Dark Nights (Invite Only)

[Mephistophelily]

Currently an Invite Only thread.
Will consider others that didn't get PM if they send ME a bio. Don't be mad if I deny- Some parts are on hold for certain folk.
And yes, I did do a cheesy movie title rip for the thread title...

Harley usually loved Halloween. It was one of the most wonderful times of the year for her, most of the time... A chance to see Gotham at its worst, intentionally: People dressed in the strangest of manners, the spooky feel that held over the city, the way that people like her could mingle about freely in their devious ways without the ominous eye of the law peering over them immediately. The hesitation was always there; was that truly who it seemed to be, or simply someone with a fascination with Gotham's villains?

Usually she'd be on the streets herself right now, costumed and crazed; looting and laughing, all in the name of her beloved Mister J.

Usually.

But tradition was broken this year, her excited exploits having led to her taking an early run at her festivities, only to find it not so easy to blend as it would have been in the madness of the holiday. The Damned Bat had found her, bringing her into Arkham with one of his usual tirades on needing to behave herself, how she used to have a bright future and that she could turn her life around if she left Joker as a memory of her past.

Blah, blah, BLAH.

She found a new way to entertain herself, her pale toes dragging along the dirtied floor of her cell as she lay her back against the wall, doodling in the mess with her tongue jutting from her lips. A sketch of her Puddin', though crudely done. She giggled happily at the makeshift grin she gave him, tapping her foot beside it and clapping her hands. "This one's comin' out good, Red!," She called out with a pleased tone to Ivy, her friend having been placed in the cell next to hers. Why exactly the Green Goddess, as Harley liked to refer to her, had ended up in Arkham was beyond her... Bringing up the subject of how one got snagged by the Bat was never a good idea.

"Still drawing, clowngirl?"

"It's perfectly fine for me to doodle," Harley stated defiantly, sticking her tongue out at the guard that peered into her cell. "I ain't hurtin' nothin'. Other than the dirt on my floor. Don't anyone clean around here? SHEESH!"

He turned his head to peek at her drawing, sighing as he realized what it was. "Yeah, my son did a pumpkin of your Clownman last night. Looks like your drawing, too. Yup... Both look like a 6 year old did it..."

Harley scowled with that, shoving her foot up against the bar as she pointed to her dirty toes. "Did HE draw HIS with his tootsies?!," She snapped angrily, wriggling them at him. Her scowl grew a bit more as the man scoffed at that, starting to walk off from her cell. Her foot came down hard against the cement, Harley sitting up to watch him move away. She paused as something on the floor caught her eye; a few dried pumpkin seeds. Ahh, right- he'd said he and his boy had carved them up last night... Must be he'd worn his boots then as well.

Tsk, tsk. A man should always wear clean shoes. Did anyone ever see Mister J with dirty shoes? Heavens no. She made sure of that personally... because heaven help her if he DID spot a speck of ick on his kicks. She'd get one upside the head.

Her own tiny toes slipped through the bars, curling about the tiny seeds and scooping them back into her cell. She grinned darkly as she plucked them from the insole of her foot, clutching them in her palm before pressing tightly to the far right wall of her cell. "Iiii-vyyyy...."

No response.
"Guess what IIIII got...."

Still nothing.
"Red-!"

She scowled, playing with the seeds in her palm. "Fine then, I guess I'll just eat 'em instead... Hey, what's the easiest way to crack a punkin seed?"

[LitShark]

Joker drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his leather armchair, where had that ditzy bitch Harley gotten to. Harley loved this blasted holiday, God only knew why, and she was the only reason he even tolerated the grand fatwa that was Halloween in Gotham City. Joker owned his role twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, now every poser, punk, pretender, faker, faux-thug and fucker in this city-shaped toilet was going to dress up, paint their face and run their sorry excuses for amuck in his city.

“Where the fuck is she!?!?” Joker exploded, suddenly full of fire and rage after sitting in relative silence for almost an hour. “We have big plans tonight and she’s fucking late? Disrespectful! That’s what she is! I have half a mind to carve a smile in that bitch’s throat I do… I doo… I do, do, DO!”

“Uh, Boss…” Jonny Frost, the ranking Captain of Joker’s crew in Harley’s absence, spoke up. Always hesitant to speak to the boss. “We just told you… the bat scooped her up and locked her in Arkham. I told you that almost an hour ago. That’s when you sat there and started drumming your fingers…”

“Yeah!” Killer Croc assented in his deep, matter-of-fact baritone. “We all thought you were thinking’ about what to do.”

“What?!?!?” Joker shouted, his voice rising into the register that could only be described as shrill. “That damn dirty rat with wings! I’ll kill them both! And I’ll kill all of you next! Then I’ll kill everybody in costume! Including Myself!”

After that last speech Joker descended into a fit of destructive rage, flipping over his armchair, breaking off one of the legs and tossing it through the nearest window. Next Joker turned his rage on Jonny Frost, seemingly because he was closest, pounding his face with brutal punches until Jonny fell to the ground so that Joker could stomp on his head.

“I- Hate- This- Damn- Day-!” Joker shouted each time he stomped on poor Jonny’s face.

“Uh… Boss. I might be speaking out of turn here, but maybe you should go rescue her.” Killer Croc suggested, flinching noticeably when Joker turned toward him. “I mean. Me, Jonny and the boys all know the score. We could start the party without you and her then while the Bat’s distracted dealing with us, you and her come in and take Batman by surprise.”

Joker pondered for a moment. Only stomping on his subordinate’s face occasionally as he stroked his painted chin.

“I don’t know… Charging into danger to rescue the damsel in distress is really more of the Bat’s deal. I mean what would people think if word got out that I was… heroic?” Joker muttered, seemingly forgetting that he was in a warehouse full of people. “Besides, Arkham is where they put me when I’ve been bad. Why would I go there on purpose?”

“Bosh!” Jonny croaked from under Joker’s polished purple wingtip shoe. “Nobody knowsh vat boat like yoo. Seth errbody looth, den de Bat won’th now woo tho gow afther!”

“Jonny, Jonny, your enunciation is terrible. We might need to enroll you in some remedial classes before you besmirch my name any further.” Joker taunted, having forgotten already that he was still standing on Jonny’s face. “But, you make an excellent point! It would be good to add a little bit of chivalry to this organization would help repair our reputation, lest anyone think we’re a bunch of common street thugs. Alright! I’ll do it!”

Joker used Jonny’s head as a springboard to hop back onto his toppled chair. He howled through the broken window down at his city.

“You hear that? You pretenders to the throne! Big Daddy J is going to rescue his Harley-kins! Then the two of us are going to shove this stinking holiday right up your make-believing asses! HAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAAaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!”

The Joker laughed until he ran out of breath. The sudden head rush from the massive inhale that followed made him dizzy and he fell from his precarious perch atop the toppled chair.

“What are all you jackals looking at?!?” Joker demanded of the awe struck assemblage. “Go out there and raise some hell!!”

[Mephistophelily]

((Little blip))

[Chasnicollette]

(( Having seen the video for "Ignorance" by Paramore, I can't help but think of Harley as being played by Hayley Williams.

Ivy, on the other hand...

...goes a little something like that. ))

He had first found her in Robinson Park.

Him.

She'd barricaded herself behind a wall of vines, behind a swirling wriggling mass of rainforest tendrils and sprawling canopy. A home away from home, staked out for life of the chlorophyllic kind.

He'd crashed a cropduster into it. A cropduster filled with fast-acting herbicides and exfoliants, laying waste to her little kingdom in mere moments. And through the billowing fumes, already evapourating, already harmless, some sort of Wayne Industries chemical that broke down instants after use, self-eliminating pollution, through the clouds of green that were her dying plants, her brothers and sisters, he had walked.

"Isley," he had growled, and it was the voice of the dead and the damned. She feared it and she wanted it; but no man who named himself after an animal would ever have sway over Poison Ivy.

Even her natural resistances to poison hadn't saved her from the full impact of the cropduster's wrath, but she had managed to fire her crossbow at him, unleash spores, anything to slow him down.

She'd managed to get away. She'd managed to get to Slaughter Swamp, out on the outskirts of Gotham's deep darksome night.

Not far enough. He'd found her there, too. Out near where they'd drowned old paedophilic miser Cyrus Gold ages ago.

He'd found her there and there had been no escape.

"Isley."

Doctor Pamela Isley, Poison Ivy, leaned her head back against the far left wall of her Arkham cell and exhaled a sad little cloud of oxygen out into the air. She breathed in the dank, empty air of the asylum and breathed out fresh air.

Not fresh enough.

This place was sick and sad and devoid of The Green that gave her strength. The gardens were untended and crusted with the leaves of the dead. Even the mosses and lichens that crept up the outside walls were bereft of any kind of soul. Their Green was stagnant; it sickened her.

When they arrested Freeze, they would take away his raygun. When they arrested Ozzie, they would take away his umbrellas. When they arrested Dent, they would take away his coin.

So it was with Ivy. They had taken away her brothers her sisters her Green.

And thus she was powerless. Listless. Unable to escape.

"This one's comin' out good, Red!," She called out with a pleased tone to Ivy, her friend having been placed in the cell next to hers.

Ivy scoffed faintly. Quinn sounded cheerful enough, that was perhaps a boon.

(Ironic that Quinn should call her "Red;" Red was the province of animals, Ivy's colour was markedly different. Except, of course, for the autumnal maple of her hair.)

