Yes, yes, I know, I know. A drabble, not the second chapter of Bloom that actually got more views/likes than I thought it would get; it was a real pleasant surprise. So anyways, yeah, this is just a drabble that's been saved for a while now and I just feel... I should post it, since I can't think of anything else to do with it.
Again, constructive criticism is my lifeline. I love it. Or even just criticism; can't guarantee that I won't be offended by it, but oh well.
I also forgot to put a disclaimer on that other story - I'll probably add it in after I upload this, but yeah. So yeah, this is my drabble. Have fun?
Disclaimer:I don't own anything from the Batman franchise or anything associated with this story that is not mine. The characters and back stories belong to DC, not me.
Why did she sign up for psychology again?
To make life seem more fun?
No, no, she couldn't be so naive that she decided that would be her reason. Something deeper; she knew. She knew. Something that she witnessed her whole life, but never understood.
Deception.
What her father did for a living. Convincing dying, old, rich women to give him their money. A genius idea, but immoral. Extremely immoral. Un-com-pre-hen-sive for Harleen.
That was what she signed up for; to look for answers, real answers.
The main question on her mind?
Why does her father do what he does?
Years of studying - not really, she fluked; she tricked her way into being a good psychiatrist. Such a good daddies' little girl - wasted on what? Knowing that there will never be an answer to her question?
What a waste of time. And money. More the time part; time is more important. Especially with a dying, old woman.
Maybe she was naive, thinking she could get an answer for everything. It's the only logical explanation she could give - for her father being the only person who knew her for the vulnerable wreck she was.
She really was daddies' little girl; saying she doesn't understand deception and yet, living a lie. A lie she created.
Her mother wouldn't be so proud. She never was.
She wished she never signed up for psychology. Her father is a terrible reason for everything - anything. She knew what he'd do, if he found out her reason - unless he knew it already - he'd laugh at her. Call her a hypocrite; call her his little princess.
His little Doll.
She'd definitely be more successful than her brother; a deadbeat. Can't even support two kids - who's mother isn't the same person - she was always minding them, while he gambled away all of the money.
Her money. Her time spent trying to get that money so that he could become something, be someone that his children could look up to.
Her father would laugh again; at her childish dreams. Her nativity.
Oh, how naive she was. How funny that she thinks she knows everything - anyone - because she's a little psychiatrist. Her father'd teach her a lesson; deception, maybe. Or about how she was so stupid; just a pretty face.
A dollface. His little Dollface.
She wanted - needed - fun, she yearned for a fun life. A fun life doesn't exist, only the same shit over and over. She remembered reaching a crossroad; one that everyone studying psychology would meet.
Are you going to be crazy or sane?
She could never decide which side was crazy and which was sane; she couldn't even decide which one she wanted.
Her mind pushing one way, life pushing the other. An immovable object and an unstoppable force, a truly exhilarating battle. Like Batman and the Joker; she remembered them. Labelled as freaks; she has long since decided that they believe they are on a pedestal. Higher than the rest.
Can you think of any other explanation?
She could think of thirty-two.
She had her uses; her smart moments, when she really thought, when she really focused.
Determination, that's what she called it. Obsession, that's what he called it. He didn't know psychology like she did; he didn't know her like she did. Or so she thought. She never knew herself. He knew it, he lived in it.
The he?
Who do you think he is?
She didn't know who, not for a long time. Once she did find out though... Her life turned upside down. For better or for worse? No; for better and for worse. Her brother was the only one who thought of it as for worse, but he was a deadbeat. Who cares about a deadbeat?
Not Gotham.
Gotham cares about clowns, bats, cats, riddles, crocodiles, plants and - above all - fear. Gotham would be more than pleased to add in another thing it cares about, it had been the same things for a while; boring.
Something new was needed; something that jokes, bats, cats and plants might be involved in.
Gotham would thank - reward - them because she was so greatful; so happy.
She'd never met a real harlequin before.
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Looking back, I will probably find something that doesn't agree with me, or that I could improve on, so yeah. Thanks again for reading. You should read my other story, if you read this one. Yeah. Thanks. Bye bye!