Harley Quinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
totalwildcard) wrote2025-07-30 03:01 am
totalwildcard) wrote2025-07-30 03:01 am
Pick Your Poison; Wednesday Morning
Yesterday, late in the afternoon, Harley had shown up at the door of Pam's store sobbing uncontrollably, fully inconsolable and incoherent with the melodramatic weight of her grief.
The evening had been much the same, curled up on the sofa in the store, swinging between bouts of sad sulking and intermittent wailing. If Pam had gotten anything intelligible out of her beyond something about breaking up - not that that was hard to decipher into a more fleshed-out story just with educated guesswork alone - and another something about hitting a door (?) it was a small miracle.
And Harley was still there now, waking up on the very same sofa with a start. It took a moment of blinking for her to realize where she was, and another for her to remember why.
It twisted her face into something sad again, but at least she didn't immediately get into another crying jag. So, that counted as progress, right?
(for that gal whose store and person were modded with permission, with an option for that guy already in the store as well)
The evening had been much the same, curled up on the sofa in the store, swinging between bouts of sad sulking and intermittent wailing. If Pam had gotten anything intelligible out of her beyond something about breaking up - not that that was hard to decipher into a more fleshed-out story just with educated guesswork alone - and another something about hitting a door (?) it was a small miracle.
And Harley was still there now, waking up on the very same sofa with a start. It took a moment of blinking for her to realize where she was, and another for her to remember why.
It twisted her face into something sad again, but at least she didn't immediately get into another crying jag. So, that counted as progress, right?
(for that gal whose store and person were modded with permission, with an option for that guy already in the store as well)
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Somehow that was supposed to be a counter argument.
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And she'd had such a good streak of liking people lately.
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She'd be doing that a lot for a while.
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So she remained as she was, in as gentle a-- was it a cuddle? A comforting posture? --position as she could manage without doing anything that felt like crossing boundaries.
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When it subsided again, she mumbled, showing where her thoughts had gone back to just now, "I guess he doesn't respect a good pinkie swear."
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"To be a team."
It hurt to say. Of course it did.
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Though at least she and Harley had always been that, more or less. Long before they ever got together.
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Must've been nice.
"It did," Harley admitted. One of her hands was fidgeting with the edge of one of the blankets. "And I think it was even true?" Her voice caught, right there, just a little. "For a while."
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Pam was going to regret asking, but-- "When did it stop?"
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Harley's hand curled into a fist, bunching up a bit of the blanket within it.
"Everything went to shit so fast. But maybe I just hadn't -- noticed it happening."
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She shuddered, faintly.
"I miss that."
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But she sounded like she was losing steam, again.
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It wasn't, after all, exactly what fighting alongside the Joker had been, was it.
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She had an obscure Harley way of thinking about it, no surprise there.
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Her thoughts were drifting elsewhere, though, to a crappy old apartment somewhere in Gotham, Harley-her-Harley in her undies shoving ice cream into her mouth while Pam got ready for a shower, somewhere in that strange span of time before--
Well. Probably better not to wander too far down that sentimental path.
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Thinking sad thoughts about... partnerhood, with someone that actually took you seriously.
What a joke.