maskormenacelogs | Thread: Babs & Harley

Entry tags:

Thread: Babs & Harley

Who: Harley Quinn and Barbara Gordon
When: a few days after this and this
Where: the halls of the De Chima apartment building
What: I think Babs is going to call Joker a “bad boyfriend” so… I mean...
tw/cw for mentions of domestic abuse. I’ll update this if needed.

Of all the gosh darn nerve.

The days after the red kryptonite “incident” have left Harley in a funk. She’d tried to downplay it at first, of course, attempting to be as agreeable as possible. But it had quickly become even clearer to her that something not quite right had happened, no matter what Joker said (or didn’t say) about it. Not that any conversation about the entire thing was even remotely on the table.

And as ditzy as Harley typically pretended to be, she wasn’t enough of a moron to even try to bring it up again. Though her own frustrations and suspicions were blatantly popping up via her irritability and bratty behavior. She’d been picking needless arguments, poking into other things that weren’t any of her business, and getting increasingly paranoid about any of Joker’s comings and goings.

She was aware of that distance between them, even more cutely than usual, and the very fact she knew there were things she didn’t know was driving her up a wall. What Harley also didn’t know about was the heart-to-heart Joker and Barbara had shared. Hell, Harley hadn’t managed to run into the redhead in the building at all, not even while doing laundry runs. Hadn’t even seen her at the block party. And all of that was just as well.

If Harley were to actually find out that her puddin’ and the commish’s daughter had spilled their guts out to each other, she might have just ripped her own blonde hair out in a rage. Adding that revelation to Joker keeping secrets (though him keeping secrets wasn’t anything new) about what he’d actually seen in the kitchen while under the influence of kryptonite and Harley really might completely blow her top.

The sort of top blowing that typically required a straitjacket and a few burly orderlies.

But now, now, Harley’s in the middle of storming out of the shared apartment in De Chima, looking ready to choke someone, with a barely toned-down “Fine!” After, naturally, she’d thrown a handful of cheap plates at the wall.

Technically she’d thrown them at Joker’s head. But po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

Another unsuccessful end to another unsuccessful evening in what’s become a nightly frustration that she’s been stomping down. Harley normally puts up with it — after all, the show must go on, whatever makes him happy makes her happy, and all that — but the weightiness of some of the things he’d said results in a shift of her perspective somewhat and makes it harder to ignore being brushed off or told to butt out.

So, instead of smiling and nodding, she’s slamming the door shut behind her, almost hard enough to bend the hinges. And, speaking of hinges, there’s something slightly unhinged in her eyes, like she’s been pushed just a little too far one too many times.

The last thing she’s expecting is to run into Barbara Gordon.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Barbara isn't all right. Talking to Cassandra helped - left her feeling a little steadier, at least, a little less like she's drowning - but every time her mind wanders, she's looking at the goddamn Joker sitting across her table, sharing food and sympathy, laughter and memories. Before she called Cass, she split her knuckles open on her punching bag; she's re-opened them since, because at least pain is another distraction.

Her main strategy is not letting herself think too much. She avoids the kitchen as much as she can, and focuses on building the next year's curriculum, tinkering with her projects, and studying the network. As the day wears on, though, it stops being enough.

It's been a long time since she so desperately missed putting on a cowl and leaping into the night.

Well, at least she can leave the house, find something to do. She pulls the eskrima sticks out from under her chair to sit on her lap, just in case. Charlie the canary sits on her shoulder; even in the dark, his vision is better, so she can borrow if it she has to.

The last thing she expected was to see Harley Quinn storming out the door at the same time. For a moment, Barbara is frozen as the memories rise like bile in her throat. She's already panicked over the idea of making things worse for Harley (and somehow the hope that she made things better aches just as much). But she can't afford to be vulnerable right now; the woman is dangerous, and Barbara doesn't even know when she's from.

So she pulls herself together, and musters a gentle smile. "Bad night?" The concern is real, even as one hand rises to her lap, and her mind catalogues the rest of the weapons she has access to right now. (Tasers in the chair. Gun beneath the seat. Charlie could peck an eye out, probably.)

