Space Invader

February 12, 2018:

Harley invades Owen's space while he's busy getting obliterated. She tries to show concern, (and guess what?) Owen is a dick about it.

Gotham Arms

Owen's sparse studio apartment at the Gotham arms. It looks like someone bought the IKEA apartment in a box starter kit and added some accessories found on the street. It's not homey, but it's relatively clean.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Amanda Waller, Poison Ivy


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Another day. Another knock on the Owen Mercer's door.

This one is soft, but insistent. A palm patting at the door. And then, there is a sharp and hissing whisper. "Mercer! 'ey, Mercer! Lemme in."

Outside, there is one Harley Quinn taking turns looking over her shoulder at her own apartment door and the one she's presently harassing. She bobs in her athletic shorts, knee high socks, and tee shirt, waits about - oh - thirty seconds or so. And then she begins the cycle anew.

Pat, pat, pat. "Mercerrrrrr."

This will continue for a long time unless stopped.


Huh? Is that knocking? Don't care.

Owen is sitting, well more like sprawling on the couch, ostensibly watching television. A endless Netflix loop of Parks & Rec is playing but he is barely able to even pay attention. He's high AF and his unfocused senses are sadly not catching the hilarity playing out on his screen.

Wait, no that IS totally knocking. Which means Harley. Fine, maybe I care.

He stands a bit unsteadily and does a speedster version of the clean of shame where you throw everything you don't want seen into a bag, closet or cabinet. The apartment itself is actually quite clean, especially considering the current state of Owen's sobriety.

Even at super speed it takes a few seconds before he gets the place what he considers presentable (ie, the drugs and his kit are put away and he has a long sleeve shirt on). The speed burst also helps get him back towards functioning as a human being. He opens the door slowly and tilts his head at Harley whispering, "Why are you whispering?"


"Because she might hear me. Let me in."

Not that she's really waiting. With a last look over her shoulder, Harley is shoving her way inside unless he actually stops her.

But it's not until the blonde, hair actually down for a change of pace, is inside — please, oh please, let her inside — that she actually starts talking. "Red's back, and she's been in a mood. I've been walkin' on eggshells so long, I'm startin' to feel like a bird." She makes a face at Owen, her mouth opening wide as she feels along the sides of her nose with her fingertips. "I'm not growin' a beak or nothin', am I? I mean, I'm kinda committed to my present schtick, yanno? It would be beyond disappointin' to have to change out all my gear because I'm suddenly down with a case of Avian."


Owen is easily pushed out of the way, though he gives amazing side-eye to Harley as she passes. He even does a full on head out the door look into the hallway to see if there is someone following or looking for her. But then he realizes Harley is talking to him, and he veeeeery quietly (because who knows?) closes the door.

When she talks, Owen narrows his eyes and leans forward, squinting at her. He lets her talk before shaking his head and saying, "I have no idea what the shit you are talking about?" It's said in a light tone, not accusing or annoyed, more bemused.

"I'm fucked up.. " In general? Yes. But also more specifically, "..right now. But, all I got was that Ivy? Poison Ivy? Is back.. and why does that make you a bird? I mean if she were gonna do something crazy, we'd be pea pod people, right? Or!" Here Owen's eyes go wide, as he suddenly remembers his mission with Ivy on the Squad, "We'd be fuckin' plant zombie people! Like…" He cautiously looks around, as if afraid she's going to hear him. His voice is a little slurred and his eyes dilated and glassy. It's obvious, especially with Harley's background that he's on something, not just drunk.

"I saw her do that once.." And then because it's Owen and he can't help himself. "It was hot! But super fucked up."


"And she'd do it to you, too, if you look at her cross-eyed," Harley tells him, prompted by a sudden twinge of …something, and her hands plant squarely on her hips as she kicks a sassy sock-wrapped heel forward and leans in, too.

And then her head tilts sideways as her pale gaze turns more squarely on Owen. Her posture straightens, and then her head tilts the other way.

Yeah, she knows a little something about that.

She doesn't care for personal space - hasn't for what feels like an eternity - and so it doesn't trouble her any to walk right up to him to get a better look. Her hand goes straight for his chin, looking to seize it and turn him down towards her to get a better look. "Whatcha' up to, toots? Better tell, else I'll use my newly revealed bird powers to… to I dunno. Roost on top of yer t.v. or somethin'."


She totally would do that to him. Owen's twisted mind somehow thinks for the briefest moment that he'd be into that. And then a tiny spark of self-preservation reminds him of what happened to Ivy's zombies. He snaps out of it with a "Right." aimed more at him, than Harley.

Owen has no issues with personal space, especially not with women. He lets her lean in, not pulling away and even smiles at her when she grabs his chin. But the sharp, flirty grin from before is replaced with a rather dull, glazed over smile. He's trying to put on the usual charm, but it's way less effective in his current state.

"I'm still not clear on why you're a bird. I don't think that's the H talkin. You are saying you're a bird. Right?"

