The New and Improved Gotham Tourism Department

March 01, 2018:

The newly minted Gotham Tourism Department sets about re-writing Gotham billboards to more accurately represent the true appeal of Gotham City.

Gotham City - East End


NPCs: None.

Mentions: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's a mission of the utmost importance. For this desperate and sensitive effort, Harley Quinn and Owen Mercer will need to use all of their collective wits and skills.

For the occasion, Quinn hasof coursedressed the part. She's dressed in a shirt that she's clearly sewn together from two separate ones, one red and one black, a pair of raggedy black jeans with diamonds sewn on, and chunky mismatched high-top shoes.

She also has a pair of aviator goggles on, and an enormous backpack on. Because… IMPORTANT, VITAL MISSION.

And she's presently dragging Owen down the street by the hand, laughing like a maniac.

Nothing can go wrong here.


The nights for Owen have been rugged lately. If he's not staying over at Harley's he hasn't been sleeping. He would never admit it out-loud to her but he is still shaken up from being abducted from his bed and experimented on by Zoom. So his nights have involved popping pills and trying to keep himself busy with side projects. Some of those include surveillance on gangs or watching Alice Walker, the woman who seemed to be helping Zoom against her will. Without a regular job to keep him to a schedule, Owen has been all over the map in terms of sleeping in the day at his place, crashing at Harley's occasionally or just chemically forgoing sleep altogether.

What he needs is a good distraction. At least in his mind.

And as if right on cue, he gets a text telling him to suit for adventure. And suit up he does. In his non-Captain Boomerang gear though. It's mostly just a black leather jacket, domino mask and in this case a matching backpack.

Not everyone finds Harley's laugh infectious, but Owen certainly does. He laughs, though more sensibly, along as she drags him forward.

"Have we even established what the ground rules for rooftop full contact flaming tequila shot hopscotch look like?"

Every time he discusses this idea a few more modifiers get added to the name. He thinks it started as just hopscotch, but that was a while ago now and kind of a hazy memory.

"Or did you have other nefarious plans for me in mind?"


"I have so many plans fer ya, Mercer," Quinn tells him as she roughly tugs him into an alleyway. But as to what those plans are? She's not immediately telling him.

She turns to face him, pulling him deeper and deeper in as she practically dances backwards, eyes alight with mischief. Assuming he keeps coming in behind her, she'll lift her free hand to run along his cheek and lean her deathly pale face up and in to steal a kiss. "But we all gotta start somewhere."


As usual Owen is always game, she pulls him into an alley, sure let's do that. And of course he's not going to complain about being kissed. He bites the air after her kiss in a hopefully cute flirty way, not weird air-biting way and laughs at her ominous warning.

"Oh really? How many of these plans would classify as naughty. Roughly."

As she continues to lead him he tries to get a clue of exactly what she has in mind. He's not worried yet per say, but it has at least crossed his mind that he would prefer if her plans didn't involve murdering too many people. Or at least not possibly innocent looking ones. He's really trying to cut back on that. Kind of.


Harley's smile is gigawatt bright as she snaps her teeth loudly back at Boomerang. Yeah, it's cute. She definitely thinks its cute.

"Roughly? All of 'em. You know, cuz ya gotta round up in the math."

Dropping his hand once they're deep inside the tight space, which doesn't smell particularly pleasant, Quinn arches her shoulders back to shuffle off her back back and drop it to the ground with more than a little care. She crouches, knees splayed protectively around it. "But ya can just think of this as foreplay if ya want."

She lifts the flap on the satchel, tugs on a string, and then her tongue snakes out of her mouth and curls over her lip and to one side. "Now close yer eyes, loverboy."


See? Now a smarter man wouldn't be doing this. Granted many men are idiots when it comes to women, but Owen's bad decision making extends to nearly all aspects of his life, not just with girls. And that is how he finds himself in a cramped, horribly smelling ally with Harley Quinn, with his eyes closed.

But on the plus side. He hasn't thought once about getting high. Or getting abducted. Or losing his powers. Or letting certain people back in New York down. See? His plan is kind of working. Unless she murders him in this alley. But that probably won't happen. Probably.

