| Budding Reunion | ||
|---|---|---|
| Summary: Twisted's down and out part time clown finally gets her BFF back. A plan is formed that could lead to disastrous results.   |
The building, by apparent nature of the interdimensional status quo, bears a strong resemblance to every other building along the street, with just a few architectural lunges to keep it distinct. One must, of course, cling to that suburban identity. To this end, the newly-christened Isley Residence boasts as its 'USP' many skylights and a beautiful, dome-shaped conservatory, multi-faceted windows providing what is - theoretically - a bright, cheerful interior. Obviously she's immediately filled this space with a rainforest-in-miniature, cracking the adjoining door during the day to flood the space with the cloying odor of exotic blooms. In short, Ivy has made this place a home. In the last hour she's unwound completely, having ensured her perimeter is adequately stocked with semi-sentient guardians of the thick and thorny variety, and taken a long soak in a lukewarm tub. Now she's swanning around in a short, silken green robe that definitely isn't made from (dead) plants, barefoot and unguarded. "Well," she pronounces with a sigh, not entirely for her own benefit - the otherwise minimalist, modernistic decor is of course encroached upon by flowers, vines, and bushes, "That was a clusterfuck nightmare. How were your days?" Nothin' weird, just making casual conversation with plants while sinking onto a designer couch placed next to a very fancy, and not at all familiar Noguchi coffee table that's been smartly placed just off-center of the building's largest skylight.
It's highly suspicious when someone comes around TWISTED asking about an escaped mental patient dressed in clown makeup. Especially after having had arranged to get the prior person of that descriptor locked up for an uncertain amount of time for choosing the Bat over herself yet again. Which time was this one? How many more will it probably be again...? "STOP JUDGING ME, NARRATOR!" To be fair, here, this narration is already in her own head, we're not breaking any fourth wa-"I'll break you if you don't stop it already!!" Harley lets out a sigh as she looks down at her phone and then the houses dotting Mabase Drive. There's a valid chance she's either about to get the disappointment of her life or things are about to pick up for her. Either way her perfect vacation spot of Twisted has been broken by another person coming through the dimensions and traipsing around her secret garden. Yeah, she's thinking garden stuff after the seeming message from her BFF. She finds the house with the healthiest lawn and cartwheels over the fence, coming to a stop with her face literally pressed against a window. Plants. A room full of plants. That's promising!
There's some irony in smart, industrious Ivy's failure to locate her friend, as within moments of Harley stepping onto the right side of Mabase Drive a handful of oxeye daisies swivel their petals within a clump of ornamental wildflowers, forming tight, sensitive cones all the better to hear her with. She's tracked all the way, a trellis of honeysuckle quivering almost imperceptibly in line with her motions. By the time she reaches the garden proper, Harley might even had occasion to notice, were she not so set on her goal. A brace of foxgloves have little regard for caution as they pop up over her shoulder, peering into the house alongside her. It's about this time that the message actually reaches Ivy, who's in the middle of laughing at something really funny her Dendrobiums have said. Her chuckling can be heard through the window for just a moment, and then it abruptly cuts off. The room - the conservatory - into which Harley looks is nothing short of spectacular, the work of years for about any aspiring or active gardener in their home dimension. It's a somewhat-tamed microcosm of the rainforest, dense, rich, moist, and vaguely-threatening, such is the sheer, subtle majesty of the fauna. This would seem to narrow things down considerably. Which is great, that might be quite the epiphany; except it's punctuated by the very sudden, and more than vaguely-threatening arrival, of a thick rope of very literal ivy. Untangling from the woodwork above the good Dr. Quinn, it forms a very harsh and robust noose, falling like some kind of green dropbear around the clownette's shoulders and immediately *squeeeeezing*... oh, yep. Yep. Seems she has the right house.
"Let's see, Harl. What's the best course of action here? Front door, nah. Window? Too obvious. Skylight. YES! Element of surprise if things go south. Big flashy entrance if things are on the up an' up! Now what's the easiest way ta-URK!" The girl in the pink and blue makeup tries to scream and kick her feet as she's quickly wrapped up and mummified. Well could be worse, she ponders. If Ivy was in danger this wouldn't be happening.
