An interesting explanation...

"It's as simple as this, there's nothing you need to worry about."

Curiously, you slowly turn around. And although there is a rather famous woman standing face-to-face with you, but before your eyes can take in any of the details about her, your gaze is transfixed by the massively oversized meat cleaver being hefted right over your head, like an executioner's axe poised to split your head (if not your whole body) in half with a single swing. Your heart turns to ice in your chest and your nerve fails you. Unable to call upon your impressive speed and reflexes you can do nothing but emit a long, drawn out gasp and wait for the deathblow to come... which it does.

There's a sound like somebody dropping a set of keys. Slowly you open your eyes again and your mind stops racing long enough to realize that maybe you aren't about to fall in half a split second later like a cartoon character and that the blow was aimed at your handcuffs. Sure enough, looking down, you see a small pile of metal fragments in between two sets of polished black knee-high boots - one of which is yours, and the other which is filled by the palest set of legs you've ever seen. Being of Irish ancestry you are pretty 'white' yourself and don't tan well. But as you raise your eyes and get a better look at the superheroine in front of you, you can be quite sure that the grey-tinged, chalky pallor of her skin isn't natural, not even for a person with albinism. Furthermore, instead of just breaking the chain, it seemed that the handcuffs shattered completely on impact... whoever this lady was, she was not normal.

The woman before you wore a tight black bodysuit that ran from her neck down to her ankles with a purple dress in the 'gothic lolita' style over it. Aside from the oversized weapon she'd just menaced you with, her most noteworthy feature was the pair of small black wings emerging from her back. A small concession to identity secrecy was a large black mask that covered her eyes and forehead and extended a little over her nose, giving a vaguely avian cast to her face (that being a motif you have a lot of practice working into costume designs, yourself). Belatedly, recognition comes to you. This must be Raven Woman.

"I'm guessing they were on you as a result of some kind of bondage play over there in the vehicle? Mmm. Not surprising the cops in this city would forget how to use a key. Hmf. Although it is also a failure by the League if nobody's informed you yet about the Spinoff Program. " the strange woman mutters.

"Anyway it would be nice if you didn't draw undue attention to our latest contractors. If you recognize them from a wanted poster or heist or something, just..." she shrugs apathetically. "Disregard it. The League has it all under control, like we always do. Totally. Captured bad guys are kind of necessary to have all of Acropolis City's possible needs covered." R.W. huffs and rolls her eyes. "Be honest, how many escapes have you heard of occurring in the past year at superhuman prisons? That was a rhetorical question, you don't need to answer."

"But-" you try to demand of her, but she just shakes her head condescendingly.

"No, it's cool, trust me. I have a signed set of court documents with 'Its cool' written on them by a panel of judges. I'm not exaggerating." she says, virtually all of her words a deadpan. "A certain little friend of mine puts tracking devices in them. Since these three will come and go from time to time you should get used to them, as a security guard or whatever else. Hang out and enjoy the speeches and the festival. Uh. If that's your kind of thing. Festivals I mean. Or homosexuality. Whichever."

Suddenly, an elaborate cuckoo clock appears in midair next to Raven Woman's head, seemingly floating attatched to nothing and formed in a puff of smoke. It chimes four times and a carved ebony raven comes out of the door atop it before saying 'Nevermore!' four times in a row. "Oh." R.W. says, dismissing the (apparently magical?) clock into a puff of dark smoke with a wave of her hand. "I have to go pick someone else up actually. Nice meeting you, uh, Drakeson. Don't let anyone else put cuffs on you. It's a moral lesson - my publicist said I need to cite more of those, or something." With a jaded sigh, she spreads her wings and takes flight, the giant cleaver dangling from a hook on her belt as if it weighed nothing.

Although she hardly gave you a chance to get a word in edgewise, you have to admit to yourself that you were largely just struck dumb by being in the presence of one of the big-leaguers. Like the others she clearly has some rough edges. If only you still had your costume - you would feel much more entitled to demand a better explanation for this supposed program. Now she's flying off and leaving this trio of siblings in crime standing around unsupervised?

Just as you turn back towards the ex-Full House, you see them whispering among one another and pointing at you. You are damn tempted to just confront them outright and let them know that you are (or were, sigh) Nightingale, assuming they don't recognize you or connect the dots.

"So," you say, clenching your fists but trying to remain outwardly calm, "I hear that you three are out early because you're being allowed to work for the superheroes now. What exactly ARE these incredible superpowers of yours that make up for whatever havoc you caused up until now?"

"Well," the rail-thin, hook-nosed woman you knew only as 10 of Spades says with deadpan nonchalance, "I for one have the mysterious power of whore-dar. It functions similarly to radar, except for cum-drenched sluts. Watch this:" she holds a finger up in your direction and imitates an electronic sound with her mouth. "BING! See? Works just like that."

"You aren't kidding," Club says with a snort, circling around behind you. "Look, it's dripping down the back side of her thighs. What a slovenly bitch."

"Wow! Who knew?" Diamond said with a gee-whiz tone of voice. "I guess the League of Propriety has a program for hiring sex addicts! That's so responsible of them, don't you think?"

You cross your arms and give all of them a withering glare. "From what I've heard about you three I wouldn't even compare, in that department. A friend of a friend told me that you like to engage in incestuous sadomasochistic orgies. As it so happens, I would like to know a little more about the recent circumstances that led you to be converted, or contracted, or whatever it was. Something that would be better for both of us if discussed privately."

Club smirks scornfully. "I think she's coming onto you, sis." he says acidly to Spade.

"Well - either that, or the reason she was in cuffs in the first place was impersonating a cop!" Spade gives you an arrogant sidelong glance. "Forgotten what she has the authority to do, looks like. How are you going to convince us to go anywhere with you, Miss Rent-a-cop?"

"Oh, I bet I know!" Diamond raises her hand. "Scan her with your whore-dar again, Spadie."

The skinny girl does so, pointing at you again. "Ping! Ping! Ping! Yes, in my opinion if we go anywhere with her the odds are extremely good that she'll want to fuck all of us for whatever information she's talking about. Or just on principle."

Cringing with indignation, you weigh your options. It seems like these three don't intend to cooperate at all. The prudent thing to do would probably be to just walk away. But that doesn't feel satisfying. Perhaps... if you get them into trouble somehow it would give you an opening to inquire more into this 'Spinoff' thing Raven Woman mentioned. It feels relevant somehow, though you can't immediately put your finger on why.

Given how obnoxious they are perhaps you could artificially create some tensions between them and those horrible cops back in the patrol car molesting Jane. Although there's also still that little family-inhibition-altering ditty you learned from Gloomy Sunday, if you feel especially vindictive.