Eight legs to the wall Who: Rabastan Lestrange and Harley Quinn (aka the sidekicks) When: Friday evening Where: Freddy's Fairgrounds What: Harley has a plan; Rabastan is interested Warnings: Criminally insane chatter Status: In progress
As a rule, Harley Quinn refused to tolerate boredom. It wasn't that she couldn't, necessarily - you spend enough time in solitary confinement at Arkham, and you learn there are very few things you can't endure - it was that she loved herself enough to not put herself through the tedium. And, really - if you're as good at making your own fun as she is, why should you have to?
It was this self-love that had originally lead her to the mysterious fairgrounds that lit up on their own every night. At first, she'd gone to play (who didn't love a good fair?), but when she'd seen the sad state of the funhouse, she'd been appalled. Not only was it not at all scary, it was downright boring, with its mediocre hall of mirrors, its so-called shake shack that ran at grandma friendly levels of speed, and the complete lack of effort it took to go through the thing. She couldn't stand for it. No siree. She was a girl that made her own fun, remember?
And make she did. She was a good halfway through the improvements now, and was already figuring out how to get the whole thing to come together. She wouldn't have her hard work go unnoticed, not like her semi-failed psychiatric practice. She'd already gone through the trouble of loosening the bolts on and speeding up the shake shack, fraying the rope on the wall climb and coating it in poison ivy, dragging in the dead carcass of a windigo to jump out, and recording herself making scary noises. If she was gonna add that same magic to the rest of the house, then people were gonna damn well see it.
It was only when she heard a sound that she realized that she'd spoken that last part outloud. Looking up from where she was hooking up the blowtorch to the tiki statue she'd finally tracked down, she frowned, calling out, "Hey! We're not open yet!"