Oups ! Cette image n'est pas conforme à nos directives de contenu. Afin de continuer la publication, veuillez la retirer ou télécharger une autre image.
♡♦♡ I AM YOUR GOD, QUINN ♡♦♡
The King and Queen of Gotham City are having a stern stare down, waiting for the other to make the first move. And the green-haired lunatic hasn't moved an inch since his woman pulled a knife out on him. He has never had to deal with his little harlequin doing something to him like this.
The knife in question is the fanciest item she possess in this shit-hole; with an intricately decorated hilt that has jewels studded here and there, and a sleek black blade that is hot to the touch, even in the chilliest of nights. She had snatched it off of another inmate when she was too distracted with her inmate boyfriend to even notice Harley's sticky hands.
As she stands there, her heart beating violently into her chest, she hears a snicker from above, surprising her a little.
"Honey, pumpkin, baby," comes Jack Nieper's response with a hint of amusement, but also a whole lot of shock. "You don't wanna do that now, do you? You'd be making a big mistake." A singing tone is latched to the last bit of his warning.
His tall silhouette hovers menacingly over hers, shadowing the small girl completely. He will not let himself become fearful of her — after all, she is just a girl. And men do not bow down to girls.
The blade of her pocket knife continues to threateningly gleam in her hand as she points it skyward. Silence is her only response.
He licks his lips and then slightly backs away from her — just slightly. He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Come on, you know you'd only regret it later. You always do."
He has eyes that are as green as the bubbling pits of his birthplace, Ace Chemicals, and verdant hair that flows behind him in a long braid. On his torso, he wears nothing but his wide-open beige patient uniform which displays a sturdy chest and a well-toned stomach. On the bottom, the rest of his jumpsuit is puffed out somewhat and around his neck is a choker made out of his very own hair.
Glancing around her room, Harley's eyes land on her cell door, and he chuckles, because he already knows that she is up to no good. He is quick, but she is quicker, as she races over to a white folding chair she has sitting right beside it. Then, she secures it under the door handle, spinning back around to show the Joker a grin of her own. It's a smile that has been itching to be let out for quite some time now. If looks could kill.
The man who formerly ruled her heart and very being looks a bit taken back, and might she say, fearful. He was supposed to have the upper hand here, but, oh, have the tables turned. His smile drops quickly and his fists start to ball into tight fists. "What are you doing?"
