Never Look Back
Roleplaying Log: Never Look Back
IC Details

Impulse catches up with Harley for another heart-to-heart.

Other Characters Referenced: Batman, Boomerang, the Joker, Tony Stark
IC Date: April 23, 2019
IC Location: Gotham
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 03 May 2019 03:21
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Night has come to Gotham city.

Well, it's really kinda more like twilight.

…Okay, fine. It's four o'clock in the afternoon.

The sunlight is bright and warm. The breeze is that perfect balanced movement of air; just enough to keep the air from feeling stagnant but not enough to even disrupt a well-coiffed hair do. Much of downtown Gotham seems to be out enjoying the fresh wonder of early spring.

The birds are singing! The children are laughing! …wait, those aren't children. Or birds. It sounds, once you get closer, like a security system alarm and the cackle of a hyena. If you know what hyenas sound like, anyway. And above it all, shrill and giddy joy as one Harley Quinn comes tearing down the sidewalk on roller skates with a diamond tiara on her head and her pets pulling her like a chariot. They snap at whoever lingers too long in their path, and Harley seems oblivious to it in her closed-eye glee. "It's good to be queeeeeeen!"

Gotham isn't his usual stomping ground. It's Bat territory, but that doesn't stop him from breezing through. And who knows, perhaps his 'breezing through' is done with some intent.

He's free of work, of being stuck behind a desk and staring at things to sign and legalese and whatever other boring things he has to deal with. If there's one thing that can help to make him feel good, it's to go out for a good run. But why here? He can literally run anywhere in the world. Gotham's hardly the tourist spot, or even one's first choice for a picnic.

Impulse hasn't really been out here since Owen had gotten in touch with him again. They'd cleared a lot of things up, shared a few pizzas. It was good. Good to talk. Good to patch things up. And that should have been that, things all resuming as they should, all the bumps smoothed out.

Clearly that hasn't been the case. There's one stubborn bump that's refused to disappear and can't be forgotten.

It's not at all difficult to find Harley, not when she's rollerskating while being hauled by a pair of hyenas. It's quite the sight. As is the tiara glinting on her head. And the voice that speaks up, familiar as it is, isn't from in front, but behind her, rather.

"Queen of what?"

“Doncha know? Queen of everythin’,” comes the reply, low and in a growl, after a start.

It’s only then that Harley looks behind her shoulder, past the jingle bell tail that sings so merrily as it bounces against her back. There’s a twist to it, a rise to her shoulder, that hides her chin and mouth and adds some ambiguity to the narrowing of her eyes behind the black domino mask.

“Get outta here, Speedy,” she says, eyes turning forward again. “This don’t concern ya. Ya’d look terrible in a tiara.” It’s the hyenas she addresses next. “Bud! Lou! Can ya go a little faster, please?”

But she doesn't, one should note, even try to get the toys that she no doubt has hiding in her work bag that is slung across her body.

Even Impulse has to wince at that tone she takes, such a 180 from the jubilant proclamation she'd made just moments ago. He drops back from her just a touch, which at least gives her a few seconds headstart as she urges her babies to mush ahead.

Chewing on his lower lip, he picks up his jog again, as anything more would catch him up instantly.

Okay, so he's found her. That'd been the easy part, really. This trip's really be on a whim, and once again proves his lack of foresight for planning things out properly. Still, he rallies on. If there's one thing he isn't, it's the type that gets lost whenever someone tells him to. Sometimes it's out of obliviousness. Other times, just pure stubbornness. Today, it's the latter.

"Aw, I just wanted to say hi. And you know, see how you were?" The speedster frowns a tiny bit. "Also, nice tiara..?"

Check…. How she is? The look that comes over her shoulder next is one of bafflement. Suspicion laces it. “Thanks,” she chirps after a minute, ignoring that part and speaking instead to the jewelry sparkling atop her jester’s cap. “I stole it myself.”

Then, without warning, she pivots her skates to screech to a halt. The suddenness of the gesture actually causes the hyenas to tumble sideways into each other and they are not happy as they clamber back up onto their feet. But they don’t immediately run, or approach. They do, however, consider their mistress and her hold on their leashes.

The clown princess herself, all red and black and deathly pale and dressed for a show, considers Bart at length before offering slowly, “…And I’m not giving it back. So, you can just not ask, if that’s what comes next.”

