Cat Fight!


adelaide_icon.gif peyton_icon.gif stef_icon.gif wendy_icon.gif

Scene Title Cat Fight!
Synopsis A fun night of dancing and drinking leads to a brawl among two super-powered women while Peyton, Wendy and Adelaide try to stay out of the way.
Date July 26, 2009


The pulsing beat of bass throbs through the walls of Rapture, a high-class nightclub in the heart of Harlem. Rows of expensive cars line up out front of the exclusive club and a crowd of would-be patrons wait outside, cherry-picked by the bouncers to have only the cream of the crop on the interior, while leaving just enough eye-candy outside to entice other patrons. The club serves as a respite for the trendy and the influential from the grind of daily life.

On the inside, Rapture is as much a spectacle as it is a structure. Multiple dance floors in tiered balconies overlooking an enormous central dance floor ringed by plush leather-upholstered booths. Pale blue light shines on the wrap-around bar that curved around the back of the establishment, and the entire building is filled floor-to-floor and shoulder-to-shoulder with the pulsing, flowing sea of people dancing to the rythmic beats of electronic dance music piped through the expansive sound-system.

Ah, it's nice to be one of the pretty people. There's a line wrapped halfway around the building just to show your ID to the bouncer at Rapture, but Peyton gets in quickly. It helps to be known. She isn't even a part of an entourage tonight, which is her usual M.O. Pleased that she's made her way in on her own merit, the young woman stows her ID card (fake of course) back in her bra (metallic purple) and makes her way through the crowded club. Dark eyes skim the wall-to-wall people and she decides drinks first. She has her priorities straight.

She veers to one of the bars, half walking, half dancing as she goes. The short black skirt she wears barely covers anything, and the black mesh top only covers that metallic purple bra.

At the bar, she wriggles her way to find an empty barstool between two men. She doesn't order yet — why pay for your own drinks? But simply bounces her head to the music.

There's hearty laughter that makes it's way above the music as a tall, gangly woman with black hair and eyes that are slightly goldfishy leans against the bar, one of the guys giving his spot up. Up on her toes - even though she's already tall enough - and taps the bar. "Another Midori please!" Called out. Wendy's laughter rolls up again, grabbing a cigarette pack from her clutch and lighting up. She looks over to Peyton, eyes narrowing just a fraction before the pack comes out and over "Smoke?"

Damn it. Half her chance for a free drink just walked away! The other looks, well, gay. So much for that. Peyton gives a shake of her head. "I don't smoke, but thanks," she says, with a smile. "Merry Widow?" she asks the bartender before turning and looking at Wendy in an appraising manner. She gives a nod. Apparently whatever the test was, Wendy passed. "Hey."
Wendy screams money too. Maybe not the prettiest girl in the room, but her looks have some allure. "I'm Wendy, you're?" It's niggling on her. She knows this girl. Wendy blows a plume of smoke out and up, away from Peyton, transferring the smoke to another hand and offers her free hand for shaking before she tosses to the bartender "her tabs on me!"

"Thanks!" Peyton bubbles, when the drink is paid for from the surprising source. She takes the hand, her own hand rather perfectly manicured with a sapphire and platinum ring adoring one dainty finger. "Peyton," she says simply enough. "Wendy, that's a great name. I always loved Peter Pan when I was a kid. I used to drive my nanny nuts telling her I wished she were a Newfoundland. She didn't like that so much."

"Beeeeen there, doone that. I had the dog named Nana" Wendy goes a little distant at the hand touch, then takes it back. "Peyton. Peyton Whitney!" Now she knows it. The bartender serves up the drinks and the taller of the two looks around, writhing her hips in time to the music. "You're alone. No group?"

A couple of people glance over at the announced name and Peyton smiles like the little diva she can be. "Cute. A dog named Nana. Did you have a brother named Michael and … what's the other one… James? No, John! too?" she says with a smirk. "I never had a pet. I'd probably kill one on accident if I did now." She takes the very vibrantly red drink from the bartender and lifts it in a toast to Wendy. "All alone tonight, yeah. It happens." The most recent "BFF" is off shooting a movie while the last boyfriend is back on the road playing baseball.

"John, Henry, Andrew, and my Dad's name was Peter. Sooo…" Make your own conclusion from that. "I'm the youngest. Wendy Hunter. Hunter Communications. You can hang with me if i'm not too unfashionable to be seen with" Her own bright green drink served up and the speared cherry is plucked up and she eases it off the skewere with her teeth in a manner that makes the guy behind Peyton lick his lips.

