Harley Quinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
totalwildcard) wrote2025-08-08 02:01 pm
totalwildcard) wrote2025-08-08 02:01 pm
A Cuban Restaurant, Baltimore; Friday Night
See, right, yeah. With a party on the island that Harley couldn't go to, it was clearly time for her to get back out there. Put her face on and go paint the town red! Get back in the saddle! Go forth and find a -- find a stallion, or something, a nice little forgettable rebound! Drink and laugh and have a healing experience through the most meaningless means possible!
Those, at least, were the thoughts Harley had had when she'd been getting ready at home. When she'd been putting on a nice skimpy dress under a leather jacket and fixing some big fake flowers in her updo, still believing in her chances of a nice night out.
The reality was this:
Sitting at a corner table in a jam-packed restaurant, chewing listlessly on the end of the straw in her drink, ignoring the side of tostones on the table because they didn't seem to taste as good, this time around. Watching couples on the tiny dance floor, everybody so goddamned happy to be moving their sweaty bodies like particularly lively sardines in an excessively loud can while the salsa band played their hearts out.
All those good thoughts about how she was going to seize back control of her own fun or whatever? Gone just about as soon as she'd made it in the door and fantasy had crashed into the reality of the situation. Everyone else looked all paired up already and also, what kind of dumb fucking idiot returned to a place like this when she didn't have someone to return with? What, hoping to find some kind of triumph over the royal ass kicking that had been dealt to her heart by the same jackass that had brought her here the first time? Jesus Christ.
And yet, she'd stayed. Because fleeing with her tail between her legs would've been worse, somehow. Which was how the listless chewing and generally sitting all mope-like had come about. Clearly something to be proud about, wasting her time glowering towards other people having all her flirty fun. Harley fidgeted with her phone. Maybe it wasn't too late to ask Pam, you know, for either wingwomaning or just company, because maybe she wasn't already back in Gotham, giving that other Harley a good see--
Someone had stopped by her table and cleared their throat. Harley looked up, ready to go into a whole spiel about how sure, yeah, she'd order another drink in exchange for continuing to hog the table, if she had to - but it was a guy that was not a member of staff.
He had dark hair, nice eyes, a good jaw, and a neck tattoo. And when he fed her some cheesy line and asked her to dance, Harley said yes. The evening suddenly felt like it might've been saved. She let him take her hand as she got up, and let him lead her into the dancing crowd, and let him... well, lead.
He was handsome. He smelled fantastic.
And when he spun her in what little space they could claim for themselves on the dance floor, he smiled at her, all wide and bright and easy. And Harley knew, immediately, she wasn't going to get more intimately familiar with him than stealing the wallet she'd already spotted in his back pocket.
But at least his money was going to make for a nice tip for whoever delivered her sad Mooby's in the morning?
(NFB, NFI)
Those, at least, were the thoughts Harley had had when she'd been getting ready at home. When she'd been putting on a nice skimpy dress under a leather jacket and fixing some big fake flowers in her updo, still believing in her chances of a nice night out.
The reality was this:
Sitting at a corner table in a jam-packed restaurant, chewing listlessly on the end of the straw in her drink, ignoring the side of tostones on the table because they didn't seem to taste as good, this time around. Watching couples on the tiny dance floor, everybody so goddamned happy to be moving their sweaty bodies like particularly lively sardines in an excessively loud can while the salsa band played their hearts out.
All those good thoughts about how she was going to seize back control of her own fun or whatever? Gone just about as soon as she'd made it in the door and fantasy had crashed into the reality of the situation. Everyone else looked all paired up already and also, what kind of dumb fucking idiot returned to a place like this when she didn't have someone to return with? What, hoping to find some kind of triumph over the royal ass kicking that had been dealt to her heart by the same jackass that had brought her here the first time? Jesus Christ.
And yet, she'd stayed. Because fleeing with her tail between her legs would've been worse, somehow. Which was how the listless chewing and generally sitting all mope-like had come about. Clearly something to be proud about, wasting her time glowering towards other people having all her flirty fun. Harley fidgeted with her phone. Maybe it wasn't too late to ask Pam, you know, for either wingwomaning or just company, because maybe she wasn't already back in Gotham, giving that other Harley a good see--
Someone had stopped by her table and cleared their throat. Harley looked up, ready to go into a whole spiel about how sure, yeah, she'd order another drink in exchange for continuing to hog the table, if she had to - but it was a guy that was not a member of staff.
He had dark hair, nice eyes, a good jaw, and a neck tattoo. And when he fed her some cheesy line and asked her to dance, Harley said yes. The evening suddenly felt like it might've been saved. She let him take her hand as she got up, and let him lead her into the dancing crowd, and let him... well, lead.
He was handsome. He smelled fantastic.
And when he spun her in what little space they could claim for themselves on the dance floor, he smiled at her, all wide and bright and easy. And Harley knew, immediately, she wasn't going to get more intimately familiar with him than stealing the wallet she'd already spotted in his back pocket.
But at least his money was going to make for a nice tip for whoever delivered her sad Mooby's in the morning?
(NFB, NFI)