A Word with the Author: That time again, no? Reviews feed the starving writer, just saying. Right now I kinda feel like I'm talking to a brick wall. And people put disclaimers down, should I?
What the hell.
Disclaimer: The Dark Knight, The Joker, Harley Quinn, and Batman aren't mine (though I wish they were). I only claim my goons and other…characters and characteristics of certain peoples.
I also claim the song I wrote.(:
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Your nerves gather with the altitude
Exhale the stress so you don't come unglued
Somewhere there is a happy affair, a ghost of a good mood
Wide eyed, panic on the getaway
The high tide could take me so far away
VCR's and motorcars unite on the Seventh Day
A popular gauge will measure the rage of the new Post-Modern Age
Cause somewhere along the line all the decades align
Owl City; Rainbow Veins
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Light began to flood the Gotham with brilliant color that stained the concrete jungle. The city began to wake slowly, venders opening shops, businessmen getting into cars, mothers walking their children to school. Her eyes opened to a new, frigid day. You have to imagine, waking up every day, knowing that someone else is going to die, whether it be murder, over dose, gang related, or just some little old lady walking home, who gets stabbed to death for her hand bag.
In a room, two bodies lay under the sheets. The sunrise touches almost every corner in the small area, bouncing off the walls, onto mirrors, and on the carpet. Harley wakes up to the light slowly, her body refusing to realize that she's woken. She groaned, lifting herself slightly, but being pinned right back down. An arm was thrust around her bare waist, quiet snoring filling her ear, his warm body lay against hers. Harley sighed, slowly prying off his arm. He faltered in his sleep, searching for her. She quickly placed her white pillow under him. The Joker sighed peacefully.
Harley tiptoed softly into the bathroom, a swirl of pink, orange, and blue touching her pale skin. She opened a drawer gently, pulling out a pair of underwear, and gently slipping them on. Her quick fingers pulled out a tie-dye tank top. Harley combed her fingers between the wild excuse of her hair.
People always assumed that Harley was not a natural blond, considering her profession. Well, this was a complete stereotype. Harley has had flowing, sunny blond locks from the day she was born. The only thing she had ever done to her hair was add some colored streaks in her hair. And those had long ago faded away to the original color. She kind of missed the splash of color in her hair, she wouldn't mind a few streaks…
"Please, don't let me stop you."
Harley jumped slightly as she heard his eerie voice break through the silence. She turned around, her hand splayed across her chest. She let out a shaky breath before she spoke.
"Mister J, you scared me." She said in a playful tone.
"Get back in bed." There was no option in his voice. Harley walked over to the bed, a small smirk in her features. She climbed under the blankets slowly. Harley lay on top of him, every inch of their bodies touching.
The kiss started out simple and slow, but progressed quickly, desperate, wanting, sexual. The Joker's hands began to wander around her body, pinching, caressing, grabbing, and holding. He pulled back suddenly, sighing in frustration.
"Goddamn work always busting my balls…" He continued to ramble as he stood up, Harley sliding off of him. He grabbed his pants, still talking to himself, and slipping them on. He picked up his oxford shirt, button by button, came to be. He tucked the excess fabric of his shirt into his pants, buckling the belt that hanged limp on the hoops. He found his gloves scattered across the room. His hand scratched the thin layer of paint that shielded his face. He began to search for a tie, as he looked up, he found a blond holding it.
"Looking for this?" Harley said, twirling it around her finger. She stood to her feet, throwing the cloth around his neck. Harley reached on her toes to tie it quickly. She had learned how to tie a tie through years of practice. She would watch customers undo theirs, and she would watch each movement. The pull of the fabric, undoing the larger knot, figuring out what looped what.
The Joker grabbed his jacket when she was finished. His long strides led him to the door, he opened it, and Harley's meek voice alerted him.
"Daddy?"
He turned to her.
"Do you think…do you want to have the evening alone? I can cook dinner…" Her eyes were big like a hopeful little girl, her hands clasped together in her front, and her teeth gently pulled on her bottom lip.
The Joker wanted to laugh, but he held back the laughter. "Sure." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. "Go crazy."
Harley took the money in wide eyed wonder. She never really held a lot of money at once, unless she just got off the dance floor or was paid by a customer. The Joker slipped out of the door, still wanting to laugh. The men were scattered, reading newspapers, eating, spitting, taking a sip of coffee, watching the basketball game.
Swine the lot of them. Drug addicts, serial killers, thieves, rapists. Scum of the earth, people who made upstanding citizens sick to their stomachs. Nobody would ever hire them except for fast food joints and garbage men. Only he would pay them this much money, but the price was usually the same, your life was always on the line. But rotten apples all have one thing in common really: no empathy.
The Joker coughed semi loud, and heads turned toward him. Eyes looked away from the television screen, men stood up straight, they stopped drinking or eating, and several emotions came to the room: fear, hatred, awkwardness, surprise, respect, and energy. But the most prominent was an eerie calm.
"Everybody get the hell out of here."
The men looked around in confusion.
