A Trip to Brookhaven pt. 3 (Wednesday 3/22)

[master_of_fear]

"Good afternoon Harley," Jonathan says as they enter the room, he's clearly being less formal with her, "I brought you a visitor. Tara McCutcheon, meet Harlene Quinzel. Harley, Tara was the friend of mine I talked about last week, who wanted to come and speak with you?"

"Hey-ya, Jonny-boy! This is her, huh? Call me Harley, doll face, everybody does. Whatcha wanna know about little ol' me anyhow?"

Wow. Perky. The first person she's seen in this hell-hole prison that doesn't look like she's miserable being there. "Hi, Harley." Tara can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "I was, um..." Talking about 'evil' in the face of this perkiness seems wrong, and Tara looks to Jonathan for help.

"Tara here was interested in your unique outlook on things," he tells Harley, ignoring her calling him 'Jonny' yet again. "Just a few questions, mostly your outlook on evil though." he smiles at Tara, nodding to Harley, because with Harley, the best thing is just to say it out loud.

"My outlook on evil? Aww, for real?" She curls her lips into a disappointed sneer and drops to the floor, legs crossed, chin on her fist. "An here I thought you'd at least tell me a joke...'er sumpthin fun. Well, everyone knows evil's bad, right? but even if sumpthin's bad doesn't mean it isn't FuNNy." She rocks back, giggling.

"Alright," Tara replies, finding Harley's laughter somewhat infectious. She sinks down onto the floor, her own legs tucked behind her, bringing herself on level with Harley. "Can you tell me something funny, then? I mean, evil, bad, and funny?"

He smiles; he can't help himself, as he joins Tara on the floor. Maybe Harley is the most visibly crazy person they've spoken with, and maybe she isn't as well mannered as the others, but for Jonathan at least... she's the most fun.

"Well, this one time we were stealin' some chemicals for Mistah J's new giggle gas, an' I thought it might make him smile if I got the guard to dance. So I pulled out my pistol, the biiiiig shiiiiney silver one, and I was gonna do that thing you see in the movies. But...see, I ain't such a good shot, and I hit him WHAMMO! Right between the eyes and the back of his head, KAPOW!" she adds hand gestures in case they don't understand what brains and skull do in response to a bullet. An' the Boss thought it mighta been the funniest thing evah. But see, murder's kinda evil, huh?" as if she should know better, and simply doesn’t care because it really was funny.

Ah, she's definitely the most visibly crazy they've spoken with. "Although, um... technically that would be manslaughter, right? Or something? Because you didn't mean to kill him?" Although people are just as dead after an accidental death than a real one. As she well knows.

That surprises him, not that Harley killed the guard, because he's read her psych file a thousand times, but that Tara manages to almost make a joke out of it. Harley's going to love that.

She blinks, and then blinks again, her smile spreading so wide it seems impossible for anyone's lips to do that. "That mighta made it more funny! Yeah...'cept I was gonna kill him anyhow. Just not like that. Usually one of the boys kneecaps'em and Mistah J has me shoot 'em in the gut, so they wiggle and whine and beg and laugh. It's pretty funny, really."

Well, she has an... interesting sense of humour. She doesn't know a lot about fighting, but she knows more than the average person about injuries, because Buffy has had more than her fair share. Stomach and gut injuries tend to be the worst. They take a long time to heal, and there's a chance of infection - although granted, a far lower chance if you're the slayer. The talk about guns is making her profoundly uncomfortable, but this is what her desensitization has been for. She can talk about them, at least, in the abstract, and not be crippled by it. She's not smiling anymore, though. "So what's your favourite thing, Harley? In the whole world?"

He sees the smile leave Tara's face, as he knew it would and tries to remain supportive of her, while still letting Harley know he wasn't judging her.

She breathes in deep and heaves a huge sigh, clapping her hands under her chin and looking skyward with a dreamy expression, "My Puddin'...best thing in the whole world."

Okay, that she can't help but giggle at, because it wasn't what she expected Harley to say. "Does the kitchen make it for you, here?"

Jonathan lets out an actual laugh as well, because really, the idea of Harley talking about actual pudding this whole time is extremely amusing.

