booty booty booty

[itistolaugh]

WHO: Harley Quinn, Leonard Snart, Rincewind
WHERE: Peaches, the best little strip club in Heropa
WHEN: July 1, nighttime when the sinnin' happens
WHAT: Generous friends buy ungrateful wizzard a lap dance
WARNINGS: professional nudity, gyrating

[ They started the evening at a bar. Well, actually, they started the evening with a firm warning that if Leonard lifted anything of Rincewind tonight then Harley would punch him in the face because this is a fun night out with friends god dammit. Leonard made no promises.

And then they went to a bar. A few bars. Rincewind's near encyclopedic knowledge of local watering holes and the corresponding drink specials lead the charge. The bar hopping was dual purpose. One, it got them nicely liquored before heading to Peaches where the drinks were much more expensive and much less good. Two, and more importantly, it kept Rincewind from noticing they were headed Peach-ward until it was too late.

Now the wizzard is flanked by two terrible "friends" in a place that by far too crowded, too loud, and too underdressed. Harley has a firm arm around his waist and the second he twitches a muscle toward the exit she turns a pleading gaze at him. Her lip may be trembling a little. There are definitely tears threatening to spill.]

Jeff would want you to have this.

Comments

[catchacold]

Yeah. Do it for Jeff.

[Not only has Leonard never interacted with Jeff, he's not even sure who the guy is. But that doesn't matter. Harley is upset that he left and - almost equally important - this promises to be hilarious.

Leonard's not much for strip clubs himself, he's definitely not about to sit down, given the cleanliness of the place and the importance of not having a lap on offer, but Rincewind's discomfort trumps his own. He's enjoying himself.]

Jeff would also want you to have this. [This, as it turns out, is a wad of dollar bills that he's holding out to Rincewind. Who knows where he got them.]

[wizzardly]

[how did he get here, how is everyone here somehow wearing more sequins and still less clothing than him, how did this happen? Rincewind's eyes dart from the crowd to the stage to the exit, and it's only Harley's curled arm and pouting face that keeps him from springing back for the exit.]

- You planned this, [he gapes, looking accusingly from Leonard's proffered ones to Harley's top-tier acting, and then (regrettably) to the talented woman smothering a man's face with her buttocks. He blanches.] You're both absolute fiends, do you know that?

[but he's not running (yet). Probably that has more to do with the amount of alcohol they've already enjoyed together than anything else, but likely neither somewhat-reformed-villain cares too much for methodology.

Finally, he takes the money, using his free hand to cover his face.]

A pitcher, [he moans from between his fingers, staggering for the booth.] If this is how we're remembering him then one of you is buying us a pitcher, and no one else finds out about this. All right?

[not that any of them will be able to hide it, since it looks like they'll all be coughing up secondhand-glitter for the next few days after this.]

[itistolaugh]

[Harley squeals in delight and throws her arms around Rincewind's neck to plant a kiss on his cheek.]

I'll get as many pints as you want! You'll have fun, I promise! Now find a good place to watch the show and pick out your favorite gal. Ooh, I'll ask the bartender if they've got any recommendations.

[She sends him on his way with a light slap on the rear, and gives Len a warning "I'm watching you" gesture as she passes by. Do not steal anything except his dignity.]

[catchacold]

[Leonard lifts his hands in a gesture that clearly shows his utter and complete innocence, then he turns his attention to Rincewind, since Harley is apparently intent on talking to the bartender and they have a potential flight risk at their hands - even if Rincewind is possibly a bit too drunk to run very far or well, which is saying something.]

See anything you like?

[wizzardly]

[he wishes it weren't that easy, that Harley's cute squeal didn't tug at his frown or her kiss make him blush like a schoolboy. He wishes he could be a proper gargoyle for all this, instead of a tipsy wizard with two miscreant friends and a very distactable gaze.

He jumps a good three inches at the slap, sending a scandalized look after Harley's retreat before pretending it Did Not Just Happen with Leonard.]

Yes. Full drinks everywhere, and not a single one in front of me, [he grouses, his look just daring the thief to laugh at him.]

Or were you referring to the men and women buttered up like breakfast muffins in tiny underwear? [he arches a brow, his sarcasm only slightly undercut by the sway in his step.] They're the real stars of this show, you know: the underwear. Hanging on for dear life and what little dignity they've got left as proper clothing. The poor, glittery bastards.

[itistolaugh]

[Harley takes her sweet ass time getting that pitcher, because she has to stop and make friends with every dancer she passes on the way to the bar, and of course she has to be besties with the bartenders, and then make friends with every dancer on the way back. There is plenty of time for Rincewind to get a good complaining in before she comes back with a pitcher and glasses.]

Okay, Sebastian says the best lapdancer is Emilio, but he's not working here tonight, so he recommends Fantasia, Andre, Starr, or Deco. But Amber says it's got to be Crystal, Montana, or Chesty. And Romeo said he'd do a freebie if you lose the hat.

[She points out each dancer as she names them.]

So I dunno, which one is your type? Should we just go down the line or what?