The Universe's Mixer

Harley was loving this new life. Oh, she hadn’t at first. That whole thing about being bitten hadn’t been very fun at all. The only one allowed to nibble on her person was her Puddin’, and that was in a completely different context. Having some freak just walk up and chomp on her, not so great. And that had been before nightfall.

( Changing had been rough. )

Patience was a virtue. Unfortunately, it was not one of Harley’s. It never really had been, actually. When she wanted something, she found a way to make it happen, even before she’d met her Puddin’. Now when she wanted something, she generally just took it. A reflection that did nothing to lighten her gloomy mood as she sat parked atop an office building, watching the two most likely exits to said structure.

This had seemed like fun when she thought of it three hours ago. The fuzz did it all the time. The vinyl vigilante practically lived to do this sort of thing. Which only reinforced Harley’s professional opinion that Bats was cracked in the head. Normal people did not put on tights and masks and skulk around rooftops, it wasn’t a healthy expression of emotion.

( What it was, currently, was a dead bore. )

Generally, Harley Quinn was not found in the sort of store that was frequented by the average soccer mom or blue collar dad. If she wanted something that they might carry, she could probably find a better, more expensive version of it to steal from some other store. It was the difference between Target and Barney’s New York. Not that she went to Barney’s either, her sights were usually aimed a lot higher.

So what she was doing in this big box store today was a mystery. Something had wriggled into her brain and made her think this was a good idea, Harley just couldn’t remember what it was. It must have been something fun, because she was dressed down today; white shorts with knee socks and roller skates topped with a striped knit top and finished off with the pigtails that sprouted from either side of her head. No hyenas today because her Puddin’ had “borrowed” them.

( Oh yes! That’s what she’d come for! )

The sunlight warmed Ivy's face, making her feel strong and content. She slowly opened her eyes to the new dawn, content that night was over. Something was different. She sat up and looked around. The children were nowhere to be seen. A pang of concern hit her, but before she could focus too much on the children, she realized that the plants around her felt different. They weren't the babies she'd cultivated in Robinson park. They were weaker, thirstier, more neglected.

Ivy rose to her feet and turned as she heard footsteps. A man came into view, though he didn't immediately spot Ivy. Gardening shears were in his hand and he headed straight for a rose bush. Ivy watched as he leaned in to snip a rose off the bush.

She held out her hand and communed with the roses, which grew long enough to wrap around him and dig the thorns inside. Ivy stepped into view as the man writhed against the thorns cutting into him, his blood droplets falling on the white roses, staining them.

"Savage," Ivy growled as the thorned vines dragged him downward, suffocating him.

She turned and walked away, ignoring the dying shrieks of the man. She continued through the park, encouraging plants wherever she went. Flowers began to bloom, vines began to creep up trellises, and the grass started to turn wild. Still, there was much to do.

This place was in need, and Ivy could see she had a lot of work to do.

It was lonely up at the Bates Motel.

Norman sat on the wooden-planked porch that stretched out across the twelve cabin motel. It was of the old fashioned variety, where one could easily pull their car up in front of the door to their room and walk on in, complete avoidance of other people. The only interaction (on paper) occurred when the guest signed in the guest book. Norman was never too particular about who his guests were or where they came from. He just liked to keep a log, for the sake of professionalism. And, in the off chance, that he might have to bill for damages. Occasionally, teenage kids would shack up at his motel -- yes, he knew exactly what they were doing -- and, occasionally, things would get broken. Norman didn't like it when people disrespected his establishment. It was a reputable business, after all. People didn't seem to appreciate all of the hard work that went into running a motel. Even a small motel required delicate care to the details.
( The Bates Motel was always pigmented in black and white. )

The young doctor behind the desk looked through the paperwork, then glanced at the blonde who was sitting in front of his desk. She was braiding, unbraiding, then rebraiding one of her pigtails. She looked bored. The doctor frowned slightly and looked at the file in front of him yet again, certain that there was a mistake. But no, it was there, printed very clearly. ( She was to be released. )

"No nononononono!" Jack shouted as he ran down the hallway. The staff weren't really very good at predicting his moods or what he would do and when he would do it. They constantly underestimated him, and more than occasionally believed him when he pretended to be catatonic. They would baby him sometimes when he babbled at them. He was kept in a straight jacket when they were at their best and most wary, but it wasn't often enough. His escapes from his room and their immediate care were many. But he never tried to escape the grounds.

Because this was his place. He'd owned it. He'd held a court here. He'd tormented the entire City with this as his home base. He didn't want to leave it. And having a whole bunch of people around just made it all the more fun for him. So he didn't want them to go either. Jack was really quite happy with the way that things were going. He even loved the games he played with the doctors, nurses, and orderlies. Well, truthfully, he loved those most.

Currently, the man known as The Joker was running down the corridor of the second level, heading toward the elevator or stairs, whichever would be quickest, and determined to get to the commons. He wanted to spend time with some of the other patients. See if he could get somebody riled up maybe. Insight a food fight, perhaps. Or just make somebody cry. He wasn't sure of his plan just yet.

