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Pamela was having a perfectly nice night at her favourite lesbian bar when some chauvinist fuckhead decided to saunter in and ruin everyone’s night. He kept hitting on every lady in the area and not catching (or perhaps ignoring) the very obvious hints that people weren’t interested. Kept going on and on about how he was a popular guy and they should give him a chance. Annoying, but ultimately not worth losing her temper for.
At least, that was what Pamela was telling herself until the guy wandered over to her and started trying his pick-up routine for the fifth time in twenty minutes.
Pamela rolled her eyes, picking up her drink once more. “Has that line been working for you? At all?”
“You uptight bitches are just giving me a hard time ‘cause I’m a dude,” the man grumbled. “Loosen up a little.”
“... you’re in a lesbian bar. What makes you think we’d be an enthusiastic audience?” Pamela said. If she had to explain to one more straight guy that - as a rule - lesbians wouldn’t be interested in him or his mediocre attempts at seduction, she wouldn’t be happy. “I recommend you go home and nurse your bruised ego, before you do something to embarrass yourself further.”
“You’re exactly the problem,” the guy said, his voice rising. “Why do you women always treat me like this? I’m just trying to put myself out there!”
“Maybe you’d have more luck if you tried talking to women who are actually interested in you!” Pamela snapped. “I’m done talking to you. Go away.”
The man bunched his hands into fists, but before he could do anything, he felt a hand tap against his shoulder. “Heya, bub!” Harley said, a wide smile on her face. “Wanna repeat the last thing you said to my girlfriend?”
“... threesomes are chill, too?” The man attempted.
Harley’s smile fell, and she called out to the bartender, a well-built butch who went by Madame Vivian. “Hey, do you guys still have that bat I left behind the bar last time I was here?”
“We sure do!” Madame Vivian said, reaching down and taking out an aluminum bat wrapped in leather and spikes. “You planning to make use of it? Try to avoid getting the cops called again.”
Harley took the bat, giving it an experimental swing. “I’m thinking about it, that’s for sure…”
“Pamela, make sure she doesn’t kill him,” Vivian said, turning away to wash some glasses. “And if she does, you guys have to clean up the mess. Other than that, have fun.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of fun to be had if he doesn’t skedaddle.”
The guy ran out of the bar faster than you could say Assault & Battery… never mind Battery. Harley didn’t even get a chance to hit him… what a shame. She would have loved to.
“I’m just saying, I’d make a great bouncer,” Harley laughed, returning her bat to its home behind the bar. “You alright, Pammie? He didn’t get up to nothin’ bad before I got rid of him, right?”
“Not a fingertip’s touch,” Pamela answered. “I’ll take care of him later-” A glare from Madame Vivian caught her attention. “- and elsewhere. The bar’s too crowded, anyways.”
The proprietor smiled and set down a basket of the best mozzarella sticks in Gotham. “Then, here’s my thanks for kicking him out for me. Have a good night, you two.”
And, magically enough, the night got much better.