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Behind the panoramas of onetime productions, she finds them locked away like animals in a cage: three people infected with her puddin's blood.
Harley's delight gives way to rage. How dare he? First the Bat's stalking Mister J's old hideouts, then he's keeping these beauties from her. Good thing birdboy chickened out and ran, or else she would have quilled him for helping the Bat.
"Now, what do we have here?" Harley asks as she struts into the spacious hall, followed by her henchmen. "Looks like the old batbrain really was storing presents for me."
"A welcoming committee just for me? Harley darling, you shouldn't have," one of her presents – the slight one – says.
"Welcoming committee?" the burly one retorts. "They're here to trash you if they know what's good for them."
"Check this out," Hobo says behind her. "Man, they all look like the Joker."
"Hold this," Harley slaps her gun into the nearest goons chest and cartwheels to the quarantine cells.
So they do! It's a gift from beyond the grave! She knew her puddin' still loved her and that something exciting was bound to come out of his blood donations, but this? This exceeds even her wildest dreams. Harley hasn't been so thrilled since, well, since her puddin' got sick. Everyone else was just so humorless in comparison, no fun at all. Blubberpot, for example. Working with him really didn't cut it—although she might still cut him for what he did to her babies.
"So many admirers, come here to gawp at the striking figure of Johnny C. Would you like an autograph to commemorate the occasion?" Shorty spins in his cell, laughing. "There's an idea! I'll hand out signed photos at my next concert. Laced with strychnine, of course. That'll bring life to the party."
She's glued to the glass, drinking in every movement. It's not just the green hair or the white skin or the charming smile... It's—all of it; the mannerisms, little and large, the way he carries himself, the way he talks with his whole body, everything.
"I know I'm indescribably handsome, and loathe as I am to deprive you of the opportunity to look your fill, Harley, I'd rather you had a peek at the panel beside the door. You know, just for a sec."
Harley's grin must be reaching both ears. "All right, boys, you heard the man. Let 'em out."
The bulletproof doors slide open with a whoosh and Johnny brushes past her before she has the chance to draw him close.
"Oo-hoo, look at you bossing around the old gang," the woman says as she steps out of her confinement, stretching luxuriously. Harley freezes, although a sudden burst of heat shoots through her veins. She's transported to Blackgate ten years back, to that same magical moment when her puddin' confessed to her the first time. It's love at first sight, just like last time.
"You're... him," she breathes, the cacophony around her suddenly growing very quiet.
The girl chuckles darkly, her gaze even darker as it bores into Harley. Her legs are trembling with excitement. And speaking of legs. Harley bites her lip. Almost nothing is sexier than ripped stockings. She wouldn't mind being that skirt right, closely hugging the girl's waist and thighs.
Harley's advance is unconscious, her feet shuffling forward of their own accord, and to her great fluttering delight, the other woman accepts her hug even as she continues to speak with one of Harley's thugs.
"Long time, no see, eh, Bozo? Now what have you been up with during the time I was... indisposed?"
"I've missed you so," she mumbles against the girl's shoulder, inhaling her scent of fabric softener, sweat and chemical burns. She doesn't want to think about how long the Bat's been keeping them here.
"No, wait, don't tell me." The girl peers at one of their numbers and waves him over. He's tied a bandanna over his face to obscure his nose and mouth. She lifts it gingerly, as though she were peeking under someone's skirt. Harley squeaks when she notices someone playing with the ruffles of her own skirt. "Oh, Harley. You got yourself some new recruitments! Cannon fodder for the Bat! I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment."
"He'll get what's comin' to him, puddin'," she chirps.
"Did you have fun without me?" the girl asks the thug.
"Y-yes, ma'am—b-boss," he stammers after a glare from Harley, "I mean, no, not as much as we c-could've had with you."
"Hah, good answer." The girl claps him on the shoulder. Then, turning toward Harley, she clasps her hands and shakes her head. "Harley, Harley. Seems like you didn't do a good job of entertaining these fine young gentlemen. I'm sure you forgot to spice up the initiation rites. Ah, such wonderful memories. The crackle of electricity, the sun glinting off the guillotines, the pungent smell of burnt flesh and acid." Her voice drops about an octave. "The cavity searches."
"How does she know all that?" one of the henchmen murmurs to his neighbor. "She wasn't in Arkham City with us, was she?"
"How the hell would I know? She thinks she's the Joker. Man, even Harley thinks she's the Joker. Just look at the way she's clinging to her."
"You're just jealous she chose some random chick over you."
"Gentlemen," the girl intones, "it's time to show you what a real good time looks like."
"All right now," Johnny cuts in. "I've been listening to enough from you. Can anyone tell me why she's stealing the show? I'm the main man. You're just some second-rate floozy who happens to've been infected with my blood. The queue for groupies is this way," he points his thumb over his shoulder. "I suggest you wait with the others."
The girl plucks a gun from the nearest henchman and points it straight at Johnny's head. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you and skin your worthless hide."
"Ooh, a threat. How original." He holds up his hands as if in surrender. "I'm shaking, I'm shaking."
"How about the Goliath knocks you out both?" Bull-neck cuts in. "I'm gettin' sick of your jabberin'."
As giddy as all the posturing makes her, she has to break it off. Harley whistles through her fingers to get their attention. When everyone has turned toward her, she waves at them and clears her throat.