"Ah, so close. No Michael, but Peter for a dad. That's actually kind of disturbing," says Peyton with a grin. "You're hardly unfashionable, and I'm not that worried what people think of me. I mean… I'd never shop in Wal Mart or go to a Monster Truck Rally but I'm not a snob." Okay, maybe she is, but her standards aren't unreachable. She picks up her own cherry and pops it into her mouth, sucking on it lightly. "So do you work, or …?" Or, are you like her — useless and pretty?

"i'm an artist. I also have a seat on the board of Hunters" Wendy in a red number that flatters her lanky gangkly body, Peyton beside her. There'a few men who are making eyes at them. Those are honest to god laboutins on her feet. "and right now, I feel like dancing. Once I finish this drink" THe midori is sucked back, a couple of gulps before the glass and the ice remaining in it is slid back onto the bar top towards the bartender.

"Sounds like a plan." And Peyton knocks back her entire drink in one swallow, getting a cheer from the closest male. Who doesn't like a girl who can swallow like that? She puts the glass down and grins at Wendy. "I'll get next round. Come on." She's off the bar stool, grabbing Wendy's hand and heading toward the main dance floor. She turns her body this way and that between the smallest of spaces, but people seem to make way for her and Wendy. She has that kind of charisma that screams 'Get out of my way or I'll step on you in my stilettos, like a little bug.'

There are people on the dance floor. And one of the people dances in a tight leathery-looking black dress that only just covers the important parts. Black hair, pale skin, tattoos standing out. The woman doesn't quite fit into a high society, but she fits right into the clubbing. One moment Gillian's dancing with one random man, the next she's siddling up to another, not even paying attention to the fact they might have dance partners. Her black heels are not designer brands, but they seem to get the job done. There's just enough fear and anxiety in the room to increase her vigor. Always going to be someone worried about the little things in a public place, and the little things are enough to get adrenaline pumping, even if not enough for much else.

No fear from Wendy, or it seems Peyton. But the woman writhing on the dance floor has had Wendy's attention for a bit. Seems to even be the source of her reason for wanting to dance. So when she and Peyton make it to the floor, her red soled shoes guide them during thier dancing, towards Gillian. Hips shake left, brush against male and female alike with very little care and letting the music in the room glide over there. 3 evo's in the room means she's not suffering from a screwed up attention span. One of those brushes up is against gillian as she laughs with Peyton. Purposeful. The sensation from Gillian one that she's never… really.. felt before.

Peyton's oblivious. But then, that's often the case. The alcohol isn't enough to give her a buzz, not to her tolerant body— however light she is, she's not a lightweight. But it does give a warm flush to her cheeks as she moves about, very aware of the effect the thigh high stockings, and the inch or so of flesh between them and her short skirt, has on the various men around them. She lifts her arms, pulling her long hair up off her neck, as she shimmies, first against some stranger and then with a wink to him, against Wendy. The three darkhaired women soon have a circle of admirers around them, and whoever is working the lights shines the spotlight on the trio.

When the two women get closer, Gillian moves in to dance with them. They don't give her anything, but there's a few people still close enough who give just enough to keep her heart pumping, so she moves with it, unaware of anything beyond the music, and the movements. A smile brings dimples to her cheek, but the smile carries secrets and mischeviousness, rather than something sweet and dimpled. One young man smelling of fear for some reason gets plucked out of the admirers and pulled closer for a moment, leaning up against his neck as she breaths in. Much better than any cologne.

Gilly shouldn't have done it. Nope. She shouldn't have. That man, had a woman and there's a pissed look on that womans face when her man is usurped by Gillian. Wendy just laughs, it IS par for the course in rapture. The women always get absconded by the owner when he cycles through, turn about IS fair play. Wendy just dances to the loud thumping music, the kind you expect that makes a person sweat and afterwards when you leave, a faint buzz in the ear. Her own hip slides against another guys and then bumps Gillian - on purpose - before she gives a shimmy against Peyton if only to give the folks around thema thrill.

Peyton's faux celebrity isn't for naught. "That's Peyton Whatshername, isn't it?" one guy says to another. Peyton could have gone without the "Whatshername," but she laughs a bit and turns toward the man Gillian is moving against, moving behind him to dance suggestively for a moment before spinning away with a merry laugh and bumping hips with Wendy.

"Douglas!" shouts the girlfriend angrily, her eyes narrowing as she stares at her entranced boyfriend. Was that a shake of the ground? Probably just the bass. It's not like this earthquake territory.

High Class. Night Club. Two words that for Adelaide usually aren't in the same sentence. But as the music pumps through speakers she's almost intoxicated by the sound. She's not drunk, but its clear she's freer with the music drowning out her cares for the moment.