She looks at Tara, suddenly un amused. "My Puddin. My Hunny...my boyfriend? THEE Joker! Sheesh...think you'd been under a rock'er sumpthin." She rolls her eyes dramatically, and then follows the motion through with her body rocking sideways on her hips and rolling around until she's standing. "He loves me. An' I love him. He's what keeps me goin' in this hellhole.

"I'm sorry," Tara replies, feeling awkward now that she's caught in a sitting position, with Harley's slight form towering above her. "I haven't read your profile or anything, I didn't know. Um, not so much with the rock, but I've been pretty sheltered for a few years. Would you mind telling me about your boyfriend? I mean, I assume he's famous or something..." From the emphasis on 'The' Joker, at least.

"Famous or sumpthin'." She shakes her head, her blonde ponytails swaying against her shoulders. "The Joker is only the most brilliant, most handsome, most wonderful fella a girl could evah hope for! An' he makes me laugh."

"You know, most women say a sense of humour is the most important thing in a boyfriend," Tara says. "I can see why you're so in love with him - but, um, why did you expect me to know about him?"

For a moment, he thinks about letting Harley explain about The Joker, but, that's not really such a good idea. "The Joker is wanted in Gotham City for over 40 counts of murder," he explains, "He's a criminal mastermind and has synthesized a gas that stimulates the centers of the brain that regulate laughter. It makes those exposed laugh uncontrollably until the subject literally dies from it.

"Oh," Tara says softly. "You know, I always hear people say they could have died laughing, but I never thought you really could." Mind you, after a few minutes of solid belly laughter it starts to hurt. And even through the pain, sometimes Tara gets 'stuck', and can't stop laughing even when her sides are aching with it. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. ...Which is a horrible, gruesome, disgusting, offensive way to die, to take something as beautiful as laughter and to turn it into poison. She doesn't know what to say except, "I, um... I guess I was wrong."

"My Puddin's a Geeeeeen-yus. I mean, is there any better way to go out than laughin'? Go out with a smile, ya know? Every time he takes center stage, he kills." Talking about him, the gleam in her eyes grows a bit harder, a bit colder. "There ain't no one in the world like Mistah J. An' he's all mine. When he touches me, when he laughs for me...it's...it's paradise!"

Jonathan looks at Tara; raising his eyebrow in hopes she understood that this obsession was the source of Harley's madness.

Harley scares her more than Mr. Lynns did. Because this isn't the misapplied ecoterrorism of Pamela Isely, or the inspirational visions of Mr. Lynns. This is madness. She doesn't have a cause, she doesn't have a purpose. This is evil, the evil that Angelus taught her. Evil is different from a snake or a hurricane not because of the damage it inflicts, but because of the pleasure it derives in doing that. Harley is evil. This Joker is evil. "Another question, if you don't mind? Nobody ever likes to think about the worst thing that could happen to them, but... but what's the worst thing that could happen to you? Like, the stuff of nightmares for you?"

Her smile fades incrementally until her lips are pursed in a tight bow. "I don't like that question, sista. That's gettin' mighty personal...Jonny-boy there never even asked me that one."

He hasn't, but mostly because he can guess the answer. For some one like Harley, who has literally reinvented herself for the man she 'loves' he can think of nothing she'd hate more than to be cast aside from The Joker. It's sad and twisted, but he knows that's how it is.

"You don't have to answer," Tara replies, drawing her knees up to her chest under her long skirt. "I know it's really personal, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to understand how you think about evil, because, um, we kind of got distracted with the funny side of it." Not that she believes there is a funny side to evil - but Harley does, and that's what's important. "Maybe a different one? Like, um, could you tell me something evil that isn't funny?"

She cocks her head and blinks, nearly flutters, her eyelids. "Evil that isn't funny. Huh. OK..." Dropping to the floor again she puts on a serious face and thinks hard. "Evil that isn't funny is a fella not caring about the girl who loves him. Not hating her, just not even thinkin of her. It's not funny. It hurts."

