As Harley Quinn reaches for her next target, it comes as a bit of a surprise to everybody as that target pulls on a mask and whips out a razor-sharp blade all in a single motion - and then the blade is against the clown girl's throat.
"Ya don't have t'be rude about it, y'know. No need for name calling. I'm already listenin'. Man, am I listenin'!" Harley is still holding her popgun but it's in front of her and the man isn't. Which would make turning and firing a suicide attempt since he would chop her head off first. And well, she likes her head right where it is. As mixed up and screwy as it might be.
Well hellooooooo! Everybody, it's Slade Deathstroke The Terminator Wilson! How're those boys of yours? Still dead? It's so hard to keep track these days.
Things just went from bad to worse. Girder gets ignored for the standoff in the crowd. "Uh, let's not do anything rash, OK?" he offers uncertainly, looking from Harley to Joker and then to Deathstroke.
So, yes, that's a very nice offer you've put on the table, Slade, except it's not really so much an offer as it is a threat. And I don't threaten well. I'm prone to blowin' stuff up when I get threatened!
"I am NOT a piece of ass!" Harley responds in a huffy tone of voice. Which is hard to pull off when there is a razor sharp sword at her throat but she manages it. "I'm his one and only! His soulmate! His perfect match!" Wait, maybe she's sharing too much with the bad man threatening to kill her. It'll make her a bigger bargaining chip. "Er, I mean, I'm a really good piece of ass? But no, you don't seem ta be tremblin'. But you should be! Puddin' is gonna kick your ass!" There is an awful lot of ass in this discussion.
He sighs threatrically and gives Harley an apologetic shrug.
Sorry, Harl. Sometimes things don't work out the way we like, you know? I'll be sure to kill people in your honor on your birthday every year! Assuming I can remember when it is.
Harley remains still, trying to think of a way out of this and it all comes back to one thing. Wait, two things! But one of those isn't here and it's pretty unlikely he would help her anyway. Which leaves her with the better option, in her mind. Until he says that.
He can't be serious. He has to be kidding. After all, he's the king of kidding. He doesn't have a serious bone in his body and she should know all about his bones.
She gives the love of her life the big boo-boo eyes. "Puddin'?"
Almost as an afterthought, the sword slides like butter across Harley's throat, and he's jumping forward to attack the metal giant in less than a quarter-second.
The sword has barely started moving before Bruce himself sprints forward, aiming for Harley. With a wound of that ilk, she can bleed to death in seconds; he hasn't uch time at all.
Before Harley can fall utterly, two hands catch her, one between her shoulders for support, the other holding a handkerchief hard to her throat. She'll need medical attention fast.
Freak. Time to have a little chat.
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My boys. That's cute, freak.
One-time offer. You walk now, I make sure it's quick and clean. We both know I'm gonna take you out eventually.
The rest of you can just go your own way. The Society doesn't really give a fuck what you do.
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So, yes, that's a very nice offer you've put on the table, Slade, except it's not really so much an offer as it is a threat. And I don't threaten well. I'm prone to blowin' stuff up when I get threatened!
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Go ahead, just ask your piece of ass here. She can tell that I'm trembling. Isn't that right, Harley?
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So, freak, what is it? Am I filleting your girlfriend here or are you going to be a man for once in your life?
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Sorry, Harl. Sometimes things don't work out the way we like, you know? I'll be sure to kill people in your honor on your birthday every year! Assuming I can remember when it is.
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He can't be serious. He has to be kidding. After all, he's the king of kidding. He doesn't have a serious bone in his body and she should know all about his bones.
She gives the love of her life the big boo-boo eyes. "Puddin'?"
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Flatten him.
And he smiles at Harley again. Tough luck, kid!
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Before Harley can fall utterly, two hands catch her, one between her shoulders for support, the other holding a handkerchief hard to her throat. She'll need medical attention fast.
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Why, Slade! You brought all your little friends to the party!
And he pulls out a revolver and fires.
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The shot shatters Monocle's eyepiece and only narrowly misses killing him. He collapses, clutching his eye.
I need a 'port! Now!
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