Brainstorming: Harley/Ivy
Title: Brainstorming
Author: Cold Nostalgia
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Don’t sue.
Challenge/Claim: Harley, Ivy
Characters: Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy, mentions of others
Prompt: 20. Dark path
Universe and Timeline: Sometime before Detective 831
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,475
Summary: Sometimes you can’t see it until it’s too late.
Slash/Warnings: Slash
Ivy sighed and sat herself down opposite the woman who was both the great bane of her existence and sadly, probably the great love of her life - so far. “Alright. I give up. Help me.”
Bright blue eyes looked up from safety scissors and crazy glue. “What’s the matter, Pammy?”
“Kingstone Incorporated,” Ivy replied quietly, ‘though to Harley’s ears the tone sounded almost grudging. “I’m out of ideas.”
Harley put down her scissors and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Kingstone Incorporated? Ain’t they the ones who are buying up acres of rainforest and cuttin’ it down ta make way for palm oil plantations?”
Ivy allowed herself to smile; cutting down Harley’s sugar intake had done wonders for her on-and-off-again lover’s attention span. “That’s right, Harl.”
“And ain’t they the ones who we’re takin’ out next week when they have their shareholders’ conference?”
“You’re right again, Harl.” Ivy beamed with pride, there were times she could just eat Harley up.
“Then,” Harley frowned in confusion. “What’s the problem, Red? Seems simple enough ta me.”
Ivy spread her hands out on the table, carefully avoiding the numerous blobs of glue dotted around its surface. “The who and the why isn’t giving me any trouble,” she said quietly. “The how, however, is. I’m not sure how to go about it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Harley chuckled, reaching into the bag of candy beside her, pulling out a red jelly love heart, and placing it into the palm of Ivy’s hand. “That’s the part where you never have any problems.”
“It’s different this time.” Ivy made a face, “Black Wood are involved.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of ‘em.” Harley said brightly, popping a gummy bear into her mouth.
Ivy shot her a look of sheer incredulity, “Oh come on, Harley. You haven’t been stranded on Mars with your fingers in your ears for the past six months; surely Black Wood is the talk of Arkham right now.
“Was in solitary practically the whole time,” shrugged Harley. “Two Face, Eddie, and ‘Croc could have set up their own subscription website where they posted pictures of themselves dressed up as Japanese schoolgirls and I would’ve been none the wiser.” Harley paused, a decidedly faraway look in her eyes. “Pammy, I never, ever want ta see anything like that. Can you imagine?”
Ivy squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I can’t.”
“Ya know what the saddest part is,” Harley continued, oblivious to her partner’s rapidly darkening mood. “The saddest part is that there are probably people out there who’d pay a whole lotta money ta see Two Face dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl on a swing or ‘Croc ‘n Eddie dressed up as Japanese schoolgirls playin’, like, I dunno, paddy cake or somethin’ - they’d probably pay extra ta see pigtails on ‘Croc too. The Sickos! I mean - “
“Harl -“
“I know you’re always goin’ on about keepin’ an open mind ‘bout stuff,” Harley went on. “Heck, we’d never have hooked up if ya hadn’t -“
“Harl -“
“But, dammit, there are limits, Pammy.” Harley said solemnly, stabbing the table with her finger for emphasis. “There is a distinct difference between sexy and just plain messed up, ya know?”
Ivy opened her eyes, leaned across the table and grabbed Harley’s hand with her own, careful to maintain eye contact. “You’re right, Harl. You are so right.”
Harley settled back into her chair, nodding in satisfaction and Ivy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it would be worth her while to see if she could get Harley on some kind of detox plan, clearly halving her sugar intake hadn’t produced the desired effect after all.
“Anyways,” Harley said, after a moment of quiet contemplation had passed. “These Black Wood people, who are they? Has Batsy been swipin’ kids off the street again? Honestly, the cops really ought to do somethin’ about that.”
Ivy hesitated, “They’re not costumes.”
Harley raised an eyebrow, “Then what? Crazy hippies? Mutant trees? Alien mutant trees? Wood monsters?”
“None of the above,” replied Ivy, with far more patience than she felt. “Black Wood is a private security company.”
Harley squeaked in disdain. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“I wish I were,” Ivy said quietly, examining the jelly love heart that Harley had given her. “Black Wood is not your average run-of-the-mill security firm.”
“C’mon, Pammy,” Harley sniggered in disbelief. “Those GI Joe wannabes are all alike. The day any self-respectin’ costume gets caught out by one of those brain-dead, knuckle-draggers is the day they need ta retire.”
