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Needful Things; Friday

It was amazing how often Harley managed to keep up the appearances of being at least a somewhat legit business owner and shopkeeper.

This was not one of those weeks.

But! She was in the vicinity of her shop, at least! Because she'd dragged a nice antique armchair out in front of the store, and was sitting in it, reading some tattered romance paperback. Bruce lounged next to her on the ground, people-watching.

Needful Things was open... ish?

(brain says no. but open!)

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Quinn had made it out last week to the bar -- then gone back to her room to sleep for . . . basically this entire week.

Now she was out again, machete tucked into a sling bag, hobbling along at a decent pace on her crutches. Taking in more of this weird-ass town she'd landed in.

Case in point, there was a freaking hyena hanging out with a lady reading a book.

The lady with the book hadn't noticed her yet, but the hyena did. He lifted his head, watching her, and made a curious noise.

It didn't immediately draw Harley's attention. Sometimes Bruce made curious noises at things as small as a random leaf blowing past, after all, and also her book was gettin' good.

Quinn paused, pondering getting out her machete.

"That guy house-broken?" she asked.

There was something about heaving whatsits and bulging something-or-others -- and then there was a voice, and Harley's focus gave in. She looked up, at the kid, lowering the book into her cross-legged lap.

"What? Who?" she asked, then nodded to Bruce. "Him? Brucey here?"

That was way too many questions for just one actual one.

Who else would Quinn be talking about? Harley herself?

(She was now kind of wondering about Harley herself.)

"The hyena, yes," Quinn said. "I'd rather not get eaten if I can help it."

"Well, if you get eaten," Harley pointed out, cheerfully, raising her eyebrows, "I don't think you've got any reason to worry about whether he's housebroken or not, do ya? I mean, 'less ya got real specific hopes about where your earthly remains end up, anyway! Which ya might, I ain't judgin'!"

Quinn hadn't thought of it that way before -- but yeah, actually, she did have preferences for her "earthly remains".

Primarily that they don't get eaten by a cult, but still.

That wasn't really the issue here, though.

"Okay: is he going to bite me?"

"Not unless you do something stupid!"

Some people might not have delivered that with such a big grin, but Harley was... not those people.

Yeah, she looked real excited about the idea of Quinn doing something stupid.

And now that Quinn looked closer, she was not . . . not clown-like.

"You're not a clown, are you?"

Sometimes it was good to just ask things.

Harley leaned back in her chair, her entire face scrunching up. "Well not if you ask it like that, I'm not!"

It was a little complicated.

Okay, fair. Quinn's social skills had maybe atrophied a bit over the last year. And anyway, Johnny D had been a literal juggalo while also being cool. . . .

"You ever hear of a clown named 'Frendo'?"

It was . . . not really a lot less accusatory. Quinn was going to need some practice at this.

"Friendo?" Harley repeated - or thought she was repeating, anyway. "Sounds like a shit name for a clown. Like he's gonna get too close to the kids or something. Pass."

"Way too close," Quinn agreed at a mutter. Then, louder, and with a deliberate shrug: "Well . . . good then."

"Good?" Harley replied, shrugging. It sounded like a question for no good reason, maybe just checking to make sure?

Also, wait: "Why, do I gotta be on the lookout for new clowns, now?"

Quinn shrugged again. She was always on the lookout for new clowns. If Harley wasn't, maybe that was a skill issue.

When nothing else seemed to be immediately forthcoming, Harley squinted at her.

"You don't like to yap much, do ya?"

"Guess not," Quinn agreed.

Harley waited for another very short moment for more, and then gave a big shrug, picking up her book again.

"Well, suit yourself, kid!" she said. "No one's gonna force ya."

Quinn appreciated that. And to show it . . . even threw Harley a bone.

"Why do you have a hyena?"

"Why wouldn't I have a hyena?" Harley countered, like it was a reasonable question. "A girl's gotta have a pet! For company!"

Yes, a giant spotted hyena certainly counted!

Bruce made another noise. She reached out idly to give him a few scritches behind the ears. "Yes, you're the best boy, aintcha?"

. . . Okay, admittedly Quinn was getting a little jealous. If she had had a tame hyena, the last few years might have gone very differently.

"Those aren't typical pets where I'm from."

"Oh, they ain't typical anywhere," Harley replied. "Or legal."

Something about the scoffing way she said that suggested she very much did not care about the legality.

Maybe just in general.

Quinn looked at Bruce again, then nodded. Not seeming much bothered by the lack of legality.

"Where'd you get him?"

"Back home in Gotham," Harley replied, all casual-like. "From a business that ain't in business anymore."

For reasons that had nothing at all to do with why she gave Bruce some extra rubs right as she said that.

Quinn put that look together with the other bits she’d gleamed so far and decided that this woman was the reason the place she bought a hyena wasn’t in business anymore. Probably even on purpose.

She kind of approved. But there was something else she needed addressed.

“So they just. Let you have an illegal pet around here?”

You staggered down the street covered in blood carrying a machete when you got here, Quinn. And never saw a single badge about it. There was clearly very little law enforcement.

"No one's been dumb enough to try an' say I can't?"

And the only local cop that ever came near her was actively miffed that she didn't like him (because he was a cop).

"So yeah! Not that I'm asking anyone for permission in the first place, 'cause that would severely cramp my style as an independent lady."

“Right.”

In Quinn’s experience, cops didn’t really let people off based on ‘vibes’.

Also, how old was this woman? ‘Independent lady’?

“Good for you?”

Harley shrugged. "You asked, kid, I don't know what else to tell ya."

“Quinn,” Quinn said.

A marker of some approval, getting her name without asking!

Small problem with that introduction in this particular situation, though!

Harley looked confused, maybe a little wary. "Huh?"

Yeah, that didn't usually stump people.

"Quinn," she said again, with emphasis.

"Yeah," Harley replied, like she'd just said something obvious, "but how d'you know? Is it the fuckin' radio again?"

Was this woman asking how Quinn knew her own name?

“I don’t listen to the radio.”

No, she was not, funnily enough!

"Well then how do ya know that's my name?"

“I don’t,” Quinn said. “I’m Quinn Maybrook.”

"Ohhhh," Harley replied, eyebrows bouncing as realization kicked in. "Well I'm Harley Quinn. So I guess that answers that."

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Needful Things; Friday

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