Note: written for the Free-For-All-Fic-For-All at the AskTheSquishykins tumblr.
Prompt: Something to do with the song "House Party at Arkham Asylum." Must include Squishy doing the Macarena.
After a certain incident with the Joker, Poison Ivy wasn't allowed in the rec room except in a straitjacket. It wouldn't have been so bad—at least she had Harley to talk to—but every time he saw her, Joker declared a "house party" and told her to get up and dance.
The rest of the inmates did their best to ignore him, but Ivy couldn't. Joker singing was bad enough. He was tone deaf, and wouldn't admit it. But now he was rapping.
Badly. If there was any doubt left, his lack of rhythm made it clear that he had been whiter than Bing Crosby's Christmas before his transformation into a psychopathic clown.
"Harl, can you bring someone over here? I want to have some…fun," Ivy muttered. Harley stopped scratching imaginary vinyl and bounced to her feet with a grin.
"Really, Red? That's great! Don't go nowhere. I'll be right back."
Ivy sighed. The only thing more pathetic than the way Harley always went along with the Joker's inanity was how desperately she wanted Ivy to join in.
Harley pranced over to the chess table, where the Riddler and Hatter were engaged in a game. She started to speak to them, hesitated, and then turned instead to the Scarecrow, who was helpfully moving Tetch's pieces for him. Ivy didn't know what the Mad Hatter had done to get the straitjacket treatment, but she hoped he had done more permanent damage than she had.
Crane didn't look too sure about going off with Harley, but when she slung her arm around her shoulders, he followed. Harley chattered away at him, keeping him too distracted to realize just where they were headed. Then, when they came even with the beat up leather sofa, she gave him a shove.
Ivy smooched him as quick as she could when he fell across her lap. She straightened up and looked around as he fell to the floor, twitching and gagging and futilely fighting the chemicals flooding his system.
Good. The guards hadn't noticed.
Harley knelt beside him, holding his hand until he went still.
"Whatcha gonna do with him, Red?"
Crane gazed up at her adoringly, a slave begging for instruction.
At that moment, the Joker was screeching at the top of his lungs about the Scarecrow doing the Macarena.
Harley's face fell.
"Red? Red, wait a minute!"
"Scarecrow," Ivy said firmly, "I want you to get up, dance your way over there, and kill him."