161/Calling doctor O'Neil

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Calling doctor O'Neil
Date of Scene: 27 February 2020
Location: April's Apartment
Synopsis: Terry comes by to check on April, runs into her house-guest, Vanessa aka (Harley Quinn).
Cast of Characters: Harley Quinn, Terry O'Neil

Harley Quinn has posed:
It ain't even that Harley had some wild night, she just sleeps like a fuckin' rock.

Layin' up on the couch with her body twisted in some odd contortionist position, her crop top is barely hangin' on for dear life from the catatonic comotase like death slumber that she's fallen into. One leg is thrown over the back of the couch, the other is dangling down on the floor, and her hair.... Oh sweet merciful Christ, her hair..

It's like the bride of Frankenstein.

Blonde with pink and light blue, going in every direction, but down... Her makeup looks like she wore it on a slip and slide, and there's some smeared on her inner arm where she's been laying with her face buried in the couch...

Laying across the back cushion is a shoulder holster with a big ass Hand-canon of a .44 Magnum engraved with all sorts of HAHA fun craziness that I haven't gotten around to describin' yet... and there's a black leather jacket covered in chains/spikes, and a big pink Smiley face dangling off one of the chairs in the kitchen.

OH RIGHT, there's two hyenas laying on Harley's back JUST AS FUCKING COMATOSE.

And ALL THREE OF THEM are snoring.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry had an uneventful morning. Recovering from getting shot during a failed stake-out was exciting and all, but the required rest afterwards was rather boring. He's supposed to take it easy. No driving while under painkillers, no lifting, yada yada yada. But nothing said he couldn't take an Uber and come visit his cousin.

And nothing said he couldn't talk shop while visiting, right? A he approaches the door, he fishes in his jacket pocket with his right hand. He considers giving April a ring on the phone, but then he decides he'll go old school.

He knocks. Knock-knock-knock!

He stands back and crosses his arms, wincing a little. He's wearing a tank top under his leather jacket, even in this weather, because the area is still tender and he doesn't want anything on it yet. The bandages are very visible... he figures it'll be a great conversation starter with Ape.

Harley Quinn has posed:

'HAAAAALEEEEEEE... Wake up ya piece of shit, good fer nothin'! If thats the police, ya hold'em off long enough for Puddin' ta get outta here and I'll come find ya when the dust settles!'

Harley shifts enough to dislodge one of the Hyenas, "You got't, Mistah j..." in that far away dreamy voice where real world and brain movie are coalescing together. Bud opens his mouth into a super wide yawn and shakes his head violently, which sends the bells on his collar to jingling, which adds fuel to the Harley dream-fire.

brnnng brrrnnnng, Baby it's cold outside... Harley sitting in Arkham over Christmas, decorating a ratty looking wireframe Christmas Tree, crouching in the darkness in her orange jumpsuit. It'd been almost a year since Joker let her get herself locked up, Maybe fer christmas, puddin'll get me outta heah, ya think? 'He aint comin' you crazy bitch.'


Harley sits bolt up right on the couch, pushing into an impossible bend with her face lookin' like she just made out with Gene Simmons. "WHAT!" Stumble, "get offa me..." Mushin' at Bud, "Move ya big asshole..." She finally gets to her feet and yanks the pistol out of the holster as she walks barefoot to the door and starts unlatching locks. She opens it in such a way that the pistol is hidden behind it, hip jut out, hair... hahaha.. face.. HAHAHAHA'er... and one bra covered boob visible. She has no clue. "What?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
This, Terry was NOT expecting. Now, they say the human mind is a remarkable thing- it will do some amazing things, like delude itself about the identity of people far too improbable to be in one particular location. Even when said brain is aware of certain knowledge. Behold an example:

Harley Quinn can't be in April's Apartment. Yes, I know April interviewed Harley for her podcast. But no. April O'Neil would not be insane enough to let Harley Quinn into her apartment. Especially since she looks like she slept the night there. And surely April would have mentioned SOMETHING to him over text, right? Therefore, this is not Harley Quinn. Now, who on earth would DRESS like Harley Quinn overnight?

You get the idea. The machine of rationalizations underway, the nearest available conclusion is grasped at with the steel-grip of a desire for normalcy and stability:

Terry's face splits into a grin, and he says "Hi! I'm Terry.... April's cousin? I don't know if she's told you about me. You must be Vanessa!" because he knew Vanessa was a sex worker, and he was perfectly okay with that. He also knew that sometimes sex workers had to tend to certain clients who had... certain fetishes. Far be it from him to chastise someone for a supervillain fetish, as long a they weren't, you know, actual villains.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I take it Ape has gone to the channel already?" he was hoping to catch her before she went out.

Harley Quinn has posed:
Harley has fallen back asleep against the door while Terry is sorting out her identity... Lean against it, her upper lip is pulled taut against her teeth and her cheek is bubbled up around her eye where her face is done slid down a little. Her teeth are all pearly white, except where there's red from her smeared up lipstick... Thankfully, she aint fallen into a deep comatose slumber again and pops one eye open, one blood shot eye, to stare at Terry.

Harley's brain don't work like normal peoples.