"Yeah," Tara replies, her eyes filling with sadness and sympathy. "Yeah, it does. Hate's not that far from love, really, because you have to care about something to put the energy and emotion into it. Just being nothing, though... insignificant and invisible... yeah." She wouldn't call it evil, personally - but it helps her identify what evil means for Harley. Evil is pain she feels, a completely subjective perspective. Evil is the label given to the emotions that are at odds with her bubbly personality and desire for joy - or the illusion of it, at any rate.

She shrugs, "'Course, that's when you tie 'em up over a tank of pirhanas and make 'em love ya. Who wouldn't be thrilled to see all those smiling fishies, I ask ya." She pulls her legs up, knees right under her chin, and she rocks back and forth, "Yep, that's what I'd do to anyone who forgot about me. Moved on...no other girl could take Harley's place. No sirree." Lost in thought, she's clearly talking to herself, her sadness and frustration and anger simmering just below the surface of her reflexive smile. "He loves me. He does. He does. He does."

They'd had this talk, several weeks ago. Jonathan had felt sorry for her then and he felt sorry for her now. No one knew where he was, and no matter how much time went by, she was unwilling to believe anything but his impending return.

"Of course he does," Tara replies softly. "Who else would he find who can laugh with him the way you do? I mean, I don't have to tell you that most people wouldn't see the joke in the dancing story. But you did, and he did. How could he not love someone who understands him that way?" If he does love her, then it's the truth. If he doesn't, then it's what she needs to believe to hold herself together, and it's a white lie for a good cause.

She looks up slowly, her eyes narrowing. "An' you did to. You...BITCH!" Up in a flash, she was at the bars, a screaming flash of reaching arms and jealous hatred. "You came in here just to get info on my Puddin'! Well you can't have him doll face. I'll kill ya before you lay a hand on my Joker!"

Tara scrambles backwards on her bottom, trying to regain her feet and failing on the first try, tripping on her long skirt and pulling it half down her hip before the elastic springs back into place. "Gay! I'm gay! And married! And I didn't think it was funny, I promise!" She waves her left hand, bearing Shane's ring, at the angry woman. "My wife's name is Shane and I know how you feel about your Joker, because I feel the same way about her, but I promise you, even the handsomest, smartest, funniest, most wonderful man in the world would not be someone I wanted, because I'm gay. Very gay. And I like women!"

Her snarling fit fades as quickly as it came on, and she crosses her arms. "Well, ya can't have me neither. But Mistah J could make a gay girl go gahgah. You know? Gahgah? Gahgah-ha ha ha HOO! Hee hahahahah, Gahgah, hee hahahahaha, hoooweee, haahaahaaahaaa" Arms slip down and clutch her stomach as she laughs and falls back onto her cot, rolling with glee at whatever it was that triggered the fit.

Jonathan also moves backwards, he'd never actually had Harley try and get violent before. Sure, she'll have a mood or get petulant and of course, she was a bit upset during their first session, "but for the most part, she's mostly okay. Tara manages to defuse the situation though, like she always manages to. "Harley?" he asks, once she starts laughing, sometimes she just finds things really funny, "are you okay?

Her laughter slowly fades and she holds her stomach tightly as she rolls off the cot and drops to the floor on all fours. Grinning at him, she crawls forward then plunks down cross-legged. "Sure thing, Jonny-boy. That one's fun! She's got on heckuva sense of humor to get me going like that." she turns the wide grin to Tara, "I like you doll-face. Sorry about the B word there, that wasn't funny."

Tara blinks in surprise, but a tentative smile slowly forms. Harley's moods change so quickly she can't possibly keep up, but for the most part her sense of humour has always fallen flat. Harley, granted, has a very unusual sense of humour, but to make anyone laugh like that is a gift Tara won't easily forget - even if that person is criminally insane. "It's okay," she assures Harley. "I know it must be hard, trapped in here and not able to see him. If it were me, I'd be worried about Shane, too - and I know other people would want her, wonderful as she is." She knows that goes against Jonathan's stricture not to give out personal details... but a sense of understanding can't hurt, right?

tJonathan smiles at Harley, glad that she's okay, and not having a laughing fit. He can't fault Tara for telling Harley about Shane, any attempt to reinforce the fact that Tara is very much involved is a good thing. And luckily Harley thinks Joker is coming for her, so she won't flip out about that.

