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♡♦♡ CALLING ME DUMB I HAVE A PHD, MOTHERFUCKER ♡♦♡
Currently, Harley Quinn is occupying the club's pole, tipsily dancing around it. She is clearly highly intoxicated. Her friends watch her in amusement, sipping their drinks at a booth directly in front of their performing jester. Some encourage her, just as drunk and maniac as she is, meanwhile others — Pamela Isley — watch with worry.
Things are already beginning to get a little crazy with the liquor in Harley's system and Oswald Cobblepot's burning eyes on her back. It didn't take long before he noticed the uninvited guest and her little friends. With the blaring music, sweaty bodies smushed together, and Harley flinging herself around like a drunk mad woman, things are bound to go south sometime soon, and Ivy acknowledges this.
Her prediction is correct.
"Hammie, watch this," Quinn calls over to Hammerhead, who is currently occupying Jane's body as she dances along to the electric music, her hand on some random girl's waist.
Hammerhead, laughing drunkly, looks up at her. Uh, oh, she laughs harder. This ain't gonna end well, she thinks, smirking as she sips on her alcoholic beverage — a shit-ton of tequila poured in a giant hurricane glass.
Though, Ivy's thoughts go somewhere completely different as her worried, green eyes instantly open in size. Oh god, what was she going to do, she mentally asks herself, already on her feet. None of the others bother to pay any mind to the mischief in Harleen's tone of voice, but she does. She watches silently as the blond climbs another small platform with a pole. She notices the drink in her hand. She doesn't even like gin and tonic. Why did she bring it with her? Meanwhile she is busy thinking about just that, she looks up to see Harley bent backwards while clutching the pole.
It all seems harmless until her drink goes flying onto a woman sitting on a small, navy sofa. She is now drenched in alcohol. The people within close range to her stand there shocked, except Harley. She is still on the platform, not bothering to stop dancing, as Boomerang's booming laughter and Hammerhead's dark cackles encourage her to keep going. She giggles, then turns to the man that is left sitting there and the woman drenched in smelly alcohol.
"God damn it! Sit the fuck down." The man has emphasized every word with a serpent like tongue, angrily wiping the liquid off his expensive jacket while his date opts to clean up in the bathroom.
"What," she asks softly, tilting her head innocently as the severity of his words sink in slowly. The liquor has formed a ten inch barrier between her and the outside world, his words distant and unclear.
Hammerhead, watching from afar as she chews her plastic strew, whistles at the man's harsh words directed to Harleen. She already knows this isn't gonna end well.