The trouble was, dealing with Quinn took a certain quantity of energy. And, Earth help her, Ivy just didn't have it.

She didn't have the energy.

And thus she listened to the conversation between Quinn and the, what was the term, "screw?" But she did not contribute.

But after the "screw" had moved along? "Iiii-vyyyy...."

A crimson eyebrow quirked up her pale verdant forehead. But she did not attempt to wet her lips to reply.

"Guess what IIIII got...."

Perturbed now, and curious, Ivy turned her head and gazed at the wall that, served as barrier between clowngirl and flowerlady.

(Momentarily, this struck her as bemusing, a sort of same-sex Pyramus and Thisbe, communicating through a wall...)

But she said not a word.

"Red-!"

"Fine then, I guess I'll just eat 'em instead... Hey, what's the easiest way to crack a punkin seed?"

Green green eyes went wide indeed.

Seeds?

She whirled, and placed her fingertips against the wall, and she drew a deep breath that caused her chest to rise and fall with ferocious voluminous need.

She reached out with metanormal, parahuman senses. She touched upon the thin emerald tenuous links that ran between all things of gardens and woodlands and jungles and fields. She probed the sargasso of this tangled, brackish, billabong place, and she found it...

...found them...

They were dry. But they had not been dry long. They were not yet all the way gone.

(She recalled hearing from Selina once about a thing called the mammalian dive reflex, and there was a thing like that for plants. Even prehistoric kernels still could pop if they were set upon a fire.)

She reached down deep, and she murmured gentle, tender, adoring things to them. Sweet little promises of nurturing and pleasure, classical music and lovingkindness and sunlight and water and soil. So many things she would give them. They were her brothers. They were her sisters. They were her children.

And one of them loved her back. There was a spark inside it and she fanned it into photosynthesis and the seed quivered amongst its brethren in Harley's palm.

(She was tired of sitting in the dirt and she wanted to touch the soil again.)

The seed quivered.

The other surrendered pets 'round here don't have what it takes. They've let this place beat them. They've let these animals beat them.

But you. You. This is Halloween, you amazing little thing.

This is your time.

Keats. To Autumn. 'Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness!'

She smirked to herself, sensual lips turning up in their lascivious delight.

Or. Perhaps. Not so mellow.

But fruitfulness...

"What's the easiest way to crack a pumpkin seed?" she rasped, with a chuckle, far more power now in her voice, far more energy.

That one seed fissured open in Harley's palm, and out of the seed poured forth a long, thick, tendril...

"You ask it nicely."

It grew and grew and grew and she fed it and it gave her life and soon the other seeds were jumping and quivering, too, like those Mexican beans with the creatures inside, begging to help and living to serve and in turn powering her like a solar flare...

"Put them by the bars, Harley," she breathed. "You sow the wind. I'll reap the whirlwind."

[Mephistophelily]

"Ask it?!" Harley's nose scrunched at that suggestion, knowing fully that her plant-loving friend was one to communicate with seedlings and the like- but the idea of trying to talk to one herself seemed a little... far fetched, even for her.

Something tickled her palm. A bit more than a tickle, a bit less than a bite or a sting, but something made her hand feel curious. Peeking back down at the flat seed, she found it to be far more than that NOW. She let out a light squeal over the growth, nodding as though she expected Ivy to hear the motion of her head from between the bricks. (A possibility, maybe, with all the screws and marbles that seemed to be loose in the blonde's head anymore.)

Depositing the now writhing developments against the bars nearest Ivy's cell wall, she slunk back a bit, knowing better than to get in the way of Red's green thumb- and whatever else mint-hued body parts the woman deemed necessary for her work.

"I think your askin' worked pretty good, Red."

She watched the plants developing at a faster and faster rate, the deep green tones that flowed from the vines suddenly making her a bit homesick. Joker was probably wondering where she was right now; curious about his Halloween presents, questioning her loyalties...

Oh, how happy he'd be to see her. She could only imagine the joy that'd come to his face...

Or how pissed off he'd be.
She wasn't sure which to expect right now.

Well, she'd find out soon enough.

She licked her lips, grinning devilishly as she pressed her face against the bars beside her bed. "YoooHooo... Mistah Guaaaaa-rrrd...."

"What the hell is it NOW, Quinn?!," Came the shouted reply.

Meh.
She was used to it. Different name, same tone.

"I think ya foor-gottt somethin'..." Her cheeks were tight to the cold bars, her grinning face making it even more of an indent against her skin as the guard approached. She cackled out a laugh as realization hit him, clapping her hands together in glee. "Cleanliness is GODLINESS, Charlie! Shame shame shame!"

[Chasnicollette]

"I think your askin' worked pretty good, Red."

Pearl-white teeth lined up neatly between parted Saint Patrick lips.

"Why, thank you," Ivy drawled, "Harley dearest. I do pride myself on being... irresistible."

Ivy heard that devil-woman's voice call out, pleased as Punch: "YoooHooo... Mistah Guaaaaa-rrrd...."

Ivy cracked her knuckles, her voice a whisper: "'Silver bells and cockle shells...'"

"What the hell is it NOW, Quinn?!," Came the shouted reply.

"I think ya foor-gottt somethin'..." Her cheeks were tight to the cold bars, her grinning face making it even more of an indent against her skin as the guard approached. She cackled out a laugh as realization hit him, clapping her hands together in glee. "Cleanliness is GODLINESS, Charlie! Shame shame shame!"

Ivy rose to her feet, and stepped to the bars, and smiled a wicked honeysuckle smile.

"'...and pretty maids all in a row.'"

The plants, the plants, the pumpkin vines, they exulted, a pumpkin patch without a shred of humility...

One vine's burgeoning fruit swelled into a full-grown pumpkin before the guard's very eyes, and the vine rose and lashed and smashed that pumpkin to bits across the guard's face.

He staggered, startled, trying to wipe the stringy orange bits out of his eyes, the same sort of thing he'd dug out of a pumpkin the previous night to make some hollow decoration.

The vine itself unfurled and then slithered like a constricting boa around the guard's neck, and he sank to his knees, desperate to inhale the same oxygen that Ivy exhaled on a regular basis.

Other vines reached up, reached up and up around the bars of Harley's cell, climbing up, well, like ivy. And they pulled tight, pulled taut, pulled hard, with all the ferocious strength of their dedication to the woman who had set them free.

Perhaps with slightly more effort than would have taken that delicious photosynthetic fellow from Metropolis, the metal bars groaned and whimpered and shrieked and parted...

Panting for air, the guard was turning a lovely shade of orchid.

"Grab his keys," Ivy purred, "would you? There's a love."

"As cathartic as that felt, well, we're not out of the woods yet."

[LitShark]

He was driving, of that much the Joker was certain. He felt the steering wheel in his hand, the gas pedal humming beneath his foot and the wind whipping through his green hair; all of these things confirmed for him beyond a doubt that he was driving. Where was he going? How had he gotten here? Whose ugly S.U.V. was this? Those were the kind of questions he’d have to piece together on his own. But it could not be said that he wasn’t driving…

Joker glanced down, past the steering wheel to where the familiar bundle of colored wires were hanging near his knee. That and the shards of glass poking against his seat told Joker that he must have stolen this hideous “H2- Hummer”.

But why?

The last thing Joker wanted or needed was a gaudy, gas-guzzling, eye sore like this. It seemed so useless to steal such a heinous vehicle when he already owned so many lovely vehicles that better suited his taste and needs. Perhaps the reason for the stolen vehicle was related to his still unknown destination. He wasn’t going to the safe house, which he would have if he was coming from a caper. In fact he was headed away from headquarters.

“Goldilocks!” Joker shouted, a sudden moment of clarity coming to him.

The first car Joker had scouted had been too small, the nearby truck he had spotted had been too slow, but the unsightly Hummer had been just the right size to blast through the wrought iron gates of Arkham Asylum.

“Ah HA! Ha Ha Ha HA!” Joker screamed, thrilled that he had finally remembered where he was headed.

It was just in time that Joker had remembered his destination, and he veered sharply through opposing traffic to make his turn. There was only one road that led to and from Arkham Island and if he had missed it… there was no telling where he would have ended up.

The tires squealed and other cars honked as Joker sped down the dimly lit road lined with dead and dying elm trees. Now he only had to remember why. Why was he going to that blasted place? He hated Arkham! Hated the cells, hated the guards, hated the bars, hated the food and hated the Bat. He was getting off track again…

Usually when he got confused like this, Harley or Jonny would be there to straighten him out and point him back down the right “wrong” path. Where the fuck were they? Why was he alone? It just didn’t add up!

Wait! Something that Jonny said…

Going to Arkham and setting everybody free. Of course! It was a grand distraction to keep the Bat occupied while he and Croc got things ready for him and Harley.

“Harley!” Joker shouted out loud.

Now he remembered, the cursed Bat had stolen his Harley-kins from him and locked her away in that cursed boat. It all came back to him in short bursts of fragmented memory: The broken chair, the broken window, elocution lessons for Jonny, drumming fingers, damsel in distress.

With his purpose renewed and the towering spires of Arkham asylum fading into view, Joker mashed on the gas pedal and moved his stolen vehicle into the middle of the narrow two lane road. The front gates were coming up fast and he damn sure wasn’t about to slow down now. In fact he was speeding up.