Her grin melts slowly into something frightening as she narrows her eyes and files away that little tidbit. "You're married to a chick named Shane, huh?" She holds her ankles and rocks back and forth, the smile twisting into something grotesque. "Does she make you laugh, doll-face? Really laugh?"

Tara thinks about that, considering the question seriously. Finally she shakes her head. "No. I don't laugh much. She makes me smile, but... no, not really laugh." Then, with her best attempt at a grin under Harley's twisted expression, she adds, "but there are other things that are more important to me, and she does all of those."

Jonathan almost blushes at that, because he really doesn't think of Tara in that way. But as a tactic to speak to Harley like a peer rather than an outsider, it's pretty ingenious.

Tara actually didn't mean those things... but Jonathan is just enough behind her that she can't see his blush. Which is probably just as well.

She blinks, almost confused. "She doesn't make you really laugh? She smacks your butt, right? I mean...if she doesn't make ya laugh hard, at least she makes ya cry, right? Otherwise... I dunno why you'd love'er so much." The really frightening part of all of this is she clearly believes it.

Jonathan looks quickly at Tara, gauging whether or not he should say something to Harley about propriety.

Tara shakes her head, a soft smile lingering at her lips. "I guess we look for different things in a partner. She's kind and thoughtful, she's calm and steady with everything but herself... it isn't so much that I love her for how she makes me feel. I love her for who she is, as a human being - and that makes me feel things. But it's, um... kind of a side effect?"

"Oh! I gitcha! It's like Mistah J's gas...it makes you laugh until you die, and as a side effect it paralyzes the muscles so ya smile even aftah yer dead. Well, that's sweeta her." she narrows her eyes and intones the name like a predator. "Shane. Shane...McCutcheon."

...So that's why you don't talk about yourself with these people. A chill runs through Tara at the way Harley says Shane's name, and she looks to Jonathan, wanting to take back the last few minutes. She doesn't understand in the least the comparison Harley's made - nothing could possibly seem more different to Tara - but she doesn't want Harley talking about Shane that way. Whatever that way is.

"Harley," Jonathan says, a clear warning in his voice, "I brought Mrs. McCutcheon here to talk to you. I thought you'd like the change of pace it provided. I didn't bring her here to be harassed. You're always on about how boring it is here, and here you are chasing away your first visitor by being rude."

Her whole posture slumps as she pouts. "I was jus' having some fun, Jonny-boy. Whatcha wan' me to do? Play nice? Play...Harlene?" She rolls her eyes and gives him a petulant glare. "A-heh-heh-hem..." her voice drops and the accent fades away as she looks up calmly at Tara. "Forgive me, Mrs. McCutcheon. Sometimes I forget myself. I'm clinically psychotic, you know. Sometimes I experience cognitive dissonance between my true self and my perceived self. Unfortunately, one can never tell when I'll just go, oh, what's the technical term?" She furrows her brows and looks to Jonathan. "Oh. Yes." she draws a circle in the air by her head and grins. "Woowoo nutso."

"No, it's... it's okay," Tara replies, watching the change between the 'true self' and the 'perceived self' with no small amount of wonder. "I just... yeah, you didn't like the implication that I might be going after the Joker, and I don't like the implication that you might go after Shane. So, um... I won't threaten your truelove, and you don't threaten mine, and we're all good? Yeah?"

That surprised Jonathan, because sure, he's always telling Tara that she's stronger than she knows, he can see it inside her, beautiful and shining but this is unexpected. Tara isn't usually the type to stand up directly to an attack like that. He's impressed.

"Peachy keen, jelly bean." she nods decisively and rocks forward. One hand on her ankles and one twirling her hair, she grins wide once again. "We're all good...or bad. You know." she gives her a dramatic, overemphasized wink and nods once again. Turning to Jonathan, she puts on a comically overdone pout. "I'm sorry I was mean to your friend, Jonny-boy."

"Thank you for apologizing Harley," he says, shooting Tara a concerned look.

Apologized to him, but not to her. Should she be reading some significance into that? No, she's probably just paranoid. She gives Jonathan a nod, a duck of her head, smiling a little. "I, um... I think we might be done here, though? Unless there was anything else you wanted to talk about, Harley...?"