Edited 2019-09-21 20:37 (UTC)

It’s a good indication of how distracted Harley is when she doesn’t even notice Barbara until the other woman speaks. Normally, Harley’s good at being aware of her surroundings -- it’s necessary in her line of work, and has saved her ass more than a few times -- but she’s so off after the past few days that she actually misses someone she should recognize who also has a bird on her shoulder.

Things “at home” hadn’t quite gotten worse in the sense that Joker had come back from his chat with Babs and taken it out on Harley. But things have definitely been tense. She just doesn’t have any idea that there might be some correlation. For the most part, it’s been Harley causing trouble and Joker acting busy and distant, something that never sits well with her. But, especially now, when she’s worried that every reaction is particularly loaded, her paranoia about it is in overdrive.

And, also, now that she’s being served with a visual reminder, how strange that they’ve been living in the same building as Barbara and nothing’s been mentioned about seeing her around or cooking up some scheme to torment her or something. Huh.

In a different frame of mind Harley wouldn’t have even blinked at that. But she’s already put Bud on “follow Mister J to work every night” duty, and Harley’s frame of mind is currently far from rational.

“Nah. It’s a great night. The best. Never been better.” There’s a slight edge to her voice, but the wild anger in her expression isn’t really directed towards Barbara. And, to be sure, Barbara hasn’t done anything to warrant anyway. It’s more frantic energy with nowhere to go.

Sighing loudly, she mutters, “Sorry if you heard things breaking. It was just the good china.” In a rage, Harley doesn’t really give a shit if anyone hears them arguing. But, after the fact, she’s always secretly mortified by it, like it’s both a reflection of her own lack of self-control and a clear ding in a relationship that she already knows people look down on. “Who’s the bird?”

Barbara is caught squarely between sympathy and suspicion. She hasn't relaxed since the kryptonite wore off, and she has no idea what the Joker might have told Harley. The distress certainly seems genuine - but Harley could still take it out on anybody in striking distance.

She can't keep the tension out of her shoulders; she wants to be ready if something happens. But she can keep it out of her voice, and muster a faint smile.

"That's Charlie." She glances at him, and murmurs a request for him to say "hello". He immediately chirps at Harley.

Harley is a good actress, and she’s hardly above faking distress to get at Barbara Gordon, but this time it’s all real. And her eyebrow arches in response to the other woman’s body language.

If she hadn’t been a spectacular mess, she might have said something like Christ, lady, I’m a homicidal clown’s sidekick, not Satan, but Harley doesn’t even have the energy for that. Instead, even though she’s looking at the bird with curiosity, her own shoulders have visibly slumped as the adrenaline that caused her to throw dishes starts to ebb.

“Sorry, bird. I don’t have any crackers for you.” Perhaps more luckily she also didn’t have Bud and Lou with her. Then, back to Barbara, though she’s not really expecting the friendliest of interactions: “Where have you been keeping yourself, Babsy? You don’t call, you don’t write… and here we are, living in a building together.”

Barbara doesn't translate, exactly - birds don't have language that way - but she shares a sense of rueful apology, and Charlie chirps his acceptance. It's fine, he's spoiled anyway.

It's enough to make her chill out a little, right up until Babsy, and then her lips press thin and her shoulders go rigid.

"Neither of you get to call me that." Then she smiles, and there's a grim, venomous humour in it. "My friends call me Babs, but you know, I don't think we're quite there."

Charlie earns himself a raise of Harley’s eyebrows. Why with this bird and Harley’s hyenas (and elephant, which isn’t technically her elephant) they could have themselves a regular petting zoo.

The eyebrows only go comically higher at Barbara’s response and it’s almost second nature for Harley to make chatty talking motions with her hand. “Calm down, Barbara. Don’t get your feathers ruffled. Get it? Feathers? Your bird? Yeah? No?” She’s been told before that if she has to explain a joke it’s not a good joke, but that lesson apparently hadn’t stuck very well. And those raised eyebrows — and the expression that almost looks like it might shift from the dark cloud of doom and gloom it had when she left her apartment to something a little more jovial — suddenly, dramatically wilt.

“Oh whatever. I get it. We’re bad guys. Why haven’t you called the cops yet? Told them to bring their finest straitjackets?”

