A Kick In The Teeth Is Good For Some || Joker and Harley

He hadn’t brought any of her things. If she wanted her possessions back so badly, she’d just have to get in his car and hope for the best. It had unnerved him slightly to discover just how many things she’d snuck into their little hidey-hole. It wasn’t enough for her to simply take up space, no, no…she had to encroach on everything that was his with everything that was hers. His things didn’t take up much space, when it came down to it the items he owned were primarily knives and garish pieces of clothing. But he liked open space, the product of being caged his whole life, need space to roam and prowl. She was wise enough not to intrude unless invited, most of the time. He wasn’t even sure he wanted this.

The constant nattering about things that weren’t interesting, as if he was some sort of treasure chest in which she could store her anecdotes concerning trivial encounters with trivial people, general gossip. The only thing that interested him were the secrets she still dropped, let shatter like plates at his feet, rather than spilled. She seemed to be running low on them though, and had grown increasingly reluctant to hide information from him. He didn’t take well to being mislead.

But for some reason, here he was, standing at the foot of the same goddamn warehouse waiting on the same goddamn person. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he’d done what he’d done. He couldn’t remember what they’d been fighting about, only that he’d had a headache that day, wanted her to shut up. He might have hit her, she might have hit him back. He’d certainly had a good grip on her as he started pulling her towards the window, while she clawed and kicked and screamed. But she’d had no leverage, nothing to hold onto. He was the only counterweight available and it had been so easy to scoop her up, a little rag-doll in his arms and throw her out the window. There had been a gaping hole in the window too, he hadn’t even had to open it. He remembered the shriek, higher and more filled with more girlish terror than he’d ever heard her make before and then the thud that made his shoulder’s hunch in a most pleasant way. He’d walked down the stairs, out the door, walked right past her broken body as he departed. He hadn’t noticed she was still alive.

Yet here she was, swinging back towards him like a pendulum. She just couldn’t stop her momentum. You’d think she’d get bored—though, he wasn’t exactly prone to mundane patterns. But she was hardly the central priority in his life, she was constantly shunted to the side, neglected for long periods until he remembered that she was fun to string along like a kite that kept getting stuck in trees. He wasn’t particularly interested in a lot of the things she wanted him to be—sometimes they had sex, most times they didn’t, sometimes he’d tolerate her conversation, sometimes he’d slam the door in her face. He spent a lot of time cooped up with newspapers, reading voraciously, everything from stocks to sports to gossip columns. He found inspiration in the oddest places, and sometimes he would just pen notes to himself all over the paper he was reading. Sometimes they were to-do lists, sometimes random thoughts or hastily scribbled—so fast and pressed that the spidery writing almost ripped the page in places—notes to himself, flashes of genius that were often so illegible he couldn’t even read them later. Sometimes he just wrote one word over and over again: Ha ha ha ha…

He stamped his feet against the wind, grinding his heel into a cigarette butt left on the road. He looked up, the sound of boot soles on gravel pulling him from his reverie. She’d come, and she’d come on time. There was no pretense of keeping him waiting. He watched as she walked closer, she looked thin, frail, a waif—the Arkham crash diet was still in effect—let his eyes settle on her, his arrogant gaze travelling from feet to head with the single thought of possession. He was perfectly content to wait her out, make her say the first word. He wondered if she was ready for the second round, they’d been out, apart for a while, but he always slipped so easily back into the game.

Reality is Merely an Illusion || Harley & Andromeda (Flashback)

Arkham was full of mysteries. Andromeda hated mysteries. That was why she wanted to leave so bad.

“Will I get re-assigned again?” Andromeda asked impatiently.

“Yes, you should go to Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Maybe she would like to help you.”

The blonde took the card that was shoved in her face. She skimmed through it with a disgusted look on her face. Her name was scribbled there. Radke, Andromeda. She could only make out a few things on the card for the guy’s handwriting was terrible. It looked more like hieroglyphics rather than a human’s handwriting. Was it some sort of code that the employees were using?

