Lenore Nevermore.

Hostage strapped to the back of my motorcycle, pieces of duct tape stuck over his handsome face, I pull up to the Warehouse— Red and the Joker’s home, also my occasional hangout. Outside, the Warehouse looks like nothing more than a rundown building— the effects of quite a few computer monitors, paint, and the Joker’s constant exploding of things. The security here is tight, but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

I pull Dmitri from his seat, his humble self being unconscious by now, and throw him over my back. He’s rather light for a Russian. Gun in one hand, Dmitri’s legs in the other, I head toward the Warehouse doors and walk into a giant empty space, aside from some bikes covered by tarps and some empty cardboard boxes. I wave at Red’s million security cameras, smirk on my face.

“We’ve got a guest!” I say, then I find the secret door which opens up to my fingerprint to reveal a long corridor with a maze of hallways. I turn left, right, then left again until I’ve reached the internal door. Red changes the route once a week— twice if we have visitors. Once at the door, I stick out my tongue and press it against the tongue monitor. It scans my tongue, then cleans itself, then opens two metallic doors to reveal yet one more hallway. This one, however, isn’t a phony. The doors slide closed behind me with a slight popping noise.

That’s when I hear it. “Oh Mistah J! I’ve missed you so much!”

“Fuck.” I murmur, then I take Mr. Dmitri to one of our guest rooms and throw him on the bed, not gently, then reload my Akdal Ghost TR-01. Turkish. Sleek. A gift from the Turkish ambassador to yours truly in order to win my affections. Locking the door behind me, I slip the key into my bra and march toward the living room toward Harley’s voice.

Before I arrive, however, Red pops out of one of the rooms [our inside shooting range], and attacks me with a giant hug. Thankfully, the Akdal was still on safety, or I would’ve shot her.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” I growl, arms stiff as a board and unresponsive to her affectionate hug.

“Because I knew you’d be angry…” She smiles innocently, then nods toward the guest room with the prisoner. “He’s cute.”

“He’s also the Russian ambassador. Asshole. I know we diplomats are supposed to love everyone, but he’s an asshole.”

“I also thought your nickname was the polite criminal…?”

“I’m being polite.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, then.”

“I can’t go in there. I’ll be sick.” I turn to go to my room and I see the Joker leaning on the wall at the end of the hallway where it lets out to the living room. He smooths his hair back, a sensual grin on his face. “Why hello beautiful,” He says.

“Shut up.” I sneer.

“OooOohooO! Fiesty, are we?”

“You want fiesty?” I raise my eyebrows, “I’ll show you fiesty.” Then I raise the Ghost in line with his face.

He lets out a maniacal cackle. “Shoot me! Go on!”

BANG. BANG BANG BANG.

“Just let me shoot you, damn it!”

BANG. BANG. All fifteen rounds. He dodges each shot.

“You bastard!” I shout, flipping him off.

“Mistah J, you’re so braaaaave.” Sings Harley Quinn, appearing around the corner, hanging onto his muscular shoulder.

“Oh, hello Harley.” I smile sweetly, then attempt to shoot her in the face, forgetting I’ve already used all the bullets. She’s doesn’t notice my attempt on her life because she’s too busy giving googly eyes to my Joker. Did I just say my? I meant the. The Joker. We’re just friends…

Rolling my eyes, I toss the Ghost to Red and slip into my room. It’s got the only window in the whole Warehouse— neatly concealed by one of Red’s computer programs. I’m claustrophobic, so she had it installed or else I’d go batshit crazy…er.

Behind me, I hear Harley giggling, then planting a noisy kiss on the Joker’s cheek. “I’ve gotta go, Mistah J. I’m sure I’ll be around later!”

I settle down, curling up on my bed, lay there for a little while just staring at the ceiling, then decide to go to the knife throwing range. Before I can motivate myself to get up, Red pops her head in the door, grinning wickedly. “Meet me on West Main. Half an hour.”

I cast her a questioning glance, but she disappears before I can ask her anything. To West Main it is then. I suppose I should clean up my appearance…

That stalker! Oh, no. I’m sending her psycho ass back to Arkham.

“Mistah J“‘s going to find out, and then she won’t be leaving anytime soon, damn it.

(via )

I told Bruce and Alfred that I had some diplomatic errands to run and I wouldn’t be back for three days. That will keep them off my tail, and I can now stay with Red. And maybe the Joker.

I drive up in my Vixen motorcycle to Gotham Gore, dressed in my usual skeleton paint, mask, leather pants and raven wings. I am ready to party this evening. Wreaking havoc sounds like the best plan I’ve had all week. Batman’s been rather quiet. I was surprised he hadn’t turned up to investigate the arson. Too publicized, perhaps.

I throw open the door and hear a familiar giggle at the bar. Narrowing my eyes, I stomp toward the bar seeing, to my absolute horror, Harley Quinn.

“Harley!” I exclaim sweetly. We have a mutual dislike for each other, but neither one of us are foolish enough to come out and say it.

“Raven!” We embrace, fake smiles plastered on our faces.

“Scotch on the rocks.” I murmur to the bartender, Bones.

“Still drinking, I see.” She says. She never has been one to hold her liquor— rather, she prefers to dance on tabletops stone cold sober. Her middle name should have been “class” [sarcasm]. 

“What are you doing in Gotham? Did you break out?” I say, taking a sip from the glass Bones sets before me.

“No, I’m out on parole.” She smirks, “It seems my jailer had a bit of sympathy for me.”

“We both know you’ll end up committing another crime.” I say, not even pretending to hide my animosity.

“True, but this time I won’t get caught.” She raises her full glass of Coca-cola, or whatever it is the bitch drinks, and takes a hearty gulp. “How’s Mistah J?” 

She means the Joker. Her accent is incredibly Brooklynesque and terribly nasally and annoying.

“He’s fine, I suppose. I’ve been in England.”

“Oh yes, you always were in denial about your feelings for him.”

“What the hell, Harley?”

“It’s alright. You can trust me. Girl to girl. Woman to woman. And now that I’m back, it won’t even matter.”

“Of course not.” I take a swig of scotch, finishing my glass with a gulp, then head toward the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” She asks, following me like a clinging spiderweb.

“Out.” I toss open the door, almost hitting a newcomer in the face.

“Out where?”

“I’m going to blow shit up.” I growl. “Thanks for asking.” I add, keeping up my polite reputation.

“Can I come?”

“Fuck off, please.” I say, shooting my pistol toward her head, clearly out of range. “Tell ‘Mistah J’ I missed on purpose. He can have your head all to himself.” I say, mocking her voice.

“Temper, temper.” She says after me. I start to run, extending the Raven wings from my shoulder blades, then I jump onto my motorcycle and zoom off into the night, heading straight for the club frequented by only rich clientele.

Squealing to a stop, I tuck my wings in and jump down to the front where the red carpet is. The doorman stops me, but I shoot him in his left knee. Throwing a black smoke bomb into the room, the whole place plunges into chaos and confusion.

“I want everybody down!” Yell I amidst the screams, shooting into the smoke, not really caring who I hit. Soon, I’ve gotten to the top of the club, on a balcony overlooking the whole place. Training in on one young man, the diplomat from Russia, I swoop down and grab him, taking out some of his secret service men on the way.

“Nobody move. You move, he dies.”

I’ve got myself a hostage. Now, what to do with him until Batman arrives…

That bitch got out on parole. I hate her.