The OTHER Disney Princess
Roleplaying Log: The OTHER Disney Princess
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Jessica Jones is doing some work in Gotham… and gets to meet just a little of the Harley Quinn that everyone warned her about.

Other Characters Referenced: Boomerang, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow
IC Date: April 04, 2020
IC Location: Gotham, NJ
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 09 Apr 2020 00:12
Rating & Warnings: PG
Scene Soundtrack: Part of Your World (The Little Mermaid)
NPC & GM Credits: NPCs by HQ
Associated Plots

Dusk at the south edge of Robinson Park, and where is one Jessica Jones? Underneath one of the bridges, of course, handing a twenty dollar bill to a skeevy looking man she's just finished having a conversation with.

Not that her standard 'uniform' of jeans and leather jacket and combat boots is entirely out of place.

The dude is one of her informants. She could be out working on any number of cases. She usually has five or six going at a time: cases have ebbs and flows and lulls and dead ends, after all. Apparently, despite the loss of the $20, the PI is not that pleased with what she's heard. It looks like another dead end as she walks out from under the bridge to leap up onto the bank above. Her face is set into a scowl, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket as she starts to head towards safer zones.


o/~

"LOOK AT THIS STUFF, AIN'T IT JES' NEAT? BUT IT'S AMAZIN' HOW MY COLLECTION'S NEVER COMPLETE! LOOKIN' AROUND HERE YA'D THINK, DANG, WHERE'D SHE GET THAT THING?"

Out in the middle of one of the beautifully cultivated green spaces, spinning around in a pair of hi-top sneakers in red and black, is one shrill-voiced blonde who has a terrible case of Disney.

"I'VE GOT CAP GUNS AND GRENADES A'PLENTY! I'VE GOT MOLOTOV COCKTAILS GALORE! Ya want poison-filled squirt guns? GET YER OWN! But who caaaaaaaaaaaares?! No big deeeeeeeeeeeeal! I WANT MOOOOOOOOOOORE~"

OH, yes. The song is definitely continuing. Because Harley Quinn has fancied herself a musical princess, and she's got two hyenas who only further fuel the notion as she pirouettes down the green and emotes theatrically. "I wanna be where the Batman is. I wanna see… Wanna see him tied up! Waitin' around where my Puddin' can…" She pauses dramatically so as to bend down and best take up Bud's hyena face in her hands to stare at him wide-eyed. "What's the word? Oh, right." She lets him go so that she can stand up, race forward, and find a random citizen to belt in their face with arms wide open in full show-tune style, "SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" The back of her hand finds his face in the process.

From there, she only dances gracefully further down the gravel path she finds, oblivious to the fact that her hyenas are eyeing some lady's cocker spaniel.

"RIGHT HERE, WHERE THEY'D SEE! RIGHT HERE, WHERE DOGS PEE! RIGHT HERE, WHILE STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE~"

o/~


Jessica stops short on the path and…stares.

She has met quieter versions of Harley in the past. The version who was trying to break away from the Joker. Lyrics about her 'puddin' killing people while she ties Batman up say that maybe she's now staring at version 2. The really nutty one who really has that psycho in her head.

The fact that the civilian gets clocked in the nose while Jess stares in rank shock and disbelief is a testament to how long it takes her brain to catch up. Worse, she's not immediately sure what to do about it.

Especially as her eyes trail over to the pair of…

"Are those friggin' hyenas?" she asks nobody in particular, the skepticism and disbelief deepening on her face. They morph into something sour and exasperated, something that has her fumbling for cigarettes that aren't there because she picked a hell of a time to try giving them up again.

And yet there go her feet, carrying her inexorably closer, because this seems like something that's going to escalate in a hundred bad directions, and so…so clearly she's gotta try to intervene, right?

"Hey, Q," she says, spreading her hands as she approaches. "Nice night for a…"

A long pause.

"…Musical."


o/~ Try some of column A, and all of column B. o/~

There are parts of the kinder Harley in there somewhere. They recognize Jones after a confused moment that naturally follows when you see someone you kinda know, out of context and in a place that you're not expecting. But, to Jones's benefit (or misfortune, depending on how one chooses to look at the matter), she uses a name for Quinn that no one else does. The same brain that got her through biochem in her schoolgirl days sorts swiftly, and then places a single, glee-filled word on the harlequin's painted-red lips as she turns to look in the other woman's direction: "JONES?"

