Creepy would also define what passes for this particular residence. The door opens itself, for one thing. A closer inspection of its facade will reveal complex, handpainted designs of varying size and shape: veves, designed to keep the unwanted out ... or perhaps to invite them in. With someone like Midnight, it's impossible to tell.
The scent of heavy Cuban cigar smoke drifts toward her down the plushly decorated hallway. It wouldn't look out of place somewhere in New Orleans. The only difference is the distinct lack of that city's oppressive heat.
Selina makes her way toward the source of the smoke. This is a horrible horrible thing. She wants to get out of here already. She's been here for less than a minute and already she wants out of here.
The door closes decisively behind her, leaving only the bracket-mounted, dim lighting as company.
She won't be alone for too long. A breeze -- or perhaps a breath, colder than darkness -- washes over her exposed skin, preceding a cloud of smoke. Papa Midnight is standing behind it, like a cobra ready to strike from the shadows. "To what do I owe this delectable pleasure?"
Catwoman's reputation as a thief should be what gets her through at least the begining of this. She has the connections. She was in England recently. And it isn't exactly well known that she and Constantine are at all close.
His already dark and inscrutable face takes on an almost demonic appearance. "And what would you know of my financial situation, girl, to think you can demand a favor of me?"
Catwoman looks around them, "If you have money, you hide it well." She's very good at appraisal, even if she hasn't been dating Bruce Wayne for a million years now.
"Don't toy with me, girl, if you wish to leave here still breathing. My sister could always use a companion in Hell. Being a whore to demons is demanding work. Something I'm sure you would know much about." The cane's tip butts up under her chin. A thief's shade at his beck and call would be most profitable indeed.
"If you think this is me toying with you, you have no idea of what that means." As the cane moves under her chin, she shifts her grip on the valuable item, holding it with her claws.
She'll drop it if she has to.
Outwardly, she's calm and cool, almost imperious looking. Internally, she's hoping John knew what the hell he was doing sending her here. This is really not looking good at all for her chances of getting out of here.
Comments 38
The scent of heavy Cuban cigar smoke drifts toward her down the plushly decorated hallway. It wouldn't look out of place somewhere in New Orleans. The only difference is the distinct lack of that city's oppressive heat.
Reply
Damn it, John.
Reply
She won't be alone for too long. A breeze -- or perhaps a breath, colder than darkness -- washes over her exposed skin, preceding a cloud of smoke. Papa Midnight is standing behind it, like a cobra ready to strike from the shadows. "To what do I owe this delectable pleasure?"
Reply
Catwoman's reputation as a thief should be what gets her through at least the begining of this. She has the connections. She was in England recently. And it isn't exactly well known that she and Constantine are at all close.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
She'll drop it if she has to.
Outwardly, she's calm and cool, almost imperious looking. Internally, she's hoping John knew what the hell he was doing sending her here. This is really not looking good at all for her chances of getting out of here.
Reply
Leave a comment