stay away little children... this isn't a GAME!

[Dr. Jonathon Crane]

scared yet ?

Jonathon Crane was not happy. He'd been usurped by that god damned clown. It was bad enough that the Batman had stolen the perfect job from him; bad enough that he'd been locked up in his own asylum. Bad enough that Batman had poisoned him with his own drug and now he had god damned hallucinations and nightmares every god damned night. Bad enough that he'd been forced into the role of a common drug dealer. But then that damned clown had to waltz into his city, steal his playground, his prey, his livelihood. Who did he think he was? Crane hadn't been in hiding during the Joker's reign, he just hadn't been getting noticed. Who cared about a few more paranoid psychotics when the Joker was blowing up hospitals? Sure, Crane knew what the Joker had been doing, he'd been following the freak's crime spree as closely as anyone else; maybe more so, since this nutjob was shoving into his territory. And because he wanted to be wherever the Joker was not. It wasn't fear of the Joker, although Crane had slowly begun to realize that he really didn't want to get on this lunatic's bad side; no, it was because the Batman would most certainly be following the Joker. Batman, Crane knew all too well, was not fond of "crazy" people.

So now Jonathon had to find a way to become known once again. Remind everyone who the original villain was. After all, Rhas Al Ghul hadn't hired the Joker, he'd hired the Scarecrow; the master of fear. He'd have the Joker curled up on the floor, whimpering like the dog he really was. Everyone was afraid of something. Unless they're too far gone to know what fear is, a treacherous voice in his head reminded him. His lip curled under the tattered burlap sack on his head. His mask. He reached up and absently ran his long fingers along the coarse fabric. It looked like the work of not even an hour, but it had taken weeks to make it perfect. Like his serums, the mask had to be perfect. Exhaling softly, Crane scanned his surroundings; the amusement park. To his right was the carousel, a lovely imitation of the original seventeenth century model that now sat in the museum. Seems children and antiques do not mix well; they'd had to restore the original, even fully replace two horses, because unruly children had caused too much damage. But maybe if parents would bother disciplining them... Crane shook his head; now was not the time to muse over proper parenting.

His plan was devious, but quite simple. And so, so perfect. Who would care about the Joker after the Scarecrow drove their children mad? He would plant detonators full of his airborne toxin in every ride, hidden, and set to go off at noon, when the park would be busiest. In the water rides there would be airborne and waterborne toxins, and he would release infected rats inside the concession stands to attack employees and visitors alike. Genius. Pure genius. Silently, he set to work, hiding and setting his pre-made detonators, tucking them in places no one would think to check for anything. The rats would be harder to hide, so he planned to sneak back at the appropriate time and release them then. It would make it more likely that he'd be caught, but he was confidant in his ability to escape, especially since he'd paid a maintenance man to help him in and out. Yes, it would all work out.

[Harley Quinn]

For some reason, Harley Quinn could not sleep. She tossed and turned, her eyelids drooping closed for split seconds at a time, then quickly drawing themselves open again. She had tried everything; she had opened and closed the blinds of the Laughter House room they had been residing in, shifted her position on the bed every few minutes, dimmed the lights, brightened the lights, put on several more sheets, then as soon as they were on took them off again. She glared at the old fashioned grandfather clock that resided in the corner of the room, watching as the minutes passed, grumbling to herself. Finally, she decided that sleep was apparently not an option.

Harley sighed with contempt of the night, knowing that the next day would be an active one, as she tipped-toed passed the Joker who sat wide-eyed pouring himself over the plans he had been so feverishly working on since earlier that day. She hoped she wouldn't disturb his work for the third time that evening. She loved him, but he was a busy man, and worse, a temperamental man when his thoughts were disturbed. So out of their home she snuck, her hair in pigtails, her face still smudged from the white red and black makeup of the day, wearing nothing but the red slip she slept in and matching bedroom slippers.

