Pychos On Skates

October 20,2014: Unhappy with her identity being besmirched in the tabloids, Harley confronts the imposter that was scene on a date with Robin

Darcy's Ransacked Apartment

A one bedroom apartment in New York.



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Mood Music:

Ugh! Long day was long, and not in the fun way. Darcy shoulders her way into her apartment, using her foot to kick the door closed behind her. In the dark she steps in to her apartment and promptly trips on the mess she can't see. Stumble stumble curse trip clatter goes her purse and keys and, "What the fuck?"

She fumbles for the lights, flips the switch, and nothing…


The lights won't come on and the contents of Darcy's hall closet have been tossed onto the floor. As Darcy comes into the apartment, the rest of the place seems to have fared no better. The curtains are open, letting in the light from the street, allowing to be seen the silhouette of a woman in Darcy's comfy chair, her feet propped up on the coffee table while wearing old fashioned, four wheel roller skates. And a gun. Even in the dark, the light from the open windows glints off the metal of the gun that is pointing right at Darcy.

"Bout time you got home. I was startin' ta think ya were on another date with Birdbrain or someone equally lame."


Eyes adjusting, Darcy sweeps her gaze over the mess, then to the HEY! Skates! :), and then the gun. The start of the smile fades.

"You picked the wrong broke chick to rob. I got nothing of value but my skates, and I don't give those up with out a fight," Darcy sasses while having the sense to tokenly put her hands up.

"It's called working late. I was hoping to call him up for a rootbeer float, but the bastard didn't give me his number."


Harley gestures with the gun to the couch beside her. "Sit," she says in her unmistakable Jersey accent. "I ain't robbin' ya. I was just lookin' through your wardrobe and tossing anything that looked like it was copyin' my style down yer garbarator. Which brings me ta why I'm here. You been goin' around town, pretendin' ta be me and ruinin' my image by going on dates with goody-two-shoe sidekicks."


"OMG! You threw away my clothes? What het fuck is your problem?" Darcy whines dropping onto the sofa where Harley requests. "I worked hard to find those Goodwill Gems, thank you very much! And I don't think notorioulsy evil school girl has been copyrighted, otherwise Hell Mary's would be on both our asses."

"Also… he owed me ice cream. Stupid Bird Brain scooping me up out of no where!" Hmph!


Harley shrugs a shoulder. "I didn't throw them out. That implies that you could dig through the garbage and wash them and wear them again. I obliterated them, had them mashed into bits and shreds so they are no good to anyone but the rats for nesting material." She frowns at the other woman, dropping her feet down to the floor. "I left yer skates though, since those were too nice to just destroy. I did consider taking them with me though."

When Darcy insults Robin, the boy blunder, Harley smirks. "Well, there's a reason we call him bird brain, yanno. Hell, if he didn't have B-Man tellin' him what to do, he'd be a total waste."


"Oh thank god. If you had touched those skates, girl, things would have gotten craycray up in here," Darcy black-girls. Let's blame the YouTube videos Darcy was watchin on the way home. She turns a bit on her sofa, tucking a foot up underself.

"But seriously! Why'd you have to trash my clothes? I didn't try to ruin your imagine. Social media's a bitch, so get over it. And.. yeah. Tell me about it. Boy blushes more than a catholic school boy BEFORE the priests get to him."


Harley arches a brow as Darcy talks about threatening violence. She doesn't know whether to be insulted or amused. When asked about the clothes, Harley simply shrugs. "I was mad. I've been having to deal with a lot of the more unsavoury elements of Gotham teasing me about the whole dating Robin thing and there is only so much a bullet to the kneecap will fix. So, I thought I would come here and have a little chat with you, clown ta girl. Stay away from the black and red combinations with diamond motifs and we're all good. Or… I could just put a bullet in your kneecap instead."


"Fair enough and there wasn't a diamond to be seen. I have selfies from that bout. It was plaid. Red blouse, black corset, black and red plaid skirt. Not my fault Rob's a Birdbrain with bad eyesight," Darcy grumps, folding her arms under her chest. Her red lips pout in the low light, her hair loose about her shoulders.

She's quiet a moment…

"Are you really a notoriously evil school girl? Cause… yeah. Harlequin? LIke… the terrible romance novels? Really?"


"And my Puddin' thought you were me too!" Ahhh, now there is the problem. As Harley pouts about her Mistah Jay mistaking a mere copy for her, it becomes more evident. "And yeah! You ain't never heard of Harley Quinn? Joker's number one henchperson? One of the notorious Gotham City Sirens? You… you really never heard of me?"


"Never never, Clowny. And to be fair, Chuckles only thought I was you for like, a second," Darcy says, reaching out to place a consoling hand on Harley's shoulder. Because… Darcy is friends with everyone?

"I went to gotham to catch the Girls vs Belles game. Which, by the way, ya'll won. Stompfest. Belles cracked second half. So, way to go Gotham!"


