self-made.
wait hold on.
Title: Self-Made
Characters // Pairings: Harley Quinn, the Joker // As you see it.
Rating // Warnings: G // none
Canon: Gotham
Wordcount: 255
Summary: A self-taught genius.
---
She's never met anyone like him.
Cold, calculating, and yet, fun in his smile and in the stretched, angry pink scar tissue of the scar he calls a grin. His smile is forever because someone has carved it into him. He might have done it himself.
And he is a genius.
No one has taught him how to be like this. He is not like her, prim and proper in her pencil skirt and her stark white blouse and her perfectly coiffed blonde hair -- no, he is a man with chalk-white skin, perpetually dishevelled hair and a three-piece that might have been Cadbury purple, once upon a time.
He is always wearing it, and the scent below the cologne is like rotting flesh, like dreams gone rancid. The psychology books tell her that he is insane.
And yet for Dr Quinzel, he is something she cannot decipher. She is only an intern, and yet -- why is he so captivating?
He is a self-taught genius. Not her, with her psychology books and her university degrees and her internship at the ever-welcoming Arkham Asylum. No one has taught him to be smart -- he just is.
He is a killer. A plain jane murderer. His crimes come with happy faces and novelty bows and card tricks, but he is a murderer, and she -- love?
It's love, is what it is, and it strikes her like a slap in the face.
Harleen Quinzel drops her facade, and Harley Quinn smiles at the Joker's back.
Exeunt.
Title: Self-Made
Characters // Pairings: Harley Quinn, the Joker // As you see it.
Rating // Warnings: G // none
Canon: Gotham
Wordcount: 255
Summary: A self-taught genius.
---
She's never met anyone like him.
Cold, calculating, and yet, fun in his smile and in the stretched, angry pink scar tissue of the scar he calls a grin. His smile is forever because someone has carved it into him. He might have done it himself.
And he is a genius.
No one has taught him how to be like this. He is not like her, prim and proper in her pencil skirt and her stark white blouse and her perfectly coiffed blonde hair -- no, he is a man with chalk-white skin, perpetually dishevelled hair and a three-piece that might have been Cadbury purple, once upon a time.
He is always wearing it, and the scent below the cologne is like rotting flesh, like dreams gone rancid. The psychology books tell her that he is insane.
And yet for Dr Quinzel, he is something she cannot decipher. She is only an intern, and yet -- why is he so captivating?
He is a self-taught genius. Not her, with her psychology books and her university degrees and her internship at the ever-welcoming Arkham Asylum. No one has taught him to be smart -- he just is.
He is a killer. A plain jane murderer. His crimes come with happy faces and novelty bows and card tricks, but he is a murderer, and she -- love?
It's love, is what it is, and it strikes her like a slap in the face.
Harleen Quinzel drops her facade, and Harley Quinn smiles at the Joker's back.
Exeunt.