The speedster has a terrible poker face. Which might just make it worse, depending, as he looks perfectly sincere about what he'd said. Sure, Harley had dismissed whatever semblance of friendship Bart might've thought they had but it doesn't seem like he's quite allowed himself to believe it.

As she goes right ahead about admitting her theft, Bart's mouth quirks slightly, although not quite into a full smile. "Yeah, kinda figured, what with the alarm blaring back there and all," he replies dryly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. He'd come easily to a halt as Harley'd pulled herself to stop, a curious glance cast towards her unorthodox pets before he meets her eyes again.

"…okay," he says carefully, hands raised in placation. "Sooo if I just tell you to give it back, would that be better?" Little brat. He even grins.

Harley’s head cants sharply forty-five degrees to one side as her eyes narrow into thin little slits and nearly disappear in the sea of black kohl and smoky eyeshadow that surrounds them. “Yeah, that’s not happening. So, you can… yanno.”

A gloved hand—the one not holding the leashes—flicks in Bart’s direction.


It flicks a few more times, more insistently and altogether impatient, even as the rest of her stays stock still. “Vamoose. Andele. Am-scray.”

Of all the times that Impulse decides to stay put, this happens to be one. A brow arches behind yellow goggles, his face a careful balance of confused and amusement. The mild smile on his face hasn't quite vanished, and the way he watches her attempt to shoo him off might resemble that of a puppy wondering if someone's trying to play with them.

"Nah, I'm good," Bart finally says with a shrug, as though she'd been offering refreshments rather than trying to get him to leave.

"Been busy? Aside from borrowing tiaras without permission, that is. And you didn't say- oh wait, I didn't really ask, huh? How're things?" He shuffles his feet a bit, dropping his gaze to the ground. "I know last time we didn't part ways on the best of notes."

When Bart chooses to stay but, more importantly, chooses to not try to force the matter of her new glittering accessory, it gives Quinn pause. There's an unspoken calculus that goes on as she purses her nearly black lips.

“I take it by the fact that yer not tryin’ ta exact revenge or whatever that Boomerang is not, in fact, dead. And that you have also found him.”

Her tone is an odd cadence, making it hard to call ‘neutral’, but neither is it exactly easy to derive any real great insight from it. It could just as easily be a note of care as it could a data point to collect into a plot formula down the road.

“So, I guess what I'm sayin’ is, I don’t know why you care. Whatdya want?”

Then she notices that the sound of sirens is getting louder, and what seems to be a genuine confusion and curiosity fades into a distinct disappointment. “Aw, cripes and cricket bats, really? Are ya really trying to stall me? Sorry, but can’t let that whole booking thing happen. You have no idea how it puts a crimp on the afternoon”

She doesn't wait for an answer before rolling her eyes in concert with an exaggerated, world-weary sigh and turns around to push forward in a glide of her skates. “C’mon, boys. No time ta dance with the law dweebs today.”

Harley’s spotted pets skitter out of her way at first, but then get the idea to start running again.

"Wha? No, of course not! I never thought he'd be dead anyway- he'd be too stubborn to. But yeah, actually he finally called me not too long after I ran into you."

Bart lifts his head as Harley's expression shifts and the sound of sirens is brought to his attention. He blinks at the accusation, turning his head from back down the street towards the odd trio again. "No! That's not it, I- Actually I forgot about that…"

As Harley resumes her escape, the speedster looks back and forth again, somewhat flustered before he turns and jogs after her again.

"-have you talked to him?" he calls after her, not that it takes him very long to close whatever gap had grown between them in that handful of seconds, which probably hadn't been all that much even without speedster standards.

“Do ya think he’s talkin’ to me right now?”

Harley’s lip curls upwards into an unhappy sneer in anticipation of the answer that will surely come. Because the obvious answer is ‘no’, of course.

Fortunately for the clown in skates, she knows Gotham City like the back of her hand. And, like her gloved hand, she knows it without even needing to see it anymore. By instinct, she tugs on the leashes in her hand and sends her hyenas racing down a wide alleyway. She finds a place to sit on a crate near the dumpster and starts working to rapidly remove the skates on her feet and replace them with her favorite pixie boots. Two into the messenger bag, two out. There’s an ominous clink of metal that seems to bother Harley not one whit.

