InsaneJournal

[quicklog: harl and selina / the egyptian, dc]
Who: Selina and Harl
What: Harley wants to play blackjack.
Where: The Egyptian, DC
When: Before Harl goes to the women's shelter to get Ivy.
Warnings/Rating: TBD



[Harl had a plan for herself. A future. That future included her current dayjob (which she was taking a week away from - well deserved vacation time, she'd been a very good girl) and a low profile.

But there'd been no time for a low profile on her way out the door to see Ivy. No makeup to tint herself back to a healthier color, no wig, not even a cursory hat. Visiting hours at the shelter didn't open up for a while, though, and it felt like the time to visit old friends.

Ordinarily she would have gone looking at one of Kitty's old haunts, but a couple nice questions and tickles under the chin got her what she wanted from a pair of toughs guarding a drug dealer on a streetcorner. Selina Kyle was off runnin' the Egyptian, and didn't that just sound like the kind of place for a girl like her to kill a couple hours?

She wasn't dressed for the occasion, however. All her nice things were back in New York, but the rest of her was enough of a shocker that the casual clothes were the least of her worries. She wasn't in 'lying low' form just now, instantly identifiable by the white skin from tip to tail. She'd let out her braid and fluffed things up a little bit to class up, but she had been driving cross country. She freshened up her makeup, pouted in the rearview, and crossed her fingers.

But she still had it! The boys at the front door parted without a word, earning a sunny smile in return. Phew.

A few minutes later, red and blue-streaked white puffed around her shoulders, scarlet and black nails flayed wide, she was dragging a pile of chips toward her corner of the blackjack table. And God, wasn't that a smug grin, oblivious to the stares and sideways looks since she stepped foot through the front door.] That should cover a new paira shoes and a houseplant! [She gave the table a playful kick from her stool.] Deal!

[Everybody was being so nice to her here! A boy had rushed up to bring her a glass of champagne, and at least three guys in tuxes had asked her if she needed anything. Yowza. This was a swank place, too - designer dresses, sequins and rocks the size of her eye. She was half-expecting Sean Connery to stroll up and offer a round of Baccarat. So what if she just saw two mob bosses and a capo file into a back room? Who cared? Every single sap at the blackjack table could have some two-bit mob connection and she'd still fleece them for every penny.

In truth, it had kinda been a crazy night. She'd blown down the freeway to get here, and she was keyed up and nervous, worried about Red. Academically, she knew that they guys at the front had let her waltz in because they knew who the all-white and black and red broad was, not because her legs looked so good in these heels. And she knew the servers were tripping over their feet because people knew Harley Quinn, and there were even odds that one supervillain or another could be making their grand entrance any minute now if she was here. And because, well, she'd made a little bit of a reputation for herself? Maybe? There was that time she lost everything on the roulette wheel at Maxie Zeus's place. That had been ugly.

And there was the long list of priors, a whole lot of them involving guns and large mallets and the rich. But whatever. She was winning!]