Once outside, Harley sighed looking around the amusement park, which had been out of commission for a few weeks in order for the city to preform renovations to the carousel and several new roller coasters that had just been finished. Because everything was ready to go, Harley assumed their residence would be moved soon, and Harley grimaced at the thought of packing up again. She would do anything for her Mistah Jay, but she was tired of moving already, and wanted nothing more than to drive back to her own home, crawl into her bed and drift off to sleep. This of course, was impossible.

Harley ran and jumped, catching herself to balance on the brick wall that surrounded the park. She had thought it would be a good place to look up at the sky (it was a full moon, and these were her favorite nights) but it was not the stars that caught her attention; it was a shadowy figure, not far in the distance. Harley raised an eyebrow and swung down, approaching the stranger with slight caution.

"Uh...excuse me, but whaddya think you're doin' here?"

[Dr. Jonathon Crane]

just wait 'til i'm done !

Crane strode smoothly towards the carousel, his long legs taking ground-eating strides at a leisurely pace. He stepped onto the platform of the ride and snaked his way between wooden horses to the central pillar. The hexagonal mass was covered in shitty mural artwork; cherubs, clouds, Pegasus, and other such fantasy nonsense. The very amateurish skill made it even worse. Sneering under his mask, Crane crouched down, not particularly worried about dirtying his battered scarecrow costume. He fished one of the baseball sized detonators out of the book bag slung across his shoulder, and set about finding a place for it. Beneath the platform seemed like the best option, so he stepped down into the space between the hexagon pillar and the stage, crouching to see underneath. It didn't take long to find a hidden area, plant the detonator, and set it. Then he was off. He made a beeline for the Ferris wheel, but he wasn't more than halfway there when a small, dark figure appeared to his left. He cursed under his breath and slipped his hand into his pocket, where a mini aerosol can full of his toxin sat, waiting for use.

A young, feminine voice cut the night air, the brooklyn accent laced with wariness. Oh, if only it were fear. But he felt warm inside, knowing that wary tone would soon give way to petrified screaming. He spun on the woman, and stopped dead, his brain attempting to malfunction. He had expected a security woman, dressed in a dark colored uniform, her hair pulled up, maybe under a cap. Mostly, he'd expected her fully clad. This woman was only half clad, in a bright, cheery red negligee, her blonde hair loose. It wasn't a matter of horniness that stopped Crane dead, no; he wasn't particularly affected by that kind of thing. It was shock, plain and simple. What was she thinking? Sure, it wasn't cold out; actually, it was kind of warm. But to wander around Gotham dressed for sex? She was begging for it. And the absolute, positively, worst part about it? He knew her. He knew he knew her. From where, though? He couldn't place her. Probably someone he'd seen in Arkham. The girl was definitely crazy. But that didn't seem quite right...

"I'm working," he answered brusquely, giving her a cold glare. "What are you doing here? Looking for gangbangers?" His fingers twitched on the aerosol can in his pocket, itching to bring it out and punish her for disturbing him, but something held him back. She seemed so familiar, and Crane didn't make a point of remembering faces. Except his victims, and she certainly wasn't in that category; they always recognized the mask. And his students, at the university; he'd always remembered the worthy ones. Oh. That's where he remembered her from! Perhaps the most promising of all his students; Quinzel. He didn't remember her first name. He smirked under his mask, and took a step closer to her. "Miss Quinzel; so nice to see you again. Remember your old professor?"

ooc; I'm sorry I took so long; I'm tired and sick and museless.

[Harley Quinn]

"What? A girl can't take a walk in her pajamas without being called a...well, what ever it is you're insinuating." Harley scowled, crossing her arms across her stomach. The nerve! In her mind, she weighed the pros and cons of bashing this motherfucker's head against the concrete until he bled out, in the end deciding it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, she was too curious to let it go now..."And yeah, I got that part. Working on what is what I asked."

"Miss Quinzel; so nice to see you again. Remember your old professor?" The man said, rising from his place, stepping forward enough to see him clearly; the mask. She remembered it from somewhere...television maybe? Harley arched an eyebrow. Whatever it might have been something about him was certainly familiar...

She was almost sure he had expected her to at least back away. She assumed he had meant to frighten her; a futile task. It's almost impossible to frighten the frightening, after all. And who could be frightened by anyone after living with the Joker? She appeared unphased at his antics, though she was sure Harleen would have been. She chuckled a little to herself, realizing the change that had taken place in the past weeks.

"It's Quinn, now, actually. Harley Quinn. Harleen Quinzel is dead as a doornail. Though...I can't say I do remember..." Her eyes led up to his, staring dead and straight, carrying a hint of the devious playfulness they had recently grown accustomed to wearing. She circled around him, looking him up and down, her mind wandering to each of her professors. She began with the men she slept with, quickly crossing each of them off of the list of possibilities. Hm...When her eyes met his again, she smirked. Bingo. "Ah. There you are. Professor Crane, it's nice to see that you've put your talents to good use."

[Dr. Jonathon Crane]

ha ha, this is funny !

Crane had to fight not to laugh at her. If that was what passed as a girl's pajamas, then no, a girl couldn't take a walk in her pajamas without being called a fool. Or a whore. Or any of a myriad of other unkind names that Crane was too much of a *cough* gentleman, to say. Her indignation seemed genuine, but he noticed that she displayed it rather comically; exaggerating it. Whether that was intentional or not, or just his own fucked mind misinterpreting it, he couldn't tell, but it was interesting. Only one other person expressed himself in that weird way. As she folded her arms together and gave him a look like she couldn't decide whether to murder him or not, he fought not to laugh. She seemed to make up her mind not to be stupid, -or to be stupid?- and not attack him, she spoke again. He smiled coolly at her, but then remembered she couldn't see his face. "Well, that wouldn't be any of your business, would it?" He responded with absolute courtesy, tilting his head in a way that dared her to argue. This was almost interesting enough to keep him from his work. But the truth was, his work was very important, and he really had to get back to it. He was rather torn though; he didn't want to shake her off until his curiosity was properly sated.

Her reaction was neither enjoyable or disappointing; ordinarily, the only frightening thing about Crane was his mind; physically, even women were rarely afraid. With his mask, he could usually scare even grown men, even without his toxin; however, since Quinzel had clearly gone off her rocker, he hadn't expected her to spook so easily. Honestly, he would have been disappointed if she had spooked. He expected better of her; he expected more challenge. She stood her ground and met his eyes; her lovely blues were deadpan, but for faint traces of a wicked playfulness that reminded him of a baby panther about to strike. She really had changed since the last time they'd met; she hadn't been this bold before. Then again, he recalled hearing something about her getting a job at Arkham a while back. That could certainly toughen somebody up. And hadn't something gone wrong during that time period? He couldn't remember, but she was quite willing to remind him. Harley Quinn? Harlequin? Oh. Shit. Now he remembered. He'd read an article about an Arkham employee getting caught helping the Joker escape. They hadn't mentioned the employee's name, but it was obvious, now.

How. Interesting. And scary. He allowed her to circle him, standing calmly, waiting for her to remember, or come up blank. It hurt slightly that it took her so long; the mask was a dead giveaway, really. After he'd been caught by Batman, and the authorities discovered his mask and all the things he'd done to the inmates, it had been in the papers, alongside revived stories about his disgraceful termination from the university. But finally, satisfaction. He raised his finger and shook his head slowly. "No no no, Harley. You aren't the only former Arkham psychologist to be re-invented. I wouldn't say Jonathon Crane is dead. He's just taken a backseat to the real personality in this body. Scarecrow." He slid his aerosol can out of his pocket and waved it at her. Didn't piont it, though. "You wanna know what I'm doing? Let's play, Harley."

[Harley Quinn]

"Listen, I didn't walk into your front yard and start fuckin' with shit, but when I do, just know that you can ask all the questions you want, 'kay?"She responded with a little snap in her voice, after all, Harley was never one to pass up a dare.

