Thank-you sooo much for the reviews! I hope I'm able to keep my loyal readers satisfied. But, this story is almost finished, so if there's anything from the comics or cartoon you'd like to see included, lemme know! I'll try to include it in this fic, or maybe write others in the future. Enjoy!

The next week passed by flawlessly. 'Jack' found ways of running into Harley on campus during the day, while the Joker haunted her dreams at night. The day before opening night, rehearsal ran into the A.M. hours, as Clarissa had predicted. As usual, it seemed everything was going perfectly. Which was bad news. Since everything during the rehearsal of the day before opening night was going off without a hitch, it meant opening night itself would be a disaster. All well, thought Harley, what would a Macbeth play be without at least one mishap.

But despite the perfection evident in every run though of every line, the director wanted to go through everything one last time.

"Actors and techs, let's run everything through from the beginning. I need some more anguish from Lady Macbeth before her DEATH scene, thanks. The rest of you can call it a night"

Harley raised her hand timidly, expecting the worst for a response,

"Yes, Harley, that includes you. Go home. Please. If we have a wardrobe malfunction, they can wear paper bags. Shakes would love it-true minimalist theatre. Alright people, from the top"

Harley let out a sigh of relief. She couldn't have taken another five minutes of Alison's high pitched acting voice, or any more of the witches' rhymes. She feared the phrase "Fillet of a fenny snake/ In the caldron boil and bake/ Eye of newt, and toe of frog/ Wool of bat, and tongue of dog" would forever echo in her ears.

Harley even started reciting the remainder of all three parts under her breath as she walked across the campus to her dorm. Suddenly, her feet caught on something and she fell. Her hands had been jammed into her coat pockets, and she wasn't able to free them in time to catch herself. As such, she landed on her chest in a pile, like a worm dropped from the sky. Luckily, she narrowly escaped hitting her face on the pavement.

"Ow. What the hell was that?"

Harley looked back over her shoulder as she pushed herself up. She knew she'd have scratches across her pelvis and arms in the morning. She could also already feel the beginnings of a bruised rib.

Sitting placidly on the ground at her feet, with all the apparent innocence of a Christmas puppy, sat a medium sized purple box, finished off with green ribbon. Of course, to the Chanukah-raised Harley, there was nothing less innocent than a Christmas puppy.

She rolled herself over onto her backside as delicately as possible and scooted up to the box. There was a small tag tied to the ribbon, she read it out loud to herself,

"For Harlequin. From the Ringmaster, aka, Joker"

She recognized the handwriting from the note on the playing card she'd found with her receipt from the fabric store. She picked up the box, turning it over from end to end in her hands, and then shaking it. The contents weren't heavy or metallic. But then she heard a slight jingling. Harley shrugged her shoulders, and started to pull at one end of the ribbon. But then the more rational side of her brain kicked in. She decided that mysterious gifts from dangerous criminals are best opened in secure locations, as in, not the middle of campus at one o'clock in the morning.

Once back in her dorm room, Harley sat down on her bed and started opening the box. Clarissa rolled over in her bed to see what was going on.

"Oh good. I was afraid I was being sexiled. What's that?"

"A gift"

"From…?"

"Um, you remember that guy I told you about, Jack?"

"The sexy and mysterious magician? Of course. I've been waiting for you to tell me he's got a brother that's an aspiring painter"

"Well, he left this for me"

"Ok, that is definitely deserving of props for mysteriousness. What's the occasion?"

"I dunno",

Harley answered as she pulled the gift from its box. It was a classic, Italian style Harlequin costume, in red and black. The design across the chest and hips matched the gloves he'd left for her in the theatre weeks before. She stood up and held it up to her body, to see if it would fit. As the fabric fell to the floor, a note fell out.

"Ooh. Kinky. But…sorry, Har, I don't get it"

Harley pushed the fabric against her stomach, feeling its slickness. It seemed to have a bit of a gymnast's uniform stretch and strength to it. She set the costume down on her bed, and picked up the note. After unfolding it, she responded to her roommate,

"It's for a Masque-tonight! Oh no, I'm already an hour late!"

"Uh-oh. Emergency beautification beginning in three, two, one!"

As she said "one", Clarissa jumped out of her bed, and began to rifle through her makeup. Harley watched in horror as her friend managed to make her side of the room even messier. To avoid going into nervous shock, she continued reading the letter. It instructed her to bring the other 'gifts' as well. Harley hoped that didn't mean the gun. How would she ever get out of the room in the skintight costume with a gun, and Clarissa not noticing?

"Well, what are you just standing there for, put the sexy-suit on already!"

"Oh, right"

Harley realized then that she wouldn't be able to wear much underneath it-it was going to be skin tight. So, she stripped to her underwear and started to pull one of the legs on.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"You can't wear your Granny-panties with that catsuit! Put a thong on, geeze!"

"Oh. I guess you're right"

"Of course I am. And you being a costume designer and all. Tsk, tsk"

Harley nervously made her way to her underwear drawer. Ever since she'd broken up with Redgie, she'd been neglecting her lingerie collection. But tonight, the lace-fasting ended. She picked out a red thong, complete with sheer lace front and a bikini style across the hips. She daintily pulled off her 'Granny-panties" and pulled the little red wonder on.

"Hubba, hubba. I'll be lucky not to be sexiled tonight"

Clarissa let out a wolf-whistle and winked at her friend. Harley only blushed, and quickly pulled the Harlequin costume on over her bare bottom.

"Um, don't you have a bra that matches those bottoms, mademoiselle?"

Harley looked up at her friend in shock. She did in deed have a bra that matched the red thong, but it was strictly for lingerie purposes-she'd never actually used it as a bra. It pushed her breasts up all too enticingly, and made them look a good deal more rounded than she was used to.

"But, don't you think that's a little too much?"

Clarissa stood there, tapping her foot. On her bed, she had a wide selection of costume make up spread out, including white face paint.

"Is that Mime paint?"

"Yes, and I'll let you use it if you would stop being such a nun and sex it up already!"

"Ok, ok, fine"

Harley unhooked her regular cleavage-control bra and slipped on the red one. Turning to face her friend, she caught sight of herself in the room's mirror. Her reflection showed a small but perky little sex goddess. Cocking her head slightly, she turned to admire herself more.

"Alright, alright, showtime's over. Get your top on already"

Harley posed like a model, and then pulled the rest of the costume on. The whole thing was one piece, without any seams or zippers. She just had the stretch the fabric over her shoulders. The slit in the back seemed to disappear as she finally managed to squeeze in. Harley had to admire the craftsmanship on the piece. She'd worked in theatre costumes for years and never come across anything this impressive.

"Gggroooowl! Now get over here so I can Harlequin-ify you. Oh, I get it know! It's a play on words, with your name-Harley Quinn, get it?"

"Oh. How…interesting. I'd never realized that before."

"Shh, no talking. This is impossible to do with your mouth moving"

Harley sat patiently as her friend painted her face like a Japanese geisha.

"Can I see yet?"

"No"

Harley let out a 'humph'. She knew Clarissa wouldn't let her see till it was finished. She was the same way with her art, which often caused her grades to suffer when the prof couldn't see whether or not she was actually making progress with a work. But Harley wasn't concerned. The two had taken Stage Makeup together, for fun, and Clarissa had always done better than the majority of the class.

Finally, Clarissa was finished.

"Ok, done. Go look in the mirror and tell me if you like it"

Harley pranced over to the mirror. On the way, she heard a jingling. Looking down, she realized there were tiny little bells at her waist, wrists and ankles. She did a little dance to make them all chime, smiled to herself, then stood in front of the mirror.

This time, she saw a modernized Commedia dell'arte harlequin. Clarissa had done a fantastic job, as usual, with her makeup. Her face was chalk white, and her lips done in a dark, dark red that was almost black. Over her eyes, she'd put a heavy black makeup that from a distance almost looked like a small mask. She would indeed look the perfect counterpart to the Joker.

"It's absolutely perfect, 'Rissa"

"Thank-you, thank-you. Now, what about your hair…"

"Harlequins normally wore hoods with a really decorative hat, but I don't see anything like that"

"Well, we could do your hair in cute little pigtails…"

"Nah. I'll just where it down"

"Aight"

Harley tugged on the hair-band that held her ponytail in place and shook her head to make the strands fall evenly.

"Whaddaya think?"

"If looks could kill, honey, you'd knock 'em dead"

Harley smiled, and then panicked as she remembered her costume was still missing one piece-the gun. But fortune smiled one her.

"Well, I'm pooped. Make good choices tonight, sweetie. In other words, follow the John Wayne motto"

"Um…what's that?"

"Right 'em hard, and put 'em away wet"

Clarissa winked, and then laid back down on her bed. Within ten seconds, she was softly snoring. Harley shook her head. If there was one thing Clarissa had that Harley wanted, it was that uncanny ability to sleep any where, any time.

Recovering her senses, she stooped to her bed, and pulled out the storage container. She pulled on the gloves, once again admiring how well they fit, and then grabbed the gun. Luckily, the girls never locked their room, so she wouldn't need a key. The costume covered her feet, with a little bit of padding on the sole, so she didn't need shoes. But as Harley closed the door to her dorm building, she realized a fatal flaw in her plan; how was she to get to this Masque?