The speedometer captured Joker’s full attention as the little needle jumped up above one-hundred miles per hour and kept right on rising. He was giddy with the danger and recklessness of it all, and watching the needle continue its slow rise up the dial had taken over completely from watching the road. Joker began giggling when the needle passed one ten.

The blasted wrought iron gate tried to distract Joker, making an awful crashing sound and even shattering the windshield as Joker sped through it. It even went so far to jolt the car off its line as the massive beast of a car ran it over. The tires were skidding now, but Joker was unconcerned. He was mostly upset that the needle had stopped rising, but it didn’t stop his hysterical laughter as he stared at the console.

If Joker had been watching where he was going, he would have realized that he was in the main courtyard and careening toward the patients’ ward. His right rear tire had gone flat, running over the gate and now it was impossible to maintain any coherent sort of directionality. Fortunately for Joker, he wasn’t paying any attention to where he was headed, his only concern was pushing the speedometer higher and higher.

When the needle reached one-hundred and twenty miles per hour, the Hummer flipped and began to roll. Laughing like a fiend Joker rolled upside down and back again as the massive vehicle smashed into the marble entry way to the ward.

Crashing, banging, breaking glass and stone. It was like a cement and steel hurricane for a moment as Joker laughed at the needle dropping back to zero. Joker tried mashing the gas once more, but this time it only caused the engine to erupt in flames.

It was a slow process by which Joker managed to pull himself from the mangled wreckage, but he was still laughing despite the blood trickling from somewhere in his scalp.

Joker stood atop his ruined and burning vehicle, peering down at the stunned and injured guards and orderlies. The steady stream of laughter continued as Joker reached inside his coat for his .44 revolver. The sound echoed in what was left of the hallway as Joker put lead into any of the employees who weren’t completely crushed under the wreckage.

It was almost convenient, bang-bang-bang-bang-bang and there was no one left to oppose him. The problem came with the one bullet left in the gun. Joker wanted to reload before moving on, but wasting a bullet just wasn’t him…

The laughter stopped suddenly as Joker turned the gun on himself, holding the large barrel up to his temple. His heart was racing- this was it. He was finally going to do it, once and for all. It was fitting in other ways too, that he would die in this place, where everyone had always said he should rot. This time he was breaking in, but it was going to be his last caper. His purple wingtips wouldn’t move from this spot again.

At last the curtain was closing, the misery was at an end. Sure he would miss some things: the smell of fresh spilled blood, stacks of stolen cash, the Bat screaming in agony and of course Harley.

Wait, Harley!

Joker was here to break her loose. He couldn’t off himself yet, in the middle of an unfinished task…

Just at that moment, the crisis resolved itself, in the form of another guard racing through the doors at the far end of the hall.

“Oh, shit!” The man managed to croak, fumbling for his side-arm.

BANG!

The bullet that had almost gone into Joker’s brain split a gaping hole in the guard’s chest instead. Just like that, Joker was laughing again. Harmonizing with the metallic sound of empty shells clinking against tile as he reloaded his weapon.

“Glad you helped me sort that out pal.” Joker grinned, reaching down to turn up the corners of the dead guard’s mouth. “In return, I’ll leave you with a smile. He he he he HAH Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!”

It was the greatest achievement Joker could imagine, to die with a smile upon one’s face.

[Mephistophelily]

Harley was still giggling now, trying to stifle it at the irony of it all; the guard had been boasting so happily on the number he and his boy had made on those pumpkins the night before, taunting her on the work he'd done in his caricature of her Puddin'...

They must have heard him, those tiny little seeds. Red always said that they could hear things, feel things, do things that made Harley simply stare at her like a dog listening to a squealing whistle- but now she got it. This was the plants' revenge, encouraged by Ivy.

Go, plant, go.

"Ooooh, pretty colors." Harley smirked as she leaned against the bars, watching him with idle interest as his hue changed a variable rainbow before her. She knew the various colors rather well; the faint pink at the start, the deepening red, the harsh violet, and then-

"THAT one's one'a Mister J's faves...," she noted, jabbing a finger through the bars to poke Charlie's eggplant-tinted cheek.

She realized then that she should have been moving. Ivy's plants were multitasking, something Harley herself was rather bad at sometimes. Moving quickly through the pried bars, she nodded to Ivy's request, turning about in a slight pirouette to snatch the ring of keys from the guard's belt. "Thank yooooou, Chaa-oo-lie," she crooned, grinning as she stepped on her toes to kiss his cheek.

Back to Red.
Unlocking the Green Goddess' cell, she made a grand gesture of bowing and waving her arm out beside her, grinning at Ivy as she exited.

"As cathartic as that felt, well, we're not out of the woods yet."

"Hrm? Hmm. Mmhmm." Ivy and her many words, Harley and her lack of vocabulary. Though Ivy did bring up a point; they were out of their cells... so NOW what?

The sound of gunfire outside brought about a curious look to her eyes, wondering if this was a good sign or bad. The Bat wasn't big on guns, but that didn't mean that the actual guards in this dump hadn't managed to gain some guts and bring out some weaponry. Glancing around, she smiled slightly. "Maybe we should give everyone a present from the Great Punkin, Red...," she suggested with a twirl of the keys about her finger.

[Eazy]

Two Face

How many times had the Bat put him in here? He’d lost count by the time they reached the double digits. Regardless of the number, it was getting rather ridiculous. Even the irony of being amongst those he once fought to have placed behind bars and away from civilized society had long since lost what charm it had. Much of this place was rather tedious at this point. Nobody visited anymore, as it seemed even Gordon had lost hope in redemption for one of Gotham’s favorite sons. The highlight of the average day was putting up with the various therapy sessions as they tried to ‘fix’ what was wrong with him.

“They'll never figure it out.” The man formally known as Harvey Dent muttered to himself as his empty hand fidgeted slightly, the month long lack of a certain silver dollar making him a little twitchy when left alone, “I’m not the one with the problem.”

The former district attorney had once believed the city in need of protecting from the very people sharing this prison. Truth is, everybody had their own crimes which they deserved but often avoided any type of punishment for. Even those at the top of the food chain, feeding off the work and labor of others as they stuffed themselves with their sweat and tears deserved to suffer more then they did. He learned the hard way that it didn’t matter who you were, as everyone had an ugly side which fate would eventually find a way to punish. The scar faced inmates own method of carrying this out simply involved less then delicate procedures.

Pulling himself up from his bunk, Two Face slowly paced around the cell without any intention other then to do something physical with himself. Why couldn't they let him have his coin? It's not as if he could kill anyone with a friggin’ coin. At least, not literally, which was likely the reason for their cutting him off cold turkey. Not only did it force him to try and decide on things without its participation, but its absence made it nearly impossible for him to decide on any possible methods of escape. Ideas would swim around in his head, with little in ways of settling on certain details for their execution; let alone which one to take. Not only that, but its mere absence was near maddening in its own right.

Eventually settling on simply leaning against the translucent door of his cell, it didn't take long for Two Face to hear the faint sounds of heavy foot steps hastily making their way toward his direction. Turning his head, he noticed an overweight guard that Harvey had seen before, yet never paid any special attention to racing by as he called out, “Hey, fat man?! Tell the administrator I want to speak with him about my coin again?”

“Not now, Dent! We have bigger things to worry about then your obsessions!” The man yelled back without stopping in his tracks as word of an incident outside caught a few ears by now.

“Hmm Interesting.” Was the certified madman’s only response as he watched the man and those after him vanish around a corner, idly running a horribly scared finger along the door of his cell as he waited to see what else may come. After all, there was rarely anything else to do within these walls except wait.

[LitShark]

There was something almost poetic about the way a bullet fit into its chamber. On their own, the .44 caliber shells looked too damn big to fit into anything other than a hole that they themselves blew agape, but the large holes in the spinning chamber of Joker’s gun cuddled them perfectly into the pre set grooves designed specifically to house the larger sized shells. They slid in easily and stopped sharply, the ridged end holding them in place. Once all six were in place, Joker ran his thumb over the back end, feeling the round shells sitting flush with the steel revolving barrel, the small round firing caps inset in the back of each round.

For some reason it reminded Joker of Harley. He was like the bullets, too large and violent to be forced into a clip. Without proper care, these little shells could backfire in a misaligned weapon, destroying the gun and the shooter alike. But in this perfectly suited barrel, the explosion was contained and directed in the proper direction and was suddenly a deadly accurate weapon.

Joker had admittedly been misfiring in Harley’s absence, but he hoped that once they were reunited the deadly accuracy would return. It would be necessary since Joker had misfired their stolen escape vehicle into wreckage.

As Joker passed through the heavy metal doors into the main ward where the “patients” were housed in dingy prison cells. But when he passed through the doors what he saw shocked and alarmed him! There were vines and pumpkins and a guard on the verge of death. What the hell was going on? Was this what they did in this place when the J-Man was on the lamb? Joker had spent consecutive years in this place, more often than he cared to admit, but there had never been any sort of festive seasonal parties with public execution of guards.

“It’s not fair!” Joker wailed, firing rounds at the moving undulating plant in the center of the room. “Where was this when I was stuck in this dump? Not fair! Not fair! Not fair!”

Joker’s rant was interrupted when the plant lashed back at him, long winding vines whipped through the air at him, obviously none too fond of being shot (then again, who was). Joker managed to dodge them swiftly with a one handed cartwheel, still pointing his gun.