The choking vines do indeed have their way with the spunky blonde, coiling several times around her before sprouting new mass that provides extra structure as she's heaved heavenward. One, hugely-thick vine ends as the emergent starting point for the rest, leaning against the building to hold aloft the bundle now containing one hogtied harlequin. And then... Skylight, you say? Coiling in on itself, and then rapidly back out, the vigorously-enhanced ivy performs a surging dive high up into the night air, and then down at an alarming rate toward the roof of the building, which for a wide-eyed moment will doubtless seem like a huge, black border around what now seems quite a SMALL skylight, when you're being super-plexed through it by the wrath of Mother Nature. Thankfully for Miss Isley's security deposit, a helpful tendril from within pops open the hatch just in time, and Harley is left dangling inside the living room, veins slowly uncoiling enough that she can see, speak, hear, and - quite importantly - breathe, without particular impediment. It's still uncomfortable as HELL, though. "Do you remember, a very long time ago..." The voice that greets her is a black-humoured deadpan, weary with the burden of its own superiority... you know, pretty much what she might have expected. "We had that conversation about using the doorbell? So this doesn't happen?" Ivy - with a capital I - stands there with a hand on her hip, posture cocked casually and eyebrow raised with crushing disapproval. But she's... smiling? "Missed you, babe." The vines suddenly tighten once more. Enough to crack a lesser person's rib. Ivy folds her arms. "Missed you a fucking lot."
Harleen dangles upside down, even if it wasn't Ivy's intention. She goes to speak as the vines tighten causing her voice to sound strained, "Urnnnk. Missed ya too Red! ERk. I dig the jacket and the new digs. Nineteeeeenth century Antebellum really suits you." At least this isn't the first time she's been in this situation. It takes effort but she manages to get an arm free and slowly twist her way out of the vines. Showing off her misused years studying gymnastics she hits the ground in a perfect dismount, hands in the air. "Taa-daaa!!" With little warning she leaps at Poison Ivy, locking her arms and legs around her regardless of her ability to hold her up. "I didn't think that was really you sending messages!! When did you get to Twisted?! Why did you come to Twisted?!? Ain't it great here?! Did you see the park yet!? OH OH!! Wanna get some coffee?!"
It's hard to tell, but Ivy is honestly doing her best to be furious right now. The little show of power was supposed to convey that, but of course she ends up smiling, and expressing fond emotions, and of course Harley gets herself free and-- "Whoa! Ack! Hey!" Flailing her arms, and *keenly* aware that she's wearing what amounts to little more than a skimpy camisole made of living fibres, the usually-graceful plantlady does her damnedest not to go tumbling under Harley's weight, pitching them both over the edge of the couch. "I'm trying," she huffs out, straining, and-- Collapsing. She goes with it, eyes wide as she hits the ground with a hard crash. "Ow," she states plainly, wishing she could rub her bruised tailbone but also irritatingly unable to not return the embrace now she's in a position to do so. She takes a deep breath, counting to 10 in her head, both enjoying this long, calming moment of proximity to Harley and also waiting for her incessant chatter to stop. "I'm really mad at you!" You know that thing where somebody says one thing, but the words are clearly complete nonsense and they're actually saying something else that sounds just like that? But they really fucking want you to believe what they're saying anyway? That. "Really, really mad. Also, who gave you a makeover because I am, like, 90% sure it wasn't me and I have NO idea how to feel about it..." Overhead, the patrolling vines shut the skylight behind them. They know when they're not wanted.
Oh, we're talking about her attire now! Harley leaps up and adjusts her red and black tanktop. "Great, ain't it? People here know me more as Harleen than they do as Harl an' I figure, why wear a mask? Right?" She gestures down at herself and gives a shrug, "I had a cute jacket that went with it but I offered it to Croc before I left Gotham an'..." She frowns and sighs, "Let's not talk about that." She claps her hands and pulls at her phone, tapping furiously on it a moment before putting it away in a matching purse dangling off her shoulder. "Are ya really mad? I mean, really really? I could go buy you a cute little cactus or something. Maybe get one with a little teddy bear that says, 'I'm sorry you're prickly with me'? The S-Mart up the road is waaaay better than Stacy's." The sad thing is she's not exactly hyper (more so than usual) right now, but Ivy probably knows this.
Indeed, as is usual, maintaining a timely critique on everything that comes out of her friend's mouth is impossible. Ivy knows. It's why she spends a lot less time these days raging and murdering, but plenty more sighing and being unreasonably patient. "I don't hate it," she admits regarding the outfit, lifting a finger to object as Croc is mentioned and settling for a shrug that says, 'sure, let's not'. Her gaze rolls to the phone, watches Harley tap away, and then meets her gaze levelling once it returns to their shared space. Hey, phone privacy is important. "Christ," she breathes, half a laugh running through the exhalation and her shoulders visibly slumping. "Can't you let me hate you for five seconds? Ugh, why do I bother?" And why is she smiling again? Easy. Annoying or not, and no matter how much she weighs when carried, this is her favorite goddamn person. There's no point staying mad. "You want to get coffee, right? Talk about boys you're NOT dating? Maybe rob some polluting asshole, celebrate the fact you made it into my living room without breaking shit?" Well, maybe just a teensy-tiny bit, ever-so-slightly *perpetually* mad. "Really good job, by the way. I'm proud of you."