A small smile sardonic smile spread across Ivy’s face. “Oh really, Harl? Well, perhaps I should pass that on to Riddler, Mr Freeze and Scarecrow next time I see them. Tell them you said so.”
Harley’s jaw dropped and then slammed shut several times over, giving her an uncanny resemblance to a demented goldfish. Finally, after a few moments she managed to find her voice. “What?”
“You heard.” Ivy took a deep breath, preparing herself to say it out loud. “They almost caught me last month when I hit the Barret-Whyte Gala. I was lucky to make it out there intact.”
Harley paled and looked at Ivy as if she had just told her that she was giving up the whole eco warrior thing and going off to work for Lexcorp.
Ivy shifted in her seat, giving herself a moment to soak in her own bitterness. “It’s like I said, Harley. Black Wood is not your average security company.”
“Yeah,” Harley mumbled. “I’m getting’ that.”
“They showed up a couple of days after you got sent up the river,” Ivy explained. “Nobody knows where they came from or who runs the company, no one even knows where their headquarters are located.” Ivy sighed, “The only thing anybody that’s tangled with them knows are that those so-called GI Joe wannabes are no wannabes. They know what they’re doing: if I were to hazard a guess I’d say they are probably ex-special forces.”
“How much do they charge?”
Ivy blinked in confusion. “What?”
“How much are Black Wood chargin’ clients for their services?” Harley clarified.
Ivy shrugged, “Having had a look at their equipment, quite a lot I’d imagine. A lot of it seemed rather hi-tech from what I saw.”
“How hi-tech? Are we talkin’ the latest seasonal range from Hank’s Fancy Guns and Ammo, or somethin’ outta S.T.A.R Labs?”
Ivy shot the blonde-haired woman a disgusted look. “From S.T.A.R Labs, Harley.”
“Alright. That means Johnny Slum from ghettovile won’t be hiring ‘em anytime soon,” Harley concluded. “Well that scores Batsy off the list. He may walk around town with a stick up his butt half the time, but he ain’t no elitist, Red.”
Ivy sighed and rubbed her temples, almost wishing she had never opened her mouth to begin with.
“So if Batsy ain’t involved with Black Wood, what he’s saying about ‘em? “ enquired Harley. “I can’t see him being too happy about a bunch of glorified mercs settin’ up shop in his town.”
“I don’t know, Harley.” Ivy snapped, no longer able to keep the irritation out of her voice. “It’s not like I’ve gone skipping up to the Batcave and asked him what he thinks about the subject.”
“Whoa,” said The Mistress of Mischief, wincing slightly and raising a placating hand. “I’m just tryin’ to get up ta speed here. I’ve been up the river for the past six months, remember? I’m way outta the loop on a lot of stuff, baby. I’m just tryin’ to get all the facts here, that’s all.”
Ivy opened her mouth to unleash a scathing retort, took one look at Harley’s pained expression and then promptly closed it again.
Over time, she had learned that this sort of behaviour nearly always drove Harley away. On a good day, and if he was available, Harley would run back to that clown of hers, leaving Ivy alone with her detached rage at the world, waiting for the inevitable. She was used to that. Could live with that…
On a bad day, Harley started to get ideas into her head. Dumb ideas. Heroic ideas. There were times it sounded ridiculous, even to Ivy, but the thought of Harley swinging around Gotham City with a bat emblem branded on her lily-white ass was infinitely worse than the thought of Harley being yet another casualty in Batman and Joker’s crimson waltz. It was strange, but Ivy could never articulate why that was.
Ivy took a breath. “I know you are, Harl. I’m just a little stressed out over this whole thing,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”
Blue eyes flashed merrily and Ivy knew she was forgiven.
A companionable silence fell over them then, punctuated at intervals by a rustling bag of candy and busy scissors against cardboard. It never ceased to irk and amaze Ivy the way Harley could, on occasion, make her feel as though she one of the worst people in the world with just a look. In Ivy’s mind, it was almost ironic; she was one of the most feared individuals in the entire western hemisphere. Men desired her, Women wanted to be her, CEOs everywhere trembled at the mere mention of her name. Yet, one puppy dog look from Harley Quinn, of all the people in the world, and Ivy was as threatening and as powerful as a buttercup. It wasn’t right. No matter how much she cared for the clown girl. No mere human should ever have so much power over her.
