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HER AND HER LOONEY BOYFRIEND LOOTED MY TRUCK AND DROVE IT INTO A RIVER — FOR A LAUGH
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A single pink light falls onto the stage with the raucous sounds of clapping and a single blaring note of a new song that hangs for several seconds. The semi-demure figure wearing the skimpy bunny suit that has taken the stage has been replaced with something far more revealing with all eyes on her. Harley Sinn's suit lays on a heap on the stage as she holds the position that she had let it slide off from. Her skin, while pale, glows pink and flushed in the light.
Changed out of the coverage of her previous outfit, she is now dressed in nothing but a skimpy, pink bedazzled thong matched with nipple pasties, also covered in pink rhinestones. Her pink bunny ears go with the theme of her costume.
The nipple coverings leave little to imagination, as the piece doesn't even cover her ample breasts completely; her two supple areolas peering out from beneath the two coverings that barely adorns her peachy globes. The audience nearly explodes as the room rings out in cheers.
Her thong similarly is too revealing to consider appropriate for the waking world. Her round, tattooed thighs are completely uncovered, and her entire rear is out into the open.
Harley Quinn, like the performer she is, now stands in front of dozens of people, wearing nothing short of lingerie. Almost the entirety of her body is exposed, and her routine only means more will be in due time.
Even with the complete change in modesty, the most enticing part of this newfound woman on stage is her face; it is crystal clear to Harley's viewers from her smile that this instance, with all eyes set on her and her body, is one of pure want and one of pure desire from her, whether simply a need to be noticed or something deeper and more... carnal.
She bites into her bottom lip, her eyes glistening with joy, and her face, along with the rest of her body upon inspection, quivering in excitement from said inspection. The blaring note that has signaled this transformation ends, leaving her standing in silent ecstasy. Then, the music slowly begins a revival, this time far faster than either of the previous songs; it is soft at first, but the shaking of the room grows with the beat as it continues to hasten dramatically, along with the influx of paper notes falling to the floor
Harley looks on, eyes wavering, at the men before her. She can tell from their gaze that they are taking in every inch of her burning body. She can hear their thoughts, each lustful face imagining her wearing even less and doing whatever they want her to do. She can hear the claps, the jeers, the horny yells of dozens as her most intimate bits hang out.
None of that matters to her, though. She is only here to complete a job, and this is just an added bonus. Fish Mooney just instructed her to deliver Cobblepot the money she agreed to send to him; she was never ordered to do any of this. But she wanted to. And with Ivy and Barbara's encouragement, she is. It is just another small step to her independence.
What matters today is that she is stepping out of her comfort zone, and her performance has only just started; she has discovered her sex. She has lived up until this point in her life without experiencing true, lustful ambition. She knows love, she knows want, she knows passion, violence, but never confidence. She never knew love for oneself.
It is for these reasons that Harley has bared herself for the crowd. She wants— needs — to know the feelings of total confidence. She needs to know the unique love one feels for oneself. And the feeling is nothing short of immaculate.
For these few minutes, she needs no man to make her feel sure of herself. She needs nobody, period. She is all she needs.
The new song continues increasing the speed of the beat, and the pink light begins flashing in time with it. As the song starts reaching a steadier tempo, the real show beginning, the one that people have now began to beg for in light of the eternity of lead up. The light pointed to the center goes out and stays out, only to be replaced with a more neutral pink color across the stage.
With the flash of the new light, there flashes Harleen. In the instant between the center spotlight being replaced with a new one across the stage, she is there waiting for it before it even turns on. The light falls onto her body, already locked in an alluring leg lift, but the stillness of her form is betrayed by motion; though she, herself, has stopped dead. Her breasts follow the laws of motion, completely free and out in the air.
"Harley," a man's voice shouts nearby.
Instantly knowing who's voice that belongs to, Harley simply ignores it, gracefully moving onto her knees.
"Hey! Quinn," it says again, louder this time. "I know you're listening to me, you pasty clown freak! Now look over here!"
She rolls her eyes, then shifts her gaze over to her right where Victor and Oswald stand. "Oh, how abrupt," she says simply in an English accent, mimicking Oswald Cobblepot's accent.
The Penguin just glares at her, tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. "Well, I'm clearly not here for conversation or culture, funny girl. I'm here for what the Fish left for me," he says, then chuckles. "Maybe a filthy lap dance, or two, if I can get one."
