The scrub brush lay by the side of the sink, untouched. As Harley looked into the mirror, for some reason she just couldn't remove the black and white face make-up that let Harley Quinn out of Harleen Quinzel. Of course they were one and the same, but the devoted psychiatrist of years passed, and the harlequin play-thing/girlfriend of the joker seemed as if they were two different people. One smart, assured, and focused; the other needy, confused, and focused on nothin but her puddin'. She looked at the face now staring back at her. The make-up itched slightly but had almost melted to her skin she'd worn it so long. But she still couldn't bring herself to remove it. It was a mark that marked her to The Joker, Mistah J, her Puddin', the love of her life, "And homicidal maniac with abusive tendencies." She replied to her face, trying almost to make herself believe that she could see him so black and white. But try as she might, which she never could make herself try that hard, love had a strange way of perverting one's view on the world. Everyone else's that is. Harley knew the black and white, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, but every time she almost came to the conclusion that he didn't love her as much as she thought he did, her mind immediately reversed countered that of course her puddin' loved her, surely all the moments that weren't filled with abuse and Batman were proof except when they were fighting, which had to happen today. "On our anniversary" The first day she had worked at Arkham. She brought the scrub brush up to her face. It touched her skin, and she set it back down. The Joker had left his mark on her, in more ways than one. All of a sudden the door burst down and the man himself entered. She immediately cheered and ran over to him, enwrapping him in a hug. "Puddin!"
"How, you doin' hun? Miss me?"