Being told that she's not known takes all the wind out of Harley's sails. She sighs softly. "I shouldn't be surprised you ain't never heard of me. I'm nothin' but a sidekick. Even when Gotham had that bounty on me, mine was only a hundred large. Dead or alive. At least Mistah Jay got 300 dead or 500 alive." She mopes there on the couch.


You know, Darcy should probably call the Fuzz in since Harl's like criminal and all but…

"Oh, doll…" she croons instead and drapes her arm about Harley's shoulders. Total sis-hug moment.

"Aw, come on now. You're way more impressive than Birdbrain. All he does is see badly and fall with style. You? You've got bitching taste in clothes and skates and the coolest girl-band name ever. Seriously." Sass's Honor.

Or some shit.


Harley's usual cheerful demeanor is gone as she mopes. "I should totally shoot ya, just ta improve my rep. But ya like the Girls. And you hate Boy Blunder. And… You really ain't never heard of Harley Quinn? Great nemesis to Batman. Nothin?"


"Nothing, sorry," Darcy confirms, being honest and leaving out that she doesn't HATE Boy Blunder. He's way too much fun to make blush. "But, I'd rather you didn't shoot me, if it's all the same. Did you want a beer or something?"


"Ah sure. Why not. Sorry about the place. I was in a mood." She puts the gun away, slipping it into a satchel she has draped over the back of the chair she was sitting in. "I think I just need ta get out there and make a name for myself! I don't need anybody's help. I don't need ta be a henchman or part of a team. I could make Gotham tremble all on my own! Cause I'm scary! I am! Okay, admittedly, my accute case of hybristophilia really does lead to me needing a strong influence to work with, but I can be scary on my own! I'm sure one of my personalities must be scary!"


"It's alright. I do it too," Darcy says as she pushes herself up to pick her way through her apartment and toward her kitchen. She listens to Harley ramble, while pondering sending a test to May about having Clown girl in her pad.

"Ugh. That sounds like more work than wrangling scientists," Darcy quips as she returns with beers in hand and phone untouched. Fuck it. Let's get this weekend started with a cold brewski and some girl time. And Darcy'll take crazy girl time over Agent Girl time.


Harley Quinn says, "Oh, tell me about it. I would rather have to deal with a room full of psychoanalysts any day. Of course, maybe that's because all my personalities *are* psychoanalysts, so I'm technically in a room full of them all the time. And no one is a worse critic then yourself, so when that room full of doctors are all you? Ugh!"

Harley clinks the neck of her bottle to Darcy's. "So, you big on roller derby stuff then? I only just got into it. Hence the outfit. I mean, any game where you get to look this good *and* beat people up? That's my kinda sport!""


Cheers. "Oh god. I'd take psychoanalysts over astrophysists. With the psychos you can flash them tits and watch them try to figure out if there are Daddy issues. Astro's end up with nose bleeds," Darcy preaches before knocking back some beer.

"Totally. Started it just outta high school. I needed a place to be a little more openly crazy, nand my then friend started playing so I went along for the bruises. Did you get 187s? Those pads are boss," she says while holding a hand up for a high five at the shared sport.


Harley can't help but giggle. "Yeah, we would totally be asking you what motivated you, how you were feeling, what was going on in your present and your past. Which is a shame really. You think they would take the time to just admire a nice set of girls." She gives her cleavage a wiggle, looking down at them to appreciate them for a moment and then shrugs.

The pair high five and Harley takes a swig of her beer. "It was actually you that brought this whole derby thing to my attention. How I missed out on this for all these years is beyond me. Who knows! Maybe if I had found this before I met Mistah Jay, my Elecrta Complex wouldn't have manifested so strongly."


Chuckling too, Darcy admires the girls with Harley, beer being drunk as she does so.

"really is. I mean, can't a girl just want to flash a room full of people without needing a reason other than 'Hey! I've got nice tits. Wanna see?'" she deadpans into the high five. A grin forms.

"Right? It's one of hte only things that keeps me from completely losing it some days. Or used to. it's startingto be again. I calmed down a bit, tiny bit, a few years ago. Tiny bit," Darcy says before she paues in thought, then turns to look at Harley more straight on.

"Well… why not try now? There are rules, because if you kill your opponents there would be no one to skate against and then fun's over, but… why not try out? You can be anyone YOU want to be. Sweet, sexy, SASSY.." Darcy wiggles at the last, indicating that that's what she is.


Pondering for a bit, Harley finishes her beer and nods. "YOu know what? I think I will. Maybe doing my own thing is just what I need ta get my name out there and my notoriety up. I mean, I'm pretty sure that Mistah J is getting the credit for half my kills anyway, since I work for him. Maybe I should start my own gang. I could call them the Quintets!" Rising to her feet, she grabs her satchel and shoulders it. "Well, Miss Darcy, sorry bout yer place. If you read in the papers that Robin is dead, just remember the name Harley Quinn. Unless someone gets to him before me. Man, that would suck."

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