Silent, her attention shifts back to the audience of drooling men. She smirks, then leans forwards, resulting her to be on all fours. The sensual pose reveals her chest even further. As her body stays frozen in her pose, her unleashed breasts jiggle magnificently for the crowd, uncovered and unhindered from any restraint but two small rhinestone stickers covering her nipples. The weight of motion flows through them, sending a soft ripple as they catch up with the rest of her body and fall within a split second. She turns her head to the two men, and her smirk widens.
"Then you're in the right place, my flippered friend," she says with a wink before glancing over at Victor, who's eyes rest on her chest area. "You too, Mr. Zsasz."
At the mention of his name, he is snapped out of the trance her beautiful chest holds. His eyebrows furrow together in question. "How do you know my name," he asks, but she just smirks in his direction until a lightbulb lights up in his head. "Bottle blonde! You're that girl from SuperBabes! What the fucking hell are you doing here?"
That's right. Victor and her have crossed paths before. As mentioned before, she works at SuperBabes during the day, a restaurant where the waitresses dress up in sexy superhero costumes. There she met Victor, who was in need of a steak sandwich.
He sat at her table, and as soon as he saw her costume — Batman — he pointed out how Gotham's Dark Knight does indeed have black hair, not blonde. She just gave him a cunningly response and responded with the joke's on him because she's not even a real blond. That's where she got her nickname — bottle blonde — from.
"Just havin' a little bit o' fun," Harley giggles. Victor, dazzled by her, just lets out a goofy laugh.
The Penguin, clearly infuriated with his employee, smacks his chest with his cane. He can't even hide his distaste for Harley Quinn anymore. "You ignorant fool! That's Harley Quinn! That's the girl who cost me thousands of dollars! Her and her looney boyfriend looted my truck and drove it into a river — just for a laugh!" By the end of his sentence, he has turned a nasty shade of red and his breath has become heavy.
It is true. Four years ago, during a charity event Bruce Wayne had set up in Oswald's club and bar, the Joker and her stole of the Penguin's trucks filled with ancient artifacts his men had stolen from Asian and crashed it into a river just for fun.
"Oh, yeah," Victor hums out loud, smiling to himself at the memory, then chuckling.
Prior to today, he's never heard of Harley Quinn. He's heard of the bottled blonde girl from SuperBabes, Harley Sinn from the strip club and the woman who caused Cobblepot to lose thousands of dollars just for a good old laugh, but never the Harley Quinn.
This shouldn't be so surprising though because he recently just moved from New York City to Gotham City just about two years ago. He was the head of his own international company there and had amassed a large personal fortune in addition to his family's wealth. At the age of twenty-five, his parents died in a boating accident, sending him into a deep depression. He turned to gambling, in the process losing money in competitions around the world.
One night, he found himself in a Gotham City casino known as the Iceberg Lounge, where he gambled everything he owned and ended up losing it all to Carmine Falcone. Afterwards, he saw that his life was empty, driven by desire, and there was no point to his existence.
While Zsasz was attempting to commit suicide by jumping from Gotham Bridge, a homeless man tried to assault him with a knife after Zsasz refused to give him money. Instinctively grabbing the knife, Zsasz saw in the man's eyes that all life is meaningless and that nothing nor anyone mattered. He then proceeded to stab the man to death as a "gift" for saving his life.
From then on, he dedicated himself to "liberating" others from their pointless existence, as he often refers to victims as "zombies." He usually preys on young women, but has no qualms over whom he murders. He slits his victims' throats and leaves them in lifelike poses, adding a tally mark to himself each time. He has been declared insane and is regularly incarcerated in Arkham Asylum courtesy of Batman, breaking out on occasions to carry on killing. It wasn't until recent that he started working with the Penguin as his personal bodyguard and assassin.
At Victor's response to the Penguin's statement, Harley giggles before lifting a leg behind her, an old gymnastic trick she learned when she was younger. Pink turns to a flash of blue, and a glorious amount of flushed skin enhances by the lighting as the pose allows for a full view of her full breast and extreme flexibility.
With her leg lifted, those viewing her other intimate side catch a glimpse of the intricately crafted frontpiece: a small thong full of rhinestones that covers her womanhood, preventing the enthusiastically stunned viewers from seeing her full show. Giggling, she suddenly puts her leg back down and moves to her third position, a split.