Whether he had been polite or not, she had become accustomed to getting the answers she wanted and that certainly was not one of them. She was blunt; some could consider it rude, though that wasn't her intention. Harley just felt that she shouldn't sugar-coat things, even the simplest sentences. So what if her language wasn't lady-like? She was a killer, for Christ's sake and when she spoke, her words meant something.

With a prissy air, the blond pulled herself onto the table of a nearby snack stand, using only the muscles in her arms. She balanced herself on her palms for moment, the way only a gymnast could, her legs at a straight right angle as her hands moved backwards, until she found the proper positioning and allowed herself to sit.

"No no no, Harley. You aren't the only former Arkham psychologist to be re-invented. I wouldn't say Jonathon Crane is dead. He's just taken a backseat to the real personality in this body. Scarecrow."

"Scarecrow, huh?" She looked up at the name, arching an eyebrow. She crossed her legs at the knees and smoothed out the skirt of her nightgown, feet pointing straight down, as if she were wearing heels, hardly paying attention to the man's words. It was a strange thing to name yourself, that was sure, but she knew that it fit. "Suits you perfect, actually."

With the sudden appearance of the aerosol can, Harley only found herself becoming more curious and certainly more cautious.

"You wanna know what I'm doing? Let's play, Harley."

Harley let out a tiny laugh. Anyone who was anyone knew that she only played with those who Mistah Jay told her she could play with, or so she had thought. But still, she glanced from the burlap that covered the man's face, to the can down in his hand and decided she might just make an exception.

"Well, what kind of game would we be playing?"

[Dr. Jonathon Crane]

just follow the yellow brick road !

"And I will be respectful enough not to ask anything personal. Devious plots are personal, Miss Quinn." He watched her hop onto a concession table, balancing herself on her hands like a gymnast. He'd seen cheerleaders do things like that. God he hated cheerleaders; prissy little bitches. He could imagine Harley as a cheerleader, but he decided that any gal who could live with the Joker was much less underhanded and two-faced as those falsely cheery skanks from his childhood. Even though Harley was exuding the traits he despised most in women; undue arrogance, vanity, and demanding knowledge she had no claim too, he couldn't help but like her. Or at least, get that weird feeling towards her that was the closest thing Jonathon Edward Crane could get to liking someone. Everything about her was a mixture of hilarious, ridiculous, and dangerous. Even in a little slip as bright and cheery as an apple, with blonde hair and features that, in themselves, seemed utterly benign -even *shudder* friendly- there was something very subtle about the girl that told Crane not to fuck with her. He wasn't scared; he could easily cause her permanent psychosis by spraying her with his longer lasting toxin, but that would be stupid.

To spray her with that would be to incur the Joker's wrath; Crane didn't know what role Harley played in the Joker's life, but obviously she was in league with him, and the Joker didn't like it when people broke his stuff. To spray her with the more temporary concoction would be equally stupid, he felt. Even when she had been his student, she had displayed somewhat disturbing interests and habits. Now, with her sitting there, cool as a cat, there was a certain look in her eye that Crane was rather familiar with. Insanity was the only word to describe it, but Crane didn't quite like that word. It was so... scornful. He decided to take some time out of his busy schedule later to create a new word for it. He smiled under his mask; of course his name suited him. He tossed the aerosol can into the air and caught it easily as it came down. What kind of game? So she was interested; wonderful! It would be so much easier to get this done with a second pair of hands; and Harley was bright, despite her flaky nature, so she probably wouldn't botch it.

