The assembled figures tapped their feet impatiently, some tugging at their collars. Others had lit cigarettes as they waited, taking long draws every so often. None of them were in a particularly good mood - and the subject of their ire, according to the
clock on the wall, actually had the gall to be half an hour late after all they had been put through already.
Finally, a black wingtip wrapped in a white spat stepped through one of the room's myriad doorways. Soon, a tall, lanky figure in purple stepped through, his gloved hands still patting incessantly at his chalk-white face.
"Alright, people! And anthropomorphic sponges! And homicidal split-personalities given form by ancient Egyptian shadow magic! Let's get this show on the road!"
No one made a move. The staring intensified until a tiny beat of sweat rolled down his recently-reattached face.
"Oh, for the love of Chaplin... what do you all want from me?!"
"For starters, Binky Boy? An apology!" Melvin snapped. "What's the big idea, leaving us all hanging for a year?"
"You lot promised me work! I haven't gotten a job since my show was cancelled, and my family's on food stamps by now!" Monev the Gale groaned.
"And I was promised the chance to be in something more mature, for once..." Spongebob murmured, looking less angry than the others but still rather disappointed. "I mean, I'm still raking in millions, but..."
The Joker threw up his hands. "Buster Keaton on a crutch, you all think I'VE had it easy? I'd like to see any of you handle one of DC's gigantomundo crossovers! And do you know how much it cost me to have my face sewn back on RIGHT AFTER that whole "Death of
the Family" nonsense was over?! The contract said I was supposed to keep it for another year, but out of the goodness of my nonexistent heart, I-"
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
"One minute to curtain, people!" one of the figures in the back of the room shouted.
The Joker calmed down immediately, though an unpleasant look was still etched across his face. "We can discuss this later. For now..."
He, and the seven others in the room, turned as one toward the curtain-covered door at the far wall.
"It's showtime."
And together, the eight of them walked through the curtain, leaving behind their fourth wall-breaking shenanigans - well, most of them - for another day.
XOXOXOXO
In an abandoned greenhouse somewhere on the edge of Gotham City, Poison Ivy rolled her eyes. In her hands was a crinkled copy of the
Gotham Post, detailing the latest updates on the recent Arkham mass breakout. Five inmates still at large... and as luck would have it, those five were the worst. And the smartest.
"What a world..." the green-skinned villainess chuckled to herself. "I give Harley a toy that I slaved over for years perfecting, all for the sake of creating a distraction... and that green-haired idiot goes and gives me a distraction ten times as big for
free...."
She tossed the newspaper aside. By now, half the capes in the country were probably on the lookout for the Joker. There were times, Ivy mused, when he was an alright sort of man... so long as he wasn't within a hundred feet of her. Or within a hundred feet
of-
"Harley," the villainess suddenly muttered quietly. "Oh, Jesus..."
Ivy knew that she could hope and pray all she wanted, but a laundry list of previous encounters warned her that the Joker always had a way of finding his way to his badly-battered girlfriend for another round or ten of physical and emotional abuse. Sometimes,
even when the two of them weren't looking for one another. The universe had a really rotten sense of humor that way.
But little did the eco-themed villainess know, at that time and place, that she really should have been more concerned for herself than for her longtime gal-pal...
----
Outside the greenhouse, meanwhile, three figures stood beneath the cover of night, eying the structure with less-than-assuring looks on their faces.
"That's the whore-biscuit's current address, correct?" one smiled as he stroked the golden scepter in his hands.
"Who else would rent out an abandoned greenhouse this time of year?" another muttered as he sipped his tea.
"The greenhouse gnomes?" the third piped up, then began laughing himself silly. His companions exchanged a set of "Should I strangle him now?/No, we'll wait after the job's done - it'll be more satisfying that way" glances that had become all but routine to
them by now, in the brief period of time they'd known one another.
Nevertheless, the tea-drinker gave a small sigh as he adjusted his glasses.
"Money or not, this kind of thing is an absolute waste of my dazzling intellect..."
"Stop your whining, binky boy! Think happy thoughts for once, will you?"
"Yeah! Like, if I made her into a Krabby Patty, would that count as a Full Vegan Patty, a Half Vegan Patty, or-"
The tea-drinker pinched the spot between his eyes. "Let's just get this over with. The direct approach, gentlemen?"
His scepter-wielding companion nodded, a bloodthirsty grin crawling across his face. "On three."
The tea-drinker gave him an appreciative look. Together, the three of them continued toward the greenhouse at a brisk pace, until they were less than ten feet away from the front door. The tea-drinker held out his hand, letting a small, semi-liquid white blob
appear in his palm and begin to take shape. Faster and faster that blob swirled, growing larger and larger until it dwarfed its own creator.
As one, the tea-drinker's two companions shouted at the top of their lungs.
"THREE!"
At the same time, the tea-drinker gave a shout of his own.
"Doru Doru Arts: Ken!"
The massive white blob attached to his hand became a huge broadsword, easily twice as long as any grown man was high. With a single-minded determination, the gigantic white blade sailed toward the greenhouse door, creating a gigantic
crash.
----
In the dark, dark depths of Abandoned Gotham Warehouse #726, a pair of lavender-gloved hands were clapping most appreciatively.
"Bravo, bravo, monsieur Galdino," the Joker chuckled as he watched the scene from one of the manifold computer monitors set up before him. Briefly, the Ace of Knaves stopped to feed himself from a small box of popcorn sitting on a stool nearby.