“What the hell is going on here? Where is my Harley-kins?” Joker demanded of the plant, pointing his gun at it threateningly. “Hey blondie! Have you seen my sexy clown woman? She has a painted face and killer curves… she…”

Joker stared for a long moment at the blonde woman who was now running toward him. She did vaguely resemble Harley, but the face was all wrong. Simply wrong, not what his beloved mistress looked like at all. The woman almost resembled his old therapist from this place…

“Back up!” Joker demanded, shoving the gun in the direction of the impostor. “Who are you? What have you done with my Harley? Don’t come one step closer! I’ll kill you I will! DOPPLEGANGER!!!”

Fear was something Joker didn’t feel often, but right now he was nigh on terrified. Sure Halloween was known as a time of grand farces and tricks, but this was just too much. He pressed the barrel of the gun against the imposter’s forehead roughly backing her up toward the plant which was still writhing around.

“Where is she?” Joker demanded, his voice rising in pitch and urgency. “I’ll blow you back to your damn queen Dopplepoppolus if you don’t tell me.”

It was then that Joker spotted Poison Ivy also outside of her cell. Joker spun the gun on her next, still gripping Harley(?) by the throat.

“Are you the real thing or another impostor?”

[Mephistophelily]

The keys twisted and turned about her finger, Harley watching them with a proud half-smile before letting them fly off completely as the sound of someone shouting behind her sent her into a spooked panic. She knew that voice, and knew the tone quite well. Twisting about in her spot, following the flying keyring that launched from her hand, she gave a soft shriek of happiness upon the sight of him.

But then realization on what she'd lost came to mind, spotting the ring on the floor.

The keys!
Ivy'd want those-!

She chased after them, snatching them back up with a quick lean to the right, though didn't stop in her journey as she ran straight to Joker. His anger seemed rather flooded over right now... But then again, he had such a quick-changing mood that it was hard to tell how long a Happy Joker would stay that way.

The gun being redirected against her forehead certainly brought about the brakes.

"P...Pookie?," She squeaked meekly, her eyes nearly crossed as she tried to look up at the gun barrel. He was having another one of them, wasn't he? Another bout of infuriated confusion; the type that were fun to be at his side during- but certainly not on this side. She raised her hand hesitantly, trying to get his attention. "Mister J, it's me, Har- hrck..." She couldn't get her own name out before he grabbed her throat, the raised hand clutching onto his wrist.

Certainly wasn't turning out to be the happy reunion she'd envisioned in her cell.

Her eyes widened as he turned the gun on Ivy, still going on about imposters and fakes. He really thought she wasn't herself?!

[Chasnicollette]

Unlocking the Green Goddess' cell, she made a grand gesture of bowing and waving her arm out beside her, grinning at Ivy as she exited.

Ivy sauntered out, exhaling the fresh air of freedom, a smirk decorating her evergreen lips. "Much obliged."

"As cathartic as that felt, well, we're not out of the woods yet."

"Hrm? Hmm. Mmhmm."

"Precisely my thinking," Ivy chuckled.

The sound of gunfire outside brought about a curious look to her eyes, wondering if this was a good sign or bad.

Indeed, the swift report of gunfire, repeated reports, flashes and bangs and echoes, this could mean any of a number of things. Whatever one's position on gun control, one could agree that lawmen and villains were potentially capable of turning firearms to each's own ends with equal facility.

Ivy's eyes narrowed. This was either a blessing or a curse.

Holland's friend. The one in the raincoat. He liked to pontificate about the dual nature of synchronicity, and how it would rise up to bite one on the "arse." Harvey would have liked him, Ivy thought; the man in the raincoat.

Glancing around, she smiled slightly. "Maybe we should give everyone a present from the Great Punkin, Red...," she suggested with a twirl of the keys about her finger.

A vine slithered up to the dirty floor by Ivy's toes, and it, too, produced a beautiful pumpkin which ballooned to blue-ribbon size in a smattering of eyeblinks. More pumpkins meant more seeds meant more pumpkins meant more seeds.

Ivy glanced from her self-perpetuating source of ammunition, angry, inspired plant life rising up and thinking for itself, even if she had been the one to instill the thought in the first place... she glanced from that to the keys.

"Ah, yes," she simpered, a lascivious grin. Speaking of Harvey...

"'Seasons greetings,'" she drawled. "I can see why he likes you." (Although, she wasn't speaking of Harvey anymore.)

But oh, speak of The Devil. And what a devil he was. The Ace of Japes.

“It’s not fair!” Joker wailed, firing rounds at the moving undulating plant in the center of the room. “Where was this when I was stuck in this dump? Not fair! Not fair! Not fair!”

Recoiling, scooping up the pumpkin at her feet and huddling it to her, she half-sheltered from the gunfire in the confines of her cell...

IDIOT! Almost as bad as that godforsaken Bat, STOP BLOWING HOLES IN MY PLANTS!

With a twist of her wrist and a surge of her psyche, she furiously encouraged the vine to release the guard, he was unconscious by now anyway, if only half alive, and to strike back at the mad mad man...

Joker’s rant was interrupted when the plant lashed back at him, long winding vines whipped through the air at him, obviously none too fond of being shot (then again, who was). Joker managed to dodge them swiftly with a one handed cartwheel, still pointing his gun.

Damn, Ivy scowled. I always forget how fast he is. Perhaps the neurotoxic effects of the acid that--

“What the hell is going on here? Where is my Harley-kins?” Joker demanded of the plant, pointing his gun at it threateningly. “Hey blondie! Have you seen my sexy clown woman? She has a painted face and killer curves… she…”

Ivy blinked. Oh, you cannot be serious. He doesn't recognise his own moll Friday?

Joker stared for a long moment at the blonde woman who was now running toward him.

“Back up!” Joker demanded, shoving the gun in the direction of the impostor. “Who are you? What have you done with my Harley? Don’t come one step closer! I’ll kill you I will! DOPPLEGANGER!!!”

Ivy groaned. Is this his idea of a daring rescue?

He pressed the barrel of the gun against the imposter’s forehead roughly backing her up toward the plant which was still writhing around.

The gun being redirected against her forehead certainly brought about the brakes.

"P...Pookie?," She squeaked meekly, her eyes nearly crossed as she tried to look up at the gun barrel.

“Where is she?” Joker demanded, his voice rising in pitch and urgency. “I’ll blow you back to your damn queen Dopplepoppolus if you don’t tell me.”

Ivy's lip quirked. A growl, deep and shamefully animalistic, thrumbled in her throat.

First he tries to perforate my garden quite contrary, and now he tries to treat his centerfold like a magazine for his ammunition...

You are making me. Very. Very. CROSS INDEED.

Emerging from the half-shelter of her cell, the pumpkin hugged to one cocked hip, Ivy stalked into view. Her eyes smouldered with the same fires that made Holland into what he had become, what she yearned and longed to be: elemental.

Her eyes burned with elemental fire.

It was then that Joker spotted Poison Ivy also outside of her cell. Joker spun the gun on her next, still gripping Harley(?) by the throat.

She raised her hand hesitantly, trying to get his attention. "Mister J, it's me, Har- hrck..." She couldn't get her own name out before he grabbed her throat, the raised hand clutching onto his wrist.

“Are you the real thing or another impostor?”

"I know not this Dopplepoppolus," she seethed, staring unflinching down the barrel of this gun, "but with respect to Themyscirans everywhere? I'm The Queen of the Fucking Amazon. As such, I'd prefer it you didn't let that dirty pretty thing come to overmuch harm."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, and suggested to a vine that it crop up quietly behind The Clown and sprout a nice thick leaf. If need be, it could lash down and insert that leaf between the hammer and the firing pin, preventing the gun from going off.

She didn't watch the vine grow up over Joker's head, though. She kept her eyes on his face.

Fast. Unpredictable. Quinn may be overwhelming at times but she deserves better than to get her skull ventilated at your itchy-fingered hands.

Taking the pumpkin in both hands, she held it up into his line of sight, and, taking a deep breath, decided to try a different tactic. He was as immune to her pheromones as she was to his Joker Gas, no reaching him that way, but mayhap her voice could make a dent in his bleached cranium?

Hostage tactics.

She waggled her eyebrows at him, and rocked the pumpkin from side to side, halfway juggling it.

"Let me put it to you this way, Joker," she mused. "If I were an impostor? Then how would I know... that the reason you so enjoy caving in skulls with crowbars is because it sounds so very much... like the smashing of a pumpkin?"

And with that, and a soft little silent apology, Ivy squashed the gourd between her two powerful hands, a hollow wet splurting noise, the sound of bone and brain beneath a tyre iron, music to The Joker's ears.

"'Gish,'" she repeated, echoing the onomatopoeia, and the wordplay inherent in this was delightful to her Columbia-educated brain.

"No impostor am I," she crooned softly, her gaze never wavering from the eyes of the madmadman with the gun. "And no impostor is the little sylph from whom you throttle the air."

[LitShark]

Joker grinned and ground his yellow teeth together. The sound of the crushing pumpkin elicited a high pitched giggle from behind the clown’s clenched teeth, it did sound like the crushing of a skull, and that made him giddy. It wasn’t until Ivy mentioned the girl whose throat was still in his clenched hand that Joker noticed Harley.

“Harley-kins!” Joker exclaimed suddenly, pulling her by the throat into an aggressive but heartfelt embrace. “Where have you been my sweet Harley-Harley? There was a meeting, you weren’t there. I was so angry, and then Jonny was slurring his words. Oh Harley! How I’ve missed you.”