Ivy shook her head in attempt to clear the thought. Brooding over Harley’s hold over her never ended well. Inevitably, her mind ended up travelling down a murky path peppered with poisoned thorns, sharp branches and jagged leaves. She would always emerge from the path full of venom; full of spite and some small part of her would be left genuinely sickened and frightened of her capacity for malevolence.
Perhaps what scared Ivy most of all was the fear that one day she’d come back from that path and that little voice that had continually stopped her dead in her tracks over and over wouldn’t be there. And that would be a thousand times worse than Harley losing the last remaining shreds of her sanity and changing her name to Batclown.
Ivy studied her partner for a moment, drinking in her light, drinking in Harley’s simple contentment in her childish work. “What you making, Harl?”
Harley looked up from her project and smiled at her. “Dunno yet, Red. I’ll know what it is when it’s done.”
Ivy wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Is that some subtle way of telling me that we should just hit Kingstone without a plan and hope for the best?”
“Nah,” said Harley, her eyes never leaving her work. “That’d be kinda stupid, Pammy.”
“True enough.”
“Anyways,” Harley said distractedly, half her mind concentrating on a particularly troublesome curve. “These Black Wood people. What’s so good about ‘em?”
Ivy frowned in confusion.
“I mean, yeah, they got the brawn, they got the toys,” Harley clarified. “But what else? I mean if that’s all there was to it then any old bum could have cleaned Gotham up years ago. What’s so great about ‘em? What sets ‘em apart from everybody else.”
“Well,” Ivy began, thinking back to her ill-fated meeting with them. “It’s almost as they know what you’re going to do before you do it.”
Harley’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, “What? You mean like telepathy?”
“No,” Ivy shook her head quickly. “Of course not. It’s like they can predict what your next move is going to be and counter it while you’re still making your first.”
Harley’s eyes grew even wider. “They’re psychic!” she exclaimed with excitement.
Ivy slumped in her chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Harl,” she began tiredly. “They are no psychics or telepaths at Black Wood.”
“C’mon, Red,” Harley argued. “Even Batsy’s not that good. I mean, sure, he gets you in the end and all, but he ain’t as quick as that.”
“Batman is only one man,” Ivy replied firmly, logically. “Black Wood has fifteen to a team or more.”
“But Red,” Harley whined. “That doesn’t mean anything! Not when it comes to The Bat.”
Ivy sighed and counted to ten, her patience at an end. “Look, Harl. Let’s just put Batman aside for a moment.”
Harley looked stunned. “How are ya supposed ta do that? It’s his city!”
Ivy counted to ten again, and then she counted to twenty, glared at Harley through hooded eyes and began ticking off fingers as spoke. “Alright, first of all, I don’t want to hear another word about Batman. I couldn’t care less about Batman. Batman is an obstacle to be overcome, nothing more. Secondly, I don’t want to hear another word about Black Wood. I couldn’t care less about Black Wood. I don’t care about who owns them, what Batman thinks about them, or if they are part of some alien invasion taskforce. Black Wood is an obstacle to be overcome, nothing more. Third, stop going off on tangents, Harl. It’s time to get serious.”
Harley waved at her helplessly. “Well, what da ya want from me?”
“What do I want?” Ivy mimicked. “I want you to help me come up with a plan for the Kingstone hit. That’s all.”
“Well, why didn’t ya just say so, Red?”
“I did.” Ivy hissed through gritted teeth. “And look, before you start rattling of suggestions, I want to make it clear that I don’t want any henchman, idiotic gags, ludicrous man-made weaponry, hyenas, or anything else of a preposterous nature. I want something that just screams me,” she paused for a second as a thought struck her, “but something a little out of the box at the same time.”
Harley slumped in her chair, throwing at quick glance at the empty bag of candy, reached over and picked up the now abandoned jelly love heart from the table. “Whatever you say, Red.”
“Good.”
Another silence fell over the pair, gloomier, thicker and more sullen than the ones previous. Ivy watched as Harley popped the love heart into mouth and chewed it slowly and mechanically as she worked on the problem, or at least, Ivy hoped she was working on the problem.
“How da ya feel about insects?” Harley asked finally.
“Insects?” Ivy repeated dumbly.
“Bees, ta be exact.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow.
“I was thinkin’,” Harley went on. “What if we took out the guards outside the building and, I dunno, put bees in the air vents, or somethin’, then took out everybody else on the inside while they’re all distracted.”
“Bees?” Ivy repeated, incredulous and still smouldering with anger. “Harley, what the hell do bees have to do with anything?”
“Nuthin’, Ivy,” Harley said quietly, shaking her head. “Nuthin’ at all.”