She's painted up in the way that her lover prefers her, skin white as snow and her eyes framed in black. One side of her black leather pants are painted with a red diamond pattern. The opposite side of the leather jacket she wears is done up the same. And its feather pompoms, one set red, one set black, that tie up her shorter and immaculately blonde hair.

But the light of her eyes is different, if Jones can see the difference in the dim light. Unfocused. Manic. Her arms spread wide, ready to sweep Jessica up in some sort of a bearhug. "Ya shoulda told me ya were in Gotham!!!" Her arms sag as she pauses to more quietly contemplate that statement, eyes rolling upwards towards the darkening sky. "Well, I mean, I guess I nuked the burner phone, so… Okay, yeah, that's fair. I suppose I didn't really make a huge effort to reconnect and all after… Well. After things." After Owen Mercer. There's a dangerous note in the mix there, warning the investigator to not dig too deeply there if she will but listen for it.

Harley tries to make it easier for her after her arms resurge upwards, not really noticing that both Bud and Lou have stopped heckling the cocker spaniel and have turned their eyes warily towards the brunette who faces their mistress. She doesn't seem to notice at all the fact that they've split from each other and have started moving, heads held low, to flank the one who dares intrude on their fun. "JONES!" Quinn repeats, arms bouncing. "How the hell are ya?! Why are ya in Gotham? I mean, it's not about the tank thing, right?"


Jess is, despite all outward appearances, kind of a hugger. She lets Harley bear hug her without complaint, though steps back to study the harlequinn get-up with lines of concern deepening around her cognac eyes.

She certainly hears the warning. And while Harley may not be paying attention to the extremely dangerous wild hyenas getting pissed off, Jones sure as hell is. She takes a few steps back, slowly, patting the air in a motion meant to placate them.

"Tank thing?"

Jones asks slowly.

"What tank thing? I mean…I'm not here about that. But what tank thing?"

Her mouth twists. It's a twist that speaks volumes. One that says: why am I asking this? I know I don't want the answer to this. Not really. But I'm asking this and here we go.

She most certainly does not touch the Owen thing with a pole of any size.


There was certainly a period of perhaps a combined 8-days-of-Chanukah and 12-days-of-Christmas where Harley Quinn was making the papers of Gotham for her reign of terror and team-ups…. a period that ended with her rolling a Howitzer downtown. She was arrested. She got loose. She's here, right now, and hugging Jessica Jones.

She stares blankly at Jess for a long moment as the question is asked, and then she laughs more a beat later. It's a laugh too loud, too high. "Don't worry about the tank thing," she says, her nose scrunching up.

It's about then that she notices Jones's body language, and those pulsing hands. She looks to the sides, and then sees what's going on at last. In a desperately disturbing underestimation of the present threat her pets pose, Harley's blonde head lolls to one side with a sitcom style exasperation. "Boooys," she drawls fondly, and then her hands go back to animatedly gesturing and bobbing her head as she talks. "This is my friend! Doncha worry about her! She helped me a while back with a thing with you know who and she's my kind of meshuggeneh!"

She stoops down, gesturing them close. "Come ta Mama, babies. She's okay."

For the moment, anyway, they lose interest in the stranger and they move instead to curl under and weave around her. "So, this is Lou," Harley says, scruffling one. "And this is Bud." As they rub their heads against her neck and sides, the clown revels in the attention. "They're my good boys. Been with me through some pretty tough spots."

Her voice drops to a baby voice as she cuddles the exceptionally stinky animals. "Haven't ya, boys? Yer my sweet little cream pies!"


It's a testament that Jess doesn't keep up with everything. Sometimes she's absorbed in whatever trail she's running down, and if a newspaper won't help her do that, well…

Jessica is being introduced to the boys and she nods with slightly wide eyes. Okay. Okay. Okay. This is probably fine. "Nice to meet you, Lou and uh. Bud. Ah…have they ah…been to the vet? All…done up on their hyena shots?"

