totalwildcard | Somewhere on the Mainland; Sunday Early Evening

Marc had had a vague memory of meaning to check out the photo the last time he was here. It was debatable if he would've remembered on his own, but the certificate made it stand out more. Marc went over to take a look at what they were.

The picture was of two older Catholic nuns with a young girl standing between them. The nuns were smiling, the girl - medium brown hair in pigtails, healthy complexion, somber dress - was not.

And the framed certificate? It was from Gotham University, fancy seals and signatures and all, awarding one Harleen Frances Quinzel the degree of doctor of philosophy.

Harley herself had bustled over to the kitchen area to grab some forks without realizing anything had caught his attention. "You're cool to eat on the couch, right?" she asked. "I wanna be comfy."

Marc made note of the picture, and the name that matched the one Cass had mentioned earlier in the night. Of the two he lingered longer on the picture of her as a kid.

"Huh? Yeah, fine," he said, distracted enough that he couldn't swear to what he was agreeing to.

At least he was in luck and the question hadn't been anything more devious than what it was.

Harley made her way over to the couch with the forks, giving him a curious, faintly amused look as she did.

"What's got you so -- oh."

Of course.

It wasn't a bad 'oh'. After all, she'd put both of those things up knowing he would likely see them sooner or later.

"Guessing this is you?" Marc asked, indicating the picture. The degree was easy enough to figure out.

Harley set the forks down on the coffee table and nodded. "Yeah," she said, just a hint of a drawl to her tone, "with a couple of the St. Assholes of St. Bernadette's."

Marc came over and put the bags on the table as well. His eyebrow quirked at the St Assholes part. "Guessing that's why me being Jewish wasn't a dealbreaker."

"What, 'cause I got dumped with a buncha nuns when I was a kid, that coulda been a problem?" Harley asked, her face immediately scrunching up with the question, before an 'as if' scoff. "Please, I still grew up in Bensonhurst and Canarsie, so for a shiksa I know a thing or two."

Also there was the big question mark of half her family background which may or may not have contradicted something she'd just said but, uh. They didn't need to get into that.

Marc sat down on the couch. He looked at her curiously. "Dumped?"

There was something a little vicious about Harley's smile, just there.

"It's what ya do with the kids you don't want," she said, like it was nothing, as she opened one of the bags to peer inside.

There was a flicker of something over Marc's face at that, but it was quickly erased and replaced by him looking into the bags as well.

Yeah, there was a reason Harley had purposefully never prodded at his early life (or shared any of her own, not that that had ever come up before this moment, anyway). And that flicker kind of confirmed she was right to.

She made a vague hummy noise, like she could just glide right away from the topic using that as the segue. And maybe she could! "Did you get salmon?" she asked, looking into a container. "Because if ya did, this looks like yours."

"Yeah," Marc said, accepting both the food and the topic change. "You can have some if you want."

Harley was handing him a fork, too, so clearly it was his lucky day.

"We'll see." She dug out what had to be her thing of creamy pasta and grabbed the other fork for herself before also plopping herself down onto the couch, next to him, with a faint 'oof' of a noise.

Absolutely no shock that Marc wasn't a slouching on the couch kind of person. He sat forward, back not rigid but still straight, as he balanced his plastic tray in one hand and fork in the other. Very much like a guy who was used to eating in situations where normal tables and chairs weren't an option.

Marc glanced back at the frames, then hazarded a guess.

"Scholarship?"

Harley slouched like someone who was used to eating on the couch specifically, the tray nestled in her lap.

She glanced over, then nodded. "Gymnastics," she said, reaching out to grab the soda from one of the bags. "Full ride, 'cause of that and the grades."

Marc nodded as this confirmed something he'd suspected. "Good for you."

Harley shrugged, and quirked a wry little smile.

"Worked out okay, I s'pose," she said, as she used the edge of the coffee table to uncap the bottle, "least for a while."

Before she took a sharp turn into crazy.

"They kick you off?" Marc asked, because he was assuming she meant during college.

"Hmh? Oh, no." Harley shook her head. "No, I got through college just fine." She paused, though only barely, then added, "Like a nerd, but you can't tell Steven I said that."

Mostly joking. She was just easing back towards being a little more lively.

That was all right. Parts of Marc still needed to find their equilibrium too. He was having a harder time of it than usual, but he was trying.

"You know he likes nerds, right?"

"Yeah," Harley replied, around a mouthful of pasta, "but I'm not one."

Anymore.

"Don't want him to get the wrong idea!"

"He's gonna like you anyway," Marc said. He had a forkful of his salmon with the risotto it came with. "You're stuck on that end. Unless you piss him off."

"What pisses Steven off, anyway?"

It was a genuine question, though not in a way like Harley didn't think it could be done, or anything. In fact, she knew it could be.

And had a guess or two aside from that, too.

"Hurting people," Marc said. "Hurting me which - I can take care of myself but there it is. Otherwise... he'll give a thousand chances to people who don't deserve 'em. But cruel for no reason? Hurt kids? People he cares about? He'll get pissed."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject