'Nothing could've prepared him' would have been the understatement of the century. Harley (and he knew it was Harley if only because the character of her typing matched perfectly the bleached and neon dyed woman that came hurtling down the street) was proceeded - by quite an impressive amount of space - by the screams and shouts of a sidewalk under militant takeover. Militant takeover...by a hyena. Oswald's fight or flight intuition kicked in at the mere sight of the giant furball, and he may have just managed to use his good leg to propel himself over the bench and back into the fountain if it weren't for the ten seconds it took the young woman to cross the remainder of the space between them.
Then she was flat on the ground in front of him, one wheel still spinning above the toe of his now very scuffed shoe, and he came face-to-face with her for the first time. She was every bit as animated as he'd gathered from their earlier discussion, and as his face (open-mouthed, sky high eyebrows, pointed nose and all) flitted from her, to her hyena, and back again it would have become all to clear to anyone paying attention that he hadn't been prepared for this. Not in the slightest.
How could someone so colorful, so vibrant, so...reckless, know him from Gotham?
Those initial thoughts were quickly overtaken as she spoke to him. Oswald looked down at his suit, and just as he turned to see her practically sit down in his lap she planted a kiss on his cheek. Color erupted across his skin, less from actual attraction and more because of the embarrassment of her familiarity. "I'm...flattered," he spluttered as he pawed at his cheek, and pulling his hand away looked at the palm as if it might be covered in...something.
"No I haven't done botox- I don't- I think you may have me confused with someone else you know. How do we know each other, exactly?"