But while she does this, Bart will also find the very gentlemanly Bud and Lou interpose themselves between the speedster and the woman in red and black. And they also chivalrously raise their hackles and chatter.

“What’s there really left to say, anyway?” she asks, the words likely nearly lost beneath her pets fussing. “We all gotta do what we gotta do. And sometimes there’s doin’ that needs done, and it don’t require a whole lot of gabbin’, yanno?”

Bart's mouth opens and then closes again as he frowns. He'd been about to tell her that if he knew he wouldn't be asking, but the look on her face makes it clear what the answer is. And he's not sure if he's disappointed, surprised or just sad by it.

He trails after her, pausing at the mouth of the alley to glance about curiously. Gotham's not a city he's exclusively familiar with himself, but the last thing a speedster ever really thinks about is the possibility of getting lost. At least he doesn't, anyway. With Harley plopped down to swap out her footwear, he starts towards her, stopping short as her hyena duo get between them.

"Dooown…puppies?" Well, not quite, but he's not sure how you address hyenas. He's pretty sure they probably don't care either way. Still, even with two normally wild animals there in front of him, Bart doesn't show a lick of fear as he gets about as close as they might allow, watchful as he flicks a look from them to their owner.

"I dunno," he admits, shrugging after Harley continues. "It just seemed like someone needed to say something. He said you were his girlfriend, after all."

A gloved hand reaches out towards Bud (or is it Lou?), the way an overly curious kid would try their luck to pet an animal they weren't terribly familiar with. Then again, that description pretty much fits Bart.

"I told him that it was my fault," he says. "About the pass and stuff. He still didn't blame me for it."

“Why didja tell him that? I toldja not ta tell him that.”

Once the exchange of footwear is made, Harley looks to Bart with another completely dumbfounded expression. It actually takes her a second to jerk them back before Bud can make his best play at trying to bite the speedster’s hand off.

Well, he tries.

Hopefully Bart is fast enough.

“BOYS,” Harley bellows soon after, and both of them startle, only to then slink behind her with heads hung low.

She sighs, and then kneels down between them, wrapping her arms around them and scritching their throats. It’s Lou, though, who gets Harley’s head resting atop his as her eyes close as she tries to chase out the crowd of thoughts creeping in.

She feels her stomach turn, and she doesn’t much care for the sensation.

Still, her eyes open, and then her head lifts from nuzzling her super stinky pet. Her lips tug unhappily up into a purse on one side and her brow furrows as she finds herself at an actual loss for words.

Miracles do still happen, apparently. Rarely. But they happen.

"-no you didn't," Bart says, his expression guileless as he looks at Harley. So fixated on her is he that he nearly doesn't avoid moving his fingers in time. Visually it's a very near thing as Bud's teeth goes right through the speedster's fingers, vibrated at high speed to give him momentary intangibility.

A brief look is shot at the hyena, but as Harley pulls them closer to her in an odd embrace he watches. The silence creeps in as he stands there awkwardly, and he scratches the back of his head.

"…he didn't blame me for getting tricked, because he said you were fun," he continues after a moment. "And…you are. We didn't hang out much, but when we did, we had fun. …right?" He lifts his gaze towards her again, seeking confirmation that it had been a shared experience and not simply one-sided.

"Look. I don't know what all's been going on between you, or what will happen now. And I don't really know what happened even before all this. All I know is that when Owen said he had a girlfriend, he seemed really happy about it. And even when I talked to him last…"

Bart trails off, searching out the words as he drops into a crouch, draping his arms across his knees with sagging shoulders.

"…I don't know. I guess I don't understand why it won't work, why….why everything."

Harley, for an exceedingly long moment, looks utterly uncomfortable. After all, this… this kid means something to her ex-whatever, and she is trying so very hard to put walls up between everything around him and her currently on-again paramour.

But… there’s something so completely innocent about Bart’s summation of the scenario that Quinn falters. She’ll regret this later, for certain, but she takes the leashes in her hand and wraps them around a steel handle on a dumpster that is occupying the alley. Her fingertips run through her babies’ coats as she walks between them to get to Bart.

She still reeks of them when she squats next to Bart.

There is so much she wishes she could say, answers dancing behind her expressive and pale eyes as she looks to search his.

“It won’t work because…”

Because she’s fundamentally broken. Didn’t he say as much?