"...I got it." And her lips quirk just a little bit, because she's a sucker for puns. "And I'm afraid that when it comes to him, my feathers are pre-ruffled. A bit scorched, you could say."

Get it? Because he shot her.

"But I'm not calling anyone unless someone actually gets hurt. Neither of you have criminal records here."

“Yet.”

Just as quickly as it had faded, that cheerful tone is back in Harley’s voice, like Barbara has just said something incredibly hilarious.

After all, she’s already been involved in the murder of a few zookeepers and the theft of an elephant. Honestly, Harley’s a little surprised that she was still working an honest job and living in a non-hideout apartment at this point.

“You know, really. You shouldn’t take it personally. If you’d had a brother or a sister I’m sure he would have been just as happy to shoot them.”

Which is, quite possibly, the most inappropriate thing to say ever to Barbara Gordon. But, like many things, Harley tends to believe they’re either highly exaggerated to make Joker look like an awful villain and Batsy look like the hero or that they had been part of some grander plan that she just doesn’t quite understand yet. And, really, once she gets the punchline it’ll all make perfect sense.

"Yet" certainly is the operative word, and she'd lay zero bets on them not having committed several capital offences by now - but she hasn't caught them, so. Better to make it look like she really believes they hey, maybe they're just living their lives right now, and she is definitely not watching them like a hawk as much as she possibly can.

(Which isn't nearly enough. Not here.)

The sheer misfire of that reassurance makes her laugh out loud. It's low, and harsh, and almost startles Charlie right off of her shoulder before he finds his footing again. "I'm sure."

Then, with a nod towards their apartment, "How would you feel if he saw you as interchangeable?"

Harley wrinkles her nose, like Barbara’s caught her off guard with that question. “That’s just…”

What? Dumb? Absurd? Ridiculous?

Normally, she would shrug it off with a wave of her hand. But he had been acting bizarre, hadn’t he? Saying things he never normally said, mentioning a baby for fuck’s sake. And had seemed extra distant in the days since, either like something more is going on or what she had witnessed had been enough to make him withdraw even more than normal.

Sure, they’d kissed and made up and all of that. But even Harley -- especially Harley, who considers herself the closest thing to an expert on a person who is simply unknowable -- can tell things aren’t quite right. This isn’t the first time she’s had paranoia and suspicion bubble up in her stomach like acid, but it is unusually strong.

“He knows I’m irreplaceable,” she says with a sniff, but it’s missing the defiance and certainty her words would normally have and almost sounds a little like a question.

She doesn't let herself smirk. The urge to be smug, to be vicious, burns bright and hot in her chest, but she can be better than that.

Or smarter than that, at least.

"Guys like that don't always know what they have." Like the Joker's just one more arrogant asshole who takes his partner for granted. "They're just so clever, and experienced, and powerful. Doesn't matter how hard anyone else works to support them. To look out for them."

She's careful not to let it sound like a lecture. Her tone is weary and jaded; she's been there, Harley, seriously.

(That fact that she really has is almost incidental.)

Any other topic in the world, especially any other time when she’s already feeling inadequate, and Harley would suspect Barbara was trying to play her like a fiddle. But when it came to Joker, Harley’s rational compass didn’t really tend to point true North.

And isn’t it completely true? It’s like Babs has plucked the other night out of thin air and is replaying it for her. When Harley had just been trying to take care of him when he clearly wasn’t acting right. When something was obviously wrong. She’d even offered to get him his favorite dinner to make sure he ate. And would have sat and watched old movies — even the really boring and grainy ones — with him all night if it would help him feel safe and secure and take his mind off of things. And how had she been repaid?

She’d been duped, tricked, treated like a pain in the ass instead of a loving, concerned girlfriend. And, sure, they’d worked it out (sort of) but Harley knows damn well she was still feeling tetchy about it days later.

“He’s just… really busy?” Harley hates that she sounds so uncertain. But why wouldn’t she be. He can’t be that busy. He’s working as a stupid recruiter for a stupid comedy club and come to think of it she hasn’t even seen said comedy club in person yet. “...Right? Because these jobs here, they’ll run you ragged if you let them.” That’s topped off with a nervous laugh.