Idly, he wondered how long it would be before one of his enforcers - any one of them - realized that he was monitoring their every move through tiny cameras that he had
accidentally dropped onto their clothing. This was, after all, an audition - only the best of the worst in the country got to be his henchmen. Did they really think that he wouldn't be keeping tabs on them every step of the way?
Since he had dismissed them, the seven enforcers had split into three teams. Team A was hunting down Harley directly. Teams B and C were gunning for her closest companions - himself excluded, of course.
However, before he could resume checking out the pilot episode of Green-Skinned Goddesses and the Mercenaries Who Pick Fights with Them (featuring Team B), a shrill buzzing filled his ears. The sort of shrill buzzing that only one device in his possession
could give off.
Said device just happened to be connected to the hidden mic on a less-than-scrupulous cop he had managed to acquire from GCPD headquarters, to the tune of $10,000 a month. A small price to pay for keeping on top of old Jim Gordon's movements, in his
humble opinion.
Growling, the Joker stepped away from the three monitors and picked up a headset. "This better be good, Rupert."
"It is," the slightly-crackly voice came through from the other end. "I just heard the commish talkin' with the Bat! It sounds like they got some kinda lead on where you are!"
The Joker's eyes narrowed. "And, pray tell, how would they have come across such leads?"
Immediately, the voice on the other end grew more panicked. "It wasn't me, Joker! I swear! They said somethin' about Dent-"
The Joker's jaw tightened. "Harvey, Harvey, Harvey..."
Breathing heavily, the Harlequin of Hate hung his head. His best pal, Two-Face... was a
turncoat! Who would have guessed? Was there no one left in the world he could trust?
"Hey, wait a minute..." he growled. "That makes even less sense! How the
hell would Harvey know-"
"Look, I didn't get all the details, but you know that Dent's got half 'a Gotham in his pocket! A bum can't move into a refrigerator box without him knowin'-"
The Joker's mood lightened. But only slightly.
"Very well, Rupert. I have to go now, but if I find out-"
"It's the truth! I swear!"
"Funny. The last person to say that to me was screaming it at the top of his lungs while I introduced him to my patented Joker Jelly... well, after a while, it was more along the lines of 'It's the trub-glub-glub..."
He punctuated the anecdote with one of his trademark, shrieking laughs. Rupert, wisely, took that as his cue to hang up.
The Joker, meanwhile, continued to laugh till his vocal cords began to feel sore. As soon as he stopped, a displeased look worked its way back onto his face. So, Fatman was onto him... he could be kicking down the door any second now... any other night, he
would have welcomed the vigilante with open arms (and a hail of lead, and perhaps several tons of TNT), but not tonight. No, he was determined to see his little henches-to-be carry out their audition to the bitter end.
So it looked like he would be packing up, and leaving to spend another night at the most secure place in Gotham, law-abiding or otherwise. This location, in fact, probably qualified as both. With the added benefits of blackjack. And hookers.
"But before that..." he chuckled to himself.
For the next half an hour, he went over every inch of the warehouse, removing any and all traces and hints as to where he actually planned on going. In their place, he erected some less-than-subtle red herrings - a circled newspaper article here, an old photograph
there. On his desk, he left behind a laptop with a rather incriminating browser history, pointing to no fewer than five of Gotham's less-than-legal "celebrities" as his possible collaborators.
And with that, he packed up his monitoring equipment and tossed it all into the trunk of a battered old convertible he had purchased (under an assumed name, but otherwise legally) just for this purpose. As one last touch, he slathered a layer of flesh-toned
makeup over his face - more than enough to disguise himself from most eyes, especially in the dark of night.
With all preparations made, the Joker slid behind the driver's seat, reached into the glove compartment for a small Batman hand puppet, and pressed his foot down.
"It's a hundred and six streets to Ozzie, I've got a full trunk, half a loaded magazine, a third of an idea about what I'm going to do if Batsy catches me before I get there, it's dark, and I'm not wearing sunglasses."
As the engine roared to life, the Joker wiggled the hand with the puppet, who "spoke" with a voice suspiciously like his own:
"Hit it."
----
"Awwwww yeah!" Harley cheered as she watched Batwoman squirm helplessly. "Just a few more adjustments, and you'll be the bestest little lesbo-playtoy in all 'a history!"
Kate Kane tried to glare at her captors, but only succeeded in looking like an adorably defiant little teenage girl. "You'll never get away with thith," she growled, still not used to her new, longer tongue.
Harley, Power Slut, and Huney all laughed. Harley, in particular, reached down and patted Batwoman on the head, talking down to the heroine.
"Now, now, I know you're a little cranky, but it's for your own good! Trust mama Harley!"
Batwoman only squirmed some more at that "assurance". Desperately, she cried out, "Power Girl, Huntress, please! You've got to fight her! We can't just give up like this!"
XOXOXOXO
Author's note: Aaaaaaaand after a year's hiatus, Harley's Heroine Heist - and I - make our triumphant return!
*Chirping crickets*
Ahem... as you may have noticed, this chapter's more concentrated on that whole "plot" thing rather than sexy lesbian (former) superheroine hijinks. Apologies for this - I promise my next chapter will feature more of the latter, though I do not have faith that
I will be able to produce anything a tenth as titillating as the likes of solddate and ESchorcho.
Hop on over to the message board discussion for this Addventure if you're confused about anything, or want to know what diabolical plans we have for the wonderful women (and men!) of DC next...
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