The long awaited greeting was followed by a sloppy and aggressive kiss, the mangled and scarred corners of Joker’s mouth allowing saliva to slip out down the sides of Harley’s face as his tongue crept into her mouth to roughly nudge at hers.

When the kiss broke, Joker saw that much of his makeup had rubbed off onto Harley’s previously unpainted face and he felt downright silly for not seeing it sooner. Of course it was his Harley, the one and only, she just didn’t have her face on yet. It was strange that on this day of all days, she would be costumed as a “normal” person, but Joker could forgive her even that, now that he knew who she was.

“What are you doing here Planter-Box?” Joker asked, chuckling slightly at his own crude innuendo. “Did you get lonely hanging out with your shrubs and ferns? I suppose you could spend the holiday with us, provided you don’t bring the blasted Bat as your plus one. As we speak, my boys are setting up for some sort of party downtown. I’d tell you more about it but the details seem to have slipped my mind.”

[Chasnicollette]

“Harley-kins!” Joker exclaimed suddenly, pulling her by the throat into an aggressive but heartfelt embrace. “Where have you been my sweet Harley-Harley? There was a meeting, you weren’t there. I was so angry, and then Jonny was slurring his words. Oh Harley! How I’ve missed you.”

The long awaited greeting was followed by a sloppy and aggressive kiss, the mangled and scarred corners of Joker’s mouth allowing saliva to slip out down the sides of Harley’s face as his tongue crept into her mouth to roughly nudge at hers.

Gesturing at the vine to withdraw, the immediate danger was past, Ivy couldn't help but feel a disgusted sort of irony.

I save Quinn from being strangled, why now am I the one who feels she's choking to death?

Patiently, however, hands on her bejumpsuited hips, Ivy bided her time whilst The Clown Prince of Crime plumbed the depths of his blonde-haired counterpart's throat.

When the kiss broke, Joker saw that much of his makeup had rubbed off onto Harley’s previously unpainted face and he felt downright silly for not seeing it sooner.

“What are you doing here Planter-Box?” Joker asked, chuckling slightly at his own crude innuendo. “Did you get lonely hanging out with your shrubs and ferns? I suppose you could spend the holiday with us, provided you don’t bring the blasted Bat as your plus one. As we speak, my boys are setting up for some sort of party downtown. I’d tell you more about it but the details seem to have slipped my mind.”

'Planter-Box.'

How typically y-chromosomal.

If I had my crossbow I'd plant a bolt in your pistils and stamens and then who would be smiling?

She smiled thinly, though. And tried to be civil. She liked Quinn and Quinn liked The Joker, there was a certain amount of civility required when dealing with the friends of friends, it was only good etiquette.

"My shrubs and ferns and I were from each others' presence," she explained, "untimely ripped. They were turned to a blasted heath by the aforementioned pinioned mammal, and thus, rather understandably, he won't be appearing on any of my guest-lists for the foreseeable future."

She looked about, and pondered, and remembered what Harley had suggested about gifts from The Great Pumpkin. "It shan't do for me to be a third wheel at your bombastic soirée, however. But perhaps instead of a plus one, I could have a plus two?"

Pausing to let this sink in, Ivy then pressed the point: "Dent is here, Joker. Honour amongst freaks; we should turn him loose. After all, as wild as an ace like yourself can be, would it not be wilder still if we had a deuce in our hand?"

[Mephistophelily]

Harley had tried to explain. So many different words had attempted to leave her lips- but it was rather hard for them to find the right route when Joker's grip was causing one hell of a road block. Yet she still managed to have a light smile on her face; even with the psychotic clown clutching her throat.

It was simply a hug. A very, very strong bear hug.
With his hand. On her neck.
Every girl loved a guy who could take her breath away, right?

As Ivy explained how his paranoia was unnecessary, Harley nodded furiously, gasping for air as he yanked her forward and into a tight hug. Recognition! Finally! Wheezing for breath, she let out a light laugh, though the dizzy spell that was starting to come over her made that a bit harder than she expected.

"S-Sorry, Puddin'," she managed to croak out as he spoke of the missed meeting and anger she had caused him. "I was just tryin' t-"

Her apology was cut short by his intoxicating kiss, sloppy and rough as it may have been. She nearly melted against him right then and there, smothered beneath his lips and whitened face. A dilapidated smirk came to her face as he let up, blissfully content that she'd received his forgiveness.

What he was talking about, however, finally caught her attention as she ran her fingers along the muss of facepaint he'd left upon her own face. A crude attempt at reapplying her own, but if he was kind enough to share, she wasn't going to deny it.

Besides, it would most likely save her from having to go through all that again.

"Party? Ooooh! I knew I could getcha in the Halloween spirit, Pookie!"

Ivy's mention of Harvey reminded her of the keys still in her hand, proudly thrusting them forward to mere centimeters of Joker's nose. "Can we invite more people, Puddin'? Puh-leeeease? Maybe we can, y'know, get on Doubleman's good side finally." Leaning in closer to Joker, she gave a slight frown, resting a hand against the side of her mouth as she confessed a not-so-secret to him. "I kinda think he doesn't like me too much...."

Still clinging to her deviant clown, she leaned back as far as she could, giving an upside-down smile to her greenthumbed companion. "We may just have ourselves a full of poker night between Mister J and Harv... He's got the cards if Cutie's got the coin..." Finally releasing her arm from Joker's shoulder, she started to fall back, cartwheeling herself back to a better position as the keys clinked against the floor.

Meandering her way to the door of Dent's cell, she rang the keys in her hand like a set of bells, making certain to look Dent right in the eyes as she rested her hands on the bars. "One'a my favorite movies was one'a Jimmy Stewart's... The one where everybody thought he was psycho cuz his best friend was an invisible bunny. Harvey.... Made me make up one'a my own. Mine... Mine wasn't as nice as Jimmy's. Harley had a naughty Harvey." She tittered a laugh with that, inserting the key and twisting, though didn't fully open the door. Her right hand still rested on the bars, Harley glancing up at him once again with a rather sour look to her face. "You... are gonna play nice, right Harv?"

[LitShark]

“The Harveys?” Joker exclaimed at the mention of his former rival and occasional co-conspirator. “I love the Harvey’s, or at least I do half the time. One of him has a half a stick up his ass, but the other one is good for a laugh…. Or two! He he he he he- HA Ha Ha Ha Haaaahhhh!!!”

Joker railed his high pitched laugh, laughing at his own joke at first, then battling the echoes of his own laughter as they rattled and bounced around the tile walls of Arkham Asylum. He leaned into Harley’s affectionate touch and leaned his lime green quaffed head on her shoulder as he laughed. It was good to be able to lean on her, it helped alleviate the head rush that would sometimes cause him to sprawl backward and fall.

That was Harley’s role in Joker’s life, a steadying shoulder to lean on when he laughed so hard that his head spun. She was also his punching bag when he needed one, not that it was her alone, but Joker somehow preferred her suffering to that of the other subordinates who often found themselves unfortunate enough to be within arm’s length of his wrath.

After a reassuring pat, Harley was gone, cart wheeling her way through the halls making her way over to the cell where the Harveys were held.

“I wonder what poor sucker tried to put the Harveys in ‘solitary’ confinement.” Joker chucked, eyeing Harley’s derriere as he followed. “For a bunch of self-described shrinks and the-rapists, these fools don’t know much about psychosis.”

Joker fished around in his pocket, probably for a little longer than needed, as he rounded the corner into the hallway. As Harley taunted the Harveys, Joker leaned around her, extracting a coin form his pocket, leaning against the doorframe and pushing Harley against the bars. Flipping the coin absent-mindedly, just out of reach of the Harveys, Joker threw in his two-cents.

“Hello Harvey. Hello Harvey.” Joker greeted, still flipping the coin each time he spoke and addressing each side of Harvey Dent’s mutilated face separately. “How’s hard time treatin’ ya? Treatin’ ya? Is the shock therapy helping with your rampant M.P.D. and schizophrenia? Schizophrenia?”

It was all Joker could do not to break out laughing at his own antics. It was how Joker imagined a cat must feel, batting an injured mouse from one paw to the other. The foe is already vanquished for all intents and purposes, but it’s more fun to make it suffer than finish it off or let it go.

“I don’t suppose we could let one of you boys out and keep the other locked up? No, I don’t suppose you’ve reached the psychological plateau yet. It’ll take many more months of intensive therapy before you can let go of either of your alter-egos, much less leave one behind or suppress the urges of either.” Joker mused, abandoning his double speak, but not the coin flipping. “Now, I’d like to help you Harveys, but to be honest I’m not sure who you are anymore and I don’t think you do either. I’d hate to impede your progress, opening this cell might set you back years Harvey and Harvey. I just don’t know…”

Joker was enjoying taunting the Harveys more by the second.

“I know how we’ll decide. I’ll flip a coin!” Joker grinned, flipping the coin a few more times before he finished. “It only has one head; unlike you, poor Harveys. So let’s let chance decide. Heads you can leave, tails you stay.”

One last flip, and then Joker turned the coin over onto his sleeve.

“Looks like you fellows lucked out. Go ahead Harley.”

[Eazy]

The commotion outside of his cell became pretty hard to miss after a while, as the distant sound of familiar, but not necessarily welcomed, voices began to fill his ears. The clown's often annoying voice was nearly unmistakable for those unfortunate enough to listen in on his numerous spiels. From there, it wasn't difficult to rationalize (as far as the Joker and the idea of rational thought could go) the reason behind his little surprise visit to the infamous asylum.