Edited 2019-10-10 01:08 (UTC)

Barbara crosses her arms - hands on top, so her skin doesn't chafe against the bandages - and shakes her head. "You've got a job too. I'm betting you make time for him."

It's so easy to sound sincere. She's had this conversation before, with so many girls. A few boys, too.

She remembers talking to the Joker about finding balance and she tastes bile in her mouth before swallowing it down. "If he respects you the way you deserve, he'd at least try to find a balance. And respect is something a real relationship needs."

It's surreal, that she's talking from experience. Not romantically, granted, but lack of respect drove her right out of Gotham.

Part of the reason why Babs has Harley’s attention so completely is because she does sound genuine. Harley’s used to plenty of people looking down on her relationship and acting like she’s delusional or simply dumb for putting up with the things she puts up with. But Barbara, she sounds like she actually gives a damn without also being condescending.

And a lack of condescension is something Harley hasn’t experienced a lot of in the past few years. Hell, even when she’d identified as Harleen she’d dealt with plenty of people who thought she was a stupid blonde, or that she wasn’t capable or intelligent or formidable. With the change in her personality, demeanor, appearance, and associates, it had only gotten worse.

“I don’t work that hard,” she mumbles, like that’s an excuse, like if Joker didn’t put his all into his job he’d clearly have more time for her. It’s not like her job wouldn’t be demanding if she actually did it. But she spends more time at the diner taking breaks she’s not supposed to be taking than actually waiting on customers. “And he respects me. I just screw up a lot.” Mostly her over-enthusiastic efforts to help turn into a clusterfuck.

Looking at Barbara from the corners of her eyes, she adds, like it’ll help take the heat off of her, “Did you lose a fight with a honey badger or something?”

Underestimation has been a tool Barbara has used for a damn long time; she knows better than to do it herself. She knows Harley's record as Dr. Quinzel, and she can imagine all too easily how the Joker ensnared her; acknowledging her intelligence and potential, stoking the fires of rebellion and resentment, giving her a sense of power and connection.

It makes her stomach turn, but it's easy to pretend that it doesn't. That the Joker is just a thoughtless boyfriend who needs to do better. "Maybe you'd screw up less if he was more open with you. If you had a real rapport going."

She almost freezes, before she forces a rueful smile. "Hit the punching bad a bit too hard. Kryptonite hangover." She doesn't need to go into detail.

That was pretty much how it had gone. Although Harleen hadn’t been an entirely innocent party during the whole thing. She’d been well-aware she’d been crossing lines left and right and, while that had bothered her at first, eventually she’d just started believing that everything that was happening was kismet. And who was she to argue with fate?

The line between what she’d been manipulated into doing and what really didn’t take more than the vaguest reference to convince her of doing something had gotten pretty blurred along the way.

“We have a real rapport. We have a great rapport. It just sometimes involves a little yelling and slapping, that’s all.”

But Barbara’s next comment catches Harley’s attention more than anything. To be sure, Babs is fantastic when it comes to hiding body language, and that’s good with someone like Harley, who would have latched onto it like a leech if she’d let it show. Still. Kryptonite hangover.

“That shit got you too? Bud decided to take off after a chunk of it hit me on the head. And—” The timing of the little incident in the kitchen with Joker is starting to make a bit of sense. But she hasn’t exactly been keeping up with the various side effects of the stuff to know how it could have possibly caused what had happened. “Anyway. What kind of place is this? It ain’t Gotham. And it ain’t Metropolis. But we’ve got Kryptonite raining down from the sky?”

"Bud?" Oh hell, that's one of the hyenas. But she probably shouldn't know that. She'll just pretend to assume he's a dog. "I'm glad you found him. ...If you've got a connection to him here, the green Kryptonite could have weakened it." She hopes she's right; it'll be nice to know at least one of Harley's abilities.

She smiles, and the grim frustration is completely genuine. "This place pulls us from other realities; stands to reason that those barriers are weakened. And either we're getting a new version of natural disasters, or someone's found a way to pull those strings. As a distraction, or an experiment, or just to screw with us."

Honestly, Barbara is hoping for the latter. Much more straightforward to deal with.

