Cutscene: Option 2

July 26, 2018:

Harley finds things to occupy her thoughts when Owen Mercer runs off again in the wake of a run-in with her ex-beau.



NPCs: Various Gothamites

Mentions: Boomerang


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

She reeks of hyena.

After a tense exchange with Owen, he’s gone again.

She can’t really blame him. Whatever the reasons are that he lays out, Harley Quinn is more than up to the task of adding more. The handful of days they had together were more than enough probably, and the long-awaited appearance of the Joker in Mercer’s life—what was probably an attack meant more to maim and scare than actually murder—was a straw on a burdened camel’s back.

He was honest this time, and upfront, about why he needed his space. It didn’t really help. Kept her from going on a frantic rampage into his life to shake down all of his friends in distant New York, maybe. But the desperate clinging that comes from insecurity… The begging. Those were the things that honesty couldn’t change. But her begging couldn’t change his plan. And Owen left for wherever Owen intended to go.

Quinn didn’t really have it in her to ask where, sullen and morose once her anxiety—and then her temper—died down.

The proverbial overladen camel tripped, and there was nothing she could do to change that. The damage done to its back—whether the spine was truly broken this time—is something that will only be able to be judged in the weeks still to come.

And, in the meantime, Harley reeks of hyena.

That happens, you see, when you curl up with them to sleep at night. Which is what Harley did, desperate for their comforting presence. They were warm and loved her. They would also wake if her ex-honey came to call. Somewhere around 6 or 7 am, she stopped crying and slept in a foul-smelling nest of serenely slumbering hyena.

And she slept most of the day, tucked safely in her dangerously located apartment in the Narrows of Gotham. When the Babies’ woke her, hungry and whining, she had a new job ahead of her. Morpheus’s blessing, perhaps. Therapeutic revelation, given in a dream.

She put on her clothes—red and black and playful—painted her face with her clown white, and took Bud and Lou for their constitutional.

She stopped by the butcher shop and let them eat their fill while the kid watching the counter cowered in the walk-in freezer. Then she kept walking.

She walked into a ski shop that started out by being excited for the summer shopper. …They didn’t stay excited, but she did walk out with two parkas and a pair of wooden “heritage” snowshoes from L.L. Bean. Then she walked down to that same waterfront she’s walked a hundred times before, and went into a fishing shop this time. Just like the scuba shop, it’s weird that Gotham has one with all of the pollution that plagues it. But there it is, run down and struggling financially.

There’s a similar scene there as what happened in the ski shop, with screaming and biting. With the brandishing of a pop gun and, ultimately, Harley walking out with—improbably—an ice fishing spear of all the ridiculous things. And now her arms are full and she's satisfied.

“This is the best present you boys ever gotcher mommy,” she says, lavishing praise upon her pets as she sways merrily towards the warehouse district. “Let’s go have some fun.

The clown princess’s beloved creatures cackle menacingly. “It’s a better night tonight,” she continues over them, as though just saying it and giving the wish voice can will it into being. “You wait and see, Babies.”

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