But she doesn't wanna get April in trouble... sooooo.

"Oh cool, nice'ta meet'ya Terry the cousin." She pushes off the door, the last few words of her greeting deeper because of the yawn into her forearm, which she drags across her face. "Come'on in..." Waving the big .44 Magnum invitingly, stepping away scratching super deep into her butt crack as she walks towards the bathroom. "Imma freshin' up... I was whorin' real hard doin' whore work." Into the bathroom.

"I suck't like twelve dicks at once'er suh'n." Shrug, pistol on the sink. "Ya wanna do me a favah an' get some coffee brewin'? Also, don't mind the Hyenas, they're actually midgets in fur costumes, their part of mah who'were act."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Amazingly enough, Terry is not -quite- taken aback by the gun. He knows that, due to laws criminalizing sex work, sex workers are exposed to a lot of dangers both from clients and their 'handlers.' "Must have been a difficult client." He glances over at the Hyenas... and they look realistic. Very realistic. He has heard of people that dress up in animal costumes for fun, of course, who on the internet hasn't? He's even seen some pictures from when the news outlets cover one convention or another when a horde of colorfully-attired people in costumes descend upon a city to revitalize local economies.

But he's never seen suits *this* realistic. He had to commend Vanessa on her commitment.

"One cup of Venezuela coming right up," Terry says, heading for the familiar coffeepot. "It's nice to put a face to the name. I've not visited since I moved to Metropolis, so I thought it was time to drop in and talk shop with Ape."

Harley Quinn has posed:
Bud and Lou are still out like dead lights, snoring and doing the little kicky thing animals do when their havin' cute Hyena dreams of eatin' people er whatever the hell Heynas dream about.

Harley pools water in her palm and splashes her face, rubbing vigorously at her makeup, and manages to get enough of it off her face that she doesn't look like she went face diving in clown crotch. She aint presentable enough fer Church, but it aint Sunday an' she don't go to Church no how... "Yer a gem." She echos out the doorway to Terry, unhooking her belt and pushing her painted on black jeans down to settle onto the toilet.

She pees like a fire hose putting out a brush fire! KRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! Super good plumbing. The HPV must be in remission. Her whole body folds over itself while she goes, face nearly resting on her knees, and once she's done she basically bog lords the toilet paper. Hopefully April's apartment has good plumbing too!

Stepping out with another yawn, black/red croptop righted over herself so she's mostly descent, she continues itching, face all scrunched up trying to scratch her nose while her fingers are busy. "Ape.. tha's funny.. Imma call'er that ironically..." Murmuring, quiet giggle on her voice, smack smack of her lips. "She aint here though. I think she went ta do work'er suh'n, I unno, I was sleepin'."

Back over to the couch, with the pistol sliding back in the shoulder holster laid across the back cushion. Once she's settled and kicked Lou over out of the way with the ball of her bare heel, "Move ya big asshole.... uhhhhhhh-" Shooooove... She reaches for the remote and flicks on the tv, "I don't suppose ya do breakfast'er suh'n? I'd kill fer some maple syrup bacon pancakes.."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Heh, why not?" Terry seems amused by 'Vanessa's familiarity and her being clearly at ease. "I'm kind of hungry myself. I didn't each much yesterday after getting out of the hospital. Pain meds and all."

As he fishes through the refrigerator for the bacon, he explains "I got shot the other day. Grazed, mind you. Was trying to stake out a drug deal at Suicide Slum and got noticed. So I guess i've earned my O'Neil name now." This explains why he's been keeping the left arm mostly immobile. As he grabs the pancake box and the yrup, he shrugs his leather jacket off and hangs it from the back of the door so that it' out of the way.

"I figured Ape's probably at the channel, yeah. I try not to text her when she's at work unless it's something urgent."

He searches among the pans, and soon enough he has the heat going, a prelude to the apartment being permeated by the sickly-sweet smell of bacon and maple in an unholy marriage that is clearly bad for you, but still oh so good.

"I didn't tell her I got shot. She's probably going to be piiiiissed I didn't tell her." He grins over his shoulder at 'Vanessa.'

Harley Quinn has posed:
Harley yawns again. She's not bored by Terry's story, even if it probably doesn't appear like she's paying attention, she's just tired. A cheek propped up in her palm with the elbow on the arm of the couch, legs folded up beneath her, and eyes starting to sag again, she's lazily flipping through channels with no clear indication of where she's going in mind. She'll know when she gets there!

"Uh huh.." Is her initial distracted response. Outta the hospital, yadda yadda "Idda brought ya ice cream." Meta. Another yawn, stretching backwards over the couch until her back pops in a series of little cracks which feels sooooo great... and leaves her half dangling upside down staring at the kitchenette area where Terry is workin' on them bomb ass smellin' pancakes.

"I 'membah the first time I got shot." She intones wistfully, smacking her face. She almost tells the story too, except that'd probably be a Harley story, not a Vanessa story. So how does she Vanessa it up? "It was with tons of semen, cus I'm a sex worker." Nailed it.

Palm of her hand digs into her right eye, remote tossed onto the table so she can absently pet Lou with the other hand. Making baby noises at him through clinched teeth, "Money shot fer mommy, yes it was... YES it was..."

