Unmasked Dollie

NOT GOOD! growled the Batman, instinct lighting him up with the urge to dodge that incoming embrace—- but Bruce Wayne had no reason to be anything but tickled pink by the adoring attentions of a perky blonde. He let it happen, pulling on a stunned but happy expression as the newly released Harley Quinn pulled away. In the back of his mind droned on the voice of his conscience– the same voice that emerged when he put on the cowl. It rambled on cheap psych analysis about Quinn’s relationships with men, her self worth, all the things wrong with her that Arkham couldn’t fix, and it worried him for her. The swipe of his black card… a tiny bit of kindness… those things shouldn’t have impressed her so, nor begotten such gratitude. It spoke too many volumes of all that was still broken in his city. Still he can’t help but to hope, as he always does when he looks in on the asylum’s inmates, that she’ll be alright now.

“Call me?”

What a doll. What a babe. She likes catching attention for good reasons, especially now that’ she plans to live a crime free life, so she soaks up all the sweetness Bruce Wayne sends her way. Even if there’s a small piece of her that feels bad, like she was using him, which had to be near impossible. He had so much money she doubted the bags she clung to really costed him anything at all. Maybe it even made him feel something, deep down where the sun couldn’t shine, probably saw it as his good deed for the year. But he sure didn’t act like it. It makes her beam up at him, going onto tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“What kinda lady would I be if I didn’t call?!”

@harlequinunmasked liked this for an awful starter. 

Don’t move. As if that would help him, Freezing like a protagonist in a shitty horror flick. How cliche could he get? If this was a horror flick he’d be the first to die, protagonist or not everyone knew poc were the first to go. Make way for the pretty virgin to save the day and get the guy. Good horror was dead. Maybe this was the safest option, letting his mind wander until they reached the last stop, he could slip away and catch the next train He’s being paranoid, too paranoid, he probably hadn’t even been noticed. He wasn’t conspicuous. Breathe just breathe, eyes low, don’t look, don’t make eye contact. Fuck.

He feels his gaze slip, flicking towards the other side of the train. Who’d have thought he’d be riding with Harley Quinn? It might have been funny if the situation hadn’t been so deadly. Ha ha, stuck in a small space with a clown. 

Amused by his plight, the clown remains still as she watches and hatches a plan to disturb the peace of the train. She doesn’t really want to make a scene, unwanted attention was never good, but she did want to see him rattled because his expression of disbelief and horror was adorable. Fortunately for him her need to stay out of the spotlight won out and she doesn’t do anything to draw all eyes towards them. 

For now.  Maybe that would change when the doors opened and they stepped onto the platform. Especially since he was all but ignoring her. Weren’t they friends? Seemed rude to her to pretend like she wasn’t even there. 

Oooh well. 

Ding. 

Ayyy ayyy! Chuck was just about to reach for his wallet to tip the dancers with when the doors to the club were busted open; the rumble of the police force filing in actually audible over the din of the loud music and partying. Aw shit! Chuck ducks instinctively, hands quick to pat at his own pockets, trying to check and remember for him what, if anything, he had on him. His friends were doing pretty much the same, passing baggies and unlit blunts between themselves like a game of illegal hot-potato.

He’d been about to say fuck it and take the fall for his pals when the blonde got feisty and invited him along for the ride. Too tempted to pass her up, Chuck’s answer was a grin and a tight grip on the hand within his own. It’s not the first time he’s followed a girl into a wave of trouble and if he’s lucky it won’t be the last either. From behind her he misses the flash of that weapon that ID’ed her to the cops outside—- all he knows is that she does something and they part like the Red Sea, letting him make a clean getaway that’s actually the definition of dirty.

Native son of Gotham that he was, he should have probably recognized her at the club, regardless of the dim lighting or the scotch in his system. She’d only been on the nightly news three times a week back in her heyday. Harley Quinn. It’s stamped all over the hide-out she takes him to; the same way girls will scribble their names all over their binders and school supplies in the fourth grade. In a few spots there are big-ass splotches of black spray paint and it’s only too easy to guess whose name had been under those. Chuck can only hope that the cover-up job means he’s not about to be treated to a Gotham-Grin and dumped in the river.

“So it’s like this? Really?”

Long ago she had stopped thinking things through before just acting on instinct, which was a character flaw she was honestly working on, but it’s why she was standing there with her strange boy. Oh, well, what’s done is done. So now he knows and there’s no reason to keep her hair up or hide behind the caked up, uncomfortable makeup. Blonde locks come tumbling loose to reveal red and blue before she turns to face him. 

Message received, or so he thinks. It’s only the oldest trick in the book—- having to give to receive. Well call it an early Christmas, because when he checks his wallet just to see what he has, it’s flush enough to keep him giving all night long. And much like the spoiled child waiting up for the fat man to slide down the chimney with a sack, he can’t wait to find out what he’s gonna get in return. All that lash-batting and cooing? Yeeaah, he’s making out like a bandit tonight.

In the meantime, his arm is loose around her shoulders, easily letting her move when she needs or wants to. There’s an effort to split his attention evenly between the friends that have brought him out and the girl he’s picked up, but once or twice he catches her looking thoughtful and errs on the side of leaving her at peace with her mind. More than once he’s been in her shoes, and he knows there’s nothing more annoying than some persistent somebody interrupting his thinking.

