Note: This was requested by a fellow lover of Jared Leto - a friend of mine called Maddy. We were talking about something to do with... Jared's hair? Possibly? Most likely. ANYWAY - here it is, Mads. Your amazing idea has been brought to life through my fingertips. Enjoy.

Today was the DAY.

Harley knew it was the day because she'd been counting down to it month by month, week by week, day by day, second by second - scrawling all over the wall in crayon. Today was the D-Day. The day the war came to an end. Today was the day they were bustin' Mistah J outta jail.

Oh, he was gonna be so proud!

Harley sighed dreamily, hands clasped by her left cheek, swaying side to side in her position on the floor. Of course, Puddin' wouldn't be too pleased with her... artistic attack on the... walls...

But... paint, right?

Besides, Mistah J would be far too occupied with being all proud of her for her... what was that word? Freakin' Harleen would know.

Ingenuity, that unhelpful voice trapped inside her head informed her, all... obnoxious like.

"I know, Harleen! You think I ain't never read a dictionary?"

You've never even glanced at one. Not since you became what he wanted and locked me away. You don't know reason.

"Get over yourself, hon. I'm better off than you are! I got a boyfriend, a career..."

I had both of those and more and then he came along and it all disappeared over night!

"Yeesh, sweetie. You need to let go. Some therapist, huh? Can't even follow ya own advice! Pssh!"

Urgh, you're only undermining yourself when you say things like that to me.

"Lalalala~! Can't hear you!"

Harley took her fingers out of her ears when the door was opened and Frost peered round it. Boy, was he used to this shit. You could tell on the poor bastard's face! Bless him. He was a good kid.

"Everything alright, Miss Quinn?"

"Everything will be just dandy when we get Mistah J back."

"Well, we're ready."

"You're a champ, Jonny. A champ!"

And so they left on their great, heroic mission. The aim was downright noble, in Harley's opinion, and the choice of transportation wasn't too shabby neither. It was another custom vehicle (Puddin' sure loved himself a couple'a things made just for him) - a remodeled ice cream van. The tinkly little tune that played as they drove had been fixed to have multiple settings, all capable of various levels of distortion and static. The effect was pretty damn spectacular. The freezer... bits for where they usually put the ice cream was filled to the brim with guns and weapons of all varieties and sizes and shapes and colours-

Gee, it was beautiful.

Harley's favourite feature was one Joker had installed at her request. The great big ice cream cone at the top was now a rocket launcher. Ain't that just the height of romance?! It was. It really was. Oh, how she missed her J...

Oh, well. Not long now, kid. Hang in there.

Who's voice had that been?

Harley wrinkled her nose in confusion and twirled her hair around her finger. A voice was a voice, y'know? You don't question that shit. You own it. Just like bruises - which you wear like cute little badges of honour. Anyway, the point was that the big ice cream cone on top was a ROCKET LAUNCHER! Harley stuck her head out of the window as they drove, hair whipping in a flurry of blonde, vibrant pink and aggressive blue in the wind. The journey wasn't all that long and within two flaps of a butterflies wing they were there.

Oh, and the pah-lan was executed gloriously!

But Joker-

Her Joker was different. Something was-

His hair was all-

IT WAS LONG. HE LOOKED LIKE THAT DISNEY PRINCESS-

Uh... Rapsansella? Carbunkle? Farflunzel?

RAPUNZEL. Mistah J looked like Rapunzel! Harley blinked in stunned, uncomprehending disbelief at her one and only. 'Kay, so maybe the Rapunzel comparison was an exaggeration, but really, his hair was all... not like itself. It had grown a crazy amount during his stay at Arkham. Now, Harley was no hairdresser and she was no hair... expert but even she knew that for his hair to grow so much in the space of four months. It had killed Harley to be away from her honka honka for so long, even though he'd wanted to be there to get the next stage of his grand plan sorted, but...

A girl has needs, y'know? A girl only has so much patience.

Joker did not seem pleased with his appearance. Denied of his signature makeup and his hair all grown out like this with no green dye available... he looked kinda like a mashup of a punk hippie and a zombie serial killer. Apparently the new, experimental meds they'd made him take at the asylum had caused his hair to grow at an extremely heightened rate, as a side effect.

It was hot.

Harley could dig it.

J did not. He made it very apparent and was a complete drama queen about it and wouldn't allow anyone but Harley to look at him directly. This made Harley very, very smug.

In an effort to cheer him up before they left, Harley shot the big ice cream rocket launcher at the asylum. It elicited a laugh but no impressive change in mood. It got even worse when they got back to the apartment and he saw himself in the mirror. So they dyed it bright, TOXIC GREEN and Harley even tried to tidy it up and get it out of his face a little with loads of intricate little braids. Braids worked. Braids could look funny on a man like The Joker and if he looked like he was meant to look silly, then he could master it. After all, he was expected at the club that night. He needed to feel like the circus master he would pretended to be.

"Awh, puddin'~" Harley cooed, adding tinier little braids at his stubborn insistence, "you got yourself an excuse to just shoot guys for lookin' at ya funny!"

Of course, J did this all the time, but neither of them ever acknowledged it and Harley was glad for the fact as it meant she could point out little elements to the gag he would enjoy and find a reason to be Joker for. Abruptly, Joker jerked his head upwards, cracking his neck and straining his jaw. He did that a lot. Harley's theory was that he'd spent such a long time in straight jackets that he could never really see clothes as anything but confining, and so he was stuck having to wear them but also constantly wanting to be free.

Poor tortured soul. The system really abuses him.

[ later at the club...]

"Is something, uh, distracting you, gentlemen?" Joker queried - it came across as vaguely threatening only because the strange glee in his eyes contradicted the mood. The three men sat opposite him in the booth fidgeted about uncomfortably, trying to simultaneously avoid looking at the King's hair and avoid watching Harley Quinn dance. Joker cocked his head to that odd, awkward, almost definitely painful angle as he regarded them, gaze scouring over each of them like a vulture searching for chaos, "You know, you oughta look a fella in the eye when you talk to him..."

"Of course, J. Of course."

"Hey, Jimmy, don't look at me like that... Harley's jealousy is a MONSTROUS thing," he grinned that savage, award winning snarl, and the men knew they were fucked. There was no winning. He wasn't gonna let them go. He was in the mood to play games.

Client after client, Joker toyed and manipulated and tortured. He'd alternate between demanding compliments, throwing a fit if anyone so much as glanced in the direction of his hair, and breaking fingers for not going along with his jokes. Anyone who tried to make an escape before Joker had exhausted all potential for his jokes were taken straight to The Funhouse to be dealt with later.

"I love this guy. Look at him. Just look at that face. I love his... style. He's got that oomph factor, hasn't he? Tell me, Derek, you notice anything different about me? No, not new SHOES-"

Derek received a bullet to the head for insinuating that Joker's new hairdo did not suit him.

Silly Derek.