiously as he decides what he wants to drink. He makes sure that they know it’s on his good buddy here’s tab!

“I s’pose I’m good company f’ya like a good bit’a rowdy fun,” Butch says, bringing his gaze to the other now, the color of her hair being the first thing he notices right off the bat. “An’ I don’t mind livenin’ up a strangers night, heh. Don’t think I’ve seen ya here b’fore—I’d ’member that pink stripe.” He points out curiously, though it could have just been an instance of tag.

“S’that natural?” It wasn’t the weirdest thing he had ever seen, having witnessed his fair share of super natural and otherworldly entities, but it was curious nonetheless.

@gunslinginnhogtyin

The thing about small bars is — all locals are basically friends with the bartender, and it's not that hard to join them if you're talkative and everyone is sufficiently drunk. If you're a silent stranger, however, that's a whole other story. Sometimes it can be hard to even get noticed, believe it or not. To this bar's credit, the bartender does notice her, but he also gives her a skeptical look before approaching. Well, she supposes that her dusty old jacket with remaining dirt on the elbows and overall ragged appearance does make her look questionable. She's used to it. She currently is a traveling tumbleweed, after all.

She silently produces some money to show, and the man drops the attitude, gives her the drink and promptly forgets about her. That's another thing. Often, a visible foreigner gets much curious, if unwanted, attention in such places. Not this time. This time her natural "Do not mess with me" aura seems to be working well.

For once, though, Ryuko kinda wishes it didn't. She's here fresh post another fight and it still feels like she's trembling with adrenaline from the inside. No one can tell, what with her injuries never sticking around for long (hence the ragged clothes, though), but she can. And usually she's just fine with being a loner, but damn, sometimes after a risky fight you just want a drink to celebrate your stupid ass getting to live another day. And sometimes, even, you'd like to share that drink with someone, but you're stuck alone in the middle of wherever and it's your own damn fault.

Maybe she should just invite someone here. Like, say, this guy in a cowboy getup who just approached the counter. From the looks of it, he's here alone as well, and he definitely seems to be on a chiller side of the "people you meet at a bar" scale. Would it be weird? More importantly, does she care if it would? It's probably already weird enough that she's side-eyeing him like that while hunched over her drink. Speaking of which, he's likely about to order his. Screw it.

"Oi, stranger." Waiting till she has his attention, Ryuko then leans her head to the side with a crooked tired smile and makes a lazy gesture in the general space over the counter. "Whatcha say I buy you a drink?"

Belatedly realizing how that might sound, she straightens up a bit, turning to him more openly. "Not tryin' to hit on you or anything. It's just that drinking alone totally blows today, and you seem like good company."

[self-titled-lives]

I AM ANGRY. ACTUALLY ANGRY. WHY DO THEY GET TO YELL AT ME FOR CALLING THEM OUT. I DONT WANT TO FUCKING LIVENIN THIS HOUSE HOLD ANYMORE. I HATE IT

[colour-me-robot]

100 Themes #8 - Rainbow

He was glad to see that they had recovered enough to have paint again.

Perhaps that was foolish, because paint -- whether for one’s armour or for walls -- was hardly near the top of anyone’s list of things that were necessary, but it was for exactly that reason that Shockwave was glad to see it. Paint was not a necessity. Yet, here it was, a veritable rainbow of colours lining the shelves of Bolt’s little store, nestled along the back wall, behind food and drink and other small necessities that took up so much of the tiny storefront.

“You always did like colour, didn’t ye, lad.”

