#quinaed

       ‘  did iii?  ’

   A DARK RUMBLE’S IN HIS VOICE,  HIS WORDS OF STEEL LIKE AN ECHO OF HERS.     only plain,  flat mockery.  harley’s always had pretty expressive eyes :  even back at the asylum,  in the flash of white-blue neon lights,  where she made it seem so easy to slip into the skin of another being.  maybe a tamer being.  her eyes never deceived him.  eyes don’t deceive,  in general.  for so many things the joker’s head is mostly found up in the clouds,  but when he’s reminded of that streak of practicality of his,  he knows better than to preach bullshit proverbs.  no mirrors of the soul and shit.  but a glass,  yes.  there’s a two-way seeing through.  the joker licks his bottom lip,  feeling the groove of the wiry extremity of a scar.  

   his scars are a path,  twisted and raw as all paths are.  his doings are a path,  too.  the distance between them,  between the joker and the rest of the world,  is untreadable,  in the end.  it was not a path,  but a gap,  long before the white room and the therapy sessions and the little mind games he set up when the board was empty of other relevant pieces.  long before the pain,  and long before the joker.  harley’s eyes follow his every movement with the uncertainty of driftwood.    ‘  whine,  whine,  whine.  ’   he chants,  interrupting her.  she makes an offended noise,  or maybe she’s hostile,  or sad,  or happy even.  

   the joker understands a lot of things.  one could say he understands far more things at a far deeper level than most.  maybe even than batman.   

             (  DEFINITELY MORE THAN BATMAN ;  THE GUY WOULDN’T SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE IF HE GOT SLAPPED IN HIS UGLY BAT-FACE WITH IT ! ) 

   joker cannot help a strangled chuckle at the idea.  truth is,  certain things her never understood.  abstract things people name with a gurgle of emotion,  only when they realize their life’s gone to shit and they’re dying alone and unmourned,  thinking that maybe those words had a double side.  the double side of things.  in a cloud of smoke flared from his nostrils like a dragon,  the joker circles her.  whatever last half-burnt piece of a once cigarette he’d been smoking is dropped without a sound.

   care,  he thinks with a ghoulish grimace.  that’s one of those things.  dr. quinzel was a carer.  harley quinn still cares.  at least,  she cares enough  ( or little enough )  to sway along with his absent-minded steps and spit all those things in his face.  with rage,  with hurt,  or maybe with happiness.  whatever.  the joker understands a lot of things,  but he’s not the shrink here.   ‘  nice t’see you went off like a good lil’ bomb ...  ’  at the very last,  a tortuous yellowed grin rips through the red gash of his makeup,  his gloved forefinger nudging the solid bone of her shoulder.   ‘  ... plan on goin’ off on me,  haaarl?  on your old pal j?  thought you were a big girl.  that you knew what you were in for.  ‘cause if not,  ’   he says,  in a click of the tongue against the front row of teeth.   ‘  then you should,  ah,  go back to that asylum.  ’

RANDOM TEXT POST SENTENCE STARTERS

RANDOM TEXT POST SENTENCE STARTERS

bitter/aggressive starters || still accepting!

Mary knew anger better than she knew any other emotion -- she also knew how to recognise it in others, in the way Harley’s hands had curled into fists, the tense straightening of her shoulders. 

But she also knew when it wasn’t really being directed at her. So she sat, despite the fury being sent her way, lit up a cigarette and tossed the pack Harley’s way. Her head tilted expectantly. 

NICE CLOWN LADY ( @quinaed​ ) said ❛ Sometimes if you let people do things to you, you’re really doing it to them. ❜ SHARP OBJECTS | ACCEPTING