"Math is tricksy like that. All rounding and dividing and then *wham* it's beating you up and taking your lunch money."


"Math is the worst," says the gal who, in her former life, had to survive advanced stats. Now, it's canister trajectories for her pop gun, and less math than art.

Speaking of art…

Owen will hear Harley as she shuffles something out of her bag. As her feet grind against the asphalt when she stands up.

The sweetness of artificial grape chapstick that returns with a vengeance as she closes in and plops something hard, but cushioned, down on Owen's head. A military surplus helmet painted black with a stencil spray painted on the back: 'Gotham Tourism Dept'.

"PERFECT!" she squeals, voice shrill as she claps giddily.


*Clunk* Hmm, Owen was not expecting a hat? Or .. helmet? He opens one eye cautiously and asks, "Can I open them yet..?" Of course he's cheating by having one open.

He takes off the helmet briefly to see what is written and throws his head back with a loud laugh when he reads. "Oh goodness. It is on girl!"

He slides off his bag and says apologetically, "I didn't bring you anything! I mean except glittery spray paint and a bottle of tequila. But this.." He taps the side of the helmet with a *tink* *tink* "Is probably my favorite thing ever."


Carefully sliding her aviator goggles into place over her eyes, Quinn pulls out a second helmet and squarely drops it on her own blonde head.

For the record, she looks patently ridiculous, but she solemnly fastens the chin strap and tightens it into place. "We couldn't start workin' 'til we were official. Now?" She reaches into her bag and then pulls out what looks like spelunking gear and two cans of neon spray paint. She shakes the cans menacingly until their little metal balls are rattling around freely inside. Her eyebrows waggle and bounce over the goggles. "We're official, B."


Seriously, there is no reason to find her outfit anything other than ridiculous, but then she calls him B and Owen gets that stupid smile of a man enamored on his face. Taking his cue from her that now the game can begin, he explains.

"Ok, ground rules. First one to the roof, no speed powers allowed, gets to go first. Second, only tasteful levels of nudity and Batman rape jokes."

Because it's Owen and tasteful is not really in his wheelhouse. But making jokes at the Bat family's expense? That is something both Harley and Owen are masters of. Granted, it's not as funny on a billboard. But still hilarious to say.

As he's saying the rules, he's obviously cheating by jumping and catching the nearest fire escape ladder and pulling down. Climbing the ladder he shouts, "Three! You take a shot for every jump between roofs!" Because what is rooftop hopscotch without shots. "And it is full contact so no holds-barred, just no weaponry against your opponent!"

It's good to have rules. It brings a modicum of order to the chaos that is Owen and Harley.


"Four!" Harley continues without missing a beat, can-wielding hands spreading wide as she kicks a foot out and tilts her head. Owen smiles at her, and it only fuels her on. "Last one to the roof gets to pick the last target AND gets first choice of making' good on the the roughly part of the roughly all my plans." That way the fun is evenly distributed.

"Otherwise?" Quinn nods and smugly smirks. "Yer on, Mercer."

This is precisely what they need. To get back to basics. Chaos and not thinking about things too much. They're better when they're looking out, rather than looking in. It'll just be better for everyone. He's happy, and thus - for the moment - so is she.


"Oh hell yes four!"

Owen readily agrees to the addition to his rules, because much like Calvin-ball half the fun of full contact flaming shot tequila rooftop hopscotch is in the coming up with the rules of the game. And apparently they are flaming shots now. Owen makes it to the roof first, because of his cheater's head start and sets his sights on a big beautiful Wayne Towers billboard. His plan for adding a giant neon sparkly squirrel having it's way with the tower along with the tag-line 'Go Gotham! Go Nucking Futs!' is on now.

But first, there are rules to be followed. He pulls out the bottle of tequila and pours two shots before lighting them on fire. He waits for Harley before raising his shot glass.

"A toast! To the new and improved Gotham Tourism Department! Because our crazy city deserves ads that reflect it's inner crazy bug fuck nature!"

Thus begins a long night of tagging billboards and drunkenly jumping between buildings in downtown Gotham, or as Harley and Owen would call it:
Another Thursday.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License