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IN THE INTENSIVE TREATMENT BUILDING, RIGHT UNFER THE SOLITARY CONFINEMENT CELLS. GOOD TIMES
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Half an hour has passed since Esme Cullen dropped off Harley Quinn at the Swan Residence. It's a Thursday. So Bella, Jacob and Esme's adopted children have to attend school today, leaving the homicidal maniac home alone. Harley decided to take advantage of her free time to take Bernie out for a walk. In her severely ill mind, she genuinely believes that walking the dead beaver will get him back in "shape."
Dressed in a red crop-top, jean shorts and black ankle boots, she casually drags her leashed beaver behind her. Massive sunglasses cover her light eyes from the shining sun as she strolls down a crowded sidewalk. People around them give her and Bernie curious looks.
Up ahead, a gigantic Rottweiler looks over at Bernie and immediately holds a protective stance. He growls and barks as he and his owner get closer and closer to Harley and her "pet." His owner, a middle-aged woman with red hair, uses all her strength to pull him away from the two. The two of them continue to walk down the sidewalk, while Bernie and Harley stop in front of a tall oak tree. On it, is a stapled piece of paper that reads:
HALY'S CIRCUS
PRESENTS:
TRAPEZE ARTISTS
LIVE ELEPHANTS
FORTUNE TELLERS
BEARDED LADIES
SWORD SWALLOWERS
CLOWNS
MAGIC
AND SO MUCH MORE!
In the bottom, in small letters, it says:
The Circus Is Coming To Town! Looking For Talent. Must Be Available The Day Of Hire. To Apply, Text "Natzi-Punks-Fuck-Off" at 678-978.
A circus, Harley excitedly thinks. One thing she loves, besides sex, money and clowns, is a good circus show. When she lived in Gotham, her and the Mad Hatter used to work in a widely known circus & amusement park named "The Boody Trap." He stuck to being the circus' surprising magician, while she worked as his helpful famulus. She'd also dance, do stunts, perform trapeze tricks and practice other acts, such as sword swallowing. Sometimes she'd swallow swords with flames as big as her. She did it all. And with her background as a gymnast, she was freaking good at it, too.
To put it short, those two gave everyone a run for their money.
Grinning from ear to ear, Harley snatches the poster from it's staples and drops Bernie's leash to the ground, excitedly grabbing her phone from her back pocket. All her chaotic mind can think of is what outfit she is going to wear and how Edward's promise stuck with her.
"My wishes are with you, Harleen. Things will be easier. I will make sure of it," Edward's words of faith and confidence rings in her head.
After texting the phone number and letting them know she will be coming in for an interview, she bends over and snatches Bernie off the ground. She leans in and plants a huge kiss on his cheek, heading back home with a spring in her step.
Back home, in the single bathroom, Harley stands in front of the bathroom's vanity mirror, getting ready for her job interview at the circus. Her pet beaver stands on top of the closed toilet seat, keeping her company. In nothing but a pink towel and her pink slippers, she dips a pink makeup sponge into a tin full of face powder. The harmful acids of Ace Chemical's bubbly substance had permanently made the Princess of Crime's skin an unnatural shade of pale. So she tries to cover this up with the power of make-up.
"No more spoofin,' no more goofin.' G'morning, Mrs. McGee. G'mornin', Ms. Brown." A song by the name of 'Back In School' rings inside the occupied bathroom, serving Harleen as entertainment.
".. Gee, had I only remembered whatta pain it was to put this crap on every time I went ta work," Harley says to herself, covering her face in the warm-toned powder.
"Why don'tcha try a spray tan, Fruitcakes," her pet beaver suggests from beside her. A blue 'Happy Birthday' party hat from Charlie's latest birthday sits on top of his small head.
"What? No way. I hear if you inhale the spray it makes you wacky in the head," she responds, now applying the makeup to her neck and chest.
"Oh, yeah.. We wouldn't want that," Bernie sarcastically remarks, speaking to her in her mind.
Harley leans over the mirrored cabinet to apply a heavy coat of mascara onto her eyelashes. Once she's finished, she closes the mascara bottle and continues to explain her reasoning for using makeup, instead of getting a semi-permanent spray tan. "Beside, if I tried that over my skin, I'd probably end up lookin' like a mango."
"There're worse things you could look like," Bernie responds, shrugging his fury shoulders.
Harley turns her body to face the charbroiled beaver and smiles, placing her hands on her waist. "Like a beaver that's been chewed up and regurgitated?"
"Now is that nice?"
Harley rolls her blue eyes and ignores his comment, moving to button up the white coat she stole from Bella's closet. "Well, it's all over, all over, back to work again," the music continues to ring as she stares at her reflection. She doesn't look like Harley Quinn anymore. No. She looks like her past self, Dr. Harleen Quinzel.
Her blonde, artificially dyed hair is tied up into a tight bun, hiding it's pink and blue colored tips. Her skin now has a beautiful tan to it, and her naturally beautiful face is covered in light makeup. Her body is hugged by clothes that are considered 'professional.' This includes a white coat, a pink blouse, low heels, and black work pants.
She looks like a regular person, not a homicidal maniac.
Harley releases a sigh and glances at Bernie, who stares at her with a small smile playing on his lips. "You look beautiful, Shortcake," he compliments her.
Giggling, his owner walks toward him and picks him up from the toilet seat.
"Uh, oh," he mutters under his breath.
Harley wraps her arms around his tiny body and smiles widely. "Thank you, mini Bernie Bash-y. Mama loves you sooo much," she exclaims. She pulls him away from her and stares into his brown eyes. "Okay. Remember what I told you. No opening the door to strangers, no friends allowed, and no parties! Whatsoever. My number's on the fridge, and there's some leftover food in the microwave for you, in case if you get hungry. Okay?"
