Joker stood at the end of the pier with a flower in hand, watching as the sunset glinted off the surface of the river. All hues of blue and purple, he admired the view of high rises, as their little lights began to flicker into existence at the onset of dusk. The sharp and sophisticated cityscape of Gotham City, stretching up and into the sky, was waking to nightfall. Alongside him, stood Miss Quinzel, whose mascara ran dark tracks down her pale, pretty face, and down to her trembling lips. She was blanched, quiet, and too, held a rose to her chest, her small hands shaking around the stem.
Despite himself, Joker found her raw and emotional display quite touching - though it was indeed altogether wasted, considering the situation at hand. She'd crumbled the moment she'd seen Eric's body rolled into the back of their ride, and had been crying quietly to herself for the whole journey. Which was a shame since he much preferred when she was smiling. Even the offering of the rose hadn't cheered her up, and she'd snatched it from his hand and told him roughly to "just drive."
They'd driven out to the docks, and Joker's remaining men had prepared Eric's body on the decking. The body had been bound in plastic, secured with rope, and attached to bricks to ensure it would sink into the silt. Joker, however, had led Harleen to the end of the pier during their crude embalming, since it wasn't exactly ideal viewing for a lady. And all dressed in black, with her hair neatly curled, Harleen was just that.
And she stood alongside him, sniffling and sorry for herself, flinching occasionally at the sound of bone crunching and snapping by saw or mallet. Eric's body, after all, wasn't going to be sunk in one piece. He'd so far failed to mention that part, but Harleen was smart enough, and didn't once turn around to look.
"Everybody dies, Harls," Joker made his attempt at reassuring her over the unpleasantries behind them, and she shot him a dangerous glare.
"Everybody around you, ya' mean?"
Joker shrugged. She wasn't wrong - wasn't entirely right either. Since she was the perfect example (the only example, perhaps) of an intended that he hadn't quite managed to kill. Even now, with her looking up at him, mere inches from the lapping water and swirling currents, he just couldn't push her in. And though he was certain (so very certain) this dainty little dame would take little to no effort to expire, Joker couldn't do it. Didn't want to do it. And he refused to think more of it -
"He made a grave mistake and he paid for it," Joker told her simply and unapologetically.
Harleen didn't seem to like his tone, but was unable to lash out with a response. Interrupted by Floyd, Claus and his other men, who had finished brutalising and bagging the body parts. Eric's funeral procession was about to begin.
They came suited and booted, single file down the pier, five men, each carrying a part of Eric over their shoulder. Some of them had watery eyes, while others, like Claus, remained completely unperturbed by the grim nature of their visit to the riverside.
It wasn't a grand affair. It was somewhat gory, granted - but it was more of a send-off than most would expect considering their lifestyle choices. It wasn't a commonplace occurance for Joker to have his boys carry meaty sacks of bone and brittle, only to drop them one by one into the open mouth of the river. But it was worth it, since Harleen appeared to appreciate the sentiment over it's savagery.
In turn, each bloodied and bound lump was dropped gently into the ripples beneath their feet. A burial fit for the nature of the man, food for the fish and unlikely to find, and most importantly, unidentifiable. This wasn't the first time he'd dumped bodies, but it wasn't often that Joker dumped one of his own as though it were a funeral, with an audience to see the soul off and into the darkness.
"He may have been a pain in the ass at times, but he weren't half bad," spoke Floyd, who Joker had asked to speak a few words, (make it sound professional!) dropping what looked like a limb, into the river. He'd managed the former, at least.
"No, he was all bad," Joker laughed - but stopped when Harleen jabbed his arm roughly.
"Shh!" Harleen glowered at the Joker, despite knowing what the repercussions may be. They were plain as day, as she watched, each indistinguishable lump, as they bobbed and disappeared down into the waves. She'd seen what the Joker's wrath could do, as he'd rained bullets from her stage, and she'd seen him send the slug straight into the skull of one of his own men, without so much of a second thought. While staring out into the watery abyss, Harleen wondered what it would be like when it was her turn. If the Joker would use his hands on her gently, or not at all, and put a bullet into her face too, without an ounce of regret or remorse.
