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Harleen Quinzel

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[sbox] February 25th
@Arthur Fleck[/sbox]​


There was somebody in this town, of the variety of fellas Harley was, dyin’ to meet, every time Pandora grabbed them with its little puffy chains. And when she thought fellas, she meant just the one, but she had come to figure out that the world was a bigger mess than what she believed in her earlier jester days. While she had fallen in love with the one and only Clown Prince of Crime, her Puddin’ was legendary enough to have bits and pieces and sometimes wholes of his one-in-a-kind self in other pieces of reality as well. In the end, it had not surprised her that much, havin’ experienced the dazzlin’ allure of her ex-patient, the man who had tore her down and re-made her, just like he had done with Gotham City.​


After enough time without the glitz and glam, she had almost convinced herself that this coocoo, colorful cage had chosen to be Joker-free, forcin’ Harley to be the same. But she had only been a fool to believe that Puddin’s extra special attractiveness could ever fade. Pandora had taken a likin’ at him again and brought him in the gloomy and miserable streets of Blackhaven where he could add his personal colors! Or somethin’ of the sort. Harley’s mind didn’t always worked the way it should, so she wasn’t sure what to expect even when she flirted with the unexpected herself. There were universies of copycats and versions and this and that and the other. It made her feel like she had fallen in a soup with every different type of shrooms there were.​


But she had to see. She had to know, even if some might be ready to call her desperate instead of… curious. Concerned. Carin'. Other c words she could think of, as she made her way towards the building that she was supposed to find him at. A stray cat greeted her at the entrance and Harley’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Whatcha lookin’ at, cat?’ she called at the animal, which was starin’ at her with a look that was hard to interpret, as cats are used to do. ‘Don’t I look good enough?’ she continued, placin' her hands in her waist. The cat did not bother to reply, so Harley gave up and hopped inside. ‘Ah, what do ya know..’ she murmured as she climbed the stairs, suddenly cheery and energetic, makin’ as much noise as possible.​


‘I look to my left, I look to my right, I’m looking for a man, I’m lookin’ for a siiign...’ she started singin’ loudly, her voice sweet and girly but filled with uncertainty. She straighthen the half red and half black dress she had chosen, her heels clickin’ on the poorly constructed floors. Homecomin’ was the first word that popped into her mind and she snickered.​
 
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Arthur Fleck

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  • FEB 25TH, 109 | ARTHUR'S APARTMENT | AFTERNOON | @Harleen Quinzel


    ”...let me call you sweetheart...”

    Arthur’s lips soundlessly formed the words along with Gene Kelly, shoulders and head swaying slightly, eyes lifting to glance through the drifting smoke to the TV as it played one of his favourite moments from the movie, Gene Kelly’s feet swept gracefully across the floor, an upturned mop in his hand as he danced with it like it was a romantic duet. A jacket was draped over the handle and as the star swept it in a circle he held the sleeve out like a dance partner would, then the music shifted and it turned into a lively tap number. Arthur plucked the cigarette from between his lips, exhaling a cloud of nicotine and crowed out a distinctively hysterical ha ha haa that didn’t meet his eyes and seemed oddly mistimed to the moment as Gene Kelly’s antics grew quicker paced and more skillful. It was magic on screen. Pure magic.

    As the song wrapped Arthur slotted the cigarette back between his lips and looked back down to what he’d been doing. He’d pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa and had the Pandora Times opened in front of him. He was halfway through cutting out an article with some old scissors which he resumed now his attention was away from the television. He neatly cut out the rectangle with obsessive focus and held the article up against the light of the television screen, marvelling at it with a broad smile and strange kind of happiness alight behind his dark eyes.