The Joker, Harley Quinn, and while her voice wasn't quite as distinguishable as those two pranksters, it was easy for Dent to recognize the sound of Pamela Isley's voice. Now there was a source of conflict for old Harvey. While the clowns were people both sides of his personality simply desired to strangle, Ivy was a person one side wished to strangle as the other desired to hold her intimately…..and then strangle.

As they talked, Harvey was able to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation over the rather cumbersome background noise caused by neighboring cell mates of little consequence to him at the moment. Despite such distractions, enough had been picked up where it wasn't a surprise by the time the Joker's little playmate finally made her way toward his cell. Two Face didn't say anything at first, but let out a low, annoyed growl which matched the angered expression as he listened to her prattle on about imaginary friends and an old movie he'd not seen in years. He heard the comparison before, and it wasn't anymore amusing now.

Then he finally showed his ugly mug. The Clown Prince of Crime. It was rare for those who made up the underbelly of Gotham to get along outside of mutual interest. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that malarkey. Hatred and respect were the most common emotions felt toward the big shots in the city by their peers. When it came to the Joker, even for the most hardened of criminals, it was more like hatred and fear. Harvey fell into the former of the two groups, and one could see the whites of his knuckles starting to show in his ‘good’ hand as his fists tightened around the bars while the jester spoke. The mockery of his absent coin only made it harder for Dent to contain his rage, but contain it he did, like a caged animal allowing the children to have their fun while silently plotting their demise. And their demise it would have been, were it not for the fact that he needed their assistance even after being let out of his cell. So he sucked it up, both sides of his face showing hints of his anger as he stared primarily at the Joker, until the flip of a coin decided his fate.

“Lucky, lucky me.” He finally decided to let out in a low, almost growled out voice as the maddest of madmen declared the verdict and told his lackey to let the prisoner free.

"On the subject of luck, the two of you freaks are just fortunate I can't plant a bullet between your eyes and put you out of everyone’s misery." He commented grimly as the cell door finally opened; his words reflecting on both the lack of a firearm and a suitable coin for the final decision making.

Soon as he was given the chance, Harvey started to forcefully push the door, not to mention the girl behind it, out of his way as he gave her little else then a dismissive, “You’re in my way.” Frankly, Harley was in good fortune that the partially disfigured inmate hadn’t given into the impulse of purposely slamming the door into her face as hard during his exit of the cell.

Fortunately, while Harvey may not have been playing with a full deck, he had enough sense of self preservation to at least play nice (by their standards, anyway) until he was ‘complete’. Speaking of which, "I’m not setting foot outside of this place without my coin.”

It wasn’t so much a demand as it was a stating of fact, although he fully intended on dealing with anyone who stood in his way; regardless of what side of the law they stood on. Still, as his occasionally eyes shifted from one prankster themed villain to another, Two Face made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere until then.

“It shouldn’t take long. If you’re not going to help, then I can easily meet you outside when I’m finished.” The inmate rationed as he didn’t exactly expect, nor particularly want, any further assistance from them at the moment, “Whatever you decide, there’s no chance I’m leaving this godforsaken pit until I’ve reclaimed what is mine.”

As he started to already plan out his course for the evidence room, it finally dawned on Mr. Dent that he’d become so distracted by Joker and his self delusional girlfriend that he nearly forgot about the third member in this unusual assortment of freaks.

“Wasn’t there an overzealous tree hugger in your little party?” The man asked as he finally pulled his attention away from the clowns; yet being hesitant to truly turn his back on either of them for too long.

[Mephistophelily]

"I think one'a his sides fell outta the wrong side of the bed this mornin'," Harley grumbled, sticking her tongue out at Dent as she opened the door slowly- only to have it shoved the rest of the way, her fingers still entwined with the bar as he swung it around forcefully, the blonde mostly riding it in its journey as it swung about. "CRANKY!," she snapped after him, scowling as she slammed it closed behind him.

At the mention of his beloved coin, Harley rolled her eyes, thumbing toward Joker. "He offered you that one. What's wrong with it?"

He didn't seem to care about her two cents on the matter. Maybe she needed four cents to make any progress. Damn, a little short. So much for getting off on his good side. Which one was supposed to be the good side, anyway?

Wrapping her arms about Joker's shoulders lovingly, she simply peered about the Clown's right elbow, shrugging slightly. "Whatever toys you need don't matter any to me... I've only got intentions on thankin' my Knight in Shinin' Facepaint." With that, she propped on her toes once again, planting a kiss on Joker's cheek. "I promise, Puddin', I'll be in my proper face as soon as I can..."

The question on Red, however, caused her to glance back at TwoFace with a slightly concerned look. Her Green Goddess had been rather unseen since the taunting of Harvey. "Ivy? Hey, yeah... Think she's off playin' Mother Nature again? She did have a few more seeds to tinker with- Don't think she's mad at me over the whole 'I'm gonna eat 'em' thing, do ya?" With a grimace, she released her hold on Joker, slinking back a bit and peering around. "Ain't heard much on the guards' end. Are the fellas still out playin', Poo?"

[Chasnicollette]

She watched them go with eyelids drooped, like petals, to half-mast.

Setting Dent free was one thing. Setting him physically free was one thing.

But Harvey Dent was never ever only one thing.

She watched Jack and his Jill go strutting off to find the man himselves. But he would be of little use to them without the coin. Without that one little impossibly significant bit of loose change.

Also, she wanted her crossbow back.

Two birds with one stone. Dent could appreciate that.

She sank to one knee and picked one, two, three, four seeds out of the shattered pumpkin shell-- Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, had an Ivy, couldn't keep her --and then rose to her feet, glancing one last time in the direction of the clowns.

Turning with impossible grace, Ivy propelled herself towards the evidence lock-up.

Her crimson tresses fluttered behind her as she moved.

Bars and walls breezed by.

This reminded her of Lovelace.

'Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage...'

She rounded a bend and found a guard there with a shotgun, and he seemed as startled to see her as she was surprised to him--

--but she was three times stronger than the average woman, and she was not slow. Her foot flashed up and around and knocked the weapon aside, it skittered out of his grasp.

Her hand came up from underneath as a claw and clutched his genitals through his uniform trousers, and he screamed, he screamed...

...with a simple flick of her thumb she sent a seed spinning down his open throat.

He gagged. He hiccuped, he swallowed.

She released him, and he staggered backwards.

"The Green is patient," she murmured to him, with all the reverence reserved for the recitation of Psalms. "In time, the roots of a small tree can split stone. Flowers wait eternities in the desert for the tiniest rain to give their ephemeral blossoms a chance to bloom. The bristlecone pine lives for hundreds of the lifetimes of mere man."

The guard clutched at his chest, his eyes wide, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Ivy reached down and picked up the dropped shotgun. "The Green moves in swamps and woodlands and the little garden boxes in apartment windows, and it can move so very slowly indeed, but always it reaches down down down to the water and up up up to the sun and woe betide you if you stand in its way."

A little tendril of something moved beneath the skin of the guard's cheek, and he screamed as a thin thin vine emerged from his tear duct.

Ivy rested that shotgun upon her shoulder, and smiled a cold little smile.

"I have been patient," she explained simply. "But now? I am done waiting."

Vines numbering in the dozens exploded suddenly out of the man's stomach, and his chest, and he died with a gurgle.

Blood spattered against her cheek and she wiped it away disdainfully with a thumb.

"Long have I been denied my time in the sun," she growled. "No longer."

She stepped over the dead man and kept walking, shotgun on her shoulder.

Evidence lock-up was directly ahead.

The door was thick, heavy, the narrow pane of the window crosshatched with a wireframe that made the glass all but unbreakable.

Without missing a beat, Ivy strolled up to the door and shoved one of the pumpkin seeds into the lock. And then stepped back.

The seed quivered.

And blossomed outward, so quickly, so quickly, rending steel, prising the door off of its hinges, warping the metal, shoving it aside.

...immediately, gunfire replied, bullets whistling through the space in which she had just been standing.

She pursed her lips. And reached into The Green, speaking to the plant that still grew and grew and grew, reducing the door to scrap.

When they breathe, they breathe out life.

Taste the air. Tell me of their breathing.

Her hair wafted around her head, and back came the whispering the whistling of the plant's powerhouse vines...

...she, too, now, could taste the CO2 from the exhalations of two different men.

One was muffled, this one would be behind the secure window in which the true prizes was locked up. But the other would be out in the open.

She smiled thinly. Well. This should be interesting.

She crouched and dove and rolled through the gap in the door and bullets whistled around her...

...one of the vines flashed out like the crack of a bullwhip and struck the first guard across the hand, his gunhand rocked and another bullet pierced the air but it thudded into a wall nowhere near Ivy's emerald heart...

...she came up from her roll and grabbed the guard by the tie.

Her tongue wafted across her lips. "'Atropa bella donna,'" she admonished the guard. "'Do not betray a beautiful lady.'"

And then she kissed him, long and hard and deep, tasting the salty warmth of his mammalian lips on the sweet nightshade-berry of her own herbaceous tiers. She felt him go slack against her, felt his hard-on against her hip, released her grip on his tie.

His eyes rolled back in his head and drool billowed down his chin and he slumped to a heap at her feet.

"Hnfh," she harrumphed, half to herself. "That, Joker, is how you kiss."

And then turned, and faced the security window.

The lad within was tall and thin and smarter than many of his brethren.

