♦ [ Jesus Wept ] ♦ There aren’t a lot of things that horrify Harley anymore. Least of all a setup where she’s required to punish another person for their sins. And having murder added to her list? Well, it’s already on there, and not just from her time alive.
She really shouldn’t be rolling her eyes as she inspects the spread of torture devices, but she can’t help herself. Ok, cool, she’ll torture the shit out of someone and then they’ll all go home. Maybe next time she’ll even get to be the torturee.
After a long inventory of what she has to work with, she glances back up at the sinner in question, teeth in her wide smile gleaming white. “Tsk, tsk, let’s see what you’ve done to deserve this, huh?” Not that she’s judging.
♦ [ Misc. -- Beyond the Gates ] ♦ Leave it to Harley to go searching for pets in the wilds of Hell.
She's made an actual deal with the devil in the hopes of bringing Bruce here eventually. But that doesn't mean she's not going to see what (or who) she can find on her own. Which is why Harley's gone beyond the gates today.
Now, she's kneeling next to what looks somewhat like a tiny, baby hyena, apparently having won it over with some version of generic Honey Nut Cheerios, feeding it one 'o' at a time from her hand. "Aren't you the sweetest baby, yes you are. You're a cutey pie." She's speaking in a ridiculously obnoxious high-pitched and sappy tone of voice, but it seems to be doing the trick because the animal is wagging its tail and munching happily on cereal.
A second one comes tumbling out of a pile of jagged rocks a moment later, headbutting the first out of the way for its own chance at a snack.
Harley simply looks delighted, eventually rewarding them both with their own pile of Cheerios, before the two animals swivel their heads in the same direction at the same time, the furry mohawks spanning their heads and backs down to their tails sparking to life and turning into flames. They're both growling and yipping at something behind Harley, and she straightens and rises, turning in the same direction. "If someone's out there, you might as well say hello. Otherwise, I'll sic my two buddies on you."
She would never. Too much of a risk of such precious balls of fluff getting hurt by whoever's skulking around.
♦ [ Misc. - Dance Club ] ♦ Harley's been dancing for literal hours and it shows. Sweat's beaded up on her forehead and dripped down her cheeks, leaving dark trails of makeup on her skin and running over the thin scar on her jawline. She's tried to wipe it away in places, leaving smears of eyeliner behind. But with the way her red, sparkly minidress is clinging to the dampness on her body, it's clear she's spent most of her time focused on moving. On waving her arms and gyrating her hips.
She's been going practically nonstop since starting to feel better after the events of the previous month: painting and cleaning the bowling alley, working on introducing herself to new people and handing out business cards, and spending as much time as humanly possible doing things that she enjoys.
Like dancing.
Even during her Harleen days, she had never been shy -- disillusioned and delusional, but not shy. And Hell hasn't changed that. Aside from her own frenzied shimmying, Harley's also spent the time in the club dragging anyone who looks unsure onto the dance floor and pairing people up to get them to bump and grind together. And she's definitely had more than a few free drinks pressed into her slick palm, all of which she's downed with gusto. She's obviously in her element, with her pulse pounding in her throat and the music thumping in her chest.
When a spray of rainbow-colored foam is released over the crowd, Harley shrieks in delight, raising her face to the cool bubbles and turning in a circle with her arms raised over her head.
It makes the floor slippery, of course, but that doesn't seem to bother Harley when she starts moving across the floor in her 4-inch heels, grabbing someone on the fringe of the crowd. She can't tell if she knows them or not, not with the dark room being split with occasional flashes of strobe lights, but that doesn't seem to matter to her. And the crazed glint in her eyes seems to indicate that she’s drunk and possibly high on something. "Come dance!"
♦ [ Wildcard ] ♦ [ I can be reached at harlequeen if you'd like to plot something else. Or feel free to write a wildcard prompt if nothing I have below works! ]
Harley Quinn | DC
There aren’t a lot of things that horrify Harley anymore. Least of all a setup where she’s required to punish another person for their sins. And having murder added to her list? Well, it’s already on there, and not just from her time alive.
She really shouldn’t be rolling her eyes as she inspects the spread of torture devices, but she can’t help herself. Ok, cool, she’ll torture the shit out of someone and then they’ll all go home. Maybe next time she’ll even get to be the torturee.
After a long inventory of what she has to work with, she glances back up at the sinner in question, teeth in her wide smile gleaming white. “Tsk, tsk, let’s see what you’ve done to deserve this, huh?” Not that she’s judging.
♦ [ Misc. -- Beyond the Gates ] ♦
Leave it to Harley to go searching for pets in the wilds of Hell.
She's made an actual deal with the devil in the hopes of bringing Bruce here eventually. But that doesn't mean she's not going to see what (or who) she can find on her own. Which is why Harley's gone beyond the gates today.
Now, she's kneeling next to what looks somewhat like a tiny, baby hyena, apparently having won it over with some version of generic Honey Nut Cheerios, feeding it one 'o' at a time from her hand. "Aren't you the sweetest baby, yes you are. You're a cutey pie." She's speaking in a ridiculously obnoxious high-pitched and sappy tone of voice, but it seems to be doing the trick because the animal is wagging its tail and munching happily on cereal.
A second one comes tumbling out of a pile of jagged rocks a moment later, headbutting the first out of the way for its own chance at a snack.
Harley simply looks delighted, eventually rewarding them both with their own pile of Cheerios, before the two animals swivel their heads in the same direction at the same time, the furry mohawks spanning their heads and backs down to their tails sparking to life and turning into flames. They're both growling and yipping at something behind Harley, and she straightens and rises, turning in the same direction. "If someone's out there, you might as well say hello. Otherwise, I'll sic my two buddies on you."
She would never. Too much of a risk of such precious balls of fluff getting hurt by whoever's skulking around.
♦ [ Misc. - Dance Club ] ♦
Harley's been dancing for literal hours and it shows. Sweat's beaded up on her forehead and dripped down her cheeks, leaving dark trails of makeup on her skin and running over the thin scar on her jawline. She's tried to wipe it away in places, leaving smears of eyeliner behind. But with the way her red, sparkly minidress is clinging to the dampness on her body, it's clear she's spent most of her time focused on moving. On waving her arms and gyrating her hips.
She's been going practically nonstop since starting to feel better after the events of the previous month: painting and cleaning the bowling alley, working on introducing herself to new people and handing out business cards, and spending as much time as humanly possible doing things that she enjoys.
Like dancing.
Even during her Harleen days, she had never been shy -- disillusioned and delusional, but not shy. And Hell hasn't changed that. Aside from her own frenzied shimmying, Harley's also spent the time in the club dragging anyone who looks unsure onto the dance floor and pairing people up to get them to bump and grind together. And she's definitely had more than a few free drinks pressed into her slick palm, all of which she's downed with gusto. She's obviously in her element, with her pulse pounding in her throat and the music thumping in her chest.
When a spray of rainbow-colored foam is released over the crowd, Harley shrieks in delight, raising her face to the cool bubbles and turning in a circle with her arms raised over her head.
It makes the floor slippery, of course, but that doesn't seem to bother Harley when she starts moving across the floor in her 4-inch heels, grabbing someone on the fringe of the crowd. She can't tell if she knows them or not, not with the dark room being split with occasional flashes of strobe lights, but that doesn't seem to matter to her. And the crazed glint in her eyes seems to indicate that she’s drunk and possibly high on something. "Come dance!"
♦ [ Wildcard ] ♦
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