& ofbazookas.

<sub>it felt like harleen had been running for HOURS. her muscles ached and her veins burned from the adrenaline TERROR of being chased. she had felt vulnerable before but never like this; like an antelope getting chased in the great savannah by lions  …  with clown masks and shotguns. she made a left, then a right, then a left, then another right, all of this while holding her high-heels in one hand, feeling her feet getting soaked and CUT by gotham’s asphalt. such an unforgiving city that was; one where psychiatrists were not rewarded by recovering patients but by their DEMENTED GOONS. harley slipped and fell making her high heels fly across the air only to land on top of a car.

there was someone in it; by the looks of it a woman. FINALLY! another human being unhidden by some stupid mask !! doctor quinzel had had ENOUGH of killer clown gangs  (  for now  ).  she hurried towards the car and nervously knocked on the window, continuously glancing over her shoulder. distant echoes of someone YELLING out her name only made the doctor more paranoid.    ❛   please, let me in! i need to get out of here! i think they want to KILL me, plea–   ❜  harleen jumps when the voices grow louder. when she had administered   S H O C K  T H E R A P Y   to her favorite  (  but VERY difficult  )  patient, dr. quinzel hadn’t actually expected there to be any repercussions.</sub>

_{it was only when her eyes met a pair of the same shade that all fear and panting seem to vanish. harleen’s fascination for STARDOM  (  or anything remotely close to it  )  usually overcame all of her survival instincts.        ❛   SAAAY. don’t i KNOW ya from somewhere?   ❜    that and the fact that she wasn’t all there also helped. one slim index pointed in the driver’s general direction. the woman looked like a  PROPER  rockstar. the shouting clowns’ voices now seemed to come from just around the corner  …  but harleen was too overwhelmed by the charming smell of leather and tobacco to even care.}

                  another night.

                                    another show. 

                  bordeline exhaustion, but dinah was never quite tired of it. singing to crowds each night, losing herself in the way ditto played and how lord byron took it out on the skins. the way paloma knew the right moments for reverb. feeling how her own lungs strained when she screamed lyrics that the crowd sang right back to her. it was exhilarating. yet now, in the seat of her car attempting to relax with a wandering mind? the adrenaline was drifting and the immortality the stage provided her for it’s moments?

                  faded.

                  black eyeliner and mascara has since smudged up around her piercing blue eyes from the sweat that her dancing and movement across the stage warranted. fishnets torn prior to her all her perpetual motion, thigh high boots unzipped to her knees and a leather jacket so worn you might wonder how it wound up that way. her eyes were closed as she relaxed, settling from the afterglow that every performance left her with. the knocking startled her from a seeming stupor as she blinked out the window at the woman. she was familiar and it wasn’t until she hear the other’s voice that things clicked into place, silent gears in her mind.

                  hesitation on her tongue.      ❛ — uh, ❜

                  ❛ … someone after you— oh, i mean, you might? ❜     in case she was wrong about who she suspected the woman to be? playing dumb seemed best, as she rolled the window down to steal a glance out behind harleen.

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