It was already 2 weeks into her time in Arkham. She already detest the place immensely within 1 hour she had entered it. She hated the feeling of being sent there; it felt as if her father thought she was mad, like every other people in this Asylum. She was never like that, but her father convinced her she was. Each night, she told herself that she wasn’t crazy. She was still normal. Her father was the delirious one.

Don’t be affected by the treatment they give you here. That was her mantra. She would chant it to herself before she lie down on the cold bed. If she wasn’t affected then her father would know what waste he had done by sending her here. She had no problem watching all of the fights, though. She actually enjoyed it.

However, there is this guy called the Joker. Nobody dared talk about him. The people only said he was a very dangerous guy, that nobody should come near him. That was the only time Andromeda would agree with the people. Whoever made the loony people scared here would mean he/she were not people to trifle with. She was actually scared of this guy.

She walked towards the room assigned by the man previously. On the door hung the name she was assigned to go to. At least, the doctor she was going to was a lady. It wouldn’t be hard to talk to her. Girls have this connection, right? It should be a breeze trying to talk to this chick.

“Good luck, Andromeda,” she told herself as she began knocking on the door. “Dr. Quinzel?”

Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship {Flashback} | Harley & Ivy

“Hey, Lily, what'cha doing still here? Don’t cha have someone waiting for ya at home?” Matt, an average-looking security guard, smiled and waved at the undercover scientist. Pamela quite liked Matt; he was a decent bloke, if not a little dim. He was committed to upholding the law, but he wasn’t just some foolish young man trying to promote justice. He had his heart in the right place- an increasing rarity nowadays. 

“Sorry Matt, gotta get back to work. Chilton wants the latest samples sorted through and finalised completely by tomorrow morning, y'know, for the new Natural America exhibition?” She lied smoothly. Dr. Isley smiled apologetically, plucking a clipboard from her temporary desk and slipping into a familiar lab coat. She almost felt bad for what she was about to do. Almost. 

“I probably won’t be done for a while…” She hesitated for a second, pretending to consider something. “You know what? How about you give me the keys to the laboratory and you take the night off? You can lock up the rest of the place, just leave the back door open for me. I know your wife must miss you terribly." 

"A-are you sure Miss Irving? I don’t want to leave you here alone… Besides, what if my boss found out?” Matt was visibly torn between the two possibilities- always the chivalrous one. 

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. Get home. You deserve a break! I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?” Ivy went up to him and held out her hand, gesturing for him to pass her the key card. He deliberated for a second more, before reluctantly agreeing. 

“Well, if you’re sure… It’s not as if you’re going to blow up the place, is it? Ha ha.” Pamela winced internally at his poor joke, but forced out a laugh anyway. After quickly shutting down her computer, the woman began to walk down the long corridor which lead to the main botany facility. Her aim was beyond simple- as a specialist scientist, Ivy could be called into the Gotham Museum of Natural History at any time, to do temporary vocational 'work.’ For months she had held a part-time position there, slowly building up trust with her superiors, so that when the time came, she could help herself to a few choice samples. It was a win-win situation, really. 

The botanist glanced around, making sure that none of her co-workers were working late. Sure enough, not a soul remained. She quickly scanned the card past the recognition system and heard the familiar click of the door as it unlocked, granting her access to her usual workspace. One by one, the lights flickered on and revealed a path that wound its way through the numerous plant specimens. It was an impressive sight, but she had no time to sit back and admire the view. Time to get down to business. 

The museum directors didn’t know it, but the layout of the facility’s greenhouse had heavily influenced Ivy’s own building. Specimens were arranged (very sensibly) by geographical location, then within that spectrum, toxicity. Naturally, for her current task, the botanical expert headed right to the back of the lab- where the rarest and most poisonous American natural gems were kept. From deep inside her coat pockets, Isley drew out several medium sized bottles and her favourite pair of garden clippers. The plant in question was the Hippomane mancinella,otherwise known as the notorious South American Manchineel Tree. The shrub itself looked fairly unimpressive, however its chemical contents said otherwise. 

12-deoxy-5-hydroxyphorbol-6gamma, 7alpha-oxide, hippomanins, mancinellin, and sapogenin, phloracetophenone-2,4-dimethylether, physostigmine- these names were enough to pique the interest of any adept scientist. The tree’s fruits weren’t nicknamed little apples of death for nothing. 