"Are any of you deaf?" His switchblade appeared out of nowhere, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat. "MD, not you. Oh, and you…yeah the Mexican."
Santiago seethed at him. The Joker mimicked cutting his throat and Santiago's eyes almost popped out of his head. He turned quickly, walking out the door.
Like scattering cockroaches under lights, the men dashed out the door without another word. They talked to one another in hushed voices, many glared at their employer. But The Joker only smirked, placing his switchblade back when the last man left the house with a slam of the screen door. MD stared at him.
"Babysit girly upstairs. When she's done doing whatever, you can leave."
He walked out without another word, the crunch of gravel piercing under his shoe. As he sat in the car he noticed in the mirror, he could see his make up was near gone. Pulling off his right glove, he huffed, digging into his pocket and pulled out three circular containers. Black was first, if you put white down first, it turned lighter. The red was next, pink was not really his color. His finger brushed across the bumpy skin raised at his cheeks. White was last, the ghost skin made everything else more unusual.
He tried to imagine himself wearing pink. He shook his head, that would make him look gay. Even though he wore more make up than drag queens.
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Harley was confused when she walked downstairs to find no one there. What was stranger, was that MD was the only one sitting at the table, a paper shielding his face from her. She walked to him slowly, peeking over the flimsy paper. MD looked up in surprise, and was met instantly with the confused look on Harley's face.
"I'm supposed to do whatever you want, and then I can go home." His accent was more prominent than usual.
"Oh." Though it didn't explain too much, she just went along with it. "I need to go to the meat market, and the grocery store." Harley murmured allowed. Her fingers brushed along the money in her black skinny jeans.
MD sighed, putting his paper down. He stood slowly, his back popping as he went up. "Let's go."
Harley slipped a thick wool jacket over her white sweater. She also added a black knit cap and a pair of gloves. Harley hated the cold, she preferred the summer. Warm breezes stirring bright green leaves, butterflies fluttering from flower to flower, the sound of children playing on the slides. All of it brought back memories from the past.
The two scrambled into the car, eager to escape the bitter bite of winter. MD started a low key car, the hot air immediately blowing on them. Harley sighed in relief. Traffic was buzzing today, and her favorite market was about six blocks from her apartment. A handkerchief was thrown at her, causing Harley to sigh in displeasure.
"It's the rule doll, I'd rather live to see another day."
Harley tied the fabric over her eyes, the world going black. She could hear her steady breathing, the touch of the itchiness in the seat was clear, the smell of air conditioning filled her nostrils. Her hands folded daintily in her lap, not daring to move if she didn't have to.
"Where is this place anyway?"
"On New Hope and Barley."
The car was silent for a moment.
"Where are you from?" MD asked. It wasn't out of curiosity, more like trying to make the car ride less awkward.
Harley turned her head towards MD, out of habit. "I've lived in Gotham my entire life. I want to move out somewhere warm, like the Bahamas or Florida." She laughed. "I live next to Pearl Beach, that's probably the closest I'm ever going to get to the Bahamas." She paused. "What about you?"
"Louisiana." MD said simply. "I lived in a small bayou on the coast. My father was a fisherman and Momma was a kindergarten teacher. I lived there my entire life, 'till I up and left at eighteen years to be a doctor. Came all the way over here, I gotta scholarship to Harvard."
"You got a scholarship? To Harvad?" Harley said in disbelief.
"Sure did. Don't let the accent fool ya, my IQ 183."
"How'd you end up working for The Joker?" Saying his name was eerie, like a two year old saying a bad word. It didn't feel right, but you couldn't do anything about. MD shook this off quickly, no need to make things awkward.
"Well…ya see Harley, there are all types of people in this world. The good, the bad…and I'm a bad man. I did horrible things to innocent people. I spent time in prison, my medical license was taken away. When I got out, I couldn't find work anywhere. One night when I was sleeping by the street, the boss came over and offered me a job. I was desperate, you gotta understand. But there's a price you pay when you're in my position."
"What?" Harley said in almost a whisper. It was like listening to someone tell a scary story, and they're about to reach the end…
"The only way out of this job, is in a body bag."
Harley gulped.
"Do you think…I might…" Harley inquired.
"If you play your cards right and behave, you definitely have a shot of walking out of that house alive." MD didn't sugar coat things, he had no reason to. Why just make the inevitable nicer? Life was never fair, making it seem that way was just an illusion.
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"Jesus, we've been through ten musicians and still nothing."
Mr. Andrews sighed, pinching this nose between his bony fingers. The coffee shop had been losing business for months now, and in desperate times, come desperate measures. Trying to find a good musician to play here was tougher than he expected. Most of them were hard rock bands, or just sucked in general. He looked down, his shriveled face and tired eyes looking down to the next person on the list.
"Ellie…Queenzal?"
"It's Quinzel!" Ellie said, walking up with an acoustic guitar in hand. Her wild mane of hair flew behind her as she sat on the stool in the corner of the shop. It was a nice place, with cool colored tables and gray walls. It had the aura of and old diner from the 50s.
