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Something's gotta be said about hands. If Harley were a smarter (read: less distracted) person, she might even think of something.
Right now, she's engrossed in following Zatanna's white-gloved fingers cut, shuffle, deal. And snap her back to attention, because Harley keeps losing it. The gloves bring back memories of her puddin', both good and bad, and now she's drowning in them.
It's like Zee has bewitched her with the flick of a wrist just to win this hand, and Harley, for some reason, wants to win Zee's hand. She craves to run her teeth along that pale, perfect skin, bury her nose into the starched fabric of her sleeve, inhale her sweet, intoxicating perfume—Harley shakes herself and eyes the other woman over the fan of her cards. She must have done something, even without uttering a single spell all night. Harley can feel it in her gut.
Thing is, Harley loves card games and card tricks – Mr. J has a bag of them, each with its own jolting surprise! – and all the other fun stuff you can do with a deck of cards, but she can't abide losing. And Zee, well, Zee's a magician, a natural cheat. Of course she'd use her powers to her advantage. And that just takes the fun right out of it.
But. Harley knows how to handle those types. (Her puddin', after all, never could play fair.) She's not above cheating herself, if she knows she can get away with it. Which wasn't often. Mr. J never liked her outsmarting him, even when playing games. Harley had to learn how to be sneaky, but duplicity i not really in her blood.
Zatanna's less likely to slip a knife between her ribs though, so Harley can let her actions speak for themselves. She pounces, knocking Zee's top hat askew and the table off its legs. The chair nearly topples. After a moment of suspension, the cards rain onto the floor and Zee catches her, grounding them both.
"Luferac," Zee says, more amused than alarmed. Her gloved hands are smack on her buttocks, holding on a bit too tightly to be called decent (one might call it groping if one were so inclined). Not that Harley minds. It's proving her hypothesis. The one that says Zee is a good sport.
Harley tugs at Zee's bow-tie, nearly ripping it off in her hurry. The woman ain't wearing much to begin with, but sometimes even a little can be in the way of a good time.
"A little help here?"
Zatanna's grin mirrors her own. "Sehtolc eb enog," she intones, wicked and sensual, and just like that, their clothes – and only their clothes – disappear. Zee's top hat, gloves, and stilettos survive the vanishing act. Harley approves.
Magic, she muses, does have its uses sometimes. Though perhaps next time, they could try strip poker instead. Their clothes problem would solve itself and losing wouldn't seem half so bad. In fact, it would be a win-win situation all around.