Because she is an acid that will corrode everything around her until there is nothing left.

Because one of the most feared criminals in Gotham would grind Mercer to dust, even if she didn’t destroy him.

It’s a strange thing, perhaps, for love and care to twine together with pain and loss like this. But there it is, strangling Quinn like a thick vine. Her gaze, whether Allen realizes it or not, is the drowning kind. Too wide, and slightly unfocused. Madness lies in its depths.

But so too a certain, fleeting clarity.

“…because Owen Mercer deserves better’n me. So do you.”

And then she starts to chuckle. The chuckle births a fuller laugh. “I mean, that’s really the best punchline, right?”

He doesn't glance up at her until he realizes she's come to settle in front of him, and though the color's almost lost behind the tint of his goggles, amber eyes are still wide and expectant for an answer as he meets her pale gaze.

"It won't work because…"

It's like a cliffhanger for a show, even though the conclusion comes so much sooner. Still, it may as well have been an eternity, or a wait in line for a popular amusement park ride. Those two still about even out in Bart's head.

He's not sure if he should be disappointed at the response, but he doesn't seem surprised by it. Does that make it better or worse, though? The slightest wrinkle of a flinch marrs his brow a Harley begins to laugh, but even if she finds something funny about it, Bart looks more sad for it.

"People don't always get what they deserve, but sometimes it isn't what they really want either, is it? So which is better for them? Getting what they deserve, or fighting for what they want?"

A brief laugh slips from him as he shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. "I can't say what me or Owen deserve, or you or anyone. Saying everyone deserves to be happy sounds sappy but really, who can say what anyone deserves? What's 'better'? It's all different in different people's heads." He winces. "Just thinking about it's making my head hurt, that's for sure."

“I think most people can agree that they don't deserve to be dead.”

The little gem is offered as Harley shrugs. She settles backwards into a sit on the alley floor with an unceremonious bump, and then casually drapes her arms over her knees as she continues to watch the speedster from beneath her commandeered tiara.

“I mean, unless ya’d like ta disagree on that point, in which case I will gladly reframe the way I categorize things as ‘fun’ fer ya.” Her hands come to the divide of red and black over her heart, palms laying flat there, but pauses before she says anything.

Police cars scream by, and Quinn tilts her head thirty degrees to the side to watch them pass the mouth of the alley around Bart, before tilting it back and continuing. Pale eyes narrow.

“The thing is, fun usually has a price, and I’m really tryin’ ta eat the cost fer ya, here. We had some good laughs, you an’ me.”

"Mm…Yeah. I think you're right on that."

A half-smile flickers across Bart's face at that. The conversation was getting far too philosophical for his tastes, and he wasn't kidding about the headache. But Harley keeps it from edging too far in one direction or the other, at least, and to what follows, he shakes his head, the faint smile still managing to keep its place.

The sounds of sirens has him looking back towards the street as well, a reminder of Harley's little earlier crime spree. He tenses slightly, but only until they've gone by before he looks over at her again.

"I'm finding out lots of things have a price," he sighs, making a face. Still, for what it was worth, they'd still had fun, and even if it might have been part of some carefully calculated scheme, he's pretty sure the time they'd hung out had been genuine shared enjoyment. He runs a hand through his hair, peering at her from beneath the tuft of bangs that comes flopping back into place, nearly curtaining his eyes.

"…so what now?"

There’s an uncharacteristically long silence as Quinn considers the question before her. Her legs fold beneath her tailor style, making her costly headgear and slumped spine all the more ridiculous.

“I haven't got that part figured out yet,” she says, notes of disappointment and frustration bleeding through. “This wasn't really the way I really pegged things goin’.er face tilts upwards, and her thoughts drift in part to the game of perspective that their height plays over the alley.

Her pets, resigned to their current predicament, have calmed enough to start rooting in the alley filth for food. “ Not ta mention,” she adds quietly, “Mistah J is kinda particular about the way stuff gets done.” She looks then back to Bart, smiling with something akin to apology in the curve of her lips. “Artists and their art. Particularity kinda comes with the package.”

And her love is an artist, isn’t he? A master with poison and explosives and treacherous wit. A genius who writes out the poetry of his love by promising to level his expertise against anything that would keep them apart. That’s how it went, right? Overactive imagination and an unsteady grip on reality makes it so Quinn’s not entirely certain.

“And we all know what love did to fan fave Van Gogh, yeah?” She continues anyway, In case that lesson has missed Bart, she pantomimes sawing at her own ear, hidden though it is behind her cap, with a renewed and altogether crooked grin that seeks to convince Harley every bit as much as Bart.

That seems pretty par the course of how Bart handles many things. Dash ahead. Work things out as he goes. There's a lot he hasn't considered, and he hasn't really given much thought to how things might or should or he wished would work out. But it's weird coming to a point where he's just plain stumped on which direction to run with next.

Oddly enough, it's a small comfort to know he's not the only one who hasn't figured it out, although maybe he's the only one that can feel such a sentiment. He lifts his head a little more, glancing over at Harley's slumped form.

"…how was it supposed to go?" he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant, but curiosity still wins out.

It takes him a second to connect the dots regarding who 'Mistah J' is, but his inquisitive expression still remains as his experience with the guy's been limited to the past recent events. …not that it was the best experience, mind, but Harley hung around him for some reason. The grin he not-quite flashes back at her seems more of a grimace, but it takes him a lot of effort not to spew out more questions.

“Can ya keep a secret?” Harley asks in a hush, although her expression a little skeptical.

Okay, more than a little skeptical.

That's the sort of question that, were it asked in the presence of most of his teammates, they would've probably all shared the same look. The sort that goes with the caption of 'are you seriously asking him of all people that?'

It's not very clear whether Bart's own hesitance in responding is a good thing or a bad thing, really, considering his namesake. He cuts his own quick reply off with a thoughtful look, sitting up straight. Finally he looks straight at Harley and gives a firm nod.

“I didn’t think B was gonna be there. I didn’t think you were gonna be there.” The other people? Eh. Probably didn’t register too high on her list of concerns. But let’s forget about that part, okay?

“I didn’t want to be in New York. So I expected Tony Freaking Stark to show up, kick our asses, get us put back in Arkham. But then B was there, so I had to improvise. Because ya know what Mister J really doesn’t like? Someone thinkin’ that they can play with his things without there bein’ any consequences. So…”

Harley’s head drops, then, and her eyes drop to the fabric of her suit. “I had a choice ta make.” She shrugs. “I chose the thing that kept B breathin’.”

Pushing up to her feet with a abrupt certainty, there’s a sharp sniff as she adjusts her tiara with a dramatic flair and runs her gloved fingers along the tails of her jester’s cap like they were her very own pigtails and turns towards her beloved hyenas.

“Don’t believe me? Ask the Bat. Ask the Bat what got him to Stark Tower so fast.”

"Uh, it's kinda my building now so how could I not be there…?" Bart points out. But if they hadn't, would it have worked out as Harley expected? There were a whole lotta bombs. He should know, having had to grab 'em all. Dealing with the whole operation had been a group effort, undoubtedly.

When Harley gets up, he watches her, still soaking in everything else, still playing back what had happened that night in his head.

"….I believe you," he says. He might not have been sure of it that night, not after seeing that wild, distant look in her eyes, but he'd still chosen not to truss her up and drop her back with the others while he went to deal with the bombs. But there'd been…something, the last time he'd spoken with her. He hadn't quite recognized it- he still isn't sure what it is, exactly, but what he is sure of is that it seemed to be the same thing as what he'd seen when he'd talked to Owen, not long after. There was pain there. But that hadn't been all.

The point about Batman does surprise him, however. Does that mean that she'd been the one to tip him off? The game being played here is far more complicated than he's aware of, but he suspects that's only because he doesn't know everything about Harley, about the Gotham crew in general.

“At the end of the day, it’s like I toldja. Ya shoulda jes’ told Mercer it was all my fault. Cuz that spring snake ain’t goin’ back in the can.”

Quinn starts untwisting the leashes and she’s very gentle with the frayed nylon loops.

“It’s not all bad, I guess. I mean, Mercer gets ta move on, guilt and psycho free, an’ I didn’t even have ta have a super awkward conversation!”

Over her shoulder, her grin shines lopsidedly and she laughs again. This sound is a little more unhinged. “I really hate the awkward post-betrayal talk. It’s just so… awkward.

In the end, didn't it kind of circle back to it being her fault? It wasn't something that neither Bart nor Owen had put a name to, moving on in a conversation that just seemed like it needed to be moved along. He sighs, still watching as Harley begins to work at the leashes of her babies.