"See these?" he lifted a detonator out of his bag; "They're detonators filled with an airborne variation of my fear toxin. I'm planting them on all the rides here, and setting them for noon tomorrow. When they go off, everyone in the park will be poisoned, and they'll start hallucinating." he didn't bother mentioning the rats; what was the point? She wouldn't be helping with that part of the plan. He also didn't bother explaining how his toxin worked; no one but he himself knew that, and damned if that was going to change. He rolled the detonator around in his hand, it was roughly the size of a baseball, spherical, a mess of wires and plastic covering. It was crude, but he didn't care; he was a psychologist, not the uni bomber. Lazily, he put the detonator back in his bag, and tucked his aerosol can back into his pocket. He walked up to Harley and stood beside the table she was perched on. Normally, he kept his mask on to protect himself from inhaling his own poisons; but since there was no chance of any of it being released accidentally, he pulled the burlap sack off, and slid his glasses onto his face. Why? He wasn't sure, but it struck him as a good idea to be able to let Harley see his face as well as he could see hers. Equal ground and all that shit.

[Joker]

we must never be apart
- - - - - - - - -

For some strange reason, the Joker began to feel...cold. He tried his best to ignore it, but the sheets and such just didn't seem to be doing their job correctly. Instinctively he rolled over, and expected to collide with a warm, tiny body. Except, he didn't. Eyes snapped open, but even in the darkness, he knew he was alone -- there was no clingyness or innane cuddling she insisted from earlier, only the cool hug of chilled air. What the fuck? He didn't remember giving her permission to leave, and he highly doubted she was in the bathroom or getting a midnight snack for that long amount of time. His gaze drifted to the dim clock, a grumble passing through his lips.

Looks like its Harley-hunting season!

Getting his lazy ass up, the Joker managed to jump into his unique outfit, and happily did some messy makeup; before heading out the door, wondering where in the world that girl would've gone. He went by the park, seeing how that is where they were earlier, but alas, she wasn't there. It wasn't until at least half an hour later, when he stumbled about the amusement park -- and low and behold, there she was. Dressed in partically nothing, with some dude in a potatoe sack. No wait, stratch that, he just took it off. Oh, well isn't that sweet?

Putting on his best smile, the madman waltzed right on up to the happy duo, even whistling as he did so; keeping a low enough profile that they might not realize who it was at first, but by the time they did, it would be far too late. "Well, well, well! I didn't uh, realize how many of us were nocturnal, 'cause honestly, I distinctly remember wanting some nice shut-eye in my bed, seeing as I just. Got. It. Back." His voice dropped to a hostile growl, pinning his dark eyes on the scantily clad Harley, hands retrieved from his pockets, airily regarding the unknown man beside her.

"Not to mention, frantronizing with Mr. Sack over here,"

[Harley Quinn]

i guess this makes me dorothy, huh?

Harley's eyes lit up with curiosity as they followed the crude sphere in the Scarecrow's hand. It was an old emotion, but one she knew well. His lectures had always struck a little cord of interest to the inner workings of her mind, and this was no exception. It certainly was an intriguing idea...

With the removal of his mask, Harley's nerves eased just a bit. At the mention of toxins, the harlequin naturally assumed the mask had been built with some sort of precautions, just in case something had gone astray. Certainly, she could imagine how easy it would have been to release the toxins then, with her lacking protection; especially after she had been so rude...

"What exactly would the hallucinations be like?" She questioned, this time her voice softer, more of a inquiry than a demand. The sudden politeness was Harley's form of an apology, an attempt to make up for her previous indiscretion. It was the closest she could come to saying sorry without the sudden built up of rage that always seemed to follow.

"Well, well, well!"

The voice caused the petite girl to jump slightly, her shoulders twinging, as if she had just been hit. Like a child who had been caught out after curfew, she jumped to her feet, covering up just a bit, shifting nervously, the way she did when she didn't know how the voice's owner would react.

"I didn't uh, realize how many of us were nocturnal, 'cause honestly, I distinctly remember wanting some nice shut-eye in my bed, seeing as I just. Got. It. Back."

"Hiya, Mistah Jay..." She mumbled, low and fast, "I dunno what it was I just couldn't sleep, so I decided to go for a walk...? I really didn't wanna wake you or nothing..."