but god can be funny.
- laughing with, regina spektor.
She whirls and twirls, giggling like the mad woman Gotham knew she could be, but to him it was a little shocking and nothing short of wrong. She'd just beat a Santa Claus to death, you know the ones. The ones ringing their bells and ask for the spare changes from the shoppers of Gotham. They're just beggars with a so called purpose. The poor bastard didn't recongize her, or even see the man with jagged and painful looking scars on his face following behind her. He couldn't tell what had set her off, had it been a random act of violence or something else? Eying her just like the lamb she was to him, he was quick to catch up to her rapid moments.
He grabs her wrist in mid twirl and pulls her towards him, he forces her to look at him. It takes his eyes a while to get used to the fact that she's not wearing make-up, well not the make-up he's used to now. She stares at him, her perfectly shadowed and outlined eyes dancing on his features. She's down right giddy. "Harley, would you care to tell me why, oh why, you beat Jolly Old Saint Nicholas to death with his bell?" He now can see how the little bits of blood, bone and well brain matter litter her dress. And the loose blonde barrel curls. A dress. He had to huff at it when she wasn't in her traditional Harlequin suit.
"He wished me a Merry Christmas." She was shrugging like this didn't matter, of course it didn't but he was just curious. Brows quirked and he thought that he'd finally broken her completely. Now did she kill because it made her smile? Just like him?
"Ah, what'sa matter Harl, Santa didn't visit your house when you were a kid?" He knew first hand she was on the naughty list now. Well the second she allowed him to push his fingers inbetween her legs, then she was eternally on the naughty list. She's huffing at him though, her arms crossing over her chest, half because she's freezing in that little cocktail dress that's she's wearing in Gotham's harsh winter and half because he's obviously forgotten something.
"No, he didn't." Her eyes narrow in on him, he can't help but shift uncomfortably under his deep purple coat. Sometimes the two appear almost domestic, he's forgotten something and he can't help but now he's in trouble. "Puddin', I'm Jewish." She says her Long Island accent more obvious now then ever. He breaks out in laughter, a cackling kind of laughter that he can't bring himself to stop.
"Oh Harley! What's a matter are you jealous of the rest of the world?"
Those blue eyes pull from him, as she moves from him, continuing with her dancing and twirling. . "What's so special about Christmas anyways Puddin'? Some virgin pops out a kid and he grows up to save the world? Or tries too. Or some fat guy breaks into your house and gives ya presents. It's not a Holiday that deserves twenty five days. It should just be about lights and snow." She giggles hands cupped as she tries to catch the flakes before throwing them up in the air and once more twirling on those spiked heels. She was almost skating on the icy surface.
He's able to regain himself just in time to be over come by her. He sees her skirt twirl up and the snow fall all around her. He hates the feelings he gets from her. He feels himself come to her, drawn to her. He engulfs her, cutting her off from another rotation. His arms grasp around her. An arm wrapped around her petite frame, he holds her close. He keeps her there just as tight as he can, clasping her jaw with his other hand he forces his mouth against hers. She's one to bombard her with his fits and moments of passion, she barely as time to push her lips up against his.
a/n; it's Ledger's Joker whose the inspiration for this one. And for Harley, she's based off the image of Brittany Murphy. She's always going to be my Harley Quinn. She was perfect for the role, at least in my head.
So RIP Brittany and Heath. J&HQ have got it from here.