Ā Itās a lovely evening, he thinks to himself as he wanders the streets in search of his next target. A mugging, perhaps. He should genuinely start searching for some lackeys to fill the ranks - pawns, really - but heād rather leave that to Harley. The last bank heād tried to rob had been interrupted by Trashman, and he couldnāt even scope out a pawn shop without his future husband ruining the fun. Whatās a clown to do for fun in a city where crime is always cut short?
Ā His skipping and humming through the streets is alsoĀ cut short when he catches sight of a red haired woman in a wheelchair. Now sure, there are probably thousands of red haired women in wheelchairs, but Harley didĀ mention Gordonās daughter was here. His smile widens tenfold as he approaches and takes out his deck of cards. From behind, he peers around her side just long enough to catch sight of her face and confirm his suspicions.Ā āWell, look who the bored, invisible overlords dragged in! If it isnāt my third favorite victim!ā He pauses just long enough to take a step away - better safe than maimed - and giggle excitedly.Ā āWhatās your name again? Youāre... whatās his faceās kid, right? Greene? Golden?ā He lifts his empty hand, tapping at his chin in contemplation, then shortly after reaches into his pocket to replace the cards in his hand with his phone.Ā āIām pretty sure Iāve got a picture in here, that oughtta jog the olā memory. Gosh... Betty? Bridget? Belinda? Donāt tell me, donāt tell me.ā