Bernie simply stares at her. ".. Ya know I can't eat, right? .. Or use a phone."
The former psychiatrist ignores his comment, still smiling. "Alright, Bernie Baby. Momma will see ya later, alright? I gotta show to put on," she says as she walks out the bathroom and carries him down the stairs. "Don't be scared, okay? I won't take long." She gently sets him down on the couch and pokes his nose. "Bye, bye, Bernie Pervie!" She says her farewells and grabs her keys, heading out the door after she blows him a kiss. She whistles and waves at her cab driver, leaving her pet beaver home alone.
"I swear that girl is crazier than a sack o' rabid monkeys," Bernie says to himself.
The only company he has is the blaring radio. "... Feels like a century.. in the penitentiary. Here I come again. Bye - Bye good times.. Back to work again!"
Some time later, a beaming harlequin is seen inside a small, white and red tent. Judging the the small, wooden office desk in the center of the room and the queen-sized bed behind it, she is in a bedroom and an 'office.' In front of her, sits Haly's Circus' co-creator and ringmaster.
Mr. Haly is a balding, middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows and a kind smile. In nothing but shorts and a plain tank top, leans in, flipping through Harley's files. Mr. Harley looks up at her and quirks an eyebrow. "It says here you were," he reads off the second page, "a psychiatrist at an asylum in Gotham, New York." He looks at her. "Am I correct?"
Practically bouncing in her chair, Harley nods her head, wearing a large smile. "That's correct, Sir! I left though. That's all behind now. Ya know how it is, mixing work and pleasure never works out for the soft-hearted."
"Ah, you fell in love with your coworker?"
"A patient, actually."
The ringmaster forms an "o" shape with his lips and nods his head. "I see..," he hums and continues to look at her resumé. "Er, it also says here.. that you have been arrested.. twenty-eight times? And that you have been sent to.. Arkham Asylum double the amount of times of that. All in the span of two years."
Harley nods her head with nothing but proud. "In the intensive treatment building, right under the Solitary Confinement Cells. Good times."
The ringmaster looks at her, slightly amused. "Fuck my French, but.. how the hell did you do it, Harleen?"
"Mr. J and I, we got some pretty mean lawyers," she answers. Though that's not an entire lie, it's not the full truth. The truth is that Mister J and her would either bail each other out, or help one another escape. She catches the flash of worry and hesitation in his face, so she quickly adds, "Oh, but don't worry! I'm perfectly sane now," from her pockets, she pulls out a massive certificate that has the word "SANE" written over it in red ink, "See?"
He quietly stares at her, the gears in his mind twisting and turning.
Harley nervously gulps, setting down the paper. She watches him consider her position at the circus. Please, please, please, she thinks.
Suddenly, his face breaks into a large smile. "You're hired," he announces. Considering that she is very talented and has experience working at a circus, he decides to take a leap of faith in her, something no workplace has ever done for her. And surprisingly, her tainted record doesn't faze him. Over fifty percent of his employees are ex convicts. So if anything, her past and how she easily gets away with trouble amazes him.
After hearing the ringmaster's two magical words, Harley leaps up into the air and jumps around the tent with pure excitement. "Wee! Wha-woo! Yee-pee," she cheers. "Yay! Yay! Yay!" She fists the air, beaming with happiness. She notices the slight smile on the Ringmaster's lips, so she stands still and places her hands in front of her, still smiling. "I mean, "thank you, Mr. Haly." I will show you. You'll see that I'm as sane as anybody else!"
The ringmaster chuckles. "Can you train tonight, Harleen?"
Harley stares at him, practically shaking with excitement.
The front door of the Swan's home slams open, and in enters Harleen Quinzel with a large smile to her face. She tightly holds onto her red folder and a single piece of paper. Charlie Swan looks up from the T.V, as does Bella and Jacob. She squeals and runs into the living area, where she's met with the most important people in her life. "I gotta a job," she excitedly announces.
Jacob chuckles and grins. "Really? That's great. Where?"
".. I'm a clown," Harley responds.
The men and woman on the couch glance at one another.
"And even better news, I go in tonight! Ima practice with them n' stuff! They saw my resumé, and were really, really impressed," she continues and sits beside Charlie and Bella. "You should come! They're putting on a show on Saturday. Ooh! We should invite Billy!"
Jacob gives her a curious look. "Wait, so.. you're a seventeen year old.. with a PhD in psychology, but you're gonna work as a clown?"
Harley gives him a 'No Shit, Sherlock' look. "Well, duh, Jakey. In case if you have forgotten, I'm a sociopathic criminal, who's wanted in over a dozen states. Beggers cannot be choosers, am I right, Bellsies?" She flashes Bella a bright smile, who returns it, only hers is small and awkward.
Charlie looks at his niece and smiles at her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Well, I'm proud of you, Harleen. Clown or not, you're following thru with your parole, and getting paid. Not only that, but you're turning your life around. And for that, I'm proud of you," he says, taking a swing of his beer.
Harley smiles and leans over to wrap him into a tight hug. He gladly returns it.
Beside her, Bella releases a sigh and nods her head, a light smile playing on her lips. "So am I, Harley."
Harley looks at her cousin and grins, reaching to hug her also. The two cousins embrace one another.
Jacob claps his hands and leans in to grab the remote from the coffee table. "Well, the game isn't gonna play itself."
Harley giggles and snatches the bowl of popcorn off Bella's lap. "Who's playin'?"
FIN