Currently, the man known as The Joker was wearing a straight jacket, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He could feel the straps on the back that held the pieces of the jacket in place. He could hear the jingle of the buckles. He wouldn't be able to get out of it, he knew that. Not on his own. But maybe he could convince one of the others to help him. Promise them something. Even if it wasn't something that he could give.

Currently, the man known as The Joker was running down the hallway in a straight jacket and he had on no pants. They'd been helping him get ready for the shower when he'd broken free. Leaving the jacket on for the last possible moment. He'd slipped right by them then. They hadn't expected him to run around with no pants on, apparently. Jack didn't care. Sort of freeing, this not having any pants on.

There were three burly orderlies chasing him at the moment. He kept looking back at them to gauge the distance before they'd spring and tackle him to the floor. That was going to hurt. Probably a lot. Probably on parts of himself that he was going to wish he had pants covering.

"Nononononono!" Jack yelped, a large smile on his face. "Help! Somebody! Help! I need pants! Help! They took my pants!"

He whizzed by patients in wheelchairs, people coming to the doors of their rooms, confused nurses, and shocked doctors. He stuck his foot out at a guy with a walker, sending him sprawling and detaining the orderlies for a split second while they tried to decide if they should help the guy or go after Jack. It was just enough for him to get to the elevator which was just closing.

Jack turned and smiled at the other occupant. It wasn't quite a friendly smile.

Coming back to the warehouse after blowing up her castle wasn’t as upsetting as some might think. Yeah, Harl had liked having all the fancy things and people to order around, but it got a little boring after a while. They expected a queen to do things, and she really preferred to do her own thing her own way. Freedom was more priceless than any gem.

( Of course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t swiped some crown jewels as she went. )

Crowley stood at the base of the castle with an expression on his face that might have been interpreted as a smile were it on anyone else. On him it just appeared predatory. In a way, he supposed, it was. This castle, this entire experience was like prey to him. He and Elle had come here with the explicit purpose of causing trouble. Big trouble. Epic trouble.

( They were going to take on a building whose base was strong. )

Harley draped herself over the throne casually. As though it was every day she sat on an actual throne. In a throne room. ( In her very own castle! )

Harley had been happily strolling down the street, window shopping… okay, casing a few places for later. Because really, why buy when you could steal? And there was a hot little number she wanted to pick up to model for her Puddin’ later. Red, short, flirty. Just like her.

So there she’d been, strolling along, minding her own business when it hit her. ( BAM! )

Liz was bored. Not a lot had been going on with The Ghostbusters, and although Liz appreciated having the job, she wished there was more excitement.

She lit a cigarette as she stepped down the apartment stairs to head to work. She liked smoking while she walked, but to be perfectly honest, she liked to smoke while she did almost everything.

One thing that she had noticed was that her powers seemed to be more under control here in The City. Nothing seemed to make the fire want to burn, not unless she told her powers that it was time. She liked that. She felt like she had more freedom when her powers were under control.

She strolled down the street, not paying any attention to where she was going.

Charlie was feeling pretty good as he woke up that morning. He had a free scoop of ice cream out there waiting for him; it might have been a silly thing to be happy about, but how often did one get a free scoop of ice cream from a young lady? Not that he thought about her in such terms that might get him arrested, but she was a nice young lady; too many young men and women these days had problems with authority. Charlie had problems with authority, but it was of a different nature.

The detective showered, smiling the whole while, got ready for the day (clothes and such - no shoes yet), and went down to have his usual breakfast - some sort of fruit. He was curious to see what the City would bring to him; as he opened the door to the refrigerator, he took a moment to realize that he was happy. Happiness wasn't a bad thing, but he was happy in a prison. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the cool whiteness with what looked to be a couple fruits that didn't come from Earth at all. He was happy in a prison?

"I could be happy anywhere, or content. A prison is only in the mind. The world is not a prison unless I make it so." His voice took on that singsongy nature that he'd heard on the tapes, but it held questions. Was this true? Could he make a prison a place of content?

"I should find someone and discuss this. Wish Reese were here. Perhaps Jennifer?"

It was always the same.

Harl, do this. Harl, do that. Clean all the dead zombie bodies out of the courtyard, Harl. Feed the hyenas, Harl. Where’s my acid-spewing squirty flower, Harl. Get me the TV Guide, Harl. Make me a sandwich, Harl. Have you seen my spinny bow-tie, Harl. I need the triple set of carburetors out of an L69 engine of a 1966 Oldsmobile 442, Harl.

( It was wonderful. )

As days went, these were beautiful ones. The sun was warm, but not hot enough that Firekeeper felt that shedding clothing was necessary, or Blind Seer like sleeping in the shade was an overwhelming need. Neither of them saw the use of being indoors or roaming the City, where the concrete and asphalt absorbed and amplified heat, so to the park they went.

