"Take your hair out of those forsaken pigtails. You're supposed to look like a responsible member of society, not some juvenile idiot."

"Yes, Aunite."

"And work on your pronunciation, girl!" Her aunt tutted, "You'll never make it off the island if you can't say your d's and t's. Now, give me some hard r's!"

"I can't think of a word offa the toppa-"

Her aunt slapped her knuckles with a ruler and gave her a glare. "I need to hear say Mister Wayne properly, so that his ears don't bleed before he takes away your gymnastics scholarship."

"Mistah-"

The slap came harder.

"MistER." Harley gritted her teeth and blinked back tears, "MistER Wayne, so good to be heRE."

Her Aunt looked her up and down, "You'll pass. Now go put on my red dress: and maybe you'll get more than a scholarship out of this." A brief, cold smile came to her aunt's lips but not her eyes.

Harleen had specifically been given gloves to hide her bruised knuckles and scuffed palms. Worker's hands her Auntie called the calluses from too much time in the gym. Made her look beneath her station, she said. But here they were, both marooned in the same shack off the coast of Gotham. Maybe Auntie was the one at that got off at the wrong station. She looked down at her pristine silk gloves as the green cab drove her towards Wayne Enterprises on this particular Friday evening.

The driver looked back at her suspiciously, then appreciatively. She hated when men did that. "Wayne Enterprises, eh?" His thick accent inquired.

"Yeah," she fiddled with her gloves. "It'sa- it's a scholarship gala. Mister Wayne funds a lot of things," she properly pronounced.

"Sure does; guy with money like that can buy all kindsa things," He licked his lips.

Ugh, if only she could whack this guy over the head. Instead she directed her attention at the swiftly improving architecture. After the bridge, crowded row homes became businesses and businesses became skyscrapers. And somehow one skyscraper was able to inch all the others out in the sky, with a giant W that loomed over the corner park below. Her pen-pal Pam would say this guy was compensating for something. Pam was always using smart words like that. Harley often had to take out the dictionary when she read her neatly-written letters.

"Here we are missy, and remember: the meter doesn't add the tip."

"Yeah, yeah," she shoved a fist full of dollars in his waiting hands and watched him nearly run down two pedestrians on his way down town. Harley shook her head and looked around the busy sidewalk. She wondered, for a second, if she could simply sit in the park for three hours. But, that angry bum on the bench looked like he had other plans. She sighed and turned towards the building. She stalled as she saw a flurry of purple out of the corner of her eye. The color seemed to heat her organs on this chilly spring night. She swallowed, Nah, couldn't be, as she entered the rotating glass door.

There were a bunch of kids from different high schools schmoozing inside of the large ballroom that the secretary lady had pointed her towards. Harley had never seen anything so magnificent: chandeliers, fancy virgin cocktails, butlers… She hated the feelings that it stirred inside of her, though she couldn't quite put a name to them yet.

"Hello," a sturdy man with suave dark hair and a clean shaven face approached her. She had no knowledge of suits, but from the way it fit him she could assume it cost a bunch. "Are you enjoying the shrimp?"

Harley had grabbed off the butler's tray. Maybe that wasn't quite right. But at least she could remember how to speak properly.

"It's been rather good so far," she chewed, "If only garcon over there would get me a Shirley Temple."

"Martin," the man rose his hand, "Can we get miss-" he looked down at her for affirmation.

"Harleen."

"Harleen a Shirley Temple?"

"Of course, Sir." Martin nodded and drifted towards the bar.

"Sir?" Harley squeaked, "You mean, like… the Bruce Wayne kind of Sir?"

He gave a laugh, but there was no joy to it, "That would be me."

"Boy, you sure have it going on, haven't you? It must be nice to own a place like this." Her mouth moved before her brain. She bit her lip.

"It doesn't come without its costs," his face became stoic. "In fact I think you and I have a lot in common. Miss Quinzel, is it?"

"Yes," Harleen dropped a shrimp onto her china plate. "Say, how did you know?" Her brows furrowed.

"I do my research on all scholarship candidates. Would you believe me if I said that I'm an orphan, like you?"

"'Scuse me?" Harley's face scrunched up, "…You think I'm an orphan?"

"According to my records, I thought that-" Bruce attempted salvation.

"Thought shmaught!" She stamped her foot, "I ain't no orphan. I've got my Aunt!"

"Harleen, I wasn't implying that you-"

"I AIN'T like you!" She howled as the glass shattered around the panicking crowd. For a moment, she thought that she'd done that and she stood blanching at the site. That was until the window washers rolled in with clown masks and machine guns.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" A broad shouldered man in a purple suit bowed deeply.

"Joker…" She breathed the words in.

Harley stared at his elegant back for what seemed like hours before she tore her eyes away to see how the host was dealing with the million dollar insurance claim; only to notice he had disappeared. Coward.

"I heard that you were all here tonight to award a scholarship, and I'm positively happy to accept!" The Joker let out a laugh. That laugh played across each and every one of her heart strings like honed fingers.

As the crowd was frantically backing up, Harley was making her way against the current. Something in her soul wanted front-row center, just as she was with her daddy at the carnival. She sat cross-legged on the floor, with no mind for her dress, in front of the squealing kids and their parents. Yes, just like the show. She wanted a show.


The Joker couldn't ignore the doll dressed in red with perfectly framed platinum hair and ruby lips opened in awe. There she sat, like his biggest fan, gaping up at him in anticipation. And while at first he was shaken at the change in production, the twit had proved entertaining once more. He made a show of giving her a wink. She grasped her face like he was Elvis Presley and he bellowed out a laugh once more. He wasn't the King, no, no, this little girl knew- He was the Joker.