As she approached the dangerous shrub, Pamela felt a wave of overwhelming gratitude for her naturally acquired immunity. None of this would have been possible, otherwise. The woman dragged a step-ladder over to the tree and slowly climbed upwards, stretching her arms out to their full length and delicately snipping off a tiny sample into her gloved hand. By taking only minuscule amounts from each branch, she would hopefully not arouse any suspicion. 

Several minutes later, three flasks had been completely stuffed full of plant cuttings. She was just about to start draining sap from the tree trunk, when an ear-splitting noise rang out through the lanes of the laboratory. The alarm bells startled her so much that Ivy almost fell off the ladder! As it was, a (thankfully empty) bottle hit the floor with a smash, signalling the end of that particular exploit. Ivy nimbly jumped down onto the ground, not bothering to return the ladder to its original place. Matt must have forgotten to leave the main alarms off for her, so now the police were surely on their way. Great. Just great. 

Frame A Show | Lazlo & Harley

He hadn’t been taking his medications- this was simple to see- simple from the look that crawled its way into his eyes as he observed the world before him- wild and haunted. Now, that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t taking any medications- no, that would be like saying he hadn’t been thinking, that he hadn’t been breathing, that he had ceased to be.

They didn’t work- he didn’t feel them working, his own medications of course. He wasn’t feeling everything crawling away like when he medicated himself- no. He felt dull, he felt dumb, he felt sick, he felt wrong- he felt like he had when they’d kept him locked away at the testing facility. He felt like someonesomething else- something ugly. Something imperfectThat wouldn’t do.

He’d found himself walking- at first it felt aimless, coat pulled close to his body, feeling as though he was protecting himself, not that he knewwhat from, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It was like a security blanket at this point- the fabric pressing against what little flesh he had exposed. Prim and proper- that was the only way he could see himself dressed- clothing did very well make the man… and what a man he was- in his mind at least. But that wasn’t important- not right now- now was the sense of the security- and the sense of wandering (of wondering).

Oh… but what was this?

His feet finally stopped, and the rest of his body with them- the carnival- the fairground- his Circus of Strange. It had been some time since he’d seen this place- since he’d been incarcerated, in fact. But it all looked just like he remembered it- the abandoned rides, the darkened big top, the ghost town of stalls geared up and ready serve to cotton candy, corn dogs, sno-cones- all your standard circus fair.


A smile started to curl on his face- he followed the midway- eyes darting from ground to stalls, his head tilting backwards haphazardly as he felt memories and sensations flowing into his mind.


He remembered the night they’d swarmed the grounds- remembered the feeling as they tackled him to the ground- as they took away his beautiful little ladies one by one.


They were all gone, but as his footsteps stopped again- he found himself standing center ring in the big top- the realization crawling and curling into his mind- straining any other sort of thought. All of his work- all that perfection- gone.

He’d made them perfect- absolutely perfect. Why couldn’t they understand. He was helping- helping to make them all look beautiful! All the pain and the suffering he was ushering them through-

‘Because they weren’t good enough.’

'Try harder, Lazlo. TRY HARDER.’

She was here still, mother was here still- he had to find her- had to talk to her, she would know what to do. She could direct him, shecouldhelphim. He felt anxiety building in his chest- felt the crushing grip of pressure as he began to get frantic- he turned on his heels to head back the way he came- maybe… maybe… maybe it was still there too. Maybe they didn’t take it.

But he didn’t make it far- movement right at the flap to the back door- buthewastheonlyperformerleftinthisshow. He felt crazed, lucidity draining from his mind- something that was plainly audible in his voice-

Who’sthere? WhatdoyouwantYoushouldn’tbehereperhapsyoushouldleave.

He took a few steps back, ready to flee if it came to it- he had no way to defend himself- neither weapon nor state of mind. Mind was rattled and cloudy- he hadn’t recovered from what he had been prescribed- he wasn’t prepared. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, but it felt so right to be- he belonged. He didn’t want to go back- he wouldn’t go back.