They slept in their den under the bridge when the sun was too hot for Blind Seer's thick coat, chased rabbits and deer, and generally had a good time loosing themselves in being wolves. Blind Seer was glad to be someplace where he wasn't crushed by humanity; Firekeeper was relieved to not have to act like a human all the time.

This particular afternoon, they took out their good spirits on each other by wrestling, a time-honored pastime of wolves everywhere. "You're holding back," Firekeeper accused Blind Seer, wiping sweat from her eyes with a battered arm.

He panted, giving her an innocent look. "Of course not."

She snorted. "Liar. You have spent too long with the two-legs, to learn their habits."

He growled a challenge back. "Perhaps if Little Two-legs would give this her full effort--"

Firekeeper interrupted whatever Blind Seer was about to respond with by leaping at him with a growl of her own. Soon enough they were laughing as they wrestled, but to an outsider, all that could be discerned of their fun was a very large wolf and a bruised and slightly bloody girl attacking each other.

After her mysterious love affair in the park, Tink finally got her mind to right, or at least the parts that were right to begin with. Right for fae is very different from right for the vast majority of other creatures in the world or in any world. She had fallen in love with a strange man who was not unlike the Lost Boys of Neverland. It had not been love though, in the end she recognized the smell of magic all over their affections. Still it had been nice having such an fling, it had quite brightened her new arrival to this sentient city.

( Now the little fairy was back to her usual )

Jack was more than a little disappointed that Harley hadn't appeared immediately after he'd left his note for her, because he'd really expected her to. And those two idiot henchmen hadn't returned either, though now that he thought about it, he was fairly sure he'd killed one of them, hadn't he?

There was only one thing left to do about it, really.

Find her himself.

Oh yes.

Jack set out into town, that's how he thought of it, going into town, as if he lived in some quaint little townhouse on the edge of a nice sunny field with daisies. Maybe some trees. Woodland wildlife prancing about happily while white smoke drifted lazily upward from the all brick chimney. Rocking chairs on the front porch, a porch that he'd made himself with his own two hands. There'd be a bird cage inside, too. Filled with chickadees. Or whatever those little fat ones were. And out back....

He shook his head, bringing himself out of the sudden daydream. Really. Prancing wildlife? That was so not his style. Headless wildlife, maybe. Especially if the 'wildlife' was people. Prancing, never.

Jack skipped around the streets, half wondering if he'd wander into that hulking tree of a female again, cause if he did, he was climbing her, and there was goddamned nothing she was going to say about it. He didn't care if she beat his ass to a bloody pulp after, that didn't matter. He'd laugh the whole time, cause it'd be worth it.

"HARL!" Jack stopped and screamed the name at the top of his lungs. It came out a little louder than he'd thought he was even capable of. Startled himself. Then laughed at himself.

Very few people were wandering around the streets. Probably cause it was late at night. Almost midnight, he figured. Those out were the derelicts and the druggies. His kind of people. Once in a while a happy looking couple walked together hand in hand, going home, or going to some late thingy. He bet not one of them had an explosive anything in their pockets. He did. He had several explosive somethings. He took one of them out. Ordinary looking glass marble, it was. But when he tossed it at a dumpster, it exploded loudly. Jack laughed.

"HARLEY QUINN!" He yelled it again, trying to be louder than the last time. It worked. It hurt his throat, but it worked.

She was standing, holding a gun, pointing it at something. Somebody was wrapped warmly around her body, showing her how to stand, how to squeeze the trigger, not pull it. Moments ago, she'd felt warm and cuddly toward that person. She'd wanted to spend the rest of her life with Harley.

But suddenly, that was all gone.

Karen went a little limp, gun in one hand and turned to Harley.

"I'm sorry honey, I must have been drunk on accident or something. I'm just not as into you as I thought I was."

No big deal, right?

Harley reflected, as she strolled through the park, that Red really would’ve liked this place. It sucked so hard that the zombies had eaten her brains, but that was the only conclusion she could come to since she’d not seen Poison Ivy since that incident. Which sorta meant that Harl was free to do something naughty with the plants without her best friend making her feel guilty.

She was wondering just how easy it would be to drive one of those tree-digger thingies. Her plan was to rearrange the trees into an arboreal artwork of her true love. She’d scouted this place, it was perfect, because it could be seen from the top of the building bearing the message from Mr. J, and from several surrounding. So if he was looking for her, he’d know, she’d gotten the most incredible love letter he’d ever written her. ( He used a whole building! )

Harley had, since beginning her new life after meeting the Joker, lived by the motto of “drive it like you stole it.” Which was not hard to accomplish since, most often, the vehicle she was in actually was stolen. However the blonde sidekick had expanded the scope of that motto and pretty much applied it to anything with wheels. Including the bright red Radio Flyer wagon with the odd baby buggy hood she’d attached (causing it to look a bit like a Conestoga crossing the prairie) that she was currently pulling down the street at breakneck speeds.

( Not so coincidentally, it too was stolen. )