Dear Diary,
The kids had been at school for the morning, and I had been at home taking care of Richard. Finally, they returned a few hours after. My attention went to Miss Quinzel and Miss Kyle holding an artist's easel.
"What's that for?" I asked.
"Cat and I are partners for an art project." Miss Quinzel said. "We're supposed to paint something that inspires us."
I nodded, "So what are you going to paint?"
"We don't know yet." Miss Kyle shrugged. "We'll think of something."
They both disappeared for most of the morning, and when I called them at lunch, they were nowhere to be found. Just then, I got a phone call from Detective Gordon at the precinct about Selina Kyle and Harley Quinzel, and I of course had to drive all the way to the precinct.
I came in to find all the policemen in the place snickering quietly and staring. In the center of the room, Detective Bullock had fallen asleep at his desk. Miss Kyle and Miss Quinzel had placed a few empty beer cans next to him, taped his face into a funny expression, and had half-finished painting him.
"Miss Kyle and Miss Quinzel, what do you think you're doing?!" I yelled, making the girls wince and waking up Detective Bullock. He jolted awake, noticed what was happening, and ripped the tape off his face.
"Cat! Harley! I'm going to kill you!"
Miss Kyle ran out the door, but I stopped Miss Quinzel. "This is what inspires you?"
"Yeah." she smiled. "When Bullock wakes up, it inspires us to run!" she giggled and skipped out the door, chased by a furiously snarling detective with tape on his face.
I drove myself home, finding Bullock had collapsed drunk in the middle of the street approximately ten yards from the precinct. The two girls had beat me home, and by the time I parked in the garage, they were inside the house. Miss Pepper was in the garden, whispering to the flowers. I asked her where the other girls were, and she said they were on the roof which had me worried enough to go check.
As I climbed the stairs, there were repeated thudding sounds coming from outside. I raced up to the roof, where Miss Kyle was standing looking over the edge. There was a thud on the ground, and I looked over to see a shiny white backpack had just hit the ground. Miss Quinzel, standing on the ground painting, started to pick it up and bring it back up the stairs.
"Miss Kyle, what are you doing?" I asked. "That's not the backpack I bought you."
"It's not mine." she said, simply hearing Miss Quinzel come up the stairs. She walked back and grabbed the backpack, waiting for Miss Quinzel to get back down to the ground. She then saw Miss Quinzel back at the easel with a brush in hand giving her a thumbs-up, and she threw the backpack back down. Miss Quinzel got a fraction of a brushstroke done before she picked the backpack up and brought it back up. Once again, Miss Quinzel raced back down; Miss Kyle waited until she was ready, and threw it back down so Miss Quinzel could paint it.
"You're painting the backpack falling?" I asked.
She nodded, and went to throw the backpack down another time.
"You're supposed to be painting something that inspires you. Whose is that?"
From the open door, I overheard the front door opening downstairs and overheard a conversation.
"Hi, Bruce."
"Hello, Silver. Are you here about the English homework?"
"No, actually. Umm... I think Cat accidentally took my backpack at school today. May I please have it back?"
I realized where this was going, staring at Miss Kyle, who was throwing the backpack off the roof one more time for Miss Quinzel to paint.
"What?" Miss Kyle shrugged. "This inspires me. When I see Silver's face, I'm inspired to throw her stuff off the roof."
I glared at her until she threw up her arms.
"Fine. Hey, Harley! Silver's at the front door! Give her back her stuff!"
Miss Quinzel threw the half-finished painting on the ground and circled around the house to give Miss St. Cloud her backpack back. I went back down to meet her and apologize.
After a quick drive to the cell phone store to reimburse Miss St. Cloud for the shattered remains of her cell phone, I quickly drove home, not wanting to leave the kids alone for long. That always led to trouble. Well, the house was quiet when I got home, but when I parked and got into the house, I was greeted by the sight of Master Bruce and Mister Kerr shirtless and wearing togas, with leaves in their hair and holding swords to each other, frozen in place for Miss Quinzel and Miss Kyle to paint.
(A/N) Oh my god, at the time of this writing, Alfred just slapped Selina across the face. "That was for Reggie," he says. You know you're the only one who remembers that, right? You know, Alfred? I used to feel bad for making your life miserable in this story, but I no longer feel anything. You smashed Bruce's computer, you hit on Jim's girlfriend, you slapped Selina, you drove six and a half miles just to give Bruce a pair of shoes and drive mockingly into the horizon, and now I feel nothing for you. Join us next time on Gotham, where Alfred will make fun of Zsasz for having no eyebrows and break Penguins' other leg so he has to walk like he crapped his pants.
"What are you girls doing?" I yelled, making the two boys almost fall over.
"They're our inspiration!" Miss Quinzel beamed.
I sighed, "Well why aren't they wearing shirts?"
"That's the inspiring part."
"Can we move yet?" Master Bruce asked, struggling to hold up his sword. "We've been standing still for two hours."
"Yeah, are you done yet?" Mister Kerr growled.
I slipped in behind the girls to peek at their painting. "What the hell is this?" I asked, looking at an admittedly nice but completely irrelevant abstract interpretation of a bat flying out of a dark cave with the words, 'Ha Ha Ha' chasing it.
Miss Quinzel stepped back and smiled, "The cave represents the darkness in our souls, and the bat is the order that thinks it can escape from the dark, but will always be pulled back into the chaos."
"I drew the bat." Miss Kyle grinned.
The two boys had stepped out of their poses and were staring at the painting for a while, and we were silent until Master Bruce asked, "So if you were painting this, what were we standing up there for?"
"You were inspiring us!" Miss Quinzel beamed. "You know, with the vibes of your personalities and your pale, hairless legs."
Mister Kerr stared at the painting for a few more minutes until he finally exclaimed, "I don't care, I look fantastic!"
At the time of this writing, Silver just flashed Bruce with an erotic smile and Selina is leaning against a fire hydrant thinking about him. Alfred had better hope Bruce doesn't find out he slapped his first love, or else he'll get fired again. Oh, by the way, Alfred? Without Selina in it, Bruce's life would be a damn sight dead-er. My heart is officially broken.
Anyway, Silver's here, so I guess I've got to keep my promise. Coming soon, a story arc involving the Galavans, Waynes, Quinzels, and their houses in Switzerland.
