The snarl was automatic, and would have been even if she had two legs rather than four. Something stung her shoulder, and Harley’s head whipped around to look, neither knowing or caring if she did more damage to the arm she’d been biting. There was a small silver cylinder sticking out of her fur, and she bit at it to dislodge it.
Trust the Bat Bunch to fight like a bunch of wussies. No hand to hand combat, oh no. Dart guns and batarangs and stupid gadgets. Not fun ones like her pop gun, which was standard for henchstaff. Every one of them had some sort of weapon to combat the freaks in tights that ran around do-gooding. It wasn’t fair that the Bat and his cohorts fought like henchmen, but said they were good guys. It broke the rules.
Not that Harley liked rules. She was more of a fly by the seat of her pants sort of… person… really…
She abruptly realized that her brain was chasing itself in circles, and she couldn’t remember how long she’d been having her own internal dialogue. Nor could she remember walking over behind the counter again. Hadn’t she been on the other side? Biting the bird? Yeah, she had been. What was she doing over here, and why did the floor look wiggly?
Harley had just enough time to realize she’d been drugged and then her legs were giving out from under her. All four of them. Just before she passed out, she muttered half under her breath, “Fu--” and then it all went black before she could even complete the pithy word.