dear_mun | Reserved at Ataraxion

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Reserved at Ataraxion

Hrm...

You want to send me into outer space, in a confined space with a bunch of other people because you happened to come across a persuasive "god" of chaos?

OK, the chaos thing I like, but everything else is questionable. I mean, I won't even have my favorite knife on me - there's a line that should never be crossed and you're toeing it. My ability to improvise can only be relied on so much.

Nah, scratch all of that. This is going to be a hoot and a half if only because I'll get to be creative.

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[Harley is frowning a touch, looking just a teeeeeeeensy bit confused as she studies the man before her.]

Well, ya could have yer favorite knife, bubs... all depends on when yer handler brings ya from, ya know? We all get lockers full'a our stuff... I'll have my mallet an' a pop gun... rubber chicken too, I think. Everythin' a gal could hope for... [She smiles winningly.]

I can steal anythin' else I need an' figure it ain't gonna be too hard ta find a knife, right? Big ole space ship like that's gotta have some weapons stored on it with a lot more firepower, too... an' let's not forget household chemicals. Ain't as good as Joker Gas, but, eh... [She shrugs.] What can ya do?

You see, I know I'll be taken straight from Arkham, where they undoubtedly will have confiscated all of my weapons. Not that I got my potato peeler back from the GCPD. [He frowns as best as his scars allow him to, because he loved that peeler. He loses a lot of knives, it seems.]

But you're right - there has to be things aboard the ship to utilize as weapons. Never the less potential explosives or, well, space lasers? Are space ships armed? I should have payed more attention to NASA announcements.

[This woman is intriguing and he feels as if he should know her, but. He can't even remember his own (given) name on a daily basis, so he lets it go.]

Tell me more about this Joker gas.

[Now ya see... you've given Harley a good reason to thrown on the mental brakes when you toss around words like 'Arkham'.

She momentarily deviates from that train of thought, however, as there are more enjoyable things to talk about... weapons.]

Well, if they confiscate 'em, ya should take 'em right on back... or find more creative ways'a hidin' 'em... As fer weapons on the ship... well, it's in space, right? I'm thinkin' that it's kinda like Star Trek, ya know? Phazers an' laser guns all RAT-TA-TAT-TAT and PEW PEW.

[She mimes shooting space guns.]

The kind that seal ya up as quick as they knock ya down an' put a hole in ya... KERPOW SPLAT. Dead.

[And then he asks about Joker gas and things start piecing together and she sighs.]

Ya ain't my Joker, are ya? I mean, yer a Joker, sure... but ya ain't my Mistah J, huh?

[She siiiiiiiighs dramatically, but there is a definite air of 'seriously bummed' about her now. This isn't going to keep her from answering the last bit, though.]

Joker gas is a hoot, Mistah J... ya figured it all out yerself... well, with yours truly ta help, of course. It's a gas!! Brings out the biggest smiles in folks, ya know... nah, guess ya don't, huh? Well.. we spray it all over the place an' people get the happy jollies... and sometimes, if we're super lucky, they die laughin' ... if not... well, we just blow the place sky high. HAHAH!!

[This woman is energy incarnate and Joker, bless him, is enthralled. He licks absent mindedly at the corner of his lips where they first bloom into scars and points emphatically at her.]

Yes, I like that. Good for handling masses of people, dispatching them with ease without getting blood on the new clothes. Though there is something fetching about a fresh blood stain.

[He cocks his head in a curious way and squints, leaning in closer to her as if being right in her face will help him remember if he knows her. He does not, but that's soon to change.]

I'm nobody's anything, but Joker is my name. What's your name, you little spit fire?

[And lord help him if he doesn't just reach out and lift her chin with two gloved fingers. Touching is something he cannot resist doing most of the time.]

A deadly laughing gas - why, that is genius. I'm overly fond of explosives myself with the frequent use of knives and other sharp implements like potato peelers and apple corers (they leave some great oozing wounds, you see). But this gas sounds like an absolute riot.

[Harley is nothing if not full of energy. She tilts her head slightly, taking in the small movements and grins broadly when he points at her.]

Exactly! Why don't more people see it this way? I mean, sure if I ain't worried about blood, a regular ole fashioned gun is fine an' dandy... but if I ain't worried about blood, I might as well beat them with my mallet, ya know? A certain amount'a artistry is needed when ya beat someone ta death with a mallet, right? I mean, ya can't be touchy about all the squishy bits yer goin' ta get on ya if ya wanna do it right.

[Had there ever been a time Harley hadn't been this comfortable with insanity and killing? If there was, then she certainly can't remember it.

When the Joker leans in, she doesn't so much as blink, her smile still bright and warm as she meets his gaze.]

Yeah... ya say that all'a time, Mistah J. [When he asks her name, she visibly brightens.]

Harleen Quinzel, at yer service as always... but ya can call me Harley Quinn...

[She doesn't tell him the joke. He'd always recognized the joke and she had no doubt this one would too. She sees his hand moving and doesn't so much as flinch. Her reasoning being, if he's going to hit her, he's going to hit her... if she moves away, it really just gets worse; but when he instead lifts her chin with two fingers as if to study her, she practically melts. Her gaze softens and she smiles warmly, letting out the tiniest of contented sighs. This man would have her wrapped around his gloved fingers for all time, no matter the minor differences in personality and appearance.]

