When Schwarzwald makes her way back into the chemical factory, she realizes that Joker isn't back yet.
But Harley Quinn is.
Quinn is standing outside the front door, looking slightly singed, and when she lays eyes on Schwarzwald, they narrow dangerously. She marches towards Schwarzy, her posture radiating nothing but pure wrath.
"What the hell, Schwarzwald?" She growls, as she stands in front of Schwarzwald, grabbing her by the front of her dirty white and black costume and dragging her face-to-face. "You screwed up the whole plan!"
Schwarzwald shoves her back a step, not wanting to deal with it. Harley grabs her and pulls her back, throwing her back a couple steps so that they can stare one another off. It's time for this rancor-filled relationship to come to a head, right here in the mud outside of their base on this dark, rainy night.
"What's the matter, Harley? Haven't had your fix of pitiful attempts at humping Joker yet?"
No one said it was going to be a tasteful fight.
"No," Harley spits, her pretty face twisting into a snarl of a forced smile, "Haven't had your fix of candy bars, you cow?" She shoots back, and the two of them don't realize that they're circling one another like wolves. Schwarzwald's eyes widen for a moment, before narrowing. She's been on a diet lately so that she can slim down to be as skinny as Harley, and they both know it.
"Not lately. Poor, rotten little slut; can't get him to want you yet?" Schwarzwald fires back, and though she's used that insult before, it still stings like lemon juice and salt in a very open wound. Harley growls in her throat, deep.
"Better than if you were trying." Harley growls, and Schwarzwald's nails, now painted black and white again, dig into her palm tight enough to draw blood, thunder booming off in the distance to make a very dangerous ambiance.
"Hah. I don't need to, because I already have." Schwarzwald sneers, and she instantly knows that she's hit the switch. They're not fighting over a failed job anymore; this is something much more important that they might kill one another over.
"You're lying."
"Complete truth. Maybe he just doesn't think you're worth anything more than foreplay."
That's about when Harley lunges forward, crossing the gap between them in the muddy ground outside the factory and tackles Schwarzwald, and they both hit the dirt. Harley's straddling Schwarzwald's stomach, and she tries to hook her thumbs into Schwarzwald's eyes and gouge them out. Schwarzwald bucks her weight and throws Harley off, upwards and over her head, and Quinn rolls onto her hands and knees right as Schwarzwald jumps up, whirls around, and tries to punch her in the face. She grabs her fist and slams her knee into Schwarzwald's stomach, and Schwarzwald leans her head up and headbutts Harley as hard as she possibly can, and this sends them both reeling. Harley recovers first and grabs a handful of black and white spray-painted hair, pulling hard and twisting her hand so that Schwarzwald screeches in pain. Since Quinn is kneeling and Schwarzwald is on her back on the concrete floor in front of her, her head practically lying in her lap, Harley looks up in time to see Schwarzwald swing her foot and kick her in the face. Harley lets go of her and falls in a sitting position in the mud, with a hand over her face, as Schwarzwald twists around to face her and continue the assault.
"Surprise!" Harley chimes, sneering with terrible joy, as she throws dirt into Schwarzwald's face and eyes. Schwarzwald screams, hands over her face, and after a moment where she rubs her eyes hard to try and clear her vision, looks up at Harley just in time to see her swinging some rebar that's been laying in a pile near the front door of the factory. A split second later it connects and sends Schwarzwald sprawling. She can't really see all too well, from how her vision is fuzzy and blurred and her thoughts are incomprehensible, but she's coherent enough to see Harley Quinn standing up, smiling viciously, and walking over towards her, rebar in hand. The rain is falling hard now, drenching them and plastering their hair against their bodies, makeup running and dripping from their chins like tears. The mud is thick now and it makes walking in heels very difficult, but Harley manages it through sheer willpower.
"Puddin' won't miss you; you're nothin' but dead weight." She tells the incapacitated Schwarzwald, patting the rebar into her palm as she walks over to stand in front of Schwarzwald, her figure framed by lightning that flashes through the dark clouds overhead, and raises the rebar high over her head. "Say goodnight!"
She swings, the blow connects, swings, hits, swings, hits. With every blow, Schwarzwald lets out a pathetic pained screech, before Harley gets too careless and bloodthirsty, tossing the rebar aside so that she can stomp on the bloodied rival. When she does, and fuck do her heels hurt, Schwarzwald grabs her ankle and jerks, just like she did to that masked thug all those nights ago on the eve of the Wayne fundraiser that started this whole mess, and Harley goes down. Schwarzwald is on her in an instant, her vision blurred and her head aching and her body beaten, and she waylays Quinn with every blow that will connect. She thinks that some of them do, though she can't be sure, until Harley bucks her weight and throws her off, sending her toppling. Harley grabs the rebar again and crawls over to the incapacitated Schwarzwald, straddling her hips, and raises the rebar high overhead. She aims to beat Schwarzwald's face, make it collapse in on itself, never have to look at it again.
Schwarzwald opens one eye, glaring, and mutters, "Surprise." Harley looks up in time to see that Schwarzwald has pulled off one shoe and swung it like a bat, and it connects with the younger woman's left cheek. It knocks her off her game enough so that Schwarzwald can try to pry the rebar out of her hands, which they battle over as muddy, soaking wet women trying to earnestly kill one another.
"Bitch!" Harley roars, pulling and twisting hair, jerking the older woman about as hard as she can as they battle for the rebar.