Her throat was tight, her stomach writhing, not with fear - not anymore - but with guilt. She understood that Eric had died having slept through her brief and unsuccessful escape. He'd been killed because she had taken advantage of his lackadaisical nature, he had been shot, point blank and she had gotten drunk and danced with his murderer. And worst of all, the very worst, she had enjoyed it. She may as well of waltzed over his cadaver, for the all the thought she'd given him when within the Joker's arms. And she paid for it now, with tears and flowers. It was all she had to give.
Of all the questionable things Harleen had done in her life, that had been certainly taken a place up there on the list. And yet she hadn't been able to shake the want for a reprise, for another dance with the Joker through the beams of dusty moonlight, no matter the body count. Harleen gave a small sob, pained by her conscience. How despicable was she, to want such a thing? That even when watching them drop parts of the man she'd briefly known into the depths, her eyes would still linger on back to the clown of carnage at her side.
"He may not have been with us long, but he was good with dealin' arms and doin' lines," masked-man spoke, casting his own corsage off into the calm turn of the tide. "May he rest in pieces - peace, sorry."
Harleen heard the Joker give another little laugh and she sighed.
"I don't really got much else to say. He was nearin' 50, that's a good age for guys like us." Floyd shrugged, and took a stand down from the edge of the pier.
It was the Joker's turn to give a few words, now that each limb and vital had been cast into the depths. And the Joker adjusted his suit with a certain smugness. Apparently there had been no love lost between the Joker and his deceased henchman. Harleen held her breath for the level of insult that was due to come, of how much ill would be spoken of the dead.
And Harleen stared at the Joker, whose bright eyes bore into her own, a small and confident smile crinkling his sharp and aggressive features. It was though he revelled in making her writhe, and writhe she did under his intense and unwavering gaze. This was all too surreal. Harleen felt out of body, and out of mind.
"Unfortunately for our dear boy Eric, he almost lost something of great value to me-"
Was he referencing her? Was she of great value? From the way the Joker stared, Harleen was certain. No one had considered her of much value at all. It was with wicked irony, it had come to her like this.
"And I reacted accordingly. Let that be a lesson."
Was he still talking to her? The men shuffled at his warning, nodding, murmuring. Harleen couldn't tear her eyes away.
"He would have let you go little Harley Quinn, and I can't have that. Accidents happen, but I can't just let you go- You understand, don't you?"
Was the Joker justifying his murder, solely for her? The guilt crept up to her lungs and was suffocating. She understood. All too well, she understood.
"You're mine, whether you like it or not, and anyone else who sleeps on the job gets a bullet in their brain just like Eric here."
You're mine. The way he said it, with an undeniable determination. Was it guilt that had her muscles tensing, her fists closing, her jaw tightening?
"If you so decide to have another little escapade of yours, think of this, think of Eric, and think of who else might end up taking a knife to the throat for the sake of your spontaneous adventures."
Her breath caught in her mouth, and Harleen felt his cronies eyes upon her, ever more uncomfortable. The Joker wasn't subtle in his threat, and smiled through many teeth with a grim satisfaction.
The dark of night descended upon the group, stood as silhouettes at the end of the long and crooked pier. Despite the twinkling stars in the sky, and the quiet quell of the river, Harleen was filled with an absolute dread. A dread she'd come to know, come to expect, come to almost want in the smallest and worst of ways. And Harleen nodded carefully at his words, torn. There wasn't going to be a way out of this, unless the Batman was to come barging through and pull her from the Joker's hold. Or the more likely option, that her only way to freedom was in the back of a hearse. Or maybe it would come to her, just like Eric's. And she turned away from the Joker, and threw her rose over the side, muttering a tiny and whispered, "amen."