Besides, the tits eventually show up—- a whole troupe of them, covered up in sequins and feathers, Gotham’s favorite aesthetic. Just like that they’re in old time-y Vegas, acting a fool, like they couldn’t see way more explicit things on YouTube. On the outside Chuck’s all grins, his glass raised in wordless toasts to the entertainers while his skin is just thin cover for the inner commentary that mocks it all. He might push a ‘69 Chrysler, but these were the reasons he was such a rolling stone. He just wasn’t meant to live in whatever weird ass time-loop Gotham was stuck in.

The distraction of the dancing girls lift her eyes from the swirl of ice in her glass, bright blues gazing over them in appreciation. This type of skill  burlesque took was quickly becoming a lost art and thought they maybe weren’t the best, she could have put on a better show, it’s still something to admire. 

That is.. Before there’s splintered doors and turned over tables. GCPD swarming in like a bunch of idiot bees. Didn’t they have better things to do? A raid? Really? Ugh. Rolling her eyes, she slips out from under the pretty boy’s arm, grasping his hand instead to pull him forward. “Oh, suck an egg!” She bemoans at the pig that gets in her way, free hand lifted to jab the heel of her face into his awaiting face. The sound he makes causes a peal of laughter, a glance back at her not-date showing the gleeful smile curving her lips. “You comin’ with me, lover boy?” 

She doesn’t even give him much of a choice, she doesn’t stop moving even once she has them out a side door and through a barricade of cops. Those she doesn’t take out as much as pulls a pistol from gods know where and they wisely notice the trademark colors and fancy symbols that were a dead giveaway of who she was. They didn’t stop her but that didn’t stop her fast pace. 

“Oh, it’s like that?” He didn’t really mind her running a little game. Who the fuck was he to judge?(and if there was a half of him that did judge, well, he’d never been a man of a singular mind.) At least five days a week Chuck himself got through nights with the help of his friends– no lease in all Gotham City actually bearing his name or getting it’s rent out of his pockets. Nah, he couldn’t be mad. Not when he’d hung around in college just long enough to pick up on a thing or two, like ideals of equality not yet reached, the tax on women being just that; enough so that he doesn’t begrudge any of the ways they make their bones in the world. Half a turn towards the bar and some old-hat signage got a server’s attention and eventually her drinks delivered.

Once she’s got them in hand, that arm of his goes right back to it’s place over her shoulders, although this time he keeps his hand off her breast. For now… On his right his friends were still talking excitedly about the supposed burlesque performance that was rumored to be a surprise thing going on tonight. There’s that part of him that’s looking forward to seeing some tits jiggled, but even if that falls through he’s content enough with the blonde under his arm and all the possibilities that she brings.

“It’s exactly like that.” The clown queen coos, lashes batting all of once, as if to make her point. She doesn’t deny him the placement of his arm once it’s draped back over her shoulders, it’s an odd sort of comfort, the almost possessive maneuver something she isn’t usually treated to. It’s not common that someone doesn’t know her on sight, even when she’s running around with tattoos covered and the two tones of hair hidden in the up sweep of her fancy bun. She looks.. Normal, missing all the trademarks that signaled her out as the Crimelord she was. But.. It does make her wonder about the stranger. Was he new to the city? Did he just not care? Was she disguised well enough that she was have an odd night in Gotham? 

His fault. That’s the sentiment written all over his expression the second her hand leaves his cheek. How surprised can he really be? It isn’t every woman that’s cool with getting felt up by a random—- shiiiiit, he knew that when he took the gamble of pointing her out and beckoning her over. He knows he shouldn’t have assumed anything just because she strolled up, so his apology is that understanding expression and two raised hands in the universal sign of surrender.

“Yeah, I think my momma taught me that.” Chuck’s gotta yell to be heard over the thumping bassline, but she’s due some good behavior to balance out his mistake. “My bad. You want a drink?”

Good boy, she purrs in her head, glad to see he wasn’t a complete cad looking for just one thing. Outside appearances aside, Harley Quinn wasn’t exactly easy, she dressed as revealingly as she wanted which by no means was an invitation or permission. But she did approve of and soak up the attention and the way heads turned when she walked by. More so now. She’s in the free and clear and the only bullets waiting for a suitor’s were her own. 

Good thing for the pretty boy with his arm slung around her. Better yet.. He was still just as bold as she liked them. Matched her many moods “Two and we call it even.”

“That’s no proper way to address a lady.” Of which she wasn’t.   

She wasn’t prepared for that and sputtered, though she recovered rather quickly.  “ Well, uh… It’s a complicated thing, but in a way, it can be summed up by statin’ that yes, it is indeed a temporary stupidity brought on by arousal. It happens. Sex drives do funny things to the brain sometimes. ”

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Stalking was a silly thing to do in a city as shiny as Gotham. There were giant window displays selling everything a fashionable girl could need– two per block, minimum! Some poor schmuck was probably underpaid the minimum wage rate to keep the glass nice and clean for those stores, leaving it perfect for some imaginative window shopping… or for catching sight of pretty clown boys following her around. Silly, silly, but what else can she expect from a jester? Charlotte gave him a block or two just to see if it was coincidence, then turned a corner and perched herself on the hood of a parked car just to see what he’d do.

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