He'd put on a gas mask, for one thing, attempting to defend himself against any outbreaks of airborne Joker Venom.

For another thing, he'd sequestered himself behind nigh-unbreakable glass, his only ability to communicate with the outside world dependent upon a speaker grill and a microphone, passing things back and forth with a clipboard and a metal drawer.

For a third thing, he had one of Freeze's old guns pointed at her. He could fight off her plants almost indefinitely with that thing, freezing the water in their very veins.

Hm. Very interesting.

He had the mic in his hand and he spoke with the slow wheezing sound of a gasmasked man, tinny and hissing. "Not another step, Doctor Isley. You can still back down. You can still survive this."

She hmphed softly. "Not as smart as you look, then."

The guard turned the muzzle of the weapon in a slow, tight circle. "'Assiduus usus uni rei deditus et ingenium et artem saepe vincit.'"

Ivy's eyebrow twitched. "'Abyssus abyssum invocat.'"

The guard grunted. "'Accipere quam facere praestat injuriam.'"

Ivy shook her head despondently. "'Me oportet propter praeceptum te nocere.'"

The guard thumbed back the hammer on Freeze's gun. And replied, through the gas mask and gritted teeth: "'Acta non verba.'"

Ivy smirked. And dove for the drawer, the window, the speaker grill...

...she hurled the second to last seed at the surface of the grill...

...it tumbled, end-over-end, is this a dagger I see before me...

...before it even landed, it was sprouting...

...vines surged through gaps, through spaces between wires, electricity sparked and sizzled and the vines burned but their mistress urged them onward, help me, help me please, and those vines exploded forth from the other end, from the mic, from the control board, they leapt like electrical arcs, they danced like sparks...

Ivy narrowed her eyes at the scholar behind the glass...

...he turned his borrowed weapon with precision, unleashed its cold crackling fires upon her surging, dervishing vines...

...he froze them to death where they stood, they grew and grew and grew and he slew them.

One such vine raced up the interior of the glass, and with unerring aim, he whirled, and he fired...

...ice crackled up that vine and froze it solid and the interior of the glass frosted o'er.

Ivy's lip quirked. "'Gratias tibi ago.'"

And raised the shotgun. And blasted the frozen glass with both barrels.

Stressed from the sudden drop in temperature and battered by spattering projectiles, the glass shattered and the guard staggered back screaming as shards of glass and ice flew at him en masse.

Her wrist flicked, the sole remaining seed flew through the air, landing neatly beside the freeze-gun.

A single vine powered out of the seed and wrapped 'round the weapon and crushed the barrel...

Setting down the shotgun, Ivy slithered her lithe form through the devastated pane and took hold of the scholar's head in both hands.

"'And the weeds outnumber the roses ten to two,'" she opined, as if disappointed at having to uproot one of those roses.

And snapped his neck.

Dropping him limply to the ground like she had dropped his far less intellectual counterpart, she glanced around and took stock.

She knew she had to work quickly.

Running her fingertip along the steely shelves, she located "I" for "Isley."

Hurriedly, she strapped the wrist-mounted crossbow upon her arm, and lashed the spare magazines of bolts to her hip. Over her shoulder she took on the satchel she sometimes wore to carry samples of plant life, and this rested on her opposite hip.

Turning, she located "Q," for "Quinn," and bundled Harley's costume into her satchel.

Would hate for your palefaced paramour to mistake your identity all over again. Indeed, let us not engage in our sport without wearing our colours proud.

She paused, at "K" for "Kyle." Selina wasn't here. But like Freeze, they still had some things left over from one of her previous stays.

There was a cat in a cage. Frightened, wide-eyed, bushy-tailed, orange, with a little white spot above its heart.

It recoiled against the back of the cage, and it glared at her with darkly golden eyes.

She considered the creature for a moment. She wasn't overly fond of mammals in general, nor cats in particular. Even in school, first Columbia and then Seattle, studying under Woodrue, she would despise the tendencies of these domesticated quadrupeds to gnaw on her samples and puke the contents of their bellies onto the rug.

But this creature... he had committed no crime to be restrained so.

And Selina had her uses. Best to keep The Cat assuaged.

Isley took a breath, and exhaled in the cat's direction, a soothing, hypnotic perfume. And the cat hesitated.

Catnip.

Ivy reached up and unhooked the cage. "Go on. Get out of here. Tell your lady that great things are in the offing, and that she should not keep her head in the sand."

Mollified, the cat squinched its eyes at Ivy, and bounded down, and sprinted off, chunky paws launching it away at breakneck speed as it bounded out through the gap in the glass left by Ivy's ingress.

Ivy then returned down the shelving to "D" for "Dent."

And found the coin.

Susan B. Anthony smiled happily from one side. And she grimaced from beneath the corruption of the other.

Ivy took this coin in her hand, exited through the blasted pane, took up the shotgun, and left that place in a hurry.

The question on Red, however, caused her to glance back at TwoFace with a slightly concerned look. Her Green Goddess had been rather unseen since the taunting of Harvey. "Ivy? Hey, yeah... Think she's off playin' Mother Nature again? She did have a few more seeds to tinker with- Don't think she's mad at me over the whole 'I'm gonna eat 'em' thing, do ya?" With a grimace, she released her hold on Joker, slinking back a bit and peering around. "Ain't heard much on the guards' end. Are the fellas still out playin', Poo?"

Ivy strode out of the shadows and into view, shotgun across her shoulder, satchel on her hip, crossbow on her wrist, smirk on her lips.

"Some fruit is forbidden," she opined, answering one of Harley's questions. "But neither can I deny you nourishment. Merely save enough to plant again, and devour not the harvest... fruitlessly."

Verdant eyes regarded Dent.

"I've had a good harvest myself, of late," she crooned.

And threw Dent the coin.

She gave him a moment to acquaint himself with his long-lost ladylove Lady Luck.

And then tossed him the shotgun. It was double-barrelled, after all.

"'We walked 'round the garden twice or thrice more.'"

Fishing the costume out of her satchel, she pressed this into Harley's hands.

"Get dressed. We're going to a party."

Her gaze flickered to The Joker. "Shall we go, then? It wouldn't do to let the grass grow under our collective feet."

[Eazy]

"Because it's not mine, you ditzy dame. That's what's wrong with it." Dent spat out as he briefly glared in Harley's direction; the lip on the 'good' side of his face curled into a snarl at the suggestion he simply abandon the coin, traces of said expression remaining even as the conversation carried onto other matters of interest.

Granted, the very original coin and a couple after it had been lost over the years. The original was discarded by the Bat in an attempt at breaking his dependency on it, while following replacements were similarly destroyed. On at least one occasion, it was melted before his very eyes as part of an attempt at jarring Harvey free of his demons. The memory of that occasion caused the villain to clench his fists once more, although he eased up a little upon remembering what he did to the therapist and guards afterward. Fate truly was a cold mistress on the night he finally came into possession of a fresh double sided silver dollar and two cutting knives from the Asylum kitchen.

In time they learned that destroying one coin simply freed him up for imprinting his broken psyche onto another. As such, it became easier to keep Two Face in check if they knew exactly where his source of decision making remained; thus allowing others to better keep it away of his burnt grasp. Regaining it was his primary concern, which caused Harvey to already lose interest in what the clowns were saying after it became evident he'd need to act alone. Just as he was prepared to dismiss them without a second thought, however, another familiar face finally came into view.

"Some fruit is forbidden," she opined, answering one of Harley's questions. "But neither can I deny you nourishment. Merely save enough to plant again, and devour not the harvest... fruitlessly."

Verdant eyes regarded Dent.

"I've had a good harvest myself, of late," she crooned.

And threw Dent the coin.

Without immediately acknowledging Ivy, Harvey's hand snatched out like a snake claiming its prize and caught the small object between his fingers. Anything else he may not have shown such sharp eyed, razor reflexive instincts toward catching. But not this. No, he'd never let drop the one thing he could always count on in this world. His eyes quickly studied the self made scratches made to one side; knowing every line with greater detail then most would their own hand.

It was the one.

His attention returned to the woman he owed a great deal to just in time for him to catch the shotgun suddenly tossed his way. Catching it with ease, he allowed himself a moment to grow accustomed with the weight and feel of the weapon while commenting, "Pam, if I didn't know better, I could almost bring myself to kissing you right now."

Her gaze flickered to The Joker. "Shall we go, then? It wouldn't do to let the grass grow under our collective feet."

"One final detail?" The fully armed inmate started to say as he suddenly raised and pointed the barrel of his shotgun at Harley's head; holding it steady even while his eyes were remaining fixed primarily upon The Joker.

The other hand then held up the infamous coin for everyone to see; turning it to one respective side, then the other as he first addressed the unmarked and scratched up portions, "Heads, I continue to go along with your plans. Tails….I blow her head off as a parting gift before we go our separate ways."

Harvey had little idea if such a threat would really faze The Joker. True, he and Harley Quinn had a long shared history by now, but there was no true way of predicting or understanding how the clowns mind worked. Still, he had to imagine Harley wasn't exactly feeling peachy as he held the shotgun to her forehead with one arm (as tricky and dangerous as it sounds, but mastered after years of coin tossing multitasks), his gaze trained on the love of her life even as he finally tossed the coin into the air. It only took seconds, but likely felt as an eternity for the average person facing its cold judgment.

