rain smells so SWEET {OPEN}

[quinn]

Harley leaned up against the bricks of a desolate alley building. The smell of rain was thick in the air. Dark storm clouds covered the bright full moon, making the alley darker than it should be. Crossing her arms, she stood up straight and began to walk out in to the streets. Cold air buffeted the girl. Quinn loved the downtown area. It was her favorite part of Gotham.

Walking past a store window, she paused, looking at her reflection in the dusty glass. She was wearing the body suit part of her outfit. No make-up, no hat. A leather jacket with a long tail covered most of her body. Her blond hair flew lightly in the bitter breeze.

Turning away, she slid her gloved hands into her pockets. The streets were empty and the night was quiet. Too quiet for the usual bustle of Gotham's scum underbelly.

Closing her eyes lightly, her mouth gaped open in a yawn of boredom. It was no fun out here. And she thought there would be something fun to do tonight. Opening her eyes, she felt herself bump into someone. Falling backwards, she barely caught herself as she fell. Standing straight again, she brushed off her coat out of habit. "Geez, you people don't watch where you walk, do ya!" she exclaimed, agitation shining through her features.

[batman]

It seems almost like a plot straight out of a typical slasher movie. A beautiful young woman, who just happens to be blonde, is stalked by a maniac. Like all maniacs, he posed a serious threat. He was unstoppable, gifted with the strength only madness could bring. He was dangerous. He was disturbed, deranged even. He belonged in an insane asylum, just like the villain in a horror movie, and just like Jason Voorhees, he wore a mask to conceal his true identity.

Also, like Jason, he was stalking a young woman. However, unlike Jason or Michael Myers, his methods were much more elegant. He was efficient, precise to the point of deadliness. And one other thing set him apart from a slasher movie villain: it was no helpless, innocent woman he was shadowing.

This woman, this Harleen Quinzel aka Harley Quinn, was venturing out this chilly, cloudy night. She knew him, her silent and unseen observer, and he knew her. At exactly what point he started shadowing her was unknown and at what point she'd become aware of his presence remained equally ambiguous. There were no visible signs of that she was being observed, but perhaps she could feel it. Perhaps, after so long, she'd grown a sort of sixth sense and learned to tell when he was near.

The Batman, the boogieman of Gotham City. Indeed, the person Harley Quinn bumped into seemed relieved to see the beautiful blonde woman, despite her cranky attitude. Better a cranky and easy on the eyes bystander than a self-righteous madman, or some demonspawn released on Earth to punish mortal men for their wickedness. That's what had the man who bumped into Harley so relieved. In the back of his mind, and indeed everyone's mind in Gotham City, was the fear that maybe that'd one night run into it, that they would one day run into him.

Harley, on the other hand, had met it, had met him. And she may not be nearly as impressed or intimidated as most others were.

Or was she?

[deadlock]

It is often a question, who watches the watch - the truth is, the watch watches the watch. The truth is less convenient than most people would tell themselves at night to make the demons in their head go away. One would think that a countenance of jetsam and a cloak of night-clad silence, the dark knight would be harder to follow. But to eyes accustomed to the pale of the street in the moonlight, illuminated by pinpricks of light in velveteen shadow, he was blacker than black - a point of oblivion that moved and danced through shadow. No, these streets weren't as good a shroud as the darkness might have hoped. Truth was, he himself was being followed.

Deadlock had enough sense to leave her habits. Eddie dared not smoke, but that didn't keep "him" from taking liberties on the filter of an already too-chewed cigarette, mostly out of nervousness. Truth was, Eddie grew up on these streets - she knew the start of a good show when she saw one. The bat was missing during the zombie apocalypse... that had left her to pick up the slack. And that left her in a bit of a tight spot when he moved in again. Every instinct in her gangbanger background told her that a) he was making a move on her shit and b) she should be avoiding him like the plague. But she wasn't a gangbanger.

No, not anymore.

Eddie was... "Retired" now. No, Eddie was no more - Deadlock. Deadlock was her name now. Hiding wasn't her style. But people don't look up. The biker jacket whipped in the breeze as she watched the scene, indeed thinking about a slasher flick as her mohawk openly defied gravity and the rooftop's frigid air. Her rust-orange mask contrasted nicely against the dark green of her hair, the goggles, a homemade night vision system, down over her eyes. She could see the Bat all too well.

Part of her wanted to introduce herself. But no, she knew the girl, too. At least... she liked to think she had.. The Joker had never, ever gotten on well with the ninety ninth street Kings. But that wasn't his part of town. Not since Jax came into her powers, not since Eddie started rolling out the interesting things they used to use on his dumbass flunkies. Those days were behind her. The kings were a thing of the past now. This was Harley - a queen among pawns, and a glorified pawn, herself, a significant villain in her own right.

Interesting that she should find herself watching two of the most dangerous people in Gotham City like a gargoyle - even if none adorned the roofs in any force, she, and her iron skin dormant just behind her, filled the role nicely, her night vision goggles, also a rusty orange color, glowing just faintly. She grinned manically. You had to be just slightly insane to do this job. You had to be nuts to want to be a hero in a city of thieves. You had to be nuts to just stand there... and watch. She wanted to learn from the best, didn't she? Deadlock had a front row seat, the best professor in the business, and a probably unwilling girl being made a spectacle, an example. Perfect.