As grimy and unkempt as the underbelly of Gotham was, there always seemed to be a piece here and there that still called back to the days of hard work and pride in ones own craftsmanship. Old buildings conditioned with weathered brick and mortar, stain glass window pains with beautiful artwork which would tell the tales of old gods and beasts no one would care about unless they were trying to take an exam and pass with flying colors and a glowing resultation from their professor. To practically everyone else in the area, it was nothing more then a moniker that there had not been a sign of reputable life for quite some time, and that all who choose to dwell there are doing so at their own risk. Dangerous types would often be the few and far between that would slink into the shadows of the blind spots of the cities justice system, completely out of sight, regardless of the fact that if they would never be found if the worst were to happened.
One such hovel, in the early thirties, had been a fairly regal looking church and daycare center. Mainly funded by the seers of the Wayne foundation, on the basic principal that education and a roof over ones head was not to be determined by ones social class. In the eighties, with crime skyrocketing, the various organizations that had assembled there felt it was no longer a profitable decision to be associated with a location known for such riff-raff. So, it was decided that Saint Geneva Ministry would abandon the site, and in doing so creating an unstable element which often offered a suitable meeting ground for the mafia as well as other facets of various crime syndicates over the years. Rather ironic, seeing as a temple of enlightenment and hope for peace was then abandoned so sin and refuse could swell, and what was once without now lurked within. Graffiti lining the walls in a display that at times would appeal to the ascetic of an art gallery, while some rooms were more akin to hate speech, one young woman gleefully sat in the rubble of a rickety pew.
No fanciful attire. No real distinguishable piece to her lifestyle or fashion. Just the way she liked it. More then anything else, she hated the idea of succumbing to normalcy, and at all costs she strived to differentiate from the masses as much as possible, and blending in to the background. At only eighteen, she held a far more mature ideology then any of her peers in school, and because of such grew a certain disdain towards them. In fact, she hated others her age, and just the world itself to such an extent that she had only allowed herself to have one friend. One person to hear her worries, her fears, and at times just her inane babblings when she felt that words were a fair way to just get something out in the open, and for the first time ever she truly felt understood and even longed for her schoolmate to be around more often. A tall, slender girl, but still curvy to some measure, who was the same age as her named Harley had been the only person she had ever told about making this abandoned crime scene into her own little home away from home.
Her father was part of a science division at a local university, and because of such he was rarely ever home or, in the very least, free to be out and about to spend much time with her. But whenever he could, the two of them maintained a small greenhouse in the attic, which was fairly makeshift. Nonetheless, they experimented in soils and herbs and just learned of the wonders of the world to their hearts content. Even when as frustrated or angered by her father as she had been lately, she could not take away from her memory all that he had taught her. One day after he arrived home from a long day or coursework and grading papers, she had asked about the greenhouse and when the next time they would begin another project was, to which he replied that he had taught her all that he could. But not before clarifying that there was a world for her to explore and test her theories on...and by god she would. By god she would.
"You're not very subtle you know...your footsteps sound like an elephant walking on bubble wrap. And your late, just pointing it out because I can." She quipped as she tried to stick her tongue out at her friend without turning around to face her, and without her realizing such. Mostly all done with little success, as a ray of sunlight shone through a partially boarded up window and brought a blonde glow into her field of vision.
"Eh...well maybe i'm just taking it easy on all of the "ninja assassination" training? Besides, wouldn't make much sense assassinating you, now does it? What about when I take over the world, now you know all that power'll go straight to my head without at least one red by my side. Aint that right Pam?" Harley mused as she put both hand on her hips as if posing for a photo no one was going to take, a smile coming on that was so thick that her cheeks were almost reseeding into her teeth.
"So what did Mr. Handcheck have to say to you? Oh wait...let me guess, it has something to do with your recent crush doesn't it?" She stated with far more assurance then most would when asking a question, her eyes on her friend while her hands were focused toiling a small pot of soil and nudging a few seeds into place.
"They just don't understand...not her...not this city...and sure as hell not our school!" Harley was furious at the very mention of it, but at the same time the fumes were helping to level off by the end of it.
The public school system would most assuredly not be very understanding of her newfound affection towards a person who had been labeled as a terrorist, despite his face paint and eyeliner providing a less serious aura about him. They called him the Joker, mostly because there was nothing else to denote him as, going the extra mile with a gambit of tests and background checks and coming up empty...but to her those details were just icing on top of the whole package. Her entire life she had been picked on her name, and its closeness to a similar type of doll which had a striking resemblance to clowns, and in the times she heard his feelings towards the world she finally felt that she found another who knew the truth. But alas, she was in the midst of high school and he in prison, and at times she felt like she could sense he was closer to her then she could imagine. Always the hopeless romantic, and in every instance applicable Pamela would rub it in that she had chosen a psychopath out of reach when she truly could have anyone she desired. It is possible that her relationship with her mother, and her distaste towards her own promiscuous nature would leave little room for respect.
"You know Harls...you might not like your mom's way of doing things...but a little touch can go a long way. What if I helped you out a bit?"
"No thanks, I don't plan to lose my dignity." She replied with a loud humph.
"Relax...it's not being a girl with loose morals...it's just being a woman who knows how to get what she wants." Her hands left the pot and now rested against her friends face ever so gently, there was a subtle bit of pained brevity in her voice over every syllable. "...besides, I think I know how I can get your hubby to notice you."
"Wha...I'll have you know that I would never call him hubby! It's...emasculating for him! I prefer...puddin'." She combatively told her at a near yell, a gleeful giggle overcoming her.