"Is there somewhere we can go and talk," Oswald Cobblepot asks from his spot in the crowd, and she laughs even louder.
"That just depends, Ozzy," she replies, grinning widely underneath the intense blue lights. "Have you got something for me?"
Zsasz and Cobblepot share a look before the Penguin gives in and pulls a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket. He holds it up in the air for her, his eyes hard and glaring. You just have to play at her game for now, he reminds himself.
His anger spikes when Harley reaches over and smacks the note out of his hand, causing the bill to land on the dirty floor. "I was thinking more of an envelope stuffed with money," she says before gracefully picking herself up from the split.
This amuses him, a fit of sudden laughter escaping his lips. Unable to believe the words that just came out of her mouth, he shakes his head in disbelief before drawing out a long whistle. This girl is truly out of her mind...
"Now, I bet that's gonna buy me a few filthy lap dances, ain't it," he questions, playing at her game and handing her a bunch of cash from his wallet.
Taking it, she smirks before making her way over to the pole, which stands not too far away from them. "Probably a lot more than that," she responds charismatically, her hand wrapped around the silver thing and her lips formed into a flirty smile. "Come and find out," she continues, her eyes flickering over to Victor. "Both of you, down the rabbit hole. Curiouser and curiouser..."
And just as she finishes her sentence, the light goes out and all turns into darkness.
Less than a second later, a light across the stage shines down like a crimson sun, highlighting a random girl, who is already wrapped around the pole.
The two men share a look of awe.
A moment later, Victor Zsasz, Oswald Cobblepot and Harley Quinn are sitting in the back room of the nightclub. Harley, now in a clearly expensive, white coat, is sitting in front of them, counting dollar bills with a cigarette hanging from her lips. The two men watch in silence, Oswald focused on making sure she is counting the money correctly and Victor sinking in her heavenly presence.
Now that she is under regular lighting, he notices how different she looks now than what she looked like back in stage. Under the intense stage lights, her lipstick and eyeliner looked black. But it's not. It's actually green. And her hair, no longer adorned by the pink bunny ears, is styled into a high ponytail with a single curl usually worn in the 50s set onto her side.
"I still don't understand why they couldn't have chosen somebody else to hand over the cash," the Penguin grumbles sourly under his breath, his eyes trained on the stacks of cash laid out before him. Harley glances at him for a split second before she focuses back on the task in hand. "... I swear, that woman knew exactly what she was doing when she sent you," he continues, then looks at Victor. "After this, we leave."
Harley Quinn, finished counting the money, respectfully stuffs it back into its leather briefcase before shutting it closed, standing up from her chair and plopping it down directly in front of Oswald. "So," she says simply.
"So," he repeats, not trusting enough to freely accept the money from either Harley Quinn or Fish Mooney. For all he knows, there could be a bomb hidden inside that briefcase, just waiting to blow him to bits.
Harls sighs, then folds her arms over her chest. "Look, I'm just the middleman. Think of me as a half-naked waitress delivering goods from one anonymous party to another anonymous party... for a small fee. Or slightly less anonymous in your case, Pengy," she laughs.
Oswald glances down at the briefcase, noticing how the briefcase has a lock and a keypad. "What's the combination?"
She just smirks at him.
"I said, 'what's the combination,'" he repeats, now standing up from his chair. He is ready to fight in case there is an actual bomb inside.
The air grows tense as Harley fights the urge to burst out laughing. Victor, looking from one side of the table to the other, finally picks up the suitcase. He examines it and the keypad before simply prying it open. It opens up with ease...
"Huh. Doesn't even need a combination.."
Then, like the flick of a light, Oswald's mood rises. He smiles and extends his hand. "Thank you, Miss Harley Sinn," he says calmly, and she warily shakes his hand. He yanks the suitcase out of Victor's hands before adjusting his tie with his other hand and walking away from the table. "We'll be on our way now."
Victor Zsasz starts to follow him out as Harley, standing behind him, leans up against a wall. Suddenly, Oswald stops dead in his tracks. He turns back to her.
"Hang on," he says, and Victor stops also. "There's something different about you..."
"Besides my stocking suspenders, plunging cleavage, and full face of harlot's makeup," she teases, grinning.
He chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, besides that."
What can she say? Confidence and self love has completely changed her look...
Victor Zsasz, getting the sense that this will be going left soon, turns to Oswald. "Alright. Lets go."
"No," he replies, his eyes trained on Harleen. "I want my lap dance first before I go anywhere."
Suddenly, before any of them could blink, Harley Quinn is pointing a gun at his head. She chuckles. "I'm ready if you are, Pengy."
Highly amused, he glances at his bodyguard, then smirks. "I'll let the dog see the rabbit."
"Floor show's over," she hums. "How about ya let me show ya the quick way out." She walks around them and pulls the curtain to the closest exit, her grin still in tact.
Before the Penguin makes his exit, he stops in front of her, getting in her face. "I'm gonna get that filthy lap dance off of you, clown, one way or another." He then pulls himself off of her and walks away with Victor at his heels.
"Come back again soon, handsome," Harley says behind them, her words directed strictly towards Mr. Zsasz, which he laughs at as he exits. "I'll even show you my tail..."
He turns his head to her, smiling.
"But please, don't bring him," she continues, giggling at how big his eyes are opening.
"Wow," he awes.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Oswald mumbles in annoyance. "One sniff of a whore's perfume, you think you're in love. I mean wow."
The curtain that separates them falls closed, and Harley disappears. Victor Zsasz, awestruck, slowly turns to his boss and giggles like a school girl, which results in Oswald smacking him upside the head.
"You really are a twat, you know that?"
In one of the most populated areas of downtown Gotham, Mooney's Club finally quiets down at the 8 o'clock happy-hour rush of customers jump back into the never-sleeping nightlife for enjoyments of the seedier kind, leaving the rustic establishment devoid of patrons for the time being.
The owner, Fish Mooney, sits in the corner of her club with a complete overview the area as the staff cleans up for the day. She is behind a desk, her most trusted bodyguard, Butch standing beside her.
The thick slab of polished mahogany is old, probably even older than the building itself, but the lack of large dents or deep scratches on the surface attests to how well the wood has been treated over the years. The same goes for the two office chairs across from Mooney's purple desk chair. A purple leather purse sits on her desk as the two speak quietly about something.
Fish Mooney, real name Maria Mooney, has the most electric green eyes. They are so luring and enticing they have everyone close to her wrapped tightly around her little finger. She is tall and slender. She looks intimidating with her short, spiky hair, fox-like eyes and usual wear of formal suits, but, really, she is sweeter than chocolate when she wants to be.
Again, when she wants to be.
If you cross her, she will turn bitter as soon as you begin to grow comfortable around her. She will pounce on you before you even realize it.
A waitress respectfully walks past them, balancing six shot glasses in one hand as he carefully walks over to the bar counter to begin organizing the washed glassware back into their appropriate places as his coworker, another waitress, takes one of the cleaning rags and begins to wipe down the counter.
Other workers move around the club, taking out the trash and arranging the chairs back into their proper positions. The heavy cedar door that is the entrance to the bar opens smoothly without so much as a creak of noise from the well-oiled hinges.
Fish Mooney peels her eyes away from Butch, tucking her chair closer to her desk with a quiet scrape and dusting her hands, an exciting grin appearing on her face when she sees who have just walked in. She watches with anticipation as she barely restrains herself from running over to the front door. "Well hello, girls. You're here earlier than usual..."
Matching her massive-sized grin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy struts into the nightclub and over to the owner. Once there, Ivy sits down a messenger bag made out of leaves and vines and divests herself of her white fur coat, setting it down onto one of the wooden office chairs.
Harley follows in suit, her fur coat dyed in a bright red color. Her oversized sunglasses match perfectly with her coat.
Fish Mooney raises an eyebrow, her grin forming into a grin. "No greetings? Aww. It's so nice to see my little ones finally grow up," she teases.
Butch snorts like an animal beside her, and the two girls share a look. Silence.
She rolls her eyes, then finally hands Ivy the leather purse sitting on her desk. "Alright, alright.."
Harley grins maniacally, taking the bag from Ivy's hands and hungrily unzipping it to reveal stacks upon stacks of money. She squeals, bouncing on her feet. Ivy can't help but smile.
And neither can the Fish. "Welcome back to the game, Harley."
FIN