The shiny object spun in the air several times, and then landed into his opened palm, before he slapped it down onto the opposite arm. Adjusting the weapon slightly in the event of it needing to be fired; Two Face raised his hand to peek under it briefly, seeing enough within a splint second to decide on everyone's future.

"Looks like I'm sticking with you three for now." He calmly announced, pulling the loaded weapon away of Harley's head and holding it over his shoulder; almost acting as if the entire incident hadn't occurred as he noted, "If nothing else, this should make for an interesting experience."

[LitShark]

It was clear to Joker that the Harveys were in a sour mood, despite he and Harley’s generosity in granting them their freedom once again. The cell door had just barely been opened before the Siamese symbiotic psychopath began shoving Harley around, even resorting to hollow threats and name-calling through both sides of their collective face. The more foul and irritable the Dent Duo behaved, the more amused Joker became, letting a high-pitched giggle build in his throat and tumble past his carved in smile.

“Sticks and stones can break my bones.” The Joker replied, between deranged giggles. “But words aren’t as good as bullets.”

The Joker cocked back the hammer of his revolver to punctuate the last word of his statement. It wasn’t wise to go around threatening armed men. Even more unwise when one is armed only with a bad temperament and hateful words. Even more unwiser still to issue such threats when the armed man in question was the Joker, who would kill his own mother for a decent punch-line.

Triple unwise! Odd numbers weren’t usually the Harveys’ deal.

The Joker was content to chalk it up to him being without his precious little coin. The absence of that tiny scrap of semiprecious metals was making the Harveys quite disagreeable and less fun to be around than usual. They were like two addicts sharing the same body, without a crack-pipe or a needle between them. All-in-all, it was quite the unpleasant scene.

Harley, ever the honey in the beehive, did her best to be helpful. Suggesting that the Harveys settle for one of the coins Joker had been tainting the duplicitous Dents with. However, her show of kindness only enraged the directionless duo further. Even as Harley leaned on his shoulder and expressed her gratitude for being sprung from this hellacious pit of faux-medicine.

At least somebody was grateful.

Joker was about to offer up a few suggestions on how Harley could begin to thank him when Ivy rounded the corner. While they had been busy dealing with the infantile antics of the Harveys, the green-gal had been quite busy it seemed. She gave the babies their bottle, which was probably a good thing; but she also handed them a “Double-Barreled” shot gun. Which was the most foolish thing Joker had witnessed all night. It was clear that the Harveys were men on the brink! Not that Joker himself was the picture of mental-health or sound judgment, but it didn’t take a neurologist to see that neither of the Harveys were in any state to be handling high powered weaponry.

“Now, now. You shouldn’t be playing with things like that Harvey and Harvey. It’s not good for you.” Joker teased, making light of a very serious situation as he was prone to doing. “Just where do you think you’re pointing that rusty old bucket anyway?”

The question was quite obviously rhetorical. Joker’s concerns about the mental state of the Harveys were validated when they turned the barrels of their newfound weapon on Harley of all people. He was backing up his words with buckshot, which might have been admirable under different circumstances.

For some odd reason, Joker found this funny too. He had never been much for composure or suppressing any of his base reactions, so true to his nature Joker laughed in the face of death. It wasn’t his life that was on the line after-all. What was more, the Joker could have easily swatted the barrel of the awkwardly long gun away from his beloved and planted one right between the Harveys’ differently shaped eyes before the coin even got to its highest point.

But who was he to dispute the almighty hand of fate?

Joker laughed even harder when the Harveys placed the consequences upon “Tails” knowing full well that they were flipping a double-headed coin. Sure, Joker knew what he meant. But the way he said it, so serious and all, was so damn hysterical that Joker laughed louder and louder until tears cut lines through his white face paint. He whooped and howled in psychotic laughter for the entire time that the Harveys went through their tediously long process by which they made all of their decisions. Only to become enamored once again by the favorable outcome.

Then suddenly… the laughter stopped.

“Not so fast old chums.” Joker insisted, his tone and expression suddenly serious, even as the tears dripped from his chin. “It can’t be a carnival with just one game of chance.”

Joker held out his pistol, spinning the cylinders away from the barrel and letting five of the six bullets fall melodically into his outstretched palm. As Joker pocketed the spare bullets, he slapped the cylinders back into place with one live round still in place. He then ran the gun up his sleeve, letting the chambers spin randomly.

“Unlike you lot, I’ll open with a show of good faith.” Joker grinned, holding the barrel up to his own head. “Four of us, unless you want to go twice Harveys, six chambers and one live round. Sixty-six percent chance that one of us doesn’t get to join the party. So much more exciting than a boring old fifty-fifty if you ask me.”

-Click…-

The sound of the hammer falling hard on an empty chamber. Harley was next, it wouldn’t be fair to exclude her, even though she was probably getting sick of having guns pointed at her head already. Joker pulled back the hammer, rotating the cylinders, letting the tension build…

-Click…-

Another empty chamber. Ivy was next, and Joker took careful aim. He didn’t wait to build the tension this time, knowing that she might well try to dodge if given the opportunity.

-Click…-

The giggling was back. This was Joker’s idea of fun! Last but not least came the Harveys. By now the odds were getting worse and everyone could feel that the bullet was running out of places to hide. Joker pressed the barrel to the center of Harvey’s forehead, where the scar tissue met unmarred flesh. He grinned wider still, relishing every last second of tense silence.

-Click…-

“Hoo-hoo-hoo-he-he-he-he-haaa!” Joker wailed, dancing in a tiny circle. “Aren’t we the bless'ed few. I think my palms might even be sweating!”

Just as Joker was savoring his victory over the odds, another guard burst through the nearby door into the cell block.

“There they are! Get-”

-BANG!-

Joker turned and fired in the same motion. Opening a softball sized hole in the guard’s chest before he could even finish his exclamation. At last the bullet had found it’s way to the top at just the right moment and done its duty.

“It seems that luck favors the wicked tonight.”

[Mephistophelily]

"Red!," Harley exclaimed in a near squeal against Joker's ear, turning about to accept the gift tossed to her. Oh, familiar clothing. Her current state was far too... conformist. Orange simply wasn't her color, nor did it seem to be doing much for Harumph Harvey over there. Her gaze raised to Ivy, a smirk coming to her lips. Ivy, however, could pull of damn near anything. Hell, she'd seen the woman in the buff before in the women's showers.

That was a look she pulled off very, very well.

Still clutching the parsel of black and red against her chest, she started to turn back around with a light smirk to her lips- Only to have Harvey suddenly declare that he had to finish a last detail... and his shotgun planted against her forehead.

She stood still.
Very still.

With Mr J, things like this could be considered foreplay; the strangest things got that man in the mood... But Harvey? She was pretty sure he wasn't the type to play that kind of game. She simply sucked in her lips, staring up at the barrel that was aimed at her head, her eyes starting to cross slightly as she continued to look upward. "L-learn t' take a joke, would ta, Harv?," she tittered meakly, though the waver in her voice showed that she wasn't exactly thrilled with this current situation.

Was he- testing Joker?

Oh, shit. Ohhhhh, shit. Her gaze turned ever-so-slightly to peek at him, a flood of concern racing through her as he simply began to laugh.... and laugh HARD. "Ha... haha... hum- P-Pookie?"

The coin flipped, both Harley and Harvey watching the scarred metal as it landed back against his palm. Joker may have been giggling maniacly at the situation, but Harley herself was less than impressed. Having taunted the guy only moments ago, she highly doubted she'd moved any higher on his list of favorite people. A sigh of relief escaped her as he declared it a favorable flip, her stiff back finally sliding free of its locked position as he moved the gun away.

But now Joker wanted to play too.

She shot him a horrifed glance, shaking her head quickly. "Mister J, I dunno if we really got time ta keep playin'-" She cut short as he began emptying his gun's contents against the floor, holding her clothing even tighter to her chest. Arguing with him was never in her best interest, especially with the lightswitch mood he seemed to be in at the moment. She cringed slightly as he took his own turn with the gun, fully closing her eyes as he deemed it hers- only to hear simple clicks both times. She peered open enough to see the quick attempt at Ivy (Lord help him if he truly did-)... and she too was spared.

She glanced to Harvey, a curious look on her face as Joker deemed it his turn with a reversal of the moment she and the dual personalitied man had shared moments ago. She couldn't help but let her eyes drift open a bit wider, a slight smirk taking a curl of her lips.

Maybe this game wasn't so bad after all...

The frown returned quickly as Harvey also was given the clear. Well, poo. Had Joker overcounted in his removal? She tried to remember how many shots he'd fired- but she couldn't exactly remember how many of the gunshots she'd heard were actually him, or the fellas meandering the grounds. Her answer came with the interruption of the guard, Joker dealing with him with that mysterious final bullet.

Yup. It's there, alright.
Well, WAS. The guard had it now.

"Lemme get changed and we can get our booties haulin'." Before anything could be said, a finger was shoved in Harvey's chest, the petite blonde scowling up at him. "You got yer coin. I get my costume." With that, she darted back into Harvey's cell (not exactly the best place for privacy) and ripped open the orange jumpsuit, letting it fall to the floor before shimmying into her tight-fitting harlequin suit.

Like a second skin.
A skin she missed so much...

Tugging her arms through the sleeves as she turned around, she readjusted her chest with a quick shift of both breasts, glancing up with a smirk to the other three. Sure, still a bit short in the makeup department, but at least the familiar red-and-black and white tassels would keep any further identification troubles from happening with Joker.