(no subject)
The secret to surviving a beating, especially when you really angered her ‘puddin’ was to give him just what he wanted. Scream and flail until he left, bored, and then lie still until you were sure he was gone.
Harley, in the years she had been with The Joker, had become an expert at surviving the beatings. And before she had left, she had done just that. Sure he was gone, she had packed her bag. And as she packed, she wondered how many times she had been through this same routine with him. She wasn’t even ‘dressed’ tonight. Wearing no make-up and without her costume.
It also made the walk to Ivy’s easier if she didn’t have to worry about getting picked up by the cops on principle. Once she made it to Ivy’s, her friend would see that she made it to the hospital, if she needed it, or let her crash while she recovered if she didn’t.
The walk was hard - and she wondered if her ankle was broken. And when the scenery changed suddenly, she wondered if she had finally snapped. But the whole thing lacked anything that would’ve passed as Jungian symbolism which would’ve been present in a delusion, even one caused by pain.
In the strange and broken landscape (had someone dropped a bomb on Gotham while she wasn’t looking) she walked as far as she could with her bag slung over her shoulder. Her side hurt, and she knew a rib was at least snapped and she must’ve looked like she had fallen from a building. She sat down for a moment, and thought she could hear people in the distance, but chocked that up to the blows she had taken on the head. Despite knowing that sleeping with a concussion was not the best thing to do, Harley Quinn almost feel backwards on the ground, her blonde hair covering her eyes and generally going all over.
Staring up at the sky, she said with her full Yiddish accent, “Mom, I think I’m going lie down for a moment…” And everything was spinning, and then, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, also known as Harley Quinn, passed out cold.
Harley, in the years she had been with The Joker, had become an expert at surviving the beatings. And before she had left, she had done just that. Sure he was gone, she had packed her bag. And as she packed, she wondered how many times she had been through this same routine with him. She wasn’t even ‘dressed’ tonight. Wearing no make-up and without her costume.
It also made the walk to Ivy’s easier if she didn’t have to worry about getting picked up by the cops on principle. Once she made it to Ivy’s, her friend would see that she made it to the hospital, if she needed it, or let her crash while she recovered if she didn’t.
The walk was hard - and she wondered if her ankle was broken. And when the scenery changed suddenly, she wondered if she had finally snapped. But the whole thing lacked anything that would’ve passed as Jungian symbolism which would’ve been present in a delusion, even one caused by pain.
In the strange and broken landscape (had someone dropped a bomb on Gotham while she wasn’t looking) she walked as far as she could with her bag slung over her shoulder. Her side hurt, and she knew a rib was at least snapped and she must’ve looked like she had fallen from a building. She sat down for a moment, and thought she could hear people in the distance, but chocked that up to the blows she had taken on the head. Despite knowing that sleeping with a concussion was not the best thing to do, Harley Quinn almost feel backwards on the ground, her blonde hair covering her eyes and generally going all over.
Staring up at the sky, she said with her full Yiddish accent, “Mom, I think I’m going lie down for a moment…” And everything was spinning, and then, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, also known as Harley Quinn, passed out cold.