To say that Harley was not a happy camper was an understatement. She was singed, one of her liliripes was completely gone, burned right off. She had a headache from hell because she was attacked by a tree. But worst of all, she’d been knocked out so she hadn’t even had the satisfaction of seeing how much damage she’d caused to Karen’s shoes.
That would have been sweet.
But no. Here she was, stomping home on the streets late at night, getting looks from people that didn’t have any right to be up on any high horses. They were choosing to go out looking like they did. And some of them apparently didn’t have mirrors at home. At least her look was accidental. But that realization didn’t do much to improve her mood. Simply put, she was cranky.
So when she heard the boom of an explosion, she didn’t feel the urge to go see where it’d come from. Usually, she liked to see what kinda mess a big boom made, and fire was always fun. But tonight, she just wanted to go home. So she kept walking until she heard somebody calling her name. It was far away, indistinct, and somewhat annoying. Harley didn’t even try to imagine who was yelling for her, she didn’t really care. She was just irked that somebody was trying to keep her from her goal.
Stopping dead in the street, she bellowed at the top of her lungs in a voice that could bend metal, “WHAT?!”