    Look at that. He was in the newspaper! Could you even believe it? Him. ‘Crazy Clown Comedian Pulls Gun On Heckler!’ boasted the headline. The article went on to explain how he’d shot the compere at Coco’s Comedy Club in the chest and had apparently opened fire on the audience. That wasn’t entirely true, he’d taken a shot at a heckler in the crowd because he’d asked for it but Arthur didn’t necessarily care about the content of the article, what he cared about was that he was in a newspaper. It was acknowledgement that not only did he exist here but that people here noticed him. That kind of solid proof of his own existence was a briefly soothing balm, it felt good. They’d even published his name. Joker.

    He smiled proudly and nudged the rest of the paper carelessly aside so he could tug his journal towards himself. He reached to the pot of glue and brushed a little sticky paste onto the back of the article, then pressed it lovingly into an empty page of the well worn book, spread the brush elegantly over the top, sealing the article into place. ”Now that’s a punchline to die for.” He said to the silence of the apartment. Another barking crow of hysterical laughter. He’d let the glue dry before closing the journal but he didn’t need the newspaper anymore so he rose to his bare feet and padded towards the door, slipping his feet into his shoes. He stuffed it into a garbage bag, tied a knot in the top and hauled the garbage bags out to take them downstairs for collection. He didn’t bother to lock his door because he was the only person renting an apartment on that floor of the shitty apartment block in Blackhaven and he had nothing worth stealing.

    Which was why the melodic if girly singing coming from the stairwell he was heading towards surprised him. With surprising politeness for a man who had the previous night shot a person at point blank in the chest, he waited on the landing, garbage bags at his feet and cigarette in his fingers pressed between his lips, for the pretty woman in her dress and clicking heels to get up the stairs rather than rudely barge past her. He might have hated his mother in the end but she'd made him the man he was today and it was hard to teach an old dog new tricks so you gave a lady like that the respect she deserved. She was colourful and looked out of place in the grimy apartment block so Arthur made a logical assumption, drawing the cigarette out from his lips and sweeping his messy hair, still badly dyed with a greenish overtone, back from his face.

    ”If you’re looking for someone you might be on the wrong floor.” Arthur explained softly, eyebrows knitting together expressively, ”There’s nobody here but us chickens.”



  • IN YOUR EYES SO TRUE



    NOTES: Classy first meeting, there she is all cute and dressed up and he's just takin' out the trash lmao.



 
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Harleen Quinzel

DC Universe
Posts
410
Location
Your head
Age
you never ask a lady her age
Gender
bad bitch
Race
Human-Pristinely Ungifted
Occupation
Law-abiding citizen -NOT
Relationship Status
miley cirus's crazy phase
Profile
link
Organizer
link
She couldn't count how much time passed before she saw him and when she did, she had more important things to focus on instead of silly concepts like time. She might had prepared a speech and practised it on the mirror for hours and at that moment it didn't matter one tiny bit, because her mind had forgotten all words. None of her preparations were good enough. At the sight of the Joker, she stood perfectly still for a moment, eyes widenin' and lips partin'.

Then he spoke to her. Endin' his words with a funny. She held on to her shock for a few more seconds, then she abandoned all pretenses of control and approached with hurried and unsteady steps, but she did not seem to care. One hand rose to her face, touching her left side and she allowed the sudden laughter escape her lips. It usually shattered any ladylike pretenses she might have had, but she also threw her back against the wall for good measure, feeling the need to destroy the illusion of bein' someone put together.

Her eyes were tryin' to avoid him as she laughed, but eventually followed his movements. They narrowed slightly, but the rest of Harley did not seem threatening. 'I can't... escape... you.' she spoke slowly after she calmed down, pointing a gloved finger on him. She brought the other hand to her face as well, pretendin' as if she was tryin' to compose herself. But she didn't really care.

Then she told herself that it was fine to stare at him, in the rare case he allowed something from the inside to show. Yes, he didn't look exactly like the Joker she was used to, but she knew that appearance had no role to play. The essence was there, what made him what he was. 'Ya recognize me?' she asked hesitantly after some more time had passed.​
 

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