Harley Quinn had been wandering the streets of Gotham for days on end, still in shock as to what she had witnessed. After a meeting with Mark "The Tattooed Man" Richards had gone sour, Batman had finally been able to track down the despicable duo of herself and The Joker and a high-speed chase between The Jokermobile (a modified purple Lamborghini) and the Batmobile ensued.
However, that particular night, Batman was not in a merciful mood and once atop The Jokermobile, decided to end things for once and for all.
"You're ruining date night!" Harley crowed, firing through the roof to attempt to shake Batman.
"Have we got a live one or WHAT, puddin'?" She chuckled. "Puddin'?"
Harley's heart stopped in its chest as she saw The Joker's head had been pierced with a bat-shaped blade. With nobody driving, The Jokermobile swerved out of control and crashed into a vacant storefront. Harley staggered out of the car clutching her head and managing a few steps before her knees buckled and vomiting.
"P-p-puddin'..." Harley retched. "Gotta get outta here… That's what you'd want."
Limping all the way for a few minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, Harley finally saw a friendly sight. Joker's head, made out of bricks. She knew once she got into her lover's mouth, he'd keep her safe there. Getting on top of a trash can, she was able to wiggle into The Joker's ear and walk down to the dance floor.
While unable to recall much important information such as what her second grade teacher's maiden name was or what her brother looked like or what day of the week it was, she did think it was odd so many people were dressed up when it wasn't even Halloween. All the identical masks were clearly a fetish thing, but given her own personal history Harley was certainly not one to kink-shame.
"What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?" Harley croaked. "I've got a head injury for heaven's sake, alcohol's great for hat. That. I meant that, haha..."
Someone unseen snapped their fingers. They all formed a circle around Harley as though they were trained ballet dancers.
"Just who are you people?" Harley asked.
"No one talks about them." A masked man with a sing-songy said. He was descending down the stairs with an entourage of four men, all wearing various animal masks.
"Not a whisper or a word is said." The man continued. "For if you try to crush them…"
He held up his hand as if to pause for dramatic effect.
"Then the talon strikes you dead." He finished. "So sayeth The Court of Owls. Miss Quinn. Thank you for joining us. Gotta tell you, it took so many times choreographing these people and reminding them over and over again to stop citing the poem alongside me. It was a total bitch to work out, but it sure was satisfying to see this all happen IRL."
Harley could only stare blankly at the man she decided to refer to as Black Mask. She felt it was an appropriate name because he wore a black mask.
"Ah, how rude of me. I forgot." Black Mask chuckled, shaking his head. "Allow me to introduce dear old friends and old fraternity brothers. Misters Fox, Vulture, Shark, and Zsasz. Not particularly worried about you telling anyone this; you look so shit-faced as is, you probably can't even remember your own name."
"My puddin'." Harley mumbled. "I think I lost my puddin'. Do you know where he is?"
"Do you like holidays?" Black Mask asked.
"Doesn't answer my question, but sure, I like them fine." Harley said.
"It's a little past midnight. Spring is officially here." Black Mask said. "Yesterday and today are my two favorite holidays. You remember The Holiday Killer? Little while ago, we here at the good ol' C.O.O got bored and invented a fake serial killer to amuse ourselves. Keep the police out of our affairs, keep the gossip in the otherwise dull newspapers we own juicy. We called ourselves the Crime of the Month Club back then."
"The killer they caught was actually a copycat we had nothing to do with - Barbara Gordon, Sr. It was the obvious choice. Commissioner's wife, she hates how much time he spends at the office, wants to clean the streets for her kids, blah blah blah, who cares?." Black Mask shrugged. "Point is - we're really good at what we do. And given Joker was a founding member of The Crime of the Month club, he was entitled to one special request upon his death."
Black Mask parted through the crowd to the point he was within kissing distance of Harley.
"Namely, yours." Black Mask said. "Doesn't like loose ends. Or rather didn't. Have to say, the odds of you coming into my club at the very time we were mourning one of our own, trying to decide who to kill… I really do have the luck of the Irish, eh?"
"No." Harley muttered. "You're making this up, he loved me…"
"And Brutus loved Caesar." Black Mask said impatiently. "Your point is?"
Harley could only hold her head in silence.
"Stupid! There was one more thing I forgot to tell you." Black Mask slapped the top of his head in mock surprise. "Why yesterday and today are my favorite holidays."
"Well, back in the day ol' Julius Caesar was told to beware the Ides of March." Black Mask chuckled. "He'd die that day. I thought it was amusing, him stomping around all day looking around corners and panicking if so much as a plate broke. But then as the day draws itself to a close, he thinks 'maybe I won't die today.'"
Black Mask drew a revolver with a rubber nipple over it.
"And then, just as the sundial strikes midnight…" he continued. "His friends all sneak up on him real quiet-like on March 31st. See where I'm going here?"
"Puddin'." Harley intoned. The lights from the room seemed to coalesce, turning Black Mask's hideous disguise into a pale but warm expression, green hair, piercing eyes, and blood red lips...
*BLAM*
"April Fools!" Black Mask cackled. He withdrew a pair of chattering teeth and gently laid it by Harley's head. Accepting a glass of wine from a masked manservant, he toasted his fellow Owls.
"Tell me, hoo's having a good time?"