"Whore!" Schwarzwald screeches, trying to slap the woman under her. She succeeds, once, twice, before she gets a hold on the rebar, hair plastered to her face and neck and shoulders, raising it high above her head, aiming to stake Harley Quinn through the heart with it. She shoves it downwards, towards Harley's body, her throat, but Harley's thinner and more athletic, twists in a way that makes her miss and then throws Schwarzwald off again, and the two are grabbing hair and screaming and biting and pulling and clawing and rolling over and over again through the mud, as thugs watch from the factory doorway as the two women wearing latex, soaking wet, very cold, are basically mud wrestling to the death in front of them. It doesn't hurt that whenever they try to gain dominance, they straddle each other's hips and half the time it looks like they're having rough sex. The men can't say they don't like what they're watching.
"You usually gotta pay 12.99 to see this sort of shit." Rocko states, watching Harley and Schwarzy try to kill one another. Charlie, and Eddie nod, slowly, continuing to watch the women fight. They fight dirty.
"Slut!"
"Orphan!"
"Jailbait!"
"Fatass!"
They roar insults, their voices hoarse and cracking, until Harley, under Schwarzwald, who is currently trying to beat her into submission, lands a very hard punch right to Schwarzwald's throat. Schwarzwald gags, chokes, and Harley throws her off into the mud that's now liquid enough to puddle. She grabs Schwarzwald with haste, rolls her onto her stomach, and forces her head down into one of these mud puddles, intent on drowning her. Schwarzwald flails, kicks, tries to throw Quinn off, but Harley is sitting on her back and keeping her hand on the back of her head so that she can't jerk away and get a breath. After a minute, Schwarzwald opens her mouth and instantly tastes grass and mud, sucks it in instinctively, and feels the horrible burning sensation in her lungs. The only sound she can hear is her own attempt at screaming, which is pitiful and muffled by the mud. Is this how she's really going to die, finally? Drowned in the rain by Harley Quinn? Apparently so. At least, she thinks, I died with one good deed under my belt.
Harley's weight is wrenched off of her suddenly and someone grasps her by the hair, pulling her face out of the mud. She chokes and coughs up mud and dirt and grass, as her hearing clears somewhat, and when her eyes begin to clear too, she sees a hastily painted smile running down his chin.
"Couldn't wait for me?" Joker asks, pleasant in tone, as Schwarzwald droops and vomits mud that she's swallowed. He throws her down, as she wheezes and coughs and sucks in breath, and looks between Harley Quinn, who he's wrenched off and thrown away a few feet, and Schwarzwald recovering at his feet.
"I never want to miss a good cat fight. Especially over me," Joker looks between them, and there's wrath in his dark eyes as the kohl runs down his cheeks like tears and makes him look even more like a horror than usual. Harley scoots backwards, hesitantly, her makeup running as well.
"M…Mister J…what're you…?" She asks, nervously, very quietly, eyes wide. Joker strides over to her, smiling, and kicks her in the ribs. She yelps and hits the ground, as he stomps on her shoulder as hard as he can.
"I'm…punishing…failures." He seethes, punctuating every word with a stomp, before Harley moves to her knees and grasps at his leg, wide eyes full of fear and sorrow.
"I'm sorry!! I-I won't!" She begins, but he swings and catches her in the eye with the side of his fist. She lets go, slumps off of him, and goes silent. Schwarzwald knows that she's next, and she turns and tries to crawl away again, pitifully slow and hacking bloody mud, before a boot presses down on the back of her head and smashes her face against the ground, submerging the right side of her face in mud again.
"Oh no, you're not getting away either, Schwarzy." Joker chides, pressing harder and watching her squirm. "I know what you did; trying to be a hero? No heroes in Gotham last very long, you know. Look at Harvey Dent; look what happened to him. Batman is a pariah in the city he fights, uselessly, to save. The police are worthless when it comes to people like you, and Harl, and me." He removes his foot from her head and she raises it out of the mud, and rolls over to try and protect herself from any assault coming. He stamps down on her stomach, hard, and she lets out a little yelp when she does.
"There…are…no…more…heroes…" Joker growls, once again stomping on Schwarzwald relentlessly, knowing that he's leaving horrid bruises and maybe internal injuries, "They're…all…dead." When she looks up at him, with childlike eyes full of betrayal and hurt and a message that reads why are you hurting me, you're supposed to protect me, I love you, he kicks her in the face. Nothing makes him sicker than that look. Her eyes go closed as she wishes that he'd just kill her already, stop hurting her and making her feel pain, and she feels him take her chin up so that she faces him, holding her chin and rubbing his thumb along her cheek and jaw line, almost lovingly, before she feels white-hot agony as he shoves the blade in her mouth and saws. She's failed him, betrayed him, for the last time, apparently, and he's going to make her pay for it for the rest of her life. Schwarzwald screams, she screams blue murder as he mutilates her, until blood chokes her and her stomach turns and twists. She dry heaves, because the taste of blood makes her so sick, but there's nothing to vomit and she's too busy choking and heaving and gurgling like an infant, blood bubbling, frothing pink, to do anything but wait for him to finish.
She automatically knows that he's decided to put a smile on her face. Permanently.
When he finishes he drops her, as she wails and sobs in pain with her hands over her ruined face, and she knows that she'll never be pretty again, vain creature that she is, and after a minute, someone else is dragging her into the building. They drag her inside, to her old room again, and they toss her sobbing, dripping, bleeding form in on the dirty concrete. The two unfamiliar people walk out the doorway as she curls up on the floor with her hands over her ruined face and opens one blurry eye, seeing a mass of purple towering over her.
"Here," Joker says, indifferently, and he tosses a mirror down beside her, followed by a roll of thread and a sewing needle. "You'll need them. And dollface, don't you forget to smile."
The door slams a moment later and, after what may be five minutes or five hours, she picks up the mirror and needle and thread, crawls to her dirty mattress and into the very furthest corner of the room, her frame still wracked with sobs, and she begins to sew.