"Hm. Well, I guess I kinda tanked some of the awkward conversation," he suggests. Not that he thinks it wouldn't make it any less so were Harley and Owen to get around to speaking again.

Bracing himself, Bart starts to get back on his feet. "So…that's it, then?"

“I’m doin’ everything I can ta keep Mistah J in Gotham. What else is there really ta do?”

Her arsenic white brow furrows in confusion, Harley’s confusion plain. Her eyes adopt once more a vapid light, her lips ever so slightly agape.

“I’ve been with Mistah J long enough to know how this goes. It’s okay ta burn the rope bridges down. Just throw a Roman candle or somethin’ on ‘em when ya do. Makes the whole thing prettier when it goes up in flames.”

A pause, as her free hand spreads like a glorious explosion.

“Also a little more unpredictable what with the ‘pew pew pew’,” she admits, pantomiming the firing of fireworks in random directions, “but doesn’t that just mean more fun?

Harley doesn’t wait for the answer.

“What I’m saying is, if ya need a goodbye, I’ll give ya one and all the permission in the world ta never look back.”

Is that the game, then? Bart feels like he should have figured it by now, his expression carefully neutral for a moment before being spoiled by a slight furrow of his brow. He nods a little, maybe to acknowledge his understanding, or that Harley knows the Joker best.

It's a dangerous game she's playing, a frayed tightrope that you couldn't be sure if it was beginning from one side or the other, maybe both.

"…I don't need a goodbye. I'm not sure what I want, really. Maybe…just…" The speedster's face scrunches up, and one can practically imagine the gears working in his head. "Be careful. Okay? I know what you said you've done and for who, but I hope that somewhere in there you know what you want too."

He smiles then, a fragile thing, but sincere for all that it is. It's a reluctant good-bye and a 'but I hope it isn't really' all in one.

"Also, if…you need any help. Like, honest help- not breaking into places help, then…"

Bart gestures vaguely, the offer there. Maybe she doesn't want it, or maybe not admit it, but he'd still like to think that somewhere in all this, they can still consider each other friends. Weird friends. Of strange circumstances.

Harley’s head tilts. Her eyes squint unevenly, one so small as to nearly close entirely in the pool of black behind her domino mask.

She considers Impulse carefully.

“I’m gonna be fine,” she says after a long moment with a scoff, although the chuckle that falls behind it doesn’t sound quite as convinced. “It’s gonna be fine,” she offers further to try to bolster the argument. But really, it’s not Bart with whom she’s arguing.

“But yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“…if I need it.”

“…which I won’t.”

“…because it’s gonna be fine.”

But, really, can anything with the Joker reeeeeeeeeeeeally be plotted for a course anywhere in the country of fine? Likely not.

And perhaps the socionormative thing to do now would be to reciprocate the offer.

Harley doesn’t. Instead she starts walking forward with her pets clawing eagerly across the floor of the alley to move faster.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?”

The more she tags on words to her response the higher Bart's eyebrow ticks up. He figures the important part is that she'd essentially accepted his offer, so that's fine with him. Well, if she doesn't ask for his help then maybe all is as fine as she insists. He just wishes that thought were more believable, but as she heads off with the obvious intent of being on her way, the speedster steps aside.

"Eh, I'll try," he says. It seems the least he can do, all things considered. The trouble he gets involved in may not be the same as Harley's brand, but it seems an inescapable part of being a speedster or a hero either way.

“If ya can’t,” Harl offers as a parting shot, chuckling with another crooked grin as she rounds her way out onto the sidewalk behind Bud and Lou, “Make sure it’s the very best trouble ya can find!”

And with that, she’s being pulled behind two hundred and forty pounds of cackling predator and out of view.

Her voice carries, however. “Bud! Lou! C’mon, boys. Can we leave the purse dogs alone, please?!”

"Sure won't be boring at least!" Bart calls after her, watching with a grin as the two hyenas haul her out of the alley and off. He laughs a little at the comment left in her wake, shaking his head as he gives himself a quick stretching out before making his own departure.

"…I can't help but feel like I forgot about something…" he ponders as he crosses into Alabama. And then it hits him as he stops at the doorstep of the Crandall house. He'd forgotten all about Harley's tiara theft.


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