#jesytr

[sms: 🤡👧] Rly regrettin givin u this burners # rn

Uh...Well this is new. ❛ Y'really t'ink Gambit, he needs a wingperson? For a bar? ❜ He gestures up and down to his own body, damn near incredulous. Come now, son. Do not play with him on his playground. This is his turf. ❛ I do well 'nough on my own, believe dat. ❜

So it comes to this. One day, you're saving the world from the horrors of a mutant hellbent on wearing your guts for garters, and the next, you're discussing the probability of a fad stuffed animal...thing twice as ugly as sin with a woman whose whole shtick was dressing up as an Italian stock character.

As one does.

(she doesn’t drink. she’s very good at looking like she does. job habit.)

delight is all she can feel, overwhelmed with the most natural of dopamine highs. her unconscious kink for diamonds exists on a level that deserves an academic level of study, and this combination of temptations — from quinn to ice to ice cream — is a lethal mixture. she purrs happily about it, fat and complacent off the spoils of victory.

her grin widens, legs spread languidly, lap a perpetually open invitation. she takes up space and space and space, a black hole that could suck everything in. chin tilts back, and that grin settles out to a calm smile, spread butter-smooth and easy.

a nod toward the freezer as it’s slid shut, head tilting. she’s a creature who exists in nothing but want, a people-pleasing, salivating queen of all things perched on a throne of nothing but gilded avarice. and she loves it.

(her home speaks much more seriously, much more honestly of who she is. it’s modest and plain in here — the fridge is decorated with holly’s scattered b’s, c’s, a smattering of a’s, a row of 100’s on math tests. no art on the walls, a couch that’s as understated as all else, big and cushioned but unremarkable. her bedroom is nice though expected. decadence isn’t for her, but she can falsify its extravagance for harleen’s benefit. it makes her interesting.)

“take whatever you want. i’m not particularly attached.”

another grin escapes, impossible to stifle, a sharp canine tooth peeking from where it’s haloed cherry by the soft, full bow of her lips. she can’t help it. harls’ joy is hers, most of the time.

and then she blinks, touching the edge of a nail to her mouth in thought. mostly, she’s trying to decipher harleen’s meaning. because she might be way, way autistic for this, god’s honest, but context dictates the translation of who she’s talking to and what she means. and the way selina glances at her mouth, cannot stop herself. she blinks, spellbound. her cheeks are warm, and for anyone else it would be embarrassing. on selina… it’s just her. her gaze doesn’t move from where it is, the other woman’s lips her prolonged, fixed focus.

“uh. prizes?”

it’s endearing. it has to be, because otherwise she would just sound stupid.

He looked up from his blueprints, looking at @jesytr like she has just lost her damned mind. The greasepainted man was used to this by now though. She always wanted attention or needed his approval or whatever she decided in that moment. There was a half of a smirk on his white painted face, lifting the corner of red lipstick covered lips.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnn — i will bowl in heels.”

chronic also bubblegum chewer selina kyle has been idly gnawing on this chunk of juicy fruit for an hour. the motorcycle she’s stolen for the day is sitting in its parking spot. she’s grinning widely at harls, head tilted idly, a calm expression for one surprisingly manic. she cracks her gum in turn, a short pop.

“holls takes me bowling all the time. it’s on her list of enrichment activities required for my health.”

she’s air-quoting, even.

slosh. slosh. the cat climbs in adjacent harleen, wearing a black cashmere turtleneck and black jeans. she toes off her heels almost elegantly.

“not disappointed at all. i’d ask if you’re good but — like — that’s a stupid question.”

she’s unperturbed, regardless of how her hackles always raise at the sight of intoxication. blah blah, as she always says, tragic childhood. she holds out a hand to harleen for her to take, legs cross-cross beneath her in denim.