She grimaces. Everyone. Every last person she knows who does what she does would know how to deal with this. She super does not.

"So…uh…what are you up to out here?"

She glances at the stranger. Hopefully he's smart enough to GTFO. "Tonight, I mean."


"They don't like shots much," Quinn replies, her eyes closing as she sets her head down atop Lou's. "I had ta walk my boys. They don't like being cooped up all day." The stranger does, indeed, book it now, leaving Jones in the dust to deal with the crazy clown princess.

No one really likes clowns in this city.

Huh. Wonder why?

Of course, that now leaves Jones alone with Harley and her two pets. Bud is not as content to curl up with Harley, and he chooses instead to sit beside her and stare at Jones with a quiet giggle escaping his throat every so often.

"And what about you? How ya been? Keepin' busy?"


"Ah. Yeah. Yeah I am." Jessica says.

And now she takes a deep breath. Time to dive into some dangerous waters.

"So look, Q…"

A glance down at the giggling dog…

"I can't help but noticing you're out here…"

Not doing things involving a tank. Maybe she should leave well enough alone.

"Ah. Assaulting. People. Randomly. I mean the song was lovely, but it definitely came with some punching. Is everything okay? Do you maybe…need anything? Can I maybe get you to…not do that kind of shit?"

Any other superhero. Any other. Would just get with the superheroing. Jessica grimaces at her own ineptitude here. Except she doesn't exactly see a cut-and-dried situation here. "It's kind of…"

She pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "You know. Likely to get you locked up again and stuff."


Harley head tilts in the opposite direction from before, and she looks like she is very carefully listening to the words coming out of Jess's mouth. At the praise, she brightens up considerably and chirps, "Thank you!"

But…

But then Jess keeps talking.

And then she mentions a return to jail. It’s the wrong thing. There's a flicker of something across Harley's face that looks like hurt. Like betrayal. That, ultimately, is what leeches the last of Harley's good humor out of her face and draws the diminutive criminal back up to her feet.

Her lower jaw juts out, and then she works it a little as her hands open and close into angry little fists. "I thought ya were my friend, Jones."


"I am your friend. You don't see me coming for you, right? I mean…but there's a whole city full of people who are going to if you keep doing this stuff. I don't wanna see you back there. Thus, you know, the talking. Friends speak up when their friends are being dumbass. And this…this is dumb, Q."

She gains more steam and confidence as she moves on, dropping her hand and looking at Harley with an imploring gaze. She has certainly delivered her fair share of tough love and 'you're being dumb' speeches to friends, with all the love in the world. Suddenly she's on firmer footing here. Or thinks she is, anyway.

"This isn't good for you."

She forgets the hyenas as she takes a step forward.


It happens so fast.

Jess takes a step forward. And Harl takes a defensive step back, Lou moving to interpose himself between Jones and Quinn. "You sound like the Bat," she snarls, her demeanor turning on a dime. She's devoid of regulation and grounding now; emotion is king and tyrant.

Bud immediately seeks to defend and his teeth snap in warning near Jess's wrist as his hackles start to rise. He's bigger than his brother—perhaps 160 pounds—and certainly the more aggressive of the pair. Quinn's eyes squeeze shut as she tries to get her thoughts sorted, and it means she misses Bud's first testing of the limit.

"Everyone always has such damn good ideas how this is all supposed to work! What's good fer me, what's bad fer me. Don't do this, Harl! Don't do that, Harl! Do this, Harley! Stop trying to explode Town Hall, Harley! DON'T DRIVE TANKS THROUGH THE MIDDLE OF GOTHAM, HARLEY. PUT YER HANDS IN THE AIR, HARLEY. DON'T COVER THE BATMAN IN GLITTER, HARLEY! WELL, WHAT IF I WANNA COVER THE BATMAN IN GLITTER?! HUH??? WHAT. IF. I. WANT. TO?!"

Harley's eyes open wide, and it will be very clear to Jess now, if it wasn't already, that the clown is most certainly not okay. Her finger stabs upwards into the air. "I'LL SHOW THIS CITY WHAT IT'S LIKE TO PARTY WITH HARLEY QUINN. MARK MY WORDS, THEY'RE GONNA REGRET THEIR DECISION TO STOP CARRYING PISTACHIO PUDDING."