Author: Cold Nostalgia
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Don’t sue.
Challenge/Claim: Harley, Ivy
Characters: Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy, mentions of others
Prompt: 20. Dark path
Universe and Timeline: Sometime before Detective 831
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,475
Summary: Sometimes you can’t see it until it’s too late.
Slash/Warnings: Slash
Ivy sighed and sat herself down opposite the woman who was both the great bane of her existence and sadly, probably the great love of her life - so far. “Alright. I give up. Help me.”
Bright blue eyes looked up from safety scissors and crazy glue. “What’s the matter, Pammy?”
“Kingstone Incorporated,” Ivy replied quietly, ‘though to Harley’s ears the tone sounded almost grudging. “I’m out of ideas.”
Harley put down her scissors and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Kingstone Incorporated? Ain’t they the ones who are buying up acres of rainforest and cuttin’ it down ta make way for palm oil plantations?”
Ivy allowed herself to smile; cutting down Harley’s sugar intake had done wonders for her on-and-off-again lover’s attention span. “That’s right, Harl.”
“And ain’t they the ones who we’re takin’ out next week when they have their shareholders’ conference?”
“You’re right again, Harl.” Ivy beamed with pride, there were times she could just eat Harley up.
“Then,” Harley frowned in confusion. “What’s the problem, Red? Seems simple enough ta me.”
Ivy spread her hands out on the table, carefully avoiding the numerous blobs of glue dotted around its surface. “The who and the why isn’t giving me any trouble,” she said quietly. “The how, however, is. I’m not sure how to go about it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Harley chuckled, reaching into the bag of candy beside her, pulling out a red jelly love heart, and placing it into the palm of Ivy’s hand. “That’s the part where you never have any problems.”
“It’s different this time.” Ivy made a face, “Black Wood are involved.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of ‘em.” Harley said brightly, popping a gummy bear into her mouth.
Ivy shot her a look of sheer incredulity, “Oh come on, Harley. You haven’t been stranded on Mars with your fingers in your ears for the past six months; surely Black Wood is the talk of Arkham right now.
“Was in solitary practically the whole time,” shrugged Harley. “Two Face, Eddie, and ‘Croc could have set up their own subscription website where they posted pictures of themselves dressed up as Japanese schoolgirls and I would’ve been none the wiser.” Harley paused, a decidedly faraway look in her eyes. “Pammy, I never, ever want ta see anything like that. Can you imagine?”
Ivy squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I can’t.”
“Ya know what the saddest part is,” Harley continued, oblivious to her partner’s rapidly darkening mood. “The saddest part is that there are probably people out there who’d pay a whole lotta money ta see Two Face dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl on a swing or ‘Croc ‘n Eddie dressed up as Japanese schoolgirls playin’, like, I dunno, paddy cake or somethin’ - they’d probably pay extra ta see pigtails on ‘Croc too. The Sickos! I mean - “
“Harl -“
“I know you’re always goin’ on about keepin’ an open mind ‘bout stuff,” Harley went on. “Heck, we’d never have hooked up if ya hadn’t -“
“Harl -“
“But, dammit, there are limits, Pammy.” Harley said solemnly, stabbing the table with her finger for emphasis. “There is a distinct difference between sexy and just plain messed up, ya know?”
Ivy opened her eyes, leaned across the table and grabbed Harley’s hand with her own, careful to maintain eye contact. “You’re right, Harl. You are so right.”
Harley settled back into her chair, nodding in satisfaction and Ivy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it would be worth her while to see if she could get Harley on some kind of detox plan, clearly halving her sugar intake hadn’t produced the desired effect after all.
“Anyways,” Harley said, after a moment of quiet contemplation had passed. “These Black Wood people, who are they? Has Batsy been swipin’ kids off the street again? Honestly, the cops really ought to do somethin’ about that.”
Ivy hesitated, “They’re not costumes.”
Harley raised an eyebrow, “Then what? Crazy hippies? Mutant trees? Alien mutant trees? Wood monsters?”
“None of the above,” replied Ivy, with far more patience than she felt. “Black Wood is a private security company.”
Harley squeaked in disdain. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“I wish I were,” Ivy said quietly, examining the jelly love heart that Harley had given her. “Black Wood is not your average run-of-the-mill security firm.”
“C’mon, Pammy,” Harley sniggered in disbelief. “Those GI Joe wannabes are all alike. The day any self-respectin’ costume gets caught out by one of those brain-dead, knuckle-draggers is the day they need ta retire.”
