Trip to the Pharmacy

Summary:
January 07 2015: The Joker and Harley go… medicine shopping

Narrows warehouse

A warehouse containing a mob drug and pharm operation.


Characters

NPCs

  • Mob Mooks

Mood Music:
[* None]


The Joker has been laid up for a bit ever since encountering the Wasp in Coney Island, but now he's back in fine form. Feeling one hundred percent. Tip top shape. Okay… not quite. And one disadvantage of being immune to so many drugs and toxins is that pain medication that actually works on him is kind of hard to come by. Not that the pain is usually debilitating but if he wants to be in tip top shape he's going to need some.

Hence, the Narrows. There's been some mafia types moving high end pharmeseuticals and the Joker would love to snag some, and wreck their ordered little criminal 'business' in the process.

Harley has been fawning over her Clown Prince even more, ever since he busted her out of Arkham. What had supposed to have been a short stay mostly to prove a point to the boy blunder that Arkham wasn't up to holding criminals like her had turned out to be just about the worst experience ever! They even started making her believe the drek they were trying to feed her.

And so, Harley is more then up to a little bit of a crime spree with her Puddin'. She nursed him back to health as much as she was able to, but now he needs something she can't give him. Pain killers. Well, she could always knock him out cold with her mallet, but oddly enough he never takes her up on that idea.

It's not the knocking out that's the issue. It's the headache when he wakes up. Anyway, the two are coming up to a warehouse now, where the mob stores it's stash. And as luck has it, the mob's there. Which doesn't bother Mistah J. In fact he might have planned it like that. It's just the two of them right now. Like old times. "Up for a bit of constructive Mayhem Harley?" He giggles.

Harley has been favouring her old motley lately, and that means that mayhem and mischief are definitely on the menu. She wears a satchel over one shoulder, clipped to her hip so it doesn't go flying when she starts getting acrobatic. Her trusty mallet leans on her shoulder as she looks to The Joker and smiles sweetly. "For you, Mistah J? I'm up for just about anything."

Big blue eyes look over to the mobsters by the warehouse. "Think they're gonna try and shoot us?" she asks with a knowing giggle.

"Don't they always?" The Joker steps into the warehouse and immediately the place explodes in shouts and gunfire. Some of it comes from the Joker himself as he cackles and blasts those nearest to him. It's pure psychotic violence from the Clown Prince but there is a method to his madness. Each time he targets the man closest to the boxes of narcotics, forcing them away from the drugs he wants to swipe.

Harley Quinn says, "think @emit It`s not that Harley is adverse to using guns. Why, she quite likes them, and bombs too. However, Harley has been feeling a little more hands on lately and so she uses her trusty mallet to pole vault into the fray and start swinging at mobsters to keep them away from the drugs.

Anyone that is foolish enough to believe that Harley`s mallet is a fake due to its comical size compared to her"

Harley Quinn says, "think @emit It`s not that Harley is adverse to using guns. Why, she quite likes them, and bombs too. However, Harley has been feeling a little more hands on lately and so she uses her trusty mallet to pole vault into the fray and start swinging at mobsters to keep them away from the drugs.

Anyone that is foolish enough to believe that Harley`s mallet is a fake due to its comical size compared to her, soon learns that this little clown is a lot stronger then she looks. Soon, the cracking of broken ribs and moans of agony from internal bleeding accompany the stacatto rhythm of the Joker`s gunfire."

It`s not that Harley is adverse to using guns. Why, she quite likes them, and bombs too. However, Harley has been feeling a little more hands on lately and so she uses her trusty mallet to pole vault into the fray and start swinging at mobsters to keep them away from the drugs.

Anyone that is foolish enough to believe that Harley`s mallet is a fake due to its comical size compared to her, soon learns that this little clown is a lot stronger then she looks. Soon, the cracking of broken ribs and moans of agony from internal bleeding accompany the stacatto rhythm of the Joker`s gunfire.

Among the mob are several mob bosses. They're mostly focused on Harley though as she's closer and a lot more intimidating at the moment. Suits the Joker just fne. He picks hijacks a forklift and begins to drive. "Now let me see. Eeny. Meeny. Miney… MO!" Pressing the gas down he rams it into a stack of crates, tipping them over onto yet more mobsters.

The fact that the mobsters are focusing on Harley seems to have her quite irate. "Hey! That is no way to treat a lady!" she protests before hitting some poor schmuck right in the kisser with her mallet. As he collapse to the ground, his face covered in blood, Harley giggles. "Medic!"

Polevaulting herself onto the stack of crates that Joker is aiming for, Harley leaves her over-sized mallet in the middle of the floor. As the crates start to tip, Harley bounces from one crate to the other to keep her balance. "Ink Pink, You stink, Riding on a horse's… " She doesn't actually finish the rude childhood rhyme, instead kicking one of the mob bosses in the place she isn't mentioning.

The Jocker's grin has gone manic. He puts the forklift into reverse and while Harley bounces in among the mob bosses themselves, picks up an unbroken crate of phramaseuticals and begins to trundle off with it toward the loading dock. By the sounds of things, Harley will have cleaned up in a moment.

Perhaps it is the girlish giggle as she pummels people, or maybe it's because she's a lot tougher then she has any right to be, but soon enough the warehouse is quite. the mobsters have either run away or been beaten into unconciousness. Harley saunters over to her mallet, lifting it up and slinging it onto her shoulder as she looks down at her side. She's bleeding. While punches and the like are easily shrugged off, Harley isn't bullet proof. She pouts softly and finds a place to sit down. "We still got that guy on retainer, Mistah Jay?"

Mister J is walking back now. The truck's loaded and ready to depart. What they don't use they can sell. "Yes." The Insane Clown grins. "He's still being retained." More like restrained. In a eight by eight cell. Being someone the Joker needs can be so cruel sometimes.

Rising to her feet, Harley takes the Joker's hand and rests her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with unrestrained hero worship. "Let's go home and get ya all better then, Puddin'. Then maybe we can show that little bimbo who hurt ya a good time. After all, it's only fair."

"I like the way you think, Harley." The Joker grins as he turns to stroll back to the waiting truck. It's almost sweet, the two of them. Until you realize what murderous psychopaths they both are. "We really should, before we do though, make an effort to have her and bird… see things our way…"

It is the occasional glances they give each other that shows how truly devoted they are to each other. It's a twisted sort of romance, but there is no denying that it is there. Harley gets into the truck, slouching down and wincing at the pain in her side. "That might take quite a bit of convincin', Mistah J."

The Joker reaches back and brings back a bottle of pills. "Here." He offers, looking for once relatively normal. "That should help. And don't you worry about the convincin'. If they get stubborn well that's just part of the fun, right?"

Taking the offered pills, Harley reads the label. Sure, they are illegally obtained high end pharmacueticals, but a girl can never be too careful. She pops two, swallowing them down dry. "Maybe I should bake them a cake. You know, our special recipe?"

Now the Joker grins, almost like a jack-o-lantern. "Now that is an idea Harley. And it's been so long since you've been able to indulge your… domestic side." That being the side of her that turns common household objects into horrifying weapons.


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