Harleen's perpetual grin widens into a smile herself as Ivy complains about not being able to be mad at her. "You COULD hate me, or you could, yeah. Come with me. Take in the sights! Try the weirdly free cuisine at the Usual that I've tried to tell you about... YOU SEE! I'm not crazy!" A pause. A beat. "...er than usual." Good save. "This place is great, it's all spooky displaced refugees an' people with real psychological problems WHO REALLY NEED SOME GOOD COUNCILING." Oh, she's genuinely annoyed at that statement. "But alas... ol' Doc Harley can't seem to get work since the Asylum packed up and skipped to another reality." She slumps sadly remembering her precious catgirls that she'd come to practically adopt. Harley takes a deep breath and shrugs it off, "But we can talk about that later. My GOD you really left Gotham and came here! I never thought in a million years you'd come back this way. I thought you didn't believe me! Maybe you where deluding yourself." She slides closer, "Maybe you could use some more Counciling yourself y'know. All private-like. You. Me. Some candles. Maybe a DVD of Meet the People with the great Virgina O'Brien?" She wiggles her eyebrows just to get a laugh and relaxes back. "BEST of all it's been at LEAST five years since the last mad clown sighting! What's not to love?!"
Wow, Harley really needs to slow down. Still trapped underneath her, Ivy is essentially a captive audience for the questionable update that ensues, and once again she has about six million things to say. Not that she really wants to. It all sounds like a lot of effort better spent on other things, and that's good. That means she's still sane. It's a whole lot to take in, though. One thing at a time. "Of course I came back, I--" Wait, deluding herself? Ivy stammers to a halt and then there's a Harley whose proximity just went from intimate to downright invasive. She's not one to squirm under the pressure, but a brow practically disappears into the scarlet sweep of her hair. "I'd prefer a heated argument and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, but why don't we talk about *that* later, too?" Besides, something else just hit her like a bullet train. "Whoa, hold the fucking train! Five years? You've seriously been dry for FIVE YEARS? All of sudden, I don't care that you've dragged me to an entire planet one cheap dye job and a nose piercing away from being Arkham Asylum... Harl, that's amazing." Her smile is warmer than the greenhouse next door, and it's uncertain, for a heartbeat, just what keeps the thorny edge in her stare. Oh, wait. "Now you wanna get the fuck off me so I can put some clothes on?" There it is.
Harleen blinks. Blinkblinks. "Oh." She looks down at her friend on the floor and backs away like she's a dog who's just been fussed at for peeing on the floor uncontrollably. "S-sorry, Pammy." She turns and looks around at the random plants, still not quite at a point where she cares about them personally, but they mean a lot to Ivy so she's going to act interested. "...I didn't mean me PERSONALLY, I sorta meant here. He's been ta Twisted before, but it's been five years since he cared enough to try." She crosses her arms and lets out a relaxed breath, "I don't need that freak here. Harley runs Barder Town!" Leaning forwards she sniffs something yellow and frowns at it, "But... it's been awhile. I mean I got him locked up. Stupid jerk. I thought he'd be mad as hell but he's not come looking for me. Either he doesn't care or he forgot about this place." She shrugs again, "Either or works for me." There's a tone to her voice that suggests otherwise, but why draw attention to it?
