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What has Rex been up to this entire time?
Rex woke up; his cheek was hot and somewhat sticky. His mouth was agape, and that was verified by his sore throat and dry tongue. Of course, it said nothing of the headache that thrummed right behind his eyes. He groggily stirred and rolled over, his long arm slapping against flesh. A grunt came out, and the hum of fan blades barely moving the air was the only other sound in the room. He opened his eyes and smacked his lips—mouth tasting like he’d licked sour milk.

The wooden paneled room with its equally wooden flooring was suffocating. A small window gave a hint of the sunlight that was outside behind thick, mauve curtains. The motes of dust danced around as sluggishly as he did. Rex threw a leg over the side of the bed, and his foot connected with what he thought was the ground. Instead, it was a glass bottle. It rolled underneath the arch of his foot and shot out from behind him—sending him into the bedside table. One moment he was catching himself in the mirror and the next his head collided with the sharp edge of the wooden table. He flailed helplessly, grabbing a hold of the curtain. It couldn’t hold his weight and clattered to the ground with him.

The other members of the room awoke, groaning and grunting as they pulled themselves from the thrall of bunched, sweaty sheets. Two heads poked over the side to get a good look at Rex splayed out on the floor, the curtain draped over his long form. “I saw it in the window, and I thought it’d look good on me,” he grunted out, the injury to his head adding to his headache.

One of the figures giggled, her blonde ringlets still angelically curled around her face. Rex didn’t know how she did. Black magic, maybe? The other was an older man who just rolled his eyes and pulled himself up. “Don’t tell me that I have to pay for that as well?” he asked.

“It looks like there are just hooks up there. I should be able to,” Rex started to say as he was pulling himself up. He choked the vomit in his throat down. Concentrate on the task at hand. Thirty-seven times nine is… he ran that math in his head as he steadied himself. While his head throbbed, he was able to crunch the numbers like gears grinding in an old ship. Three-hundred-and thirty-three. Wait? That right? He ran the computation again, grabbing the curtain from the ground and threading it over the hooks. It was as good as new… ish. As he admired it, his tired brain confirmed that was the correct amount. Rex had always been the smart one.

“See,” he said, gesturing towards the curtain. “I told you I could fix it.”

The man already had his pants on and was currently tucking in his shirt. His salt and pepper hair was messy, but the angelic woman was quickly running her fingers through it—as naked as the day she was born. “I suppose. You should just stick with,” he trailed off, waving his hand at the bed loosely, “and leave the higher arts to the ones that it comes naturally to. Isn’t that right, Trinket?” His face lit up as he glanced at the much younger woman. They were a married couple, and he was a prominent salesman of a food distribution company. Apparently, he’d come for—fish. It seemed like something that could be handled through a third party, but Rex figured the man was the sort that enjoyed getting his hands dirty. Rex could attest to that sentiment; his legs were going to hurt for a few days. These sorts of dalliances weren’t really well looked upon in certain societies, and there was always the sort that’d find him and his young wife out. So, why not handle business elsewhere? Get a taste for travel and other things.

Rex didn’t mind, though he hadn’t quite thought that was where his day was going yesterday. He’d finished fixing the logs, changing the numbers up, and tending to some things around the ship before leaving the China Doll to grab a drink. He’d fully intended on coming back to his cabin, but instead, one drink led to two led to six led to the bedroom with this couple. He hoped Cal or the like hadn’t been looking for him. Though, they were bound to have questions. Rex rubbed his sore head, feeling where the goose egg was going to raise up as the day went on. Could he say that someone mugged him?

The man fished out some platinums from the deep pockets of his coat and threw them into the bed. “I like to make sure I show my gratitude,” he said, straightening the collar of his coat. His wife was already dressed, Rex noted. She’d practically slipped into her dress like a fish into the water. It was amazing, really. Trinket was perfectly coifed with a giggle and the smell of roses.

Rex looked around the aftermath of a night of debauchery for his pants to tuck the platinum into. He realized he’d have to drop the mugging story if he planned on pocketing the money. Maybe he was mugged, then he hunted down his assailants and the local law enforcement paid him a pretty coin for their capture? That sounded feasible, right? Rex didn’t care to find backup for his story. He just wanted to find his pants. The sun was… up… and he probably needed to make an appearance at the China Doll lest they think he was dead, or Cal thought he’d abandoned him—again.