With her hands moving to the man's shirt as she dances against him, Gillian smiles and leans in again to press his nose against his shoulder, ignoring the tremors as the shaking in her arms and body. His anxiety has shifted around, toward another kind of fear, but she doesn't seem to care about that. It all smells good to her— though terror smells better. Leaning up against his ear, she whispers huskily about how good he smells, before she settles back onto her heels again. Enfuriated girlfriend? She doesn't even seem to recognize it, too caught up in the music, the dancing, and the smell of the man she plucked out of the admirers, though she does reach around him and touch the arm of the Whatshername that joined her, and even intentionally backing up against Wendy. Faux lesbian dances are often winners.

"Relax girly! You'll get your man back" Wendy yells over the music towards the upset woman even as she writhers her body down and then up Gillian's back. Wendy's tall in heels easily topping 6 feet. Everyones on the dance floor, spotlight on them. There's a wave of pressure though, at Wendy's words, and it causes the taller of the trio to reach out and touch the woman, quickly, as if it's part of some dance. "Fuck. Telekinetic" Now, now there's a trickle of fear coming off Wendy, not enough to make her stop dancing and turn that shimmy on to Peyton.

"Tele-wha? Like Carrie?" Peyton echoes, turning to look with wide brown eyes at the woman and then glancing at Gillian, who doesn't seem to worry about the "other woman" who is now beginning to cry. Suddenly, a martini glass flies out of the hands of one of the men watching the trio, wizzing past Wendy's cheek and crashing somewhere on the dance floor beyond them. "Shit, like Carrie!" Peyton yelps. There's fear in her voice now.

Adelaide blinks. The Word :Carrie, cuts her dancing short just loud enough of the loud speaker to make her wonder. She thought about the name, then the movie and sort of just kept dancing though on the sound of the glass breaking focuses her attention.

The increase in fear brings Gillian's eyes up, and she glances at the hand against her, then the taller woman it belongs to. Telekinetic? A glass flying nearby actually increases her smile— it's the smell that's making her feel good. Other people's fear, her strength. If it wasn't for Wendy paying attention, she may not have even noticed the cause. "Well, fuck, if you want him that bad, all you had to do is join in," she says loud enough, even laughing huskily as she rather bravely (or dumbly?) walks over to the crying woman as if to drag her in to do just that.

Adelaide turns. She's not exactly what's going on, but she does move a little bit.. "Gilly?" she asks just kind of surprised that the woman is there when not too long ago she looked flustered- was this Gilly when she was drunk? She raised an eyebrow and danced her way through the crowd.

"I don't share" Gillian's smacked backwards, in fact everyone in front of the woman in a cone area, is knocked back, including Douglas who suddenly looks like he wishes the floor would open up and take him. jealous girlfriend. For. The. Win. Wendy goes back, ass over tea kettle in her teetering heels and looks over her hip from her spot on the floor, suddenly really worried. Security is being screamed for. "He's mine Bitch" There's another incoming wave of TK, one can feel it building.

Adelaide doesn't liket he look of this. The TK was enough of a warning bell. It felt like a wave had washed over her, shoved her back and all Adelaide could do was tense. Like she'd been preparing for a smack. She wobbled a bit though blinking as someone 's form touched her own. "Sorry…" she breathed.

Peyton squeals as she flies back, landing on her ass in a very non-ladylike way. "Fuck, back off the bitch's man already!" she screams at Gillian. Good advice, but the tone is frantic and definitely not even-keeled. Not to mention said bitch is not amused at being called a bitch and suddenly the glass in the lightbulbs above shatter down on those in the center of the dance floor. Peyton shrieks again, along with most of the club goers who are finally figuring out what's going on.

Gilly just got knocked backwards, a few quick steps to avoid getting knocked down on her butt. The poor woman on the dancefloor who knows her name isn't recognized, despite having met her only hours ago. The tight black leathery dress shows off much of her tattoos, ones that hadn't been visible in the part. On her legs, on her arms, even a chinese dragon peeks out over the edge of her dress on her right breast. "You really shouldn't have done that," she addresses the telekinetic, looking a little too pleased with the situation to be sane (or sober). Peyton's yell catches her attention, breaking through the haze of adrenaline, and she reaches over and grabs the poor man who wishes to fall into the floor. "You want him so bad? He's yours." With a motion of her arm, she could just be gesturing him toward the woman. But even if the motion itself shouldn't have much effect, the strength behind it is enough to actually send him flying at the woman.