She shrugged, and then rolled around in a circle only to return to her sitting position. "Nope. You could tell me a joke 'fore ya go though. I like jokes."

A joke, huh? She's not very good at jokes. And what she finds funny probably won't be anywhere near what Harley finds funny. She feels like she should try, though. So what would Harley find funny... "Okay. I can do that. Um... there was this girl, right? And she had a lover, and a best friend. And this guy, he hated that best friend, and so he came to her house one day, and shot at her.

Except he missed, and the bullet struck the girl's lover, not her friend, straight through the heart, and she died. So this girl, she hunted him down, sewed up his mouth with black thread so he couldn't scream, like her lover didn't have time to, and then shot him with the same bullet that killed her lover and flayed him to death. And the best friend, who was a hero type, had to try and kill this girl, because you don't let murderers go free. So with a single missed shot, this guy destroyed three lives - the lover, who he didn't even know, the girl, who went evil, and the best friend, who was forced to try and kill her best friend. So even when he lost, he won."

Jonathan's not just surprised at Tara sharing this, he's shocked. What Warren did to her is one of the most private things in her life. Her secret pain and private, torturous memory. And he almost aches for Tara, because he knows what's coming, knows without a doubt how Harley will react to a story like this. He reaches out a hand to touch Tara's, knowing she'll need the support.

Her eyes grow wider and wider and her mouth opens even as she keeps smiling. Pure, childlike glee is written on her face until she hears the 'punch line.' this guy destroyed three lives... So even when he lost, he won." She gasps in with a squeal and rolls onto her back howling with laughter. "WHOOOOOOOooooooooWAaahahahahahahahahaha!! Bwahahahahahahahahaha! Stitched his lips shut! Whooooweeee, that's FuNNy! HAAhahahahahahahaha!!!"

She clutches her belly and rolls with sheer joy. "Flayed! Hahaha An'...An'...four whole people! It jes' goes to show ya, the best jokes are always killers! Wahahahahahahahahahahahaha..." Lost in the imagery of murder and revenge, she laughs until tears spill down her cheeks, until she can't breathe, until long after they're gone.

She told this one for two reasons. First, because there was a moment of understanding between her and Harley, a moment where they were too much the same - and she doesn't want that. This deliberately distances her, brings back the fear and unease and the hate, the reassurance that Harley is evil. Second, it was a test, to make sure she understood Harley correctly. Her own death is the most evil thing she can think of, senseless and useless and awful and horrible. The fact that Harley finds it impossibly amusing solidifies Tara's theories about her, and the way her mind works. ...Now she just has to deal with the consequences of laying herself bare like that, and struggle to keep it from showing on her face. Rising to her feet she nods to Jonathan and goes to stand by the door, leaving Harley to her hysterical laughing.

Jonathan follows Tara to the door, opening it for her and leading her outside. He leaves a note on the chart outside Harley's room, advising them to sedate her if the laughing fit lasts for longer than 10 minutes. He strokes one hand down Tara's back, "You okay?" he asks.

Alone in her cell she gasps and wheezes, laughing until her head swims from lack of breath. Lance parks himself against the wall across from her door, watching her roll and shake, checking his watch. Mr. Crane had said 10, but all the orderlies knew once she got going...she could go all night.

Frank joined him at the ten minute limit and they went in together. For a petite little thing, she could really pack a whallop if there wasn't someone to hold her down. Frank had the syringe loaded with her standard 200mg dose of Thorazine and tapped the bubbles and tore open the alcohol pad as Lance laid her out on the cot and held her wrist and both ankles in his large hands. Ginny stood out in the hall, watching the men according to protocol, but there was no way she was stepping into Harley's cell ever again. Dr. Chilton had agreed to her terms without a fight.

Today, though, none of the precautions were necessary. Harley had nearly laughed herself into unconsciousness, and the Thorazine carried her the rest of the way into a realm of distorted dreams where her beloved Joker danced with her and pressed soft kisses to the lips he had stitched together himself.

((pre-played via IM locked for interaction, but please OOC to your heart's content. Many thanks to cupidofcrime))