As Harley scrambles away, Ivy's skimpy garment rearranges itself, with a swift and highly-tactile wriggling motion, to keep her extremities covered. It's something she does without thinking, as natural as the hand that runs simultaneously through her hair. "It's fine, Harl. I'm pleased to see you too." She'd have to be, or there'd be a real problem. Ivy doesn't make a habit of being underneath people. Just because she's feeling it, Ivy has a couple of nearby plants retrieve her, nigh-instaneously sprouting thornless vines that rise underneath her armpits and bring her to standing with slow, natural grace. She makes absolutely nothing of it, continuing to fix her hair and paying more attention to Harley than her own ascent. "Damn right she does," offers the redhead encouragingly at Harley's statement of conquest. The yellow flower is that of a jungle tulip, and it emits the sweet odor of honey, honestly quite delightful. If a little tickly. "Let him be mad, after what he's done to you it's the least he deserves. You don't need him, he--" She stops herself dead, clapping her mouth shut while she changes direction. Don't tell Harley the Joker needs her, do NOT tell Harley the Joker needs her. Abort! Abort! "He's an asshole," she finishes instead, in a manner that would be decidedly lame if she didn't pack it with enough feminist gusto to kinda-sorta get away with it. Maybe the sudden ripple of plant-life across her body will be a nice distraction. It spreads fast, flowing green cords roping every portion of her body that's about to become covered in a clean, fresh outfit more suitable for beating the streets. It's become her go-to; a simple, fashionable dark jacket, and printed tights with a vine motif that's absolutely on the nose. Her plants don't become footwear, because honestly, fuck cows. She keeps those by the door like a civilized... plant thing. "So," she says expectantly, now she's dressed for business, "What marks have you found in this hellhole?"
Harleen turns around with a genuine look of confusion, "Marks?" Her eyes look nervously to the sides, "I've played it straight here, Ives. Like, seriously. That's why people know me as Harleen and not Harley." She frowns awkwardly. "To be fair, that's not really gotten me very far since I lost my last job." She lets out an aggravated sigh and throws herself onto Ivy's Couch, feet going up instantly on the nearest table. Unlike the expert gardener, her shoes are still on. But then she was brought in through the ceiling, wasn't she? Not her problem! "It's not FAIR. I wanted to do things the straight and narrow way and get my babies back but NO!" She kicks the table, shoving it back. "Do you know what those monsters did? They took my money as 'EVIDENCE' and tried to call the police on me! I HAD A NATIONALLY SYNDICATED TELEVISION SHOW FOR THREE EPISODES!!" Her eyes begin to water and she pouts, "It's not my fault it got cancelled because the patients where too weak to actually complete any of the events to actually get free health care."
The nearest table is the sacred Noguchi, and Ivy reflexively cringes as Harley's feet descend upon it. When it transpires that the only thing breaking is her friend's little heart, she's far beyond caring about the still-on shoes, and slips around the arm to take a seat beside the sobbing blonde. Her hands move quite naturally, one around the far shoulder and the other seeking to take one of Harley's hands in her own lap. "Shh, shh, I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong, save in the eyes of the law and maybe Batman, who as we all know don't count for shit. But that doesn't mean you... enslave terminally-ill people and have them compete in contests structured around their darkest fears and deepest doubts?" It's her best guess at the details. "Or you know, whatever. Look, the point is, you're strong, you're beautiful, and they *are* monsters." She almost spits that, her vitriol plain for just an instant. They hurt her girl!! "I'm proud of you for trying to be your old self, but there's a reason we both lost our shit originally, and there's no going back to how it was. As long as they control things, that's just a fact. But, you know what else? There's always more money, Harl, and always a way to get your babies back. Especially when you've got a friend who believes in you. You wanna sit here crying, or go out there together and take this place for ourselves? Your gymnastics, my...?" She trails off with a crooked grin, lowering her head to look straight up into dem baby blues.
"Y-your right." Harley sighs and pulls herself to her feet again. "You're always right." A hand goes to her hip while she taps her foot. "Although..." She trails off looking out into space before turning back to face Ivy about an inch from her face, "Did you know we can get food here for free?" Her other hand comes to rest on her green friend's shoulder. "Most of the stuff here is free, but the stuff that isn't?" A laugh comes out of her, "They only have like three cops!" The hand on her hip is lifted up and pointed towards the West, "Let me go show you the Usual. We can get some snacks, and then we can come up with somethin' grand!" She crosses her arms again, "Or at least smash somethin'. They've got a big mall out in the Red Light District that might be good for some commotion."
Ivy doesn't stand immediately, which makes the apparition of Harley all the more imposing as she gets all up in her buddy's proverbial business. It's testament to the surprising ease in their enduring friendship that famously-high-strung Ivy doesn't react in any way adversely, her eyes only blinking because she's been cursed with at least some element of humanity, and blinking is not a bug but a feature. "You mentioned, yeah," she confirms not unkindly, but with the weight of every 'straight woman' on her shoulders. "Free, huh?" She thinks a moment before, with a breathed laugh, she counters with, "Hi, I'm Ivy, and I'm an over-acheving rich girl who believes you get absolutely nothing for free. Color me suspicious." She looks down, "Well, green. Mostly. But suspicious. You know I'll follow you anywhere..." There's that sigh again, familiar as a worn old blanket. "But we do this my way, okay? It's great you're only a little bit insane now, but... think of it like therapy. We are therapizing you. Clever crimes, get paid, help Ivy buy things so we can keep operating without living out of a van." She wiggles her fingers, as if the very idea were a wild and spooky fantasy. "You gotta promise me, Harl. No bullshit. No 'breaking reality'. Smart and clean." A hand is back on her hip, which means she's definitely serious.