The woman cries out as the man gets thrown at him, and suddenly he's thrown upward — by an invisible force — until he's moved to one of the upper balconies. Apparently she wants him out of the way for now. "Oh, strong woman, are you?" the telekinetic asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a haughty grin. Security surrounds the group but the men look uncertain about how to handle it all. Suddenly, the night stick from one of the men's belt comes lose as if by an invisible hand and begins to rush full force at Gillian.

Holy shit. Super strength. Wendy scrabbles backwards, brushing against adelaide as she does and her eyes focus elsewhere for a moment. It's enough to make her stare at Adelaide before she yanks her hand back like she's been burned and digs through her clutch - it's chain wrapped around her wrist - and get out her cellphone to dial 911. "fuck fuck fuck, god. Just wanted some fucking fun"

"911 Emergency."

"There's a fucking Telekinetic who's beating on someone with super strength at Rapture!" Wendy bellows into the phone. "Send a fuckign ambulance!"

Adelaide doesn't liket he look of this. The TK was enough of a warning bell. It felt like a wave had washed over her, shoved her back and all Adelaide could do was tense. Like she'd been preparing for a smack. She wobbled a bit though blinking as someone 's form touched her own. "Sorry…" she breathed. The shattering light bulbs over head make her blink. "Carrie indeed." she snaps. She reaches out to help the other fall woman,Wendy to her feet. She watches the two women umm fight. "Wow 'My Super X-Girfriend' meets my new girlfriend…" she mutters. She moves out of the way trying to give them women space and herself time to think.

A few days ago, Gillian could have turned the woman inside out with barely a blink. Not that she would have, honestly, but that's beside the point. A hand goes up to grab at the night stick, trying to intercept it, but while she grabs onto it it still manages to smack her in the face, causing blood to gather at her lip. A lip still curled into a smile. "You got your fucking man, you really want to get dragged off to the cops?" she asks, the same smirk, before she grabs one of the security guards and tosses him at her too, then attempts to run through the hole. It seems her answer to that question is: no. She doesn't want to get dragged off. No stupid man is worth this. No matter how good he smelled.

Peyton's grabbing on to some random guy — well, okay, the nearest hot random guy, to get up to her feet, clinging to him and hiding behind him as she peers over his shoulder. She's wide-eyed and trembling.

The crazy telekinetic woman yells "Bitch!" after Gillian, and various things fall in Gillian's path as she tries to make her escape — broken glasses, a speaker, but finally the telekinetic collapses, her power clearly having reached its limits. She sobs on her knees, then finally looks up through mascara-blurred eyes to see her boyfriend fleeing the scene.

"I don't care how long it takes… oh great, now they're fleeing, the super strength chick! The TK wielding psycho hosebeast is on the floor bawling about her boyfriend she just went all carrie on" Wendy angrily punches the phone off as Adelaide grabs onto her and the faraway look is back, with a vengence. "Oh god.. you need to let go of me…" As her own ability kicks in. Nothing like feeling like your brain and memories are flip flopping. "Please" Wendy croaks out, nicely as possible.

She moves, Adelaide's nearly trappled by the the press of the crowd and the psycho psychi but well abilities turn on. For Adelaide she's sort of left in the dark. She didn't like this… She looked left and right. Nothing yet… it didn't take this long did it? Usually?

Things explode behind her, but Gillian doesn't slow, shoving a few people doen as she goes. It'd take more than that to stop her, it seems, and her strength applies to her legs, helping her move quickly— though it's ruining her shoes, and even her dress. Rips in the seam of the skirt section appear as she makes it out to the street. She's not stopping til she's clear of any kind of siren, that's for sure. Good thing kept all her personal belongings to a minimum so they could be stuffed into her bra when she danced. Yup, the super strength woman is fleeing the scene.

Adelaide's got a memory incoming as Wendy starts to pull away. It's Wendy, a different Wendy, being yelled at by someone who looks like her. Something about abusing the drugs. There's a half made sculpture welded together behind the thinner, lankier woman as she seems to shrink inwards before the man. The tell tale signs of someone with a history of drugs on her face. It cuts away in mid yelling, disappearing from Adelaide and Wendy is trying to push her way through the crowd and head for a back exit.

There are sirens indeed, and security is turning on the main lights, music is turned off, people are getting shooed. It's almost curfew anyway. "Well, that was exciting. I never got to buy you the second round," Peyton turns to say to Wendy — but Wendy's gone. She gives Adelaide an odd glance. What did the woman do that freaked out her new friend? "Man. It's too early to call it a night," she mutters, and out comes her cell phone, a bright pink and blinged-out thing that she flips open on the way out.

"Any parties going on?" she shouts into the phone to be heard as she makes for the exit.

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