“This never happened, by the way,” Trinket said with a smile. She was adjusting her garter belt, and Rex caught that her statement was not just punctuated by words but also a thin blade tucked into the frills. When in the nine hells had she put that back on? Where was it last night? Rex must have been getting lax in his old age. He wanted to applaud the older gentleman. The marriage wasn’t just for arm candy, it was for protection as well.

“What happened? I just got drunk and fell asleep, and you two were nice enough to lend me your room.” Rex smiled, finding his pants, and sliding them on. He glanced down, realizing he’d need to wear something a little less revealing today. There were too many hickeys to say that he’d also fallen into the sea and gotten accosted by the largest of cephalopods.

The man gave his first semblance of emotions as he smiled and winked at Rex. “Right. We’re nothing but good Samaritans, aren’t we Trinket?” She nodded, dropping the hem of her dress, and latching onto his arm. Then they were gone. Just like that, out the door as if no time had lapsed at all. Where, on the other hand, Rex looked as if he’d been in a brawl with the business end of a wet mop.

Using the mirror, he dressed and fixed his hair. He ran a hand over his beard, realizing that he needed to give it a trim. Making the bed and pocketing the platinum, Rex slid out of the room long after the high-born couple had. He slunk down the stairs and out of the inn. Barely anyone was awake, and they surely hadn’t had their coffee to connect the wires on what he’d been up to.

A shower later in the China Doll along with a change of clothes, and Rex was bandaging his head in the makeshift mirror. He’d trimmed his beard and the hair on top of his head and applied some light cologne to get the smell of booze off him—hopefully. He was still more than a little drunk. The best cure for a hangover was always more alcohol. Lucky eyed him out of the shadow of his cage. Rex glanced back, catching that there was the refuse of food that he hadn’t given the bird. “You’re judging me for my actions when I’m not the one showing off my pretty feathers for treats. Who was it? The small one with the clipboard? The pilot? That haggard deckhand? The doctor?” He paused. “Oh. Was it the doctor? You must tell me if it was her. Too much pretty to be shackled with those brains.”

The bird just let out a gravelly noise from his beak.

“Don’t tell me you bit them?” He narrowed his eyes at Lucky. “Nah. You would never. You love treats too much.” He extended his hand, resting it on top of the opened cage door. Lucky took a few sidesteps and nuzzled into his palm. “Sorry, I promise I won’t leave you without company again.” Lucky nibbled his fingers. “I’ll let you pick. But it’s not going to be the pilot.” He nipped Rex’s hand. “Hey, be nice, or it’ll be Cal.”

After some time, Lucky managed to con him into taking him along. He climbed up Rex’s broad shoulder and slid in behind his ear, resting against the crevice between his ear and neck. The bird let out a few happy chirps as Rex pulled his jacket on, creating a nice cozy, resting place for him. Rex also put on a deep purple shirt that he fully buttoned up. It covered most of his neck, and only a sliver of a hickey protruded from the top of it. It was the best he could do without throwing a scarf around his neck, which would just draw suspicion. Now, he’d just look nice for dinner—or whatever time it was. Either way, it wasn’t too late for coffee.

Rex pulled himself up the ladder and into the hallway of the China Doll, making his way to the galley. There he brewed himself a large cup of instant coffee from whatever powered mixture they had. He then sat down at the table to sip it. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far in before he fell asleep, chin resting on top of his palm. Lucky took that moment to crawl out from his jacket and perch atop his head, ever alert for any intruders.

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society the RP.


Bex kept her opinion to herself when Chippendales popped back. She was here to try to be a part of the team, and he seemed to be the ringleader of this mission. So, she just smirked, mumbling something about his excitement on the male stripper comparison being the same as a chain-smoking, slot-loving Vegas 60-something. Only they thought that “Thunder from Down Under” was something to be impressed by. Bex wasn’t. It was more that she didn’t care for shows of men taking off their clothes but come on—have some Australian pride. She did. Whatever that meant.

