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Atlas Gym, Fandom Fight Club [Sunday Evening]

There was a poster tacked up on the door to the main gym, with the following text written in alternating handwriting, as if the marker had been shared between two people:

Rules of Fandom Fight Club
1. What happens here, stays here. We can't keep the squirrels out, but if somebody tells you something on the mat, you don't repeat it off the mat.
2. No weapons or powers unless everyone knows in advance and is fighting within their weight class.
3. No shoes.
4. If someone says "stop" or goes limp, the fight is over.
5. Two people to a fight.
6. Fights go on as long as they have to.
7. No tourists. If you need to take a week to see what this is like, cool, but no coming back just to watch. You wanna watch, get a TV; here, everybody fights.
8. No fighting if you're sick or injured. You wanna screw up your body, you do it on your own time.
9. The organizers reserve the right to remove you from the club at any time for violation of these rules.

Underneath the sign was a table with a sign-in sheet, where people could print their name and if they'd fought before ~~which is handwavey since y'all already did it~~, which would be collected once the meeting started.

Inside, Tyler was pacing, barefoot and holding himself so erect he looked about three inches taller than he normally did. He clapped his hands in a way designed to silence anyone still talking.

"Welcome to Fight Club," he began. "In this room, you are not a teacher or a student or the guy who works behind the bar at Caritas. You are not what you own or what you wear. You are not a special, unique snowflake. You are a body. You hit, you bleed, you feel pain, you cause pain, you come back for more. You get better. You might even find redemption."

He glanced at the group as if daring anyone to argue with him on these points.

"The purpose of this group is catharsis and self-improvement through unarmed combat," Ghanima said briskly. For once, she was not wearing her usual ornate gowns, but a simple woven tunic and slacks and was barefoot like Tyler. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with therapeutic violence - no matter what the armchair shrink of the week says - and this place is here to provide you with that option."

"That said, should you wish to have a friendly spar with someone using practice weapons, you should feel free so long as both parties agree. Please refrain from using actual weapons until you've worked with someone more than once."

"And while we're being the buzzkill jerks with all the rules," Tyler said, "here's a quick gym tour. Padding's over here -- beginners, wear gloves, everyone else, it's at your discretion -- practice weapons are there, and these soft blue things? These are mats. We fight on the mats."

"Speak for yourself," Ghanima murmured, bemused. "I may occasionally be evil, but I am not a jerk or a buzzkill."

"Now, my favorite part. We're going to randomly pick some fights." It was possible Ghanima looked a bit too gleeful about this. "You and you. You two. You two too. You and you, and hrm, you, and ... you." There was practically a halo over her head as she pointed at Tyler. "There. Get to know your new friends, then get to know the mat. Anyone I didn't just pair up, find your own partner."

[Up early for massive SP! ~~Wait for the~~Massive OCD is massive and up.]

ETA:You people are breaking my browser! Mingle | RNG Fights | Open Sparring | Ghanima and Tyler | OOC | Next Week's RNG

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"Why aren't you in jail?" Dinah squeaked, sliding upward to her feet, staring hard at the other woman. "And they built New Gotham on top of Gotham, after the earthquake." Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Do not panic.

Frown. "Hey. Do you-- you're not trying to hypnotize me."

Harley blinked. "Wha-wha? I undastand ya wonderin' why I'm not in the clink- an' the reason why, by the way is that I did my time like a good little girl and gotta clean bill a' health. But..." her face scrunched up, "..hypnotize ya? Why would I wanna do that?"

Okay, now? Dinah was so confused that she didn't know what to think. "The Harley Quinn I met had gotten a meta-power to hypnotize people into doing what she wanted. Killed a guy for it." Wouldn't she be dead by now, if this Harley Quinn had it? And what was this about sane? "Riiiight. You don't look like her. You only sort of sound like her. And you're not crazy any more."

If Dinah looked like she found this totally unbelievable, it's only because that was the only option left after buh?

Harley grinned. "Hypnotizing people to do what I want? Sounds more like Red's schtick."

"But don't ya worry, kiddo! I've started allllllll ovah. No contact with any of mah old friends in Gotham, not even Mistah J."

Well, she hadn't seen her Joker, anyway. So technically she wasn't lying, right?

"Red...?" Dinah stared, still torn between freaking out and striking out. "Oh. Well, good." Was that even slightly plausible? Would Harley believe that she believed her? At least she hadn't told her her name yet.

What the heck was she supposed to do about this?

The Barbara in her head told her: Get back-up.

"Pammie Isley; Poison Ivy." Harley clarified. "Anothah old friend. Forget about it."

Harley knelt on the floor, so she could get a better look at Dinah's arm. "Now, lemme get a good look at that arm 'a yers."

Edited 2009-03-08 23:31 (UTC)

Poison Ivy-- Barbara had mentioned her in a briefing once, but she'd been in Arkham for as long as Dinah had been in New Gotham. More differences. More weirdness. And if she was going to sell the harmless, rattled little girl act, she was going to have to let some version of Harley Quinn look at her arm. Because that was such a stretch, her being rattled right now. Yeah.

Dinah held out her arm, eyes glued to Harley's face, waiting to see if she would have to punch or push her away, reminding herself they were in public. Nothing to be scared of.

Harley reached out and gently pulled Dinah's arm closer, being careful not to hold the limb by any bruised or scraped areas. As she began to assess the damage...