“Really?” Harley’s wrinkling up her nose, like she’s thinking it over. And, honestly, Barbara’s explanation made perfect sense. She’d gotten hit with that dumb rock and her connection with both Bud and had almost instantly shorted out. The difference was that Lou didn’t run off after squirrels without checking both ways.

“Makes sense why I thought he was just ignoring me.” Because a stern, telepathic get your fuzzy butt back here certainly hadn’t worked.

The rest of what Babs has to say is much more serious… with the potential for much more destruction. Which Harley can’t entirely say she’d be miffed about. She’s had her moments of thinking that, well, hey, now that they’re here, with jobs on the up-and-up, maybe there’s a chance for that normal life she sometimes daydreams about. Deep down, though, Harley knows it’s not going to pan out that way. Not in a reality that gives everyone superpowers.

And certainly not in a reality where Batman still exists.

Which makes it good that she’s always up for a little mayhem.

“Is anyone looking into what or who’s behind it. Not that I’m volunteering, because I’ve already got my hands full. But if someone’s just screwing around I wouldn’t mind decking them in the nose.”

Oh look, more common ground. It's a little unsettling, but that doesn't stop Barbara from smirking. "We'll be in a big line, probably. As for proof..."

She shrugs, and it's clearly frustrated; it galls her that there's so much here she can't see. It's not that she literally knew everything back home, not really, but she was a hell of a lot closer than this.

"People are investigating, theorising, but from what I've seen there hasn't been a lot of progress made. If someone really is screwing around, they either know how to cover their tracks or don't need to."

Would she tell Harley if she knew more? Probably not. But she doesn't, so it's a moot point.

The honest-to-God truth is that Barbara would be a helluva ally in different circumstances. Circumstances where Harley hadn’t gone off the deep end and isn’t involved with the guy who’d shot Babs in the spine. They’d likely have even more common ground if Harley wasn’t shit when it came to making truly disastrous life decisions.

Hell, if they’d know each other when Harley was in med school, or even in her early days of working at Arkham, they might have even been friends. The kind that went out for margaritas and quesadillas so they could both bitch about their respective shitty days.

But none of that had happened. And here they were, in the same hallways, but still worlds apart.

Harley shrugs, an over-exaggerated gesture like she’s saying ah, whatcha gonna do?

“This whole place is full of superheroes. You’d think they’d have someone behind bars for this by now, guilty or not.” Not that Harley thought that so-called criminals tended to get treated unfairly and improperly or anything.

It's something she's contemplated before, knowing Harleen before she ever met the Joker. Wondering if it could have made a difference, and how devastating it would be if it didn't.

She's lost so many friends, but not quite like that.

The cynicism even makes her smile in bitter commiseration. "Always nice to have a scapegoat." As much as she believes in the ideal of the justice system, it falls devastatingly short. She made some progress on changing that, as a Congresswoman, but not nearly enough.

Harleen had been so certain that she was acting of her own free will that it likely wouldn’t have made a difference. Then again, Harleen hadn’t exactly had a lot (read: any) of close friends. And who knew what a genuine, trustworthy outlet would have done for her mental state.

Either way, like with most things Harley had been witness to in her life, things rarely worked out without someone get hurt. Knowing and trusting someone like Barbara at that point in her life likely would have only hurt them both.

“Not for nothing, but there usually is a scapegoat. How many superheroes do you know who can stand knowing there’s some big bad lurking around that they can’t catch. Never mind identify.” It was typical: can’t solve a crime? Pin it on someone the public will just eat up as the epitome of evil. Hell, sometimes Harley has to wonder if half of Gotham’s supervillains would be nearly as bad if they didn’t have newspaper headlines proclaiming their evilness to blatantly. At some point, if everyone thought you were bad anyway, there was no reason to keep trying to be better. One could almost say that it was insane to try to go above and beyond to be good for a public that was already convinced you were damned anyway.

"I'd hope most superheroes can put real justice above their own egos. But I guess anyone can put on a cape, with no character references or anything." She has a lot of practice talking about superheroes like she isn't one, so she slips into that easily. Talking to Harley is the weird part.

How sincere does she want to be, here?

"...Has that happened to you, in Gotham? Batman always seemed..." She shrugs, aiming for rueful. "Better than that."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thread: Babs & Harley

guess who forgot was summer was

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject