2013.04.30 - Join The Club

The night is deep and the night is dark and the night, contrary to popular opinion, does not entirely belong to Batman. Not even in Gotham. Whilst the Dark Knight certainly holds many of Gotham's criminals in terror, there's still enough willing to go out and raise hell that most good-thinking people scurry home long before the sun sets and the streets fill with scum.

Harley Quinn never did have much use for curfews, though. Skipping along the street down in Charon, she's got a list of addresses in one hand (the top four of which have been ticked off with large red ticks), and a can of soda pop in the other, which is, largely, getting sloshed out onto the pavement.

"Now lessee." Harley asks the world in general, sticking her tongue out between her teeth. "Where oh where do I go next? Oh! I remembah!"

Skipping down a darkened alleyway, it was, perhaps, inevitable that some of the hoodlums who don't *know* what the bizarre makeup and red-and-black corset outfit means would move to hem her in. A huge man rears up before her, all muscle, dreadlock, and malice. Two more, skinnier, thugs block off the other end of the alleyway.

"What'chu meant ta be?" He rumbles, "Wait. I don' care. Hand over yer cash an' it don' get ugly."

He's not used to people just beaming up at him when he threatens them, though. Harley is grinning from ear to ear, hands on her hips. "Oh, I dunno!" She chirps, "I think its already gotten preeeeeeetty ugly!~"

It may take the dumb brute several seconds to realize exactly what she just said. Lets find out!

The Red Hood moves down the street, a half a block behind Harley Quinn but keeping himself secluded in the shadows like his father taught him. He moves slowly. Too slowly. Though he's moved beyond being laid up in bed, the damage to his knee still causes his forehead to bead with sweat as he forces himself along. The painkillers and the cane in his left hand help, yes, but they also dull his senses and he hates himself for the show of weakness.

He pauses at the mouth of the alley when he hears the voices within, hand resting on the handgun at his hip before he realizes the nature of what, exactly, is happening. He lifts it away, instead lifting the cane off the ground and resting it over his shoulders. He wears it like a yolk, the nonchalance of his stance not betraying the pain he feels resting his weight on that damaged leg.

He says nothing at first, simply standing there in plain sight and waiting to see what misery the painted woman might inflict.

1.

2.

3.

"YOU THINK YOUSE IS FUNNY?!"

Really, it'd take an expert eye to catch everything. Harley might not look like the most threatening woman in Gotham (that honor almost certainly goes to Huntress, seriously!) But, when the thug lashes out at her, swinging his arm in a clumsy arc, she simply crouches down, and his hand smashes into the wall, causing him to howl in pain.

And in the next instant, she springs up like a jack-in-the-box, one booted foot instantly shattering his jaw, cracking teeth, and sending him down into the dirt. The other two thugs had been advancing, but now stand stunned - just one kick, and she's laid out a man at least three times her own size. She looks over her shoulder, and winks.

"Well fellas, still wanna play?"

And their nerve fails them. Both hoodlums flee, and she sighs, looking down at the big man before she takes a sip from her soda. "Y'know." She says to the unconscious man, "I'm startin' ta think there ain't a man in town who knows how ta treat a gal right."

The Hood simply steps aside to let the other two muggers run past, unwilling to chase them down. He's going to need all his strength for what's to come and he doesn't feel the urge to waste it on knocking around a few low-lives.

"You're not looking far enough." he growls through the vocalizer of his helmet, "Hello, Harley."

He simply stands in the middle of the alley's mouth, still resting his cane over his shoulders and keeping his eyes fixed on the deceptively vicious Clown.

Harley turns around at the growly voice - for a moment, she thinks it might be Batman! - but no. Really, Harley, that's a vocalizer. Batman doesn't use one of those. Probably. Even if his voice is super-gravely sometimes.

She makes a show of looking The Hood up and down, taking him in from head to feet, and then back up again. She takes another sip from her soda... and then looks decidedly disappointed, shrugging her shoulders as she takes the can away from her lips.

"Eh, you're not my type." She declares, turning her back on him and tossing the empty can carelessly over her shoulder before she starts to saunter away from the man with the cane.

Harley stops at the words 'grinning psychopath', and her jaw clenches. When the stick comes in for her, she is tripped, but catches herself on her hand, and cartwheels back to an upright position, facing The Hood. Then there's the second issue. Whilst 'Harley' isn't exactly impressive - anybody who is anybody in the Gotham underworld knows who Harley Quinn, the Joker's Girlfriend, is... the amount of people who know her first name is much lower.

"Awright, tall dark and scary." She says, reaching out to try and poke The Hood on the chest, just jab him to emphasize her point. "Who the heck do you think you are you can talk about my Puddin' that way? I oughta feed you that helmet!" The hand with the list on her hip, the other gesturing wildly to emphasize her point.

Though he's near-deaf in one ear, hurting to breathe and visibly favoring one leg, the Hood is still quick. In truth, even in this state he presents a very real threat. His hand lashes out, reaching to grab the wrist of the hand jabbing at his chest and attempting to draw it painfully to one side while the other reaches to lock her in a grapple. He isn't aiming to cause any lasting harm, merely to incapacitate with temporary pain.

“Not if I don't feed you a bullet first,” he growls into her ear, voice full of fury, “I want the Joker. Talk.”

"I DON'T *KNOW* YOU JERK!"

Harley's shrieking only gets more intense after she's shaken, and, quite suddenly, she lashes her head backwards, aiming to crash the back of her head *hard* into the Hood's... hood! Or his helmet, anyway. Whilst he's unlikely to be seriously injured, she suspects that the surprise motion will at least shock him into letting go of her. She's not nearly as stupid as she looks!

Whether she's let go or not, she's still sniffling, though. "Don't you get it? Mistah Jay's, gone! AN' EVEN IF I DID KNOW, I WOULDN'T TELL SOMEONE LIKE YOU!"

The Hood moves his head back with her as she lashes out at him, avoiding the blow but nevertheless releasing her from his grip. The last thing he needs is to get into a physical altercation with the super-humanly strong Harley.

"You're not lying," he rumbles, more to himself than anyone else before swearing under his breath, "Shit."

Coming out tonight was a mistake. This could have waited. /He/ could have waited. Waited until she was closer to tracking down the Clown.

Harley now looks at her note, all crumpled and torn after the scuffle. Her carefully laid out addresses are ruined, and she huffs, upset. But at least The Hood seems to believe her. She's wasting time too, but of course, she takes the swearing in completely the wrong way. Now that Hood seems to be upset ... well, there's only one logical explanation. (At least, this far in the depths of what we will call 'Joker Addiction Withdrawal Fever).

"Aw, don't worry, true believer." She says, moving to pat Hood on the shoulder. "I'm workin' on a special show that'll bring Mistah Jay right back to the top! He'll be back pullin' the biggest capers in Gotham before you know it."

The Hood looks at Harley for a moment. The first thought that runs through his head is to attack her again, break her wrist – or try to – for even suggesting that he has any love for the Clown. That is what the old Jason would do. No deception, just the raw pursuit of revenge. But this isn't what Batman would do and, if he is to usurp Him, he needs to change.

“Let me help,” the Hood answers, affecting a near-begging tone as he subtly changes his stance to the slumped shoulders of a deprived addict, “I can.”

Harley eyes The Hood for several seconds. Would that it is the first time she's seriously considered taking on someone who had threatened to shoot her. But if she turned away all the people who threatened to kill her, then she'd hardly have any gang at all.

And so she smiles bright and brilliant. "Okay, why not? I like your style. Pretty handy with that stick, too! But, if you're gonna run with Harley, you're gonna need to tone it back a little. No killin'! Not at the moment. Mistah Jay needs a clean sweep to make his big return, capiche?"

The hand on his shoulder will slide around behind his back, and then hug him into her side. Her other hand reaches into her cleavage, and pulls out... a business card? Well, its a square of paper taped onto some card, anyway, with a beaming Harley Quinn - and an address. Warehouse E23 down on the waterfront.

"I got some work to finish up. Come on down there tomorrow, we'll see about gettin' you in on the game! Can always use more hands! Though we miiiight have to spruce up yer outfit a lil'. Too drab!"

The Hood reaches out to take the card, affecting the eager air of a man who has finally got a break after months of failures. There's a new character to play, and he's been born in this alleyway. There's a new approach to take and, to that end, he pushes the bile down within him. He can't be suspicious and the rule she's given him? Well, that works just fine.

“I'll be there,” he promises, taking the card and tucking it away in his jacket pocket, “I'll be there.”