Harley Quinn (i_lovemrj) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2008-12-04 00:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | 21, 24, harleen quinzel, selina kyle |
Great Minds Think Alike (tag: The Henchmen, Catwoman)
This sitting around stuff was crap. Just… crap. Harley was not very good at sitting on her hands and waiting things out. So long before it was truly safe, she had ventured back out. She had been cleaner, but not in a much better frame of mind, and that had sunk even lower when she was forced back into her hiding place by the hordes of zombies still roaming the street. There was impatient, and then there was stupid. Harley wasn’t stupid.
But she was irritated and restless. There was nothing to do here, and no one to talk to and she was going out of her mind wondering what was happening. It had been a while; was it safe yet? Only one way to find out.
She paused in the doorway, listening before committing herself to completely exiting her hiding space. Things seemed to have settled quite a bit since the last time she’d been outside. There weren’t any zombies roaming past, for one. For another, there wasn’t the low grade hum of hundreds of voices moaning. That was already a helluva lot better in Harley’s opinion.
Cautiously making her way down the nearby streets, she saw chaos and debris everywhere. Storefronts smashed in. Trash in the street. It looked like there’d been riots. Or one killer party. If there hadn’t been zombies trying to bite her in ways that she found less than appealing, Harley probably would have enjoyed participating in the destruction. There was something really fun and liberating about wrecking stuff.
It reminded her of her Puddin’. He was an artist when it came to mass chaos and destruction on a large scale. It was driving her bonkers to know he was in the City and not be able to find him. She missed him so much. She missed the fun and the insanity and most of all, she missed being needed. Really needed. Well. If she couldn’t have all three, she could at least have the first two. And there was no time like the present.
With the cops in the City likely busy with clean up and recovery, knocking over a bank or something would be like taking candy from a baby. There wasn’t much satisfaction in that, so she needed a better target. The question was… what?
At that moment, whether it was coincidence, serendipity, or the City’s odd sense of humor, Harley managed to step onto a strip of newspaper still sticky with drying blood. She’d been avoiding most of the detritus, trying to keep relatively clean, so she was more than a bit irked. Especially since she couldn’t seem to scrape the thing off the bottom of her boot. Leaning down, Harley yanked the paper off, making a face when her fingers touched the cooled blood.
Then her face cleared and a slow smile began as she read what was on the paper. Yes. Yes, yes, yes! It was perfect! Why on earth the original prop skull used to represent Yorick the jester in the first production of Hamlet was here in this godawful place, she had no idea. She didn’t really care, it was here, and that’s what mattered. Because she would be willing to bet her liliripes that her man would have seen this and want in on it. It was just his sort of thing. And if she beat him to it, so much the better! Harley did love to impress Mr. J. Yep, she was going to go swipe this thing, and get her Puddin’ back at the same time.
First order of business was locating the place. Which wasn’t all that hard. The museum wasn’t that far from the botanical gardens. She ran into a few wayward zombies on the way there, but they were easy to avoid and there were far, far, far fewer of them on the streets. Which she hoped meant that that crap was done with. And she’d been absolutely right. There were no cops, no security guards, and no people.
There was, however, still an alarm. And while it was probably fine and dandy to set the thing off, since she didn’t think the fuzz would be rushing right over. But she didn’t want to chance it not being a silent alarm. Nothing more irritating than having some klaxon going off when you were trying to make off with stolen goods. It was distracting.
Efficiently, she went to work, reveling in the feeling of being back on the job. And the prize this time was more than some stupid, grinning skull used in some outdated play. It was going to get her back to her Puddin’. She just knew it.