Shockwave looked up, a bit startled and more than a bit sheepish at having been caught looking, only to be met by a vaguely amused smile. Bolt hadn’t changed a bit. He was older now, missing an eye, but the former barista-turned-store-owner was still...basically the same. Still treating Shockwave like a young one that needed reassurance and a kind word to go with his overly-sweet coffee. It was a little refreshing, really, with so many bots who still hated Shockwave’s very existence after the things he had done while...not himself. “You...remember that?” “Aye, of course. Hard tae forget when I saw ye nearly ever’day, and always with a different colour somewheres.” Bolt laughed softly, more at the embarrassed look on Shockwave’s face than the memory of a young bot who couldn’t decide on a colour-scheme. “But that’s alright, lad. Nothing wrong with liking colour. It brought a bit’o light in with ye.” The old bot nodded at the paint cans. “Those innit so good for armour, but I reckon walls work just as well sometimes. Ye lookin’?” Shockwave turned back to the shelf, studying the little swatches of colour on the outside, telling what bright and cheerful things the silvery little cans held within. “....just looking, I suppose. I...I don’t know if I would be allowed to paint anything.” “And why not?” Bolt reached out, picking up a can of bright lilac paint -- a colour he remembered Shockwave sporting more than once. “Do ye not have a say in your own living? The rest o’ us do that live in the towers.” “I don’t live in the towers, Bolt.” Shockwave kept his voice quiet, not looking at the old shopkeep. “I live in the Ark now, and I...don’t know what they’ll allow me to do. I’m technically on probation, after all, and...and not even P--Optimus can really override things if I get in trouble. Not without it being a pain.” Bolt snorted, reaching out to take Shockwave’s hand in his, dropping the can of paint into it. “Bah. Dull grey walls need a little livenin’, Ark or no. And if you have your own livin’ space in there, it’s yours, lad, an’ even with ye bein’ on probation, if yer probation officer takes offense to ye havin’ a little light, they can just come talk tae me. I’ll set ‘em straight. The Prime won’t have tae lift a finger tae defend ye. ” He stared at the younger bot that looked up at him, saddened by how startled Shockwave seemed by the offer of kindness. “No one deserves tae live in grey, lad...I don’t care what’s been done. We’ve been through enough wi’out makin’ our lives dull an’ colourless now. Much less a lad like ye, who always brought light with ye wherever ye went.” He pressed his hand over the can of paint now in Shockwave’s hand, keeping the younger bot from putting it back on the shelf. “...that one’s a gift, Shockwave. If ye want more, ye can buy, but take that one as a gift from me. Ye deserve yer colours, lad, same as the rest o’us.” 

Shockwave didn’t look up for a long moment, though he slowly moved his hand away from Bolt’s, shifting the paint can to give himself a better grip on it...instead of replacing it on the shelf. When he finally did look up, his eyes were just slightly too bright behind his glasses, though he offered the old shopkeep a wavery smile. “...are you sure?”

Bolt nodded, his own smile as bright as it ever was. “Aye. Wouldn’t have given it if I wasn’t.” Shockwave took a deep breath, wanting desperately to believe that Bolt was being kind just for the sake of being kind. No ulterior motive. Not doing it to laugh at him or get him in trouble later. ...so he put the paint in his basket, alongside the camfruit and windrye bread he had come to get originally. Then, and only then, did he dare look Bolt in the eye. “You gave me lilac. I’m...I’m going to buy six other colours. ...I’m...going to paint a rainbow on my living room wall.”

He was startled by the laughter that erupted from Bolt, equally startled by the strong hand that clapped his shoulder, approval shining out of the old shopkeep’s every movement. “Good, lad! Paint yer rainbow; send me a picture and I’ll put it on my shop wall. Maybe others will take note. We need more light, more life, lad. Ye always were good at givin’ that...so t’will be good tae see it comin’ from ye again.” His one eye sparkled as he looked down at the younger bot, watching a faint, hopeful little smile start overtaking the boy’s face. “Now show me which colours ye want and we’ll go get everything rung up, so ye can start yer new project.”

[brutalscaled]

What do you think of harley quinn?

"Miss Quinn's all right to talk to. Seems like she has an easy way of livenin' up a room. She's got spirit n' I can respect that."

The scent of the face paint she uses is also something Croc has good associations with, so that helps in their interactions.

... Just don't expect him to stick around if the Joker's with her.