"Shit!" Jess yelps. She sort of leaps backwards, snatching her hand away, even though the hyena hasn't actually gotten close enough to her wrist to do any damage. Her anxiety is high enough to provoke more of a response than is warranted.

Her eyes don't get any less wide as the rant reaches a fever pitch. She doesn't even take her opportunity to snark about being compared to the Batman.

She takes a deep breath. She's pushed her friend over the edge here, and she knows it.

"Okay, I hear you," she says carefully. "You want to do this stuff, and it's frustrating to hear people tell you all about the potential consequences, and it makes you really angry and shit, angry enough to wanna…um. Throw the kind of party nobody else really wants to go to."

She keeps her arms open, and keeps her distance for a moment. "Why do you though? Why do you wanna do all this stuff?"

She shoots the hyenas another nervous glance, her posture saying that of the fight, flight, and freeze instinct, she's caught somewhere between freeze and flight.


As Bud snaps, Harley snaps right back at him. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO BITE HER, BUD. KNOCK IT OFF! GROWN UPS ARE TALKIN’." As his mistress screeches at him, even he will turn his ears back and crouch low as he turns his large head toward her, looking properly chastised before starting to prance and laugh nervously. He wants to attack, clearly, but he is held in check by the jestress who looks downright murderous in her rage.

Then her attention turns back to Jones. “What about the parties I didn’t wanna go to?! Ya think it was some kinda joyride in Belle Reve?! But no one ever cares about that. I HAD TO GO ANYWAY, AND PEOPLE EXPECT YA TA JES’ SMILE AND LAUGH THROUGH IT. WELL, if I gotta go, THEN I’M GONNA TELL THE JOKES THAT I THINK ARE FUNNY!”

Or that the Joker does. Because if he’s not laughing, she sure won’t be.

But if he is…

He’ll remember he loves her.

He’ll remember her.

He’ll remember.

In for a penny, in for a pound…

A pound of flesh before it’s done.

Pale fingers rake their way into Harley’s hairline, only to slide free and then pull on her pigtails as she screams in primal frustration as more thoughts and considerations fly through, fast and fleeting. Once it’s done, she takes a deep breath, and levels her mad, pale gaze in Jones’s direction once more. She trembles as she tries to control her impulses, and exhales a shaky breath.

And then her wide, vacant smile returns.

“So, I didn’t even really punch that guy. It was more… an accidental backhand. But no, no. Yer jes’ like everyone else. Assume that Harley Quinn is jes’ back on some damn murder spree. ‘Cuz that’s all Harley’s good fer, right? Laughs and murder? That’s fine. That’s jes’ fine. I didn’t need another friend, anyway. I got friends enough.”

She has Poison Ivy. She has Scarecrow.

It’s not a lie.

…It’s not much of a lie.


"You uh, just told me there was a whole Howitzer incident," Jessica says, as gently as she can. "And of course you didn't wanna go. You don't wanna go, so…maybe don't do stuff that inspires people to make you go. I don't expect you to smile. I don't expect anyone to smile. Shit, I'd expect you to be crying into a bottle of Jack Daniels, you know? That's sure mostly my go-to."

Sure, not so much anymore, but it's always there. The specter never leaves.

"You think I'm judging you? I spent some time doing things I could have gone to jail for years back. I'm not some…high and mighty squeaky clean asshole telling you how to live your life. And I don't think that's all you're good for. That's kind of the whole point. You're better than this. You're smarter than this. You don't need to do all this shit."

Jess has relaxed a little, if only because Harley did call the dog (the hyena!) off and she didn't have to. It gives her some hope that Harley is still in there somewhere under all the clown makeup.

Granted. She knows her track record at reaching people when they're in the grips of crazy isn't great.

Motherfucking Snow White routine never has worked for me.


“The tank was a Christmas present. And not the kind ya give back.”

For a multitude of reasons, but certainly one of them was that Harley didn’t particularly want to give it back. She was angry at Gotham for being forgotten, sure, and angry at Waller for the way everything had gone sideways… So close to Owen Mercer, and yet… But she had been also desperate to prove to her venomous beau that she was worth the effort he’d gone to in order to get her out of Belle Reve in one piece—no small feat. That she was worth keeping. That she was worth being something to him. That she was worth anything at all.

