The invitations have gone out to the proper sources - anyone who's anyone in the Arkham Alumni, plus a few of the more mundane but reasonably reliable 'sane' Gotham villains might expect an invitation. Anyone with that certain sense of flashy panache that distinguishes them from the common thug
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He looks around the crowd. An interesting assortment of freaks and villains. They'll either make the night go stunningly well, or the Iceberg Lounge will be a mound of rubble by the end of it. Either way, Crane is quite content to watch.
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"Damn!" Restraining himself from torching the croupier, he walks over to Nygma. "So what is all this in aid of? It's not every day or night that the psychos decide to have a party."
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Of course no one would ever know that his mind was racing, that he was casually handling a thousand little emergencies every minute. Externally he is the calm cool host that everyone has come to know. This calm portion of his mind finds itself idley wondering if Selina was going to eventually come in and join them. He wonders what game Crane is playing with Nygma, pretending to reform and why Nygma can't see that he is being played. He wonders who allowed firefly to keep his torch upon his entry to the club!
Damn and blast, another situation he needed to take care of.
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The Riddler seems downright chipper this evening.
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Truth be told, Croc was not one of his favorite people - more a thug than a true master criminal - but it can be useful to befriend thugs now and then.
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( ... )
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Blake takes one from a passing tray, sniffing it and lapping out of the glass with a content smile. "Its times like this, I miss the old place. But, before I drink all your liquor, what's the hitch here? C'mon Nygma. There's something up, right?"
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...It's the wrong intro line!
Coming through the window was a costume sure to strike terror into the something, something, but it was obvious from the way the woman in the costume moved, even how she landed in a full gymnastics finish pose, that she was NOT what she appeared to be.
It looked like Bat Girl, the Barbara Gordon variety, had risen from the ranks of the Super Hero defunct!
But the voice that came out a second later totally blew that theory or any like it out of the water, "Heeeerrrrreeeee'sssssss BATGIRL!" Harley said brightly in her happy Yiddish accented voice.
"Now let's get this party started!"
Where she had found the full and very, very realistic Bat Girl costume was a well guarded secret, but she was having fun wearing it if the grin on her face meant anything at all.
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Though right now she wasn't flaunting the dress, she was rubbing her temples and sighing at the spectacle that was 'Batgirl'. Ivy looked up and smiled apologetically at anyone with a confounded expression on their face.
"I tried to talk her out of it, honestly, I really tried." For about an hour and a half. Harley's determination won out over Ivy's patience in the end.
As usual.
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Nygma smiles and nods to Ivy in greeting.
"The bar is open."
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She'd make Pammy spank her later.
Giggling she drank from the bendy straw and looked around the party. The party that was now at its most bestest with her here.
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She really did. No one made a Bat outfit look quite as good as she did. But if she walked around in this all the time people might start expecting her to be responsible or something.
That wasn't happening. Responsibility was boring.
"Bet you wish this place was on fire," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.
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