Harleen smacks her fist in her other palm, "I KNEW someone was reading my posts! Oh, I'm really glad it was you and not... you know who." She playfully punches her in the arm as lightly as she can manage, "I only broke reality once. I was trying to prove that there was a portal to this other place behind the..." Blink. "YOU KNOW...." Uh oh, she's smiling. "What if we DIDN'T rob Mabase? What if instead we went to all those other crazy worlds and robbed THEM! No one could find us here! We'd be untouchable!!" It's probably not the craziest plan she could have had.
It doesn't register as quite the 'eureka!' moment the clownette might have hoped for. In fact, Ivy's expression barely changes. She can see the cogs turning before they even do, she's just not sure what precisely is going to come out of Harley's mouth. She's up to speed by the time the full nature of her master plan is revealed, which is why they'll suddenly find themselves talking in near enough tandem with one another. "...worlds and robbed them? No one could... yeah... untouchable. Right." Ivy pauses and takes a breath, puffing out her cheeks as she releases it. "First of all," she holds up her hands and counts off one finger at time, "No. Second of all, are you actually crazy right now? Harl, half the reason I CAME here was to make sure you weren't getting evaporated leaping through extra-dimensional gateways! They're giving off energy unlike anything anyone *I* know can identify as safe or stable, and every time you risk going through one, you're risking *you*." She reaches out and grabs one of Harley's pigtails, just shy of firm enough to be painful. "Harleen Quinzel, you absolute moron, I love you and if I end up losing you because you make one stupid decision I don't try to talk you out of, I will find you in whatever excuse this gloomy sinkhole has for an underworld and I will kick, your, ass. With, with my fists. I'll... I'll punch you in the ass. Do you hear me?"
Harleen lets out a loud, "OW!" despite the lack of pain being inflicted and lets her head be pulled to the side by the tugging of her hair. "It's SAFE. COME ON!! I've been using that one portal in Arkham for HOW MANY YEARS NOW?! Look, just 'cause Pudd-uh, I-I mean Joker told people I was just imagining it, YOU'RE HERE NOW, Pammy. Look around. There's like a bajillion different worlds connected here with so many doorways that the people who LIVE here don't know about them! I do!! I've been to so many of them!" She exhales slowly, "Yes, there was that ONE TIME where the door to the next city didn't work and it was like I opened a black hole in the middle of a restaurant, but that's just ANOTHER bonus for us! No one is going to be crossing to alternate worlds looking for us! There's no Batman here. No Justice League. But what's valuable, I mean, what's really valuable? Money. Gold. Loot. There's places here that will exchange one type of currency for another and not think twice. They had to put up a rule to get people to stop paying for goods with MONOPOLY money." She pokes Ivy in the shoulder, "That's not a joke about Canadian money - REAL Monopoly money with the little guy with the top hat and everything." She pauses and readjusts her pigtails. "I know it sounds stupid, but I'm really regretting not thinking of this sooner. I'm not even using my Harley voice here. This can work. We could rob all these other places blind and bring all the loot back here and no one would be able to stop us. You think Superman is gonna give up watching over Metropolis and our ENTIRE WORLD just to go to some hick truck stop of a town in a black hole on the ass end of the multiverse? We could be KINGS, Ives. Think about it!"
