Harley had seen some weird stuff in her career as a hench wench. It hadn’t even been that long ago that she’d met that guy with the wings and weird eyeballs that had been following her through the zoo. But the only time she’d seen somebody recover from being shot like that was Clayface, and that was mostly because he was just a big pile of mushy stuff from what she could figure. Not a person.
Yet there was Karen, not falling down, not even bleeding. That was not so much freaky as frustrating. When Harley shot at people, she really preferred them to fall down. It was really irritating when they didn’t. The Bat did it to her all the time, somehow dodging or something, but she hardly ever hit him. That made her mad, and so did this.
Karen wasn’t upset that she’d been shot, just that her clothes were messed up. Well there was a lot more of that coming her way then! Harley reached for one of her explosive rounds, deftly loading the pop gun, gleefully anticipating the fire and singe marks all over that fancy-ass suit. Karen might even cry.
“You hurt me, I hurt you. That’s how life works, sister,” Harley informed her matter-of-factly. Then she pointed her weapon, aiming easily with long practice, even as her finger began to tighten in a squeeze on the trigger. This was gonna be good.