Harley wiped her bloody hands on her costumed legs, shaking with adrenaline. She felt exhilarated, this being her first kill. she glanced at the Joker, who stood nearby, observing her with mischief in every fiber of his being. She shivered; only he could make her do that, and she loved him for it.
She turned her dilated eyes to the body of her first victim: an Arkham security guard, out for a perimeter check. It was a clean kill, certainly cleaner than the Joker would have made it, but at least she had done it.
The Joker moved in the corner of her vision, and her gaze returned to him. He picked up the knife that had been her weapon, for she had dropped it. He placed it back in her hand, and turned his face back toward the asylum. There was commotion coming their way, as the building was alerted to his escape.
"Come on," he commanded, grabbing her arm and dragging her away from the crime scene. He led her through back streets until they were far away from the asylum. He stopped in a dark alley, and in one swift motion placed himself firmly behind her, one arm holding tightly to her upper abdomen, the other grabbing her hand which held the knife. He forced her hand to bring the blade to her mouth.
She didn't struggle, though she knew what he intended. She whimpered, scared and finding herself unable to resist him. His free hand stroked her cheek, and she nearly melted on the spot. She'd do whatever he wished her to do. His face came down to her level. Sniffing her hair, he then whispered in her ear, "Do it," and released her, stepping back.
Her hand still holding the knife in place, she made some incoherent sound, half mesmerized by his proximity to her, half terrified of what she was about to do. Adrenaline pumped through her once again. The Joker moved in front of her, to watch his masterpiece begin to take shape. she kept her eyes on his, and counted down in her head. 3. . .2. . .1. . .
Blood filled her mouth and she sputtered. She felt little pain at the moment, the sudden rush of adrenaline took care of that. She did the other side of her mouth, and threw the knife down. She tore her hat off to mop up the blood that was spilling out of her mouth. That being soiled, she tossed it away. Blood trickled at the corners of her mouth, slowly dripping down her chin. She didn't care. Her gaze had never left the Joker's, and now that she had the taste of blood in her, (and no thanks also the the adrenaline pumping through her system) a hungry lust had begun to take hold of her. She now understood the mischief she had read in him earlier. Oh, that man. . .she thought.
"You're crazy," she said with a smile, then winced for the tender flesh in her cheeks. He moved toward her, grabbing her neck and pressing himself to her.
"No, I'm not," he said, his mouth so close to hers that they lightly brushed each other as he spoke. She leaned into him, and he pressed his mouth onto hers, reveling in the taste of her blood. She was unable to resist his twisted charm.
Finally her released her and stepped back, making his way back out of the dark alley to find himself a new lair. Harley crumpled to the ground, gasping with dismay at her abruptly ended bliss. Gathering herself up, she hurried after the Joker.
Soon, she began to feel the excruciating pain of her cuts. She glanced at the Joker, and decided against getting pain medication and stitches. If the pain drove her mad, so be it. She was already halfway there, anyway.