Bruises there...that looks like a scrape, needs a band-aid...was the guy over there looking at her? He totally was, totally was. Rugged guys were great. Not as great as Puddin, of course, but those green eyes-
(green eyes, green hair, purple suit, laughter, laughter, LAUGHTER that echoed through any room)
-she shouldn't be thinking about The Joker. Not at all. Bad idea. This girl needed to be wrapped up and sent on her merry little way to heal. Fighting injuries were so annoying; those bruises were gonna stick around. Getting punched was the worst-
(smack, pow, gotta fight, the girl in the batsuit in your face, ow ow ow, across the room the Batman's punching your smiling face, STUPID STUPID BATMAN, I'LL KILL YOU I'LL KILL YOU)
-nope. She wasn't thinking about him at all. She was not a supervillain anymore. Or about Batman, or that silly sidekick girl of his. Hee. Or about the time she stole Batgirl's suit and went out to fight crime. Why did Batsy get so angry? Was Batgirl dead or something? Not her fault.
She was on the straight path now. She wasn't going to run back to-
(PUDDIN PUDDIN PUDDIN I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER)
-The Joker. She was never going back.

(AND EVER.)

Whoa. When was she going to learn? When?

One: Not the Harleen Quinzelle she'd only met once. Just, not. That other one was saner and eviller and scarier but this one was plenty scary enough, because

Two: Oh God her brain was an explosion in an amusement park, bright colors bright thoughts bang bang pow in her brain, and she just had to ride out the sequence until she could get free of the rollercoaster. And there was Barbara, only it was Not-Barbara, younger, shorter, thinner, and still Batgirl in this Harley's mind. Which was zig-zagging back and forth on the subject of the Joker with Never/Forever and wow, she never wanted to feel that for somebody, and

Three: Did she mention ow?

Dinah gasped, eyes going wide, and tried to get her breath back when it felt like it'd all been gut-punched out of her.

Edited 2009-03-09 00:14 (UTC)

Weird that this girl had met another version of Harley. Wonder what the other Harley was like. Was she prettier than Harley? Would that be a bad thing or a good thing? Hypnotizing sounded like fun! Everyone could join in a parade! But then everyone would be all boring and their heads lolling around like zombies-
(ew ew ew)
-no, no fun at all to hypnotize people. Even if it would make her prettier. Did it work like that? Whatever. Maybe if she were prettier, Mr. J would like her better.
(Other Joker liked her fiiiiinnnne)
Did the girl just flinch?

Harley quickly let go of Dinah's arm. "Did I hurtcha? I'm so sorry, it didn't look like it was hurt that bad!" She took the arm back, trying to be as ginger as possible.

"Theah we go, now lesse how ya doin'...oooh, it's too bad they don't letcha fight with pads here, it's really a better ideah. Then again, I never wore pads eithah, so I guess I can't really preach, now can I? I mean, it'll totally ruin ya figurah, especially if ya wearin' a skintight suit." Harley frowned. Thinking about batgirl and skintight suits and this got an idea, and it scared her right away. "Waittaminute. I told ya my name, now it's ya turn. Ya not a supahhero, are ya?"

And finally the ride stopped, and Dinah could see outside her own head and Harley's again, and it was all just a little ... stranger.

Because this Harley wasn't a threat, not the way the other one was; not as organized, not as malicious, not as likely to strike out. Kind of sad, in a way. And oh god she could never say that to Barbara, and Helena would kill her, and safer didn't mean safe. So telling her the truth was so not going to happen. Not all of it, anyway.

"Dinah. Lance." She winced. "And it's my head, mostly. It's still aching. I should go home, lie down with my kitty." Dinah took a breath. "Superhero? No. Not me." Not yet. "That would be cool though. Well. I mean. You might not think so, being... who you are."

Nope. The name didn't ring any bells. Not that that helped very much. Superheroes were nororiously cowardly about their real names.

"All right, so long as ya feel good ta move." Harley's tone was suspicious now. She was looking carefully at Dinah's eyes, mouth, chin and the sides of her face. Trying to imagine masks covering up all the other areas, trying to see if this girl was recognizable.

"An' make sure ya get home safely. If ya not a supahero yet, streets in the nighttime can be dangerous."

"Yeah. Although, not so much here." Dinah pushed off from the wall, and winced, feeling her head pound even harder than before. Never having worn a mask, she didn't notice the scrutiny. The other version of her hadn't worn one either, although Dinah had seriously wondered how she got away with that. "Thanks for your help, Dr. Quinzelle. And, uh." She stared at her again, brain cycling back to Harley Quinn. Here. Not Harley Quinn. Different. Buh? "I'm not going to... do anything."

Because this Harley was trying to be good. Well, she might talk to Professor Atreides, oh hell yes. But go to the police, or call in Barbara and Helena... no. She wasn't going to inflict another Harley on her family without thinking about it long and hard.

Harley's smile returned, and she clapped Dinah on the back. Possibly a little harder than was necessary, considering Dinah's current status. "No problem, kiddo! If ya get hurt again, ya know where ta go!

She got up to leave. "And don't worry about not doin' anythin'. Even if ya called the Gotham Police, they'd just tell ya the same thing I did."

But did they know how obsessed she was with the Joker? Then again, that was the Gotham Police. Whose number she didn't even have. So what was she supposed to do?

Dinah stumbled at the slap on the back, eyes going big again, and swallowed back another ow, before smiling weakly. "I sure do. And, uh. Guess I'll see you around."

Argh. And Dinah wandered off to find her bag, and go home to do some very serious thinking.

Harley watched Dinah go. Maybe this didn't have to be all bad. Maybe the kid was just a citizen of this future Gotham, and her version of Harley had blown up her building or something mediocre like that. But things could be worse. Dinah could be one of those zealous types that just had to stop any fun whatsoever. One of those heroes.

Harley took a breath. Then again, if she didn't have any of that kind of fun, Harley should be okay, right?

Right?

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Atlas Gym, Fandom Fight Club [Sunday Evening]

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