Another weaponized eyebrow makes itself known at the stumble, but we're only at half-puddin', so Ivy lets it go. The same way her verdant fingers release that pigtail once Harley's objection turns to a physical correction. She doesn't apologize, or even look apologetic - she knows it didn't hurt. She listens attentively, anyway, only looking the tiniest bit annoyed when the diatribe sees her poked. Shifting her stance, she appears to relax, but the very second that Harley is done, green eyes widen and Ivy immediately resnatches the same pigtail, just as hard. "Queens," she corrects, with firm cool, then immediately eases her grip and strokes through the dyed blonde strands. Eagerly and entirely without a hint of the simmering tension she exudes, "This is real cute, by the way. Good shout." The turn away from business doesn't last long. "You're still not thinking with anything but your stupid, human heart." Ivy shakes her head, a brisk motion that transfers naturally into a half-turn away from her scolded bestie. Gaze hidden by the sweep of her hair, Ivy looks down thoughtfully. "Maybe you've got something, though. I'm not saying definitely not, but we look into it first. There's got to be somebody around here who knows about... portals, dimensional traversal. I need to know more. We've done everything else, but we've never..." A smile flickers onto her lips, a little more like the wicked Poison Ivy of old. Raising her head, she turns back to Harley, both hands on her hips now. "We'll see, okay? If you need money before then, I..." Her cheeks tinge a darker green, and she reaches inside her jacket to pull out a small rectangle of plastic. It's got the Bat symbol on it. "Do not ask me the circumstance surrounding how I got this, but here. It's Batman's. Obviously." Her mouth tugs to a broad grin, "Can you believe that douchebag has his own *credit card*? I bet the repayment terms are to die for."
With little hesitation or regard for just having her hair pulled again, Harley reaches out and snatches the plastic card to look at it closer. She's seconds away from spilling the beans of who Batman really is, after all, they sell comic books here - but she's only just gotten Ivy to CONSIDER her plan, maybe she shouldn't get too metaphysical with things. The point is it makes perfect sense for Batman to have his own credit card. "I wonder how they handle bills across parallel worlds? Would he just get a random fine from a place he can't call and complain to?" She passes it back and smiles knowingly, "Remind me to take you to this book shop over on Higashi Ayase Street later. They not open on Sundays."
"And do you think if he got through they'd all talk like him? 'I'M THE GODDAMN BATMAN, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?'" It turns out Ivy doesn't have much vocal depth, and going extra low almost drags out a cough. She flinches and sticks her tongue out, blech. "Of all the things to survive between dimensions, Christianity? I guess people have to justify being jerks somehow." Rolling her eyes, she slips the card back into her jacket with the sort of loose shrug that implies she probably meant Harley to keep it, but she's not going to insist on anything. "Still, sounds like a date. It's a deal then?" With an encouraging half-smile, she lifts her hand and extends the pinky finger. "I came here to help you out, Harl. I'm not gonna screw you on this."
Harleen shakes with her own pinky. "I know ya did, Red. You've never let me down." Wait, now she has to think about that a moment. "Okay, MAAAAAYBE when you decided all humans needed to die. But you didn't kill /me/ either of those times, so we're good." Screw this pinky nonsense, Ivy gets another hug. "I've missed you so much! You're one of the only reasons going back to Gotham was ever worth it."
Ivy's aquiline nose crinkles in distaste as she sees the next one coming. It's not so much that she predicts it, this time, as she's aware a flaw is about to be highlighted - and oh boy does she have a few weak spots to pick on... Nobody meditates for no reason, I'm just saying. Playing into it with a helpless shrug and a bashful expression that's not too difficult to act out from her actual, confusing combination of lingering guilt and the festering rage of unfinished business, Ivy comes out looking like a chill, lovable rogue. What's a bit of genocide between friends? A better question is, what's a bit of genocide between the best fucking friends on this or any plane? That's right! Nothing. If Ivy was a squealer she'd be squealing at this iteration of the Harleyhug, for just a moment she looks honestly, genuinely happy as she engulfs the smaller woman and even spins her around for good measure, VERY careful of her furniture in the process. "The feeling's likewise, you asshole! Thanks for making me cross realities to find you." Yep, not letting go of that.
Harleen smiles, "It'll be the best decision of your life! Have I ever steered you wrong?" A grin, a blink. A sudden step back. "Don't answer that question." Her eyes seem to glaze over as far too many memories flood to the surface, "Don't ever answer that question. Let's never talk about this again." Yes. Probably wise. Maybe a change of subject too, "So? Food? Coffee? Mayhem?" It's as good of a plan as any!
"Yeeeeah," Ivy's already saying once Harley has stepped back, ending up the chorus line to her vocal lead, then swooping in at the end to take it back with an emphatic, devout, and quite reassuring, "No!" She sure won't. "Never, good. Yup." Her smile returns along with most of her usual easy, detached grace, though she's always a bit more engaged with the best human in the room. "Why don't you show me some of your... weird, free street cuisine, and we'll take it from there." Shrugging loosely, she moves over toward the front hallway and stoops to retrieve her boots from the chromed rack set up there. "Oh, I set up your usual room, obviously. Equally obviously, my bed's big enough for the both of us." She doesn't need to check if the clownette is staying. Why wouldn't she be? "Shit, I'm glad you're back." It IS as good a plan as any. | |
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