A small smile sardonic smile spread across Ivy’s face. “Oh really, Harl? Well, perhaps I should pass that on to Riddler, Mr Freeze and Scarecrow next time I see them. Tell them you said so.”
Harley’s jaw dropped and then slammed shut several times over, giving her an uncanny resemblance to a demented goldfish. Finally, after a few moments she managed to find her voice. “What?”
“You heard.” Ivy took a deep breath, preparing herself to say it out loud. “They almost caught me last month when I hit the Barret-Whyte Gala. I was lucky to make it out there intact.”
Harley paled and looked at Ivy as if she had just told her that she was giving up the whole eco warrior thing and going off to work for Lexcorp.
Ivy shifted in her seat, giving herself a moment to soak in her own bitterness. “It’s like I said, Harley. Black Wood is not your average security company.”
“Yeah,” Harley mumbled. “I’m getting’ that.”
“They showed up a couple of days after you got sent up the river,” Ivy explained. “Nobody knows where they came from or who runs the company, no one even knows where their headquarters are located.” Ivy sighed, “The only thing anybody that’s tangled with them knows are that those so-called GI Joe wannabes are no wannabes. They know what they’re doing: if I were to hazard a guess I’d say they are probably ex-special forces.”
“How much do they charge?”
Ivy blinked in confusion. “What?”
“How much are Black Wood chargin’ clients for their services?” Harley clarified.
Ivy shrugged, “Having had a look at their equipment, quite a lot I’d imagine. A lot of it seemed rather hi-tech from what I saw.”
“How hi-tech? Are we talkin’ the latest seasonal range from Hank’s Fancy Guns and Ammo, or somethin’ outta S.T.A.R Labs?”
Ivy shot the blonde-haired woman a disgusted look. “From S.T.A.R Labs, Harley.”
“Alright. That means Johnny Slum from ghettovile won’t be hiring ‘em anytime soon,” Harley concluded. “Well that scores Batsy off the list. He may walk around town with a stick up his butt half the time, but he ain’t no elitist, Red.”
Ivy sighed and rubbed her temples, almost wishing she had never opened her mouth to begin with.
“So if Batsy ain’t involved with Black Wood, what he’s saying about ‘em? “ enquired Harley. “I can’t see him being too happy about a bunch of glorified mercs settin’ up shop in his town.”
“I don’t know, Harley.” Ivy snapped, no longer able to keep the irritation out of her voice. “It’s not like I’ve gone skipping up to the Batcave and asked him what he thinks about the subject.”
“Whoa,” said The Mistress of Mischief, wincing slightly and raising a placating hand. “I’m just tryin’ to get up ta speed here. I’ve been up the river for the past six months, remember? I’m way outta the loop on a lot of stuff, baby. I’m just tryin’ to get all the facts here, that’s all.”
Ivy opened her mouth to unleash a scathing retort, took one look at Harley’s pained expression and then promptly closed it again.
Over time, she had learned that this sort of behaviour nearly always drove Harley away. On a good day, and if he was available, Harley would run back to that clown of hers, leaving Ivy alone with her detached rage at the world, waiting for the inevitable. She was used to that. Could live with that…
On a bad day, Harley started to get ideas into her head. Dumb ideas. Heroic ideas. There were times it sounded ridiculous, even to Ivy, but the thought of Harley swinging around Gotham City with a bat emblem branded on her lily-white ass was infinitely worse than the thought of Harley being yet another casualty in Batman and Joker’s crimson waltz. It was strange, but Ivy could never articulate why that was.
Ivy took a breath. “I know you are, Harl. I’m just a little stressed out over this whole thing,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”
Blue eyes flashed merrily and Ivy knew she was forgiven.
A companionable silence fell over them then, punctuated at intervals by a rustling bag of candy and busy scissors against cardboard. It never ceased to irk and amaze Ivy the way Harley could, on occasion, make her feel as though she one of the worst people in the world with just a look. In Ivy’s mind, it was almost ironic; she was one of the most feared individuals in the entire western hemisphere. Men desired her, Women wanted to be her, CEOs everywhere trembled at the mere mention of her name. Yet, one puppy dog look from Harley Quinn, of all the people in the world, and Ivy was as threatening and as powerful as a buttercup. It wasn’t right. No matter how much she cared for the clown girl. No mere human should ever have so much power over her.
Ivy shook her head in attempt to clear the thought. Brooding over Harley’s hold over her never ended well. Inevitably, her mind ended up travelling down a murky path peppered with poisoned thorns, sharp branches and jagged leaves. She would always emerge from the path full of venom; full of spite and some small part of her would be left genuinely sickened and frightened of her capacity for malevolence.
Perhaps what scared Ivy most of all was the fear that one day she’d come back from that path and that little voice that had continually stopped her dead in her tracks over and over wouldn’t be there. And that would be a thousand times worse than Harley losing the last remaining shreds of her sanity and changing her name to Batclown.
Ivy studied her partner for a moment, drinking in her light, drinking in Harley’s simple contentment in her childish work. “What you making, Harl?”
Harley looked up from her project and smiled at her. “Dunno yet, Red. I’ll know what it is when it’s done.”
Ivy wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Is that some subtle way of telling me that we should just hit Kingstone without a plan and hope for the best?”
“Nah,” said Harley, her eyes never leaving her work. “That’d be kinda stupid, Pammy.”
“True enough.”
“Anyways,” Harley said distractedly, half her mind concentrating on a particularly troublesome curve. “These Black Wood people. What’s so good about ‘em?”
Ivy frowned in confusion.
“I mean, yeah, they got the brawn, they got the toys,” Harley clarified. “But what else? I mean if that’s all there was to it then any old bum could have cleaned Gotham up years ago. What’s so great about ‘em? What sets ‘em apart from everybody else.”
“Well,” Ivy began, thinking back to her ill-fated meeting with them. “It’s almost as they know what you’re going to do before you do it.”
Harley’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, “What? You mean like telepathy?”
“No,” Ivy shook her head quickly. “Of course not. It’s like they can predict what your next move is going to be and counter it while you’re still making your first.”
Harley’s eyes grew even wider. “They’re psychic!” she exclaimed with excitement.
Ivy slumped in her chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Harl,” she began tiredly. “They are no psychics or telepaths at Black Wood.”
“C’mon, Red,” Harley argued. “Even Batsy’s not that good. I mean, sure, he gets you in the end and all, but he ain’t as quick as that.”
“Batman is only one man,” Ivy replied firmly, logically. “Black Wood has fifteen to a team or more.”
“But Red,” Harley whined. “That doesn’t mean anything! Not when it comes to The Bat.”
Ivy sighed and counted to ten, her patience at an end. “Look, Harl. Let’s just put Batman aside for a moment.”
Harley looked stunned. “How are ya supposed ta do that? It’s his city!”
Ivy counted to ten again, and then she counted to twenty, glared at Harley through hooded eyes and began ticking off fingers as spoke. “Alright, first of all, I don’t want to hear another word about Batman. I couldn’t care less about Batman. Batman is an obstacle to be overcome, nothing more. Secondly, I don’t want to hear another word about Black Wood. I couldn’t care less about Black Wood. I don’t care about who owns them, what Batman thinks about them, or if they are part of some alien invasion taskforce. Black Wood is an obstacle to be overcome, nothing more. Third, stop going off on tangents, Harl. It’s time to get serious.”
Harley waved at her helplessly. “Well, what da ya want from me?”
“What do I want?” Ivy mimicked. “I want you to help me come up with a plan for the Kingstone hit. That’s all.”
“Well, why didn’t ya just say so, Red?”
“I did.” Ivy hissed through gritted teeth. “And look, before you start rattling of suggestions, I want to make it clear that I don’t want any henchman, idiotic gags, ludicrous man-made weaponry, hyenas, or anything else of a preposterous nature. I want something that just screams me,” she paused for a second as a thought struck her, “but something a little out of the box at the same time.”
Harley slumped in her chair, throwing at quick glance at the empty bag of candy, reached over and picked up the now abandoned jelly love heart from the table. “Whatever you say, Red.”
“Good.”
Another silence fell over the pair, gloomier, thicker and more sullen than the ones previous. Ivy watched as Harley popped the love heart into mouth and chewed it slowly and mechanically as she worked on the problem, or at least, Ivy hoped she was working on the problem.
“How da ya feel about insects?” Harley asked finally.
“Insects?” Ivy repeated dumbly.
“Bees, ta be exact.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow.
“I was thinkin’,” Harley went on. “What if we took out the guards outside the building and, I dunno, put bees in the air vents, or somethin’, then took out everybody else on the inside while they’re all distracted.”
“Bees?” Ivy repeated, incredulous and still smouldering with anger. “Harley, what the hell do bees have to do with anything?”
“Nuthin’, Ivy,” Harley said quietly, shaking her head. “Nuthin’ at all.”