It only takes one joke.

One pause before the punch line. One dimpled, cherub smile. And all at once, the crowd peals with laughter at the performance she puts on for them in that cute, glittery number hugging her curves and the strappy red and black sling-backs.

Most of them are men leaning in towards her at the bar. Maroni’s thugs and a couple of fresh faces she hasn’t necessarily noticed before, all trying to laugh the loudest yet the least obnoxious to catch her attention. Then of course there’s Eddie who stands off to the side, smirking beneath the brim of that evergreen fedora he’s trademarked for wearing around the Iceberg (the first time he ever wore it, she told him how handsome he looked. Now she never sees him without it on).

Running her freshly polished fingertip around the rim of her cranberry cocktail (bitter but sweet, she’d said to the boys with that deliciously playful inflection of hers and a wink), she waits for the laughter to simmer before formulating her next strike.

Baby blues flash up about the bar. Her exterior breathes absolute poise while her insides seem to be quaking. He’d been scheming against the bat, and they’d gotten into an argument that, with one slap across her harlequin, white face, had her running out on him for. Normally, he would have pursued and given her the thrashing of a lifetime however he was too engrossed with his playmate it seemed. So he let her retreat to the Iceberg where she re-powdered her nose with greasepaint and fixed up her painted smile.

She knew how dangerous it was to start playing this game behind his back. In fact, it was border line suicide, to be honest. Which is why the room falls silent when that delightful, coquettish laugh of hers is rivaled by the chilling string of a-ha-ha-hee’s that resonate within the basement bar from the shadows.

She swallows past the lump that’s formed in her throat along with the rest of the bar patrons who part for Lucifer as he makes towards his prey.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” he says quietly as he clasps his bare hands together. She wonders idly where his gloves are and if he’s misplaced them (she’ll have to find him new ones, if that’s the case). “Dear Harley Quinn having a pleasant evening out on the townnnnn?’

Steadying her hand, she delicately sips her drink before standing to face him. She witnesses the nerve twitch slightly below his left eye. Knows that can only mean trouble for her later.

“I think I need to go run to the little girls’ room, actually,” she says gently before turning to the remaining few men surrounding her (most only due to the fact that they were too close in proximity to the Joker that making any kind of move to leave could land them a speedy death), “’Scuse me boys.”

She manages to catch the glint in Eddie’s green eye, the kind that makes her weep inside for ever trying to seem even a little bit tough.

As she click-clacks towards the restrooms, she’s stunned that he never makes a move to stop her. She had ultimately avoided his stare when she hopped down off of the bar stool, but had not heard even a terrible snicker from her beloved clown prince thereafter.

As she stepped into the small, dim-light corridor, however, she lets out a cry as she was roughly tugged by the wrist and wrestled into the shadows.

“Did you think that was funny? Hm? Did you think making a fool of me would pay off?” he seethes as she struggles to free herself from his formidable strength. The bell nestled into the bud of the decorative, scarlet rose in her hair jingles over the muffled noise from the bar. “Lemme give you a piece of advice to wrap that tiny, insignificant brain of yours around. When that spotlight you’ve seemed to…to take a liking to burns out, and you’re left standing there in the dark, there’s only one person that really, really matters. And do you know who that is, pooh?”

She stills her thrashing as his face rests inches before hers; his hot, sickly breath scattering over her painted, porcelain skin.

“Why, the one who shows the performer off the stage.”

Harley is quiet just then, her chest rising and falling as his ragged breath shakes the air and he looks at her with knowing, black eyes.

She’d been a fool all along. He was the star of this Ringling circus of brooding, flying rats and sociopathic clowns, she just hadn’t realized it. Or perhaps maybe she had. Maybe it took one aspiring doctor to spiral down into lunacy for her to get it.

Maybe it only took one joke.

--

Hard times, bad breaks
my baby shoots her mouth off

I like that song.
Hope you enjoyed

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