"Sorry to interrupt your little chit-chat, darlings, but I'm pretty sure the Bat's on his way here to rescue the little bird that's fallen out of its nest."
"He can come," Goliath pumps his fists. "I'll introduce him to a world of pain."
"Great idea," Johnny drawls. "I'll get the camera. To capture your failure. Don't expect me to sing at your funeral."
"I've ordered a chopper to come pick us up," Harley says and yanks her rifle from her goon's waiting arms.
"You want us to leave when Batsie's returning to pay us a visit?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, don't you wanna wreak a little havoc in the city? The Bat can wait."
"The Goliath has a bone to pick with the Bat for lockin' me up in his fancy glass cage for so long."
"Oh, then I suppose you don't wanna see what Scaredycrow has planned."
"So Scarecrow wants to run the show now, does he? He always has been one for the theatrics. But he's got nothing on me."
"I don't care about that sackcloth freak. He can sniff his fear gas all he wants, but he ain't gettin' a piece of the Bat. I get to tear him limb from limb."
Okay, since these two Jokers prefer to bicker about who gets to kick the Bat's ass first, Harley decides she ain't waiting no longer for instructions. It's not that she's scared of the Bat, or thinks her newfound treasures can't handle him, but. She wants to enjoy the rush of a city in chaos a little longer before they go Bathunting again. One way or another he always finds an opening to separate her from her puddin' and she ain't prepared to let go of any of them just yet. It ain't fair.
She wants to know what it's like to put the fear of the Joker back into Gotham. Especially now that the threat has tripled.
She divides her men into several parties and orders them to look after her new puddins. One party she assigns to herself.
Hefting her rifle to her shoulder, she saunters back to her favorite female Joker. Hopefully, she would see reason. Or... an opportunity. Mister J, bless his bloodless, incinerated heart, had rarely made decisions rationally after all.
"Come on," she says and takes the girl's wrist. It's a damn pity she doesn't refer to herself in the third person like the other two Jokers. Harley would've liked to know what to call her. "Let's get to chopper and leave these guys to play with the Batfreak for now."
"You don't tell me what to do," the girl snaps and jerks her hand away. "Why should I let these clowns have the first stab at Batman?"
Harley gnaws the inside of her lip in frustration. Not her, too. She is not going to lose her yet. Nuh-uh. No way.
"It'll be just fine, trust me. If he really wants you, he'll come for you. You know that."
"Oh, he wants me."
Sure, Harley thinks. Though not as much as I do.
*
"Look at all the patrols!" the girl cackles as she leans out to survey the streets of Gotham, bangs fluttering in the airstream. "All the car chases, the pillaging, and the fires brightening up the sky! One would think it's Christmas already."
"Wait till you see what Scarecrow's planned," Harley calls cheerfully over the rushing wind. To hear Crane tell it, it's going to be glorious.
"Again with the Scarecrow," the girl growls, eyes narrowing. She snatches Harley's arm, drawing her close. "Are you being unfaithful to me?"
"Of course not." Her laugh is a little wobbly. She's missed this. His bouts of jealousy. Shows her that she's important to him—her. "You know I'm a one-person kinda gal."
"Is that so?" the girl eyes her thoughtfully, her arm extending slowly to bend Harley over the plenty-foot drop. This part she hasn't missed. "Seems like your affection is split three ways now."
"But I'm here with you now, aren't I?" Harley says shakily, clutching the girl tightly to keep her balance. She might be able to grab hold of the landing skids if the girl doesn't push her out too far. She ain't going to, right? She needs Harley to show her the ropes after she's been gone so long. Right?
Yeah, right. If she has inherited half of her puddin's criminal genius, she'd be showing Harley how it's done in no time flat. Still, a girl can hope.
In that moment, an explosion somewhere far beneath them catches the girl's attention. She flings Harley back into the chopper for an unobstructed view of what's happening. Harley sees a huge roiling dust cloud surging past highrises, covering the ground and swallowing lower buildings completely.
From up here, Gotham appears to submerge into a sea of dirt. Yellow lightning streaks the thick maroon clouds, yet the waters surround the islands of Gotham still sparkle deep blue in the pale evening light.
Next to her, the girl is laughing with glee and bouncing enough to rock the chopper. "Isn't it beautiful? Isn't this the perfect Halloween? Looks like the old hay-for-brains has a sense of humor, after all. Who would've thought? Although I could've come up with a much grander scheme."
"There's still Thanksgiving." Harley leans against the girl's shoulder and wraps her arms around her, fingers digging into the silky fabric of her blouse.
"Too soon. It wouldn't make an impact."
"How about April Fool's then?"
Harley feels the girl's chuckle more than hears it. "I like the way you think."
Her heart rate picks up when the girl pats the back of her hand. Don't be silly, she thinks. She's been way more intimate with her puddin' before—and yet the gesture turns her brain to mush. As do the associated thoughts of intimacy with this girl. Heart hammering wildly, Harley's imagination loses itself in the whirr of the rotor blades overhead.
She's content to watch Gotham succumb to a general sense of fear, even if it's not the fear of her newfound Jokers. Yet. Their time will come. For now, it's enough to be with her lady Joker without the Bat close-by to ruin the experience. He'll get what's coming to him.
Hopefully, he already has.