Her eyes flitted over the screens and saw herself on a few of the monitors, in pure She Devil fashion. She then fixated on the ones with her other new partner—the one with the sword. Demonslayer. Yeah, Bex liked that name as much as she liked to chew ice chips. Her attention went back to the mission at hand. They were infiltrating the circus. Not interested in giving grubby carnival-lovers a free show, she was fine with just handling the lights. People needed to pay money to see Bex Minogue—and not in some garish, sequined hot mess parading around on stage. She’d leave that to Chippendales and the Bleh-le-bubbies. Hm. That insult was a little too try-hard. She’d have to workshop it.
Bex wasn’t wearing all white to a circus. So, she swiftly changed, having kicked her stuff into a temporary corner. That was probably for the best, considering they were headed to Gotham. A place where no one should be surprised that Batman goes around unseen. Crime could have easily been measured like one does with smog. But it probably did a lot better job of rotting you from the outside in.

She glanced around as they entered, crinkling her nose up at the smell. Porta-potties, fried food, and the unwashed masses—only one appealed to her. Her phone softly dinged, and she fished it out of her back pocket. Bex never brought a purse, anywhere. Yet, she was distracted from seeing who messaged her when she felt a carnival heckler hone in on her. She angled the brim of her hat at the man by the strength tester. Her brow rose, not that he would see or know why.

Bex smiled wildly. “Yeah, come on, babe. Get me one of those stuffed animals. Pwease~ Her inflection went from its usual sardonic tone to that of a love interest in a teenage drama show. “I could never do it on my own.” She figured the hot assassin-boy would probably roll his eyes at her, but she was told to play nice. What was nicer than pretending to be someone’s girlfriend?

She checked her text message about that time. Her lips twisted. 𝚂𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚢 𝙴𝚎𝚢𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚜. 𝚂𝚎𝚎 u. She texted back.

INTERACTION(S) | Daph @dreamingflowers & "Sexy Eeyore" @FunnyGuy

Migi wouldn’t forget how Lorcan was so quick to throw her to the metaphorical wolves. She’d barely held in an eye roll as the giant man flailed around like a child and pouted out ”but, mommy, they are bad people too.” She sidled close to Falfer as he spoke to her, shrugging at his words. “Maybe they’re paying a toll for the air they’re taking up there.”

Yet, that guard seemed smitten, as everyone was with the gorgeous trickster, and was fine to let them pass. Migi wondered if anyone else had figured it out yet. “Let’s not forget what the tall-folk do for a perky set of chest mounds.” Migi partially wished that she had slid some coin in on that bet. She’d make a killing from the other burrahob’s lack of knowledge about the prisoners. The most useful ones didn’t have any knives up their sleeves. Those that looked like the weak link held the power. Well, except for the rich boy. He was just there to make them all look good. She smirked and moved on with the others as they passed through the threshold and into the city.

Varone elicited a whistle from Migi’s lips as they walked through it. It wasn’t as fancy as some of the cities she had visited, but it was nicer than she thought this horrible area was capable of. Usually, cities set upon by dangers both external and internal were buildings piled on top of buildings until it was an uncomfortable tortoiseshell of population. Here, things seemed to lay out like a nice, expensive rug.

Yet, she hadn’t been kidding when she mentioned wanting to sit and drink. Her feet felt like she’d done the dark rum dance over smoldering coals. Instead, she was sober, fully clothed, and not at all being paid fancy lordlings for her shenanigans. Here, she’d pay someone to be able to participate in the slightest bit of fun. So, she was more than pleased when they found a tavern that didn’t have a set of eyes and an expectant hand guarding the door.

Raddek excused himself to the bar as the others disseminated into the tavern, proper. She followed the eagle-eyed woman and hoisted herself up to a chair. When the girl just ordered some water, Migi gave her an eye. “Didn’t realize that fish walked on land and used swords. Water won’t sustain’ yah unless you’re breathin’ it.” She stood on her chair, catching the attention of the serving woman. “Aye, your cheapest ale that I could be drowned in and a hearty bowl of whatever soup you’re makin’. I’ll throw in extra if you scrape the bottom for all the good bits. Maybe throw in a bread heel or two if you got them laying about. Thank you!” It was probably the nicest that Migi had ever been around them, but then again, she had no reason to be mean to those that were working hard for whatever paltry sum they made. She figured that everyone in the group had been in that situation at one point in time. Why belabor the laborers?


𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝓪 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓛𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓱
𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙾𝙽, 𝙸-𝟻, 𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚁
𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙴 𝟷𝟼𝚃𝙷 𝟸𝟸𝟾𝟺
𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙵-𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙿; 𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻-𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳

Jack flinched as one of the wolves jumped at their patron. The old doc was more than capable of steeling herself in this fight, though. Jack had nothing to worry about. While she had let loose a series of questions and jokes from her lips, the severity of the situation was getting dire. It reminded her of the old days. Except she’d had human-sized walls of metal between her and the thing trying to kill her.

When the supermutant, Ahab was it, bellowed out his sermon-like battle cries, Jack just nodded her head—the brim of her hat bobbing. She leveled her gun towards a wolf about the time her concentration was broken by a rumble in the woods. It sounded large “I was just joking!” she exclaimed into the ether, sure that neither gods nor creatures gave a shit.

People were yelling and barking orders, some more coherent than others. Jack could only clock their one supermutant compatriot, the other having farted off into the woods to go take a shit or murder—maybe both. She backed up, closing rank between them. A few blasts from her pistol rang out, singing the muzzles of a smaller wolf, trying to draw its attention away from the heavy hitters. The smaller one, though technically larger than it should be in nature, lunged at her. An energy blast to its face sent its trajectory off, and she whipped out her smaller gun to put a well-aimed bullet in its ear and out the other.

“I’d give my left ear for some air support right about now. Metal rain is very refreshing.” Jack peeled off a couple more shots, trying to pull attention to her and allow those with the caliber to damage the alpha—damage it. She’d just annoy the damn thing. And it didn’t need any more rads from her glowing personality.

Most regarded her with nothing but a side-eye, while others went on with their conversations as if nothing happened. Bex wasn’t there to have all eyes on her like a bedazzled Lisa Frank poster. She was there because of the niche spotlight that showed her as a “hero.” She was far from a proper sidekick considering the array of demonic powers stretched far and wide—far and wide. The biggest reason for her transfer was that the magical part of the Justice League was championed by people unable to handle Bex’s rapid-fire personality. The closest was her mentor, David, and even he constantly threw timeouts at her. So, this arrangement was supposed to be… better. Sure, she fit into the median age, but it seemed to be filled with the same “stick up their ass” cardboard cutouts as the rest of the Justice League. They just wanted to be strapped into the league’s pre-worn spandex like the hero-obsessed mini-me’s they were. Bex was in the process of rolling her eyes when one of the Girl Scouts broke away from her troupe to try to spike Bex some cookies.

She cocked her head to the side and looked down at the other woman. Daphne, was her name. One hand went to her hip while she slipped the ring of her cellphone over her finger and idly spun it in the other. “I know,” she said to the other’s compliment. “Daph, is it?” She brought her hand from her hip and reached towards a frill of the other’s dress. “I don’t recognize this designer. The stitching is hand done. Don’t tell me you made this yourself?” She didn’t even wait a beat for Daphne to respond. “It’s cute.”

Bex lowered her hand. “Your hair on the other hand needs to be shortened and layered. It brings down your face. You have a cherubic smile. Don’t let it drown in gender norms—” she leaned in, her breath warm and the smell of her like a crackling fire, “because you are the only one here, in my opinion, with balls.” Bex pulled away and winked.

Her eyes went to the screens behind Daphne, and she pushed past the other woman to approach them. She left her things sitting in the middle of the room. Bex didn’t expect anyone to grab them, but it was apparent that no one was showing her where she’d be living during this fun “adventure” in a children’s afternoon show. Her lips, covered in the color “heartthrob”, twisted. “A circus, really?” She still idly spun her phone. “People still go to those? Or are you guys just returning your clown costumes?” It was then that she pointed at the young man in the three-piece suit. “Chippendales, over here, looks excited.”

INTERACTION(S) | Daph @dreamingflowers & "Chippendales" @Crimson Flame
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