Re: Dance floor: Harl/Dami
Maybe Harl wasn't an expert at storm clouds n grimness n all that batty nighttime stuff that came with the signal in the sky, but she knew it when she saw it. She'd been around Gotham long enough; she'd faced off against it enough times too. It wasn't her, but she knew it. Humor though? That she could see anywhere and in anything. N that lil glint that flashed in the kiddo's words, like the cute lil wink of a star falling, she caught it and her impossibly wide smile grew wider. 'Cause humor was Harl's way of understanding someone actually liked her (or not)—it was the basis for a whole lotta things in her life, n maybe it wasn't healthy, but it was true. Even Red was funny, ya know? And her willingness to laugh at Harl or to joke back—Mr. J's crack up, it all read to the girl as attraction. She lifted her chin, as if she were about to defy his order, but she obliged.
Her hands snaked around his neck and she pulled him closer. People were grindin' nearby n maybe they'd get to that, but for now, the dancin' had very little to do with the music playin'.
"Like this?" She feigned innocence and tipped her head to the side. If you squinted, you could almost see the tilt-splash of the pigtails and the smack of Bazooka gum on pink lips. She looked at him closely as her chest bumped his. "Ya got that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing goin' on, huh?"