Yeah... it's a regular riot, Puddin'. Ya should read the reviews we get... critics say we make a killin' every time. [She grins.] But there ain't nothin' wrong with a classic. [You should see her butterfly knife collection.]

Mallet?

[As interesting as this woman is, she talks a little bit too much for his tastes, but she does say some interesting things. He latches onto the more interesting pieces of her speech and tries to imagine her swinging a large enough mallet to smash a person and he'd be lying if he said he didn't get a sick little thrill from it.]

Harley Quinn - I love it. Simple, evocative and so very, very fitting.

[He titters a little, and almost nervous sort of laugh. Well, it would be a nervous laugh if he were anyone else. It's more sudden excitement which he has no other way of expressing. He keeps his hand on her chin for a moment before slipping his leather clad hand down her throat before dropping it back to his side.]

Simple variations on the classics are very much appreciated, like the potato peeler - you've never lived until you dragged a freshly sharpened peeler down the skin of a sanctimonious politician, let me tell you. [He shudders and chortles, small movements and sounds almost constantly coming from him.] There's also something to be said for simplicity. A gallon of gasoline and a book of matches can wreak so much havoc.

Mmmhmm!

[Yeah, the talking thing... her own Joker has a problem with this from time to time and it leads to her being physically shoved or kicked out of the way. Oddly enough, a size ten to the gut is a pretty effective way of silencing someone.

The Mallet, though... it's her baby at the end of the day, and certainly her preferred weapon in nearly any situation.

She lets out a soft sound of delight as he not only gets it, but shows pleasure in it. Nothing made Harley happier than making her Puddin' happy... and even if this wasn't technically her Puddin', he was close enough that it mattered.

His giggle, his twitchiness... it's all new and it's fascinating. She studies him from their scant distance apart, smile never fully slipping from her painted lips. There is a brief moment, his hand sliding from her chin and down her throat, that she doesn't know what is about to happen; and it excites her. When that hand finally drops away, she lets out a soft sigh.

She then tilts her head slightly, blinking to refocus on his own explanation. Her mouth falls open in a slight 'o' and she lets out a breathy 'ooo' in response.]

Ain't never considered a potata peelah before... Ya even played with a chainsaw? Ain't everyone's thing, but it's downright impressive...

[A a soft breathy sound when he mentions the simplicity of gasoline and matches.]

An' their screams can sing ya ta sleep at night just like a lullaby... Ya got class, Mistah J...

[Sprung? Harley? Oh, terribly.]

[There is something far more severe and cruel about this woman that he had not anticipated at first glance. Sure, the makeup and outfit spoke leagues of how far removed she is from normal society, but that could have just been a casual break with reality in the way that some girls like to dress up just for fun/attention. It was clear that Harley liked attention, but it wasn't quite so superficial.

Joker was drawn in by her enthusiasm, even if she was a bit loud. There was nothing more enticing than her experience with various weapons and his face, though scarred and painted up, displayed his emotions and curiosity plainly.]

I do try to symbolize a better class of criminals - what's the point in not making a statement? Random violence is all well and good, yes, don't get me wrong... But there's a quiet sort of beauty in making a very poignant statement with a well timed car bomb and gasoline fueled fire.

[He reaches out to touch her again, but aborts the motion and he looks just a little bit too twitchy for his own good. That's what happens when he's confronted with something new and particularly enthralling. It takes him a moment to make up his mind before he's reaching for her again and wraps his leather clad hand around the side of her throat, his fingers curling almost reverently around the back of her neck the touch gentle.]

You're something special, aren't you? Hrm. Yes, Harley, I can feel it already. Chain saws and mallets and just. Special.

[It's not even a matter of severity or cruelty, so much as insanity. You wouldn't know, looking and listening to her now, that this young woman used to be a fairly talented psychiatrist. Well, you might if you sat down and talked with her long enough, but she would have to be having a 'good' day to allow you past the child-like innocence that was Harley Quinn.

Does she enjoy the attention that her madness brings her? In truth, she doesn't care so much that people pay attention to the madness itself, but to her. Being ignored isn't something Harley is particularly used to, having spent many of the past years in the company of the Joker. Being ignored, or bored, usually led to the Cupid of Crime getting into more trouble than those around her might prefer... buildings exploded and people died and generally a rather large fuss ensued.

This man isn't the Joker she has known the past many years, but he is the Joker. It's fascinating and confusing and enough to make her stomach tighten and twist with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She knew her Joker and how he'd react to certain things... certain triggers. This man she doesn't know and that very factor is what makes it so wonderful.

Chaos.]

Ya've always been a better class'a criminal, Mistah J. Others folks would be lucky ta even come close ta ya, but there ain't a one'a 'em anywhere in Gotham that'll ever match ya.

[She watches him, taking in each jerk and twitch and actually stops breathing for a beat when he reaches for her again. She very nearly reaches for him, but stops herself... Her Joker would only put up with that on the best of days... this Joker... she doesn't dare even try.

She falls still again, her pulse beating heavily along the length of her throat beneath his fingers as they settle again, but never does she pull away. The threat, the danger... but in the end, it's a soft sigh that slips past those painted lips. Her eyes are hooded and her smiles warms substantially at the praise.]

Awww, Mistah J... ya know just the things ta say ta a gal.

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Reserved at Ataraxion

Late, but I didn't want to miss out!

Not late at all!

Huzzah!

I guess I have time to reply now after all!

Woot! This is filling me with all the joy, fyi. <33

My goodness, me too. <3 All the crazy love

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