𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 (𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧)

𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬

Harley smiles, grateful for the tension breaker. "Hmm, let's see," she starts, giggling as she rounds the counter and joins Jane. "You're an Aussie. Well, I don't see a Darwin Stubby or a VB anywhere on these shelves, but you probably like a good Black and Tan. Am I close?"

"Not even, sweet cheeks. I'm a Gurgle's Ale mate. So, were you any good pouring drinks?"

"Never, had to take out a student loan."

Next Harley walked over to Killer Croc and studies him. "You're a hard one to read, KC." She sniffs
him and makes a face. "Hard to tell your beverage of choice when all I smell is five-day-old sewer."

His shoulders rise slightly, meaning he's laughing. His expression is quite difficult to see, as he has a jacket over his face. Still, you can tell he is muscular and tall. Only his hands are showing, which are a strange color and appear scaly.

Deadshot takes a sip of a drink Jane offers him and smirks at Harley, who points at Killer Croc with a knowing smile.

"I'm betting you're a Bloody Mary man," she says. "Emphasis on the blood, and a whole side of Mary."

Croc shakes his head and finally looks up, showing his full face, which Harley finds monstrously beautiful. "Nothing for me. Drink dulls the mind."

"Precisely, my giant alligator pal," Deadshot says, gesturing for Jane to fill his glass up again. "The duller the better for me."

Croc stares at him, then shrugs. "Okay. Beer."

Boomer claps his hands and gives a whoop. "There he is. A man after my own heart. Don't take that literally. Sweet-lips, pour the big guy a Gurgle's. No. Make that five."

Harley turns to Diablo. He interrupts her before she gets a chance to guess. "Water."

"Says the man who can set the world on fire," Jane mutters playfully under her breath with a small smirk as she pours Deadshot another drink, and Harley giggles.

Harley reaches over the counter and pats his shoulder. "Good idea, honey." She pours it from the tap and hands it over. Deadshot raises his shot glass.

"Here's to honor among thieves," he says merrily as they clink glasses.

"No. Not thieves," Boomer says, raising his glass again. "Asset relocation specialists."

"I like that," Harley says, carefully fitting a handful of tiny cocktail umbrellas into some God-
knows-what pink and blue tropical drink.

Deadshot swirls his drink hypnotically. "I don't care what nobody says, man, we were the shit back then. No one could do what we did," he scoffs, "not even Waller and her clueless army of men. We succeeded in what they couldn't."

"We weren't picked to succeed," Diablo interrupts. "We were chosen to fail. To die. To lessen them the responsibility of four inmates."

"Think I don't know that?" Deadshot laughs and pours himself a fifth bourbon. "They used to blame us for what would go down there," he says, referring to the countless missions assigned to the Suicide Squad and how whenever the military men would fuck up, they'd be the first ones to be blamed. "They didn't need no one knowin' the truth. I mean, really. The people of Gotham cannot rely on the government because they don't know how to fight. The only good thing they know how to do is lose their men's lives, and they know that. We were the cover-up. The patsies. The bad guys."

Poison Ivy listens alongside Jane, nodding their heads. Though they were never part of the Suicide Squad, they knew exactly how government works and how they like to blame their own-doings on criminals.