“Why wouldn’t ya judge, huh? I’m sure B had a word or two to say when we split. Sure it didn’t paint me pretty. I mean, it’s okay.” Her roller coaster seems to be on a calmer turn, but it’s a blind turn. A palm comes to rest on her breastbone as she confides, “I get loyalty, yanno? Loyalty’s always gotta price ta pay. And that’s okay.”

Lou’s head settles against her hip, and his nose nudges her hand. Her free fingers come to scratch behind his ear with a familiar, comfortable ease. She looks down at him and smiles fondly. “We’re used to the price of admission, right, baby?”


Jessica shakes her head. "He had nothing but good to say about you. He was really broken up about it. He didn't say much, but at least when I talked to him? He was still in love with you."

She brought it up, so Jessica will go there.

And she chuffs and shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck. "Loyalty? The people worth being loyal to don't demand prices of you, Q. They do everything they can to make sure you pay as little as possible. If there's a price? Then that someone isn't treating you like you fucking deserve."

She keeps patting down her jacket at this point, and at last she finds it. The single rumpled cigarette and lighter at the very bottom of her inner pocket. She regards it for a moment, then sighs, and lights up, shielding the blaze from the wind with her hand. Maybe if she is just really really careful about when she smokes she can get away with it.

She inhales the sweet, sweet nicotine like a starving woman and blows it out. "Also if he'd had bad shit to say about you it wouldn't have made much difference. I make my own fucking decisions. You miss him? Mercer, I mean?"


The blonde shrugs and kicks a heel out. “‘Course.”

Then she abruptly tightens and shakes her head, her face scrunching up in a show of distaste and that hand on her collarbone comes out to dismissively wave the thought away. “I mean, no. No. Absolutely not. ‘Course not. I mean, why would I?”

And it’s true, isn’t it? He and the Winter Soldier are why the Punchline—a really good and mean

After the awkward beat, Harley guffaws. “Anyway, I think ya probably know very different people than I do.” She rubs her arm vigorously, and then bobs on the balls of her feet with a suddenly nervous energy. “So… I… Uh. Should probably, yanno. Scram and all.”

Before the Joker, who has been ascribed godlike powers of omniscience somewhere in Harley’s belief, sees and decides that there’s someone else who needs dealing with.

“And, also… Fer the record… It’s not that I wanted ta glitter Batman. I absolutely glittered Batman. Better ta beg fergiveness than ask permission, right?” She starts cackling. “HA! Ya shoulda SEEN it! Fer the love of BOZO, it was the best thing I coulda given myself fer Christmachanukah!”


"Batman's a douche. He can stand to have some glitter thrown on him," Jones says with a smirk.

And there it is, her normal dig at Batman.

"You know my number, Q. You need a place to hide, you got my number," Jess says. From who? From the police? From Joker? Maybe both. "You can be pissed at me, but you don't get to shake me as a friend just cause you don't like what I've got to say."

She points at the two hyenas. "Shots. Rabies shots. If they don't have them, for the love of god get them. Happy Christmachanukah."

Of course.

Is she going to leave this alone past tonight? Of course she fucking isn't.


Harley smiles brightly, blithely, as Jones talks.

She’s offered a place to go. A place to hide. Harley closes her eyes and waves a hand dismissively, her whole body moving to support the pantomime of sweeping the thought away.

She’s good. She couldn’t ever really take Jones up on it, even if she wanted to, and so it’s really a just a feel-good note. She has someone who needs her, after all, and someone who needed her so much that he braved the fiery hells of Belle Reve to restore her to his side. Everything that came before is but a distant memory.

Where could she go that he wouldn’t follow?

Yeah.

Sweep the thought away.

“And a happy New Year!” Harley sing songs, her hands spreading wide as her proverbial roller coast swerves back to a more even rumble. “Watch yerself, Jones. Gotham’s definitely more my kinda funny right now.”

And she doesn’t really wait before turning and dancing away, a shrill whistle cutting through the air. “Baaaaaaaabies! C’mon! Time fer ice cream!”

God have mercy on the ice cream shop.

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