"Well, my name is Ellie and I'm kind of a folk singer I guess." She said, cheerfully tuning her guitar. "I'm very dedicated to my music, not to mention I can work when you need me. My schedule is very flexible." She smiled to the married couple. Mr. Andrews was an older man, with a professional attire. Mrs. Andrews was clad in a workers uniform. The red made her already flaming hair look larger, her brown eyes were curious.
"I'm a horrid song writer, so I guess I'll be playing a cover.
You don't have to be beautiful
To turn me on
I just need your body baby
From dusk till dawn
You don't need experience
To turn me out
You just leave it all up to me
I'm gonna show u what it's all about"
But instead of upbeat pop music playing, Harley strummed her guitar slowly, each word seductive. Her voice was loud and proud, the passion coming from every syllable that played from her lips. The Andersons looked at on another in amazement, surprised that a girl this young could sing like that. After the song was over, they smiled at one another, whispering.
"When can you start?"
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Harley pulled two paper bags out of the car, balancing them equally as she shut the door with her foot. MD was ready to catch something or make sure she got in safely. Harley wobbled to the door, trying to find the key he had given her. MD rolled down the window as she barely managed to save one of the bags.
"Do you need my help?"
Harley shook her head as the door finally opened. She smiled at him, waving him off. "Enjoy today, when was the last time your boss let you out of work early?"
MD smirked. "Good luck, Harley."
Harley walked into the house, kicking the door shut behind her. She gingerly set the groceries on the table, making sure they were stable before she locked the door. She pulled out a pan and began to soak two steaks in a concoction. Feeling the effects of noon and having no breakfast, she ate a sandwich and apple.
She killed time quickly. Reading, watching the headlines on HLN, doing some yoga, and just singing and dancing around the house. Time flew by, and before she knew it, five o'clock had come. The Joker usually got to the house around eight or nine, so she had time before he got here. Harley walked up the stairs, realizing she was probably in for a hell of a night. Harley took a quick shower, nothing too much, and began to get ready.
She emerged from the bathroom in a heavy fog. Going through the drawers, she found her old pen stripe skirt. She smirked as she fished out a white blouse. Harley decided being some type of secretary would be fun… Her legs darned hose and her feet black heels. She put on her reading glasses and placed her hair into a loose bun. She smeared red across her lips.
The house echoed her steps as she went to cook.
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The coffee shop was semi-full, with people of all ages wanting to see what Old Man Anderson did this time. On a stool in the corner, sat a pretty young girl, with a guitar in one hand and a microphone in front of her mouth. Posters littered the windows of his business, announcing a new singer. Even on the first day, they were having good sales.
"Testing one, two. Testing one, two." Ellie breathed into the microphone. When no feedback rang, she smiled. "Welcome to The Java Joint. My name is Ellie Quinzel, and I'm the new artist here." A few claps and applause came from the audience. She smiled, brushing her hair out of her face.
"This first song was written for somebody very special. He's…actually in the audience right now." Wolf whistles sounded through the air, and Jack found himself blushing. She couldn't possibly mean him, could she? Ellie's eyes met his in a hopeful gaze. She began to ready position. "Hope you guys like it."
Burning eyes meet mine
And if the planets did align
I was lost and now I'm found
Please, don't let me drown
What happens when worlds collide?
And there you are, just hypnotize
Me
What happens, when everything falls apart?
Oh please, don't break my heart.
And oh please, don't break my heart.
Fantasize something that could be true
I don't know what I am without you
The world chewed me up and spit me out
We just want to scream and shout
Our song
Oh please, don't break my heart
And oh please, don't break my heart
When the world falls apart
The crowd erupted into cheers, Jack even found himself clapping. He never knew she could sing like that, much less write a song. Every time she would tell him that, he would laugh or ignore her. But this…this was just special. Ellie smiled, pride flushing her cheeks. "Thank you, thank you. Anybody have any requests? Oh, yes you, in the yellow."
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Harley smiled as she saw two perfectly cooked steaks laying on dining wear, neatly sat out. Next to, two baked potatoes and two servings of steamed vegetables sat snugly. She lit two long, white candles and dimmed the lights in the room. The wine sat upon the table, the empty glass looking lonely. Harley herself stuck to a glass of water. Now that dinner was done, all she had to do was wait. She pulled out a chair, the white table cloth clinging to it.
It wasn't that long before he showed up, maybe a few minutes. She heard the sound of gravel beneath heavy car tires, lights flashed through the closed windows, and an engine shut off. Dull footsteps made Harley's pulse rise, though she knew who it was. But what if it wasn't him? What if it was some mob boss looking for revenge? Or some robber? The handle began to jiggle, before rough pounding shook the entire house. Harley stood up nervously, walking towards the door carefully, and peeking through the eyehole.
To her relief it was him. She sighed, unlocking the door and opening it for him. He stormed in, and stopped at what she had sat out, and what she was wearing. She smiled at him, clasping her hands behind her back.
"Bon appétit." She stepped back and pulled out an empty chair.