So he slipped in not so subtley that he's using again. But his past with drugs is just one of the MANY things they don't talk about. And his deflection about the bird thing is him trying to keep that streak going. It's almost forced friendly banter, but just underneath the surface is the hard tone, reminding her that they don't talk about these kind of things. Right?


"The eggshells. Walkin' on eggshells. It was a joke." Yeah, Owen's smile definitely loses something in translation, filtered through an unshared haze. Harley's chapstick-coated lips quirk, pursing and pulling up to one side. "Eggshells. Bird. Get it?"

Yeah, she hears the tone. It usually would stop her. Her teeth bite down on her lip as she inwardly debates.

And then she opens her big trap. "Y'know it ain' gonna be so great if Satan catches ya', right?" Because, um… you should always talk about someone who matters more when leveraging threats of displeasure.


"Right! Right. The eggshells." Owen smiles and tries to force a laugh but it's awkward and dies out quickly.

There's suddenly a tension between them when she doesn't let it drop. She doesn't make a joke or go with him. He knows he's high, and normally he wouldn't have let her in just to avoid any situation like this. His smile is falling slowly as she continues to look at him. Continues to not let him off the hook.

The look in his eyes isn't anger. It's hurt, at least at first. He pulls back from her and closes his eyes, not wanting her to look at him right now. He can't be genuine or honest about his emotions, especially in an altered state. So that quickly changes to the expected backlash, he tries to literally push her away out of his personal space. It's not a rough shove, but it's physical.

"Oh screw Waller! -" There is more he wants to say on that subject. Very specific reasons why it's a twisted joke that Harley would tell Owen to worry about Waller. But he's good. He keeps his mouth shut and switches course.

"Are you really gonna give me shit for this? Really? With all your talk of -.." He doesn't want to fight with her. He doesn't want to be yelling right now. He tries to de-escalate but all he can mange is a rather pathetic, "Really?"


It's physical enough.

Hands come up, instantly defensive in Harley's surprise, although they never really do anything more than hover with curled fingers in front of her shoulders. It shows off her little manicure: red on one half, black on the others. Chipped to hell, and decorated with something in reverse at some point.

Owen's unspoken joke holds a punchline she doesn't know, and so all she does is offer a quiet reply. "'m sorry," she tells him, her brow creasing as she tips her chin and lets blonde hair slide forward to obscure her features a little. And then she tries a smile, uncertain. "I…" was worried? am worried? was hoping for something different? "…shouldn't have crashed a party fer one."

She knows enough to know there's nothing that she can say to any of those things. She backs up a step, one of her hands coming up to rub at the back of her neck. "'m sorry," she says again, just as lame as the first go round. "I'll come back another time. When yer more in the mood fer company, yeah?"


She came to him because she wanted his help. Or at least wanted to be around him. And he literally just pushed her away. Owen eyes close and he puts his hands through his hair. He lets out a ragged hard sigh.

"Harley, please.. I'm sorry."

Please what? Does he even know? He lets his hands drop and he takes a step towards her. But he isn't the charming good time guy anymore. A good amount of that shine is gone. That's another mask for another identity. And as much as he desperately wants to put it back on, to be that guy, that's just not possible.

"You can stay?"

Even Owen realizes that's not a good idea and that he doesn't really mean it. It sounds hollow and half-hearted, even to his ears. But he says it anyway, trying to undo, to back peddle. But then something rises back up. Thoughts of why he was getting high in the first place. To avoid feeling like this. To feel good. To feel good about himself, even if only for a little while. And this is the opposite of that.

"But maybe you should go.. just, call me? Later?"

Pushing her away and shutting her out is in many ways, the last thing he wants to do, but it is what he needs to do. To avoid breaking down, to hopefully salvage that fun flirty thing they had and to keep her at arm's length. It will be easier that way. In the end.


As he takes a step towards her, Quinn lifts her chin and drops her hands. Hopeful, perhaps. Expectant. But then he stops while there's still the gap between them.

Her chin drops anew, and her arms thread through themselves in another defensive posture. "Yeah," she replies in a murmur. "Of course." Her thin shoulders lift in a shrug, and she smiles brightly. Or, she tries to, anyway. It's as hollow as his invitation. "Y'can call, too, if y'need somethin', 'kay? "


"Yea.. I will." …not in anyway call you if I need help. Owen knows it's a lie and barely puts any of his usual energy into making it believable. He tries to match the smile, but it looks just as fake as it actually is.

Opening the door and seeing her back out into the hall he tries to say as little as possible. His head is still swimming and there's too much of a chance that he will open up and just let it out. So instead he sees her out and softly closes the door behind.

He's still rolling so he can't go for another hit, but he needs something after that little emotional rollercoaster, so he reaches for a drink. Sadly there is no whiskey. Not even a beer in the fridge. No, all Owen is stuck with, ironically, is the chocolate liquor from Harley at Christmas. He tries to take a drink of the super sweet liquor but knows that's not going to cut it.

Defeated he flops back down on the couch, his head resting on the back, staring at the ceiling.. and stays there until finally falling asleep some time in the wee hours.

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