Back to the POINT, "Yeh, prolly, but I unno if April is able ta GET pissed.. I aint never seen it." To be fair, she's only known her for like two days, though.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"That's why she's so good at what she does." The pancakes are starting to take shape. You can't hurry greatness, even if his stomach is clamoring for it. "Ape has the potential to be a great journalist, and I'm talking Lois Lane level greate here. All she's lacking is the time and experience, but she'll get there. But the secret is not just being nosy and getting into trouble and telling people about it."

While he's at it, he serves himself some mlik onto a glass and takes a sip.

"The real secret is that Ape sincerely likes people. And that's why she gets them to open up like flowers to the dawn. April isn't nasty, April isn't going to turn your story into clickbait. She's going to get your story out there, warts and all, but she's not going to spit on you for it."

He looks over his shoulder at 'Vanessa.' "It's funny that you're dressed like that. She interviewed Harley Quinn just a few days ago- but you probably know that. It's probably why they um, request from your client that you wear the getup. Every time she's in the news, there's this huge spike for her on social media. People are fascinated by her..." he shakes his head, realizing he's getting off the track, "But that interview was good. Some vulture from another source would have poked and prodded and tried to get her angry. That's bullshit. That's cheap reporting. Reduces people to gimmicks and that makes me angry."

And voila, the pancakes are ready in their gooey majesty. He grabs a plate and starts serving up a stack to take to Harley. "HQ's twitter feed exploded last night, too. I saw mention of her wanting to change track."

He pauses, "Milk or OJ?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
Harley stares at the television, cheek all pillowed against her palm, and expression dower now that the makeup is gone. She just looks like a tired woman who may be aging prematurely because of the life she's chosen to lead. "Yeh, tha's why I agre- uh..." Smack, sit up straight, stop fallin' asleep ya crazy bitch! Harley blinks a few times, grabs the couch behind her, and leaps over the cushions with ease. fifteen years of gymnastics, since she was a child, and all the benefits that came from whatever crazy concoction Ivy pumped into her..

She's also supremely quiet when she needs to be. When Terry turns to glance back, she's standing in the doorway leaning a shoulder into the frame. Drawn by talk of her, drawn by that conversation last night... "I read tha'." The conversation between the purple teenager gobbler on her twitter feed. "I unno if people appreciate how difficult it is for a woman like Ha'lee Quinn ta change.. what they gonna do? Shock her inta sanity?" Leaning forward, neck snapping slightly. "Medicine? Is tha' the solution?" The psychologist in her nows the answer.

Pharmacuticals are a finger in a broken dam of that kind of insanity. "There's gonna be hiccups along the road.. meanwhile, she's bein' judged harshly by the poster child of shitty parentin'? Who the /fuck/ lets their pre-teen run aroun' alone after midnight shootin' bows an' arrows at Russian Mobsters?"

Had it gotten to her? Fuck yes it had gotten to her. "OKAY BOOMER..." Her fist slams down into the door frame, hard enough that the apartment rattles... A violent snort. "Stupid lil' twelve year old cunt."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh, I imagine there's going to be more of that for a while. Any social medianaut know that there will always be people who don't know the full story, don't care to find out, but still will shoot off their mouths anyways." He makes sure the pancakes have an oozy coating of syrup as he serves them onto the plate and brings them over to 'Vanessa.'

"I'm aiming to be a journalist some day. And that means I am not qualified to make comments on Harley's new leaf. I don't know the story, and I suppose I won't for a while. April probably knows more, really. My thoughts on it? If she can do it, then all the power to her. It's going to be hard, that's for sure. She's done stuff in the past that stays with you for a while. Habits. And, well... trauma."

He turns around to serve himself some 'cakes. "I'm not a mental health specialist, and I am not going to pretend I know about it just 'cause I read a few books. I don't know what it's like, to have trauma, and certainly not on that level. I hope she can become a force for good, and I hope she has friends who can help her when she's on the edge. I mean... who do villains and heroes go to when they need an ear? Wonder Woman?"

He pauses and tilts his head, as a pancake shlops onto his plate. ".... yeah. Wonder Woman is probably the most compassionate person on earth. That being said, I hope H.Q. can do it. If she manages to stop killing people and jut, you know, beats them up and bags them up, it may show enough people that she's being earnest."

He shakes his head and its down to eat his pancake. "Okay Boomer. Man, talk about embarrassing yourself. Whomever her mentor is should tell her a thing or two about brand management on social media. You can bag up crooks and still look like an idiott because you sound like a cliche.""

Harley Quinn has posed:
Harley breaths through the spike in her temperment and reaches out for the offered plate of flapjacks ala Canadia, maple syrup and BACON, "Thanks." Whether it's for the pancakes or the ... well it aint really solidarity. A pale hand comes up to rub at the back of her slinder neck, beneath the long strands of blonde blue/pink dyed hair as she drops down into a seat with a knife and fork. "Milk." As to what she'd like to drink, but she pops up to get it herself since Terry is servin' himself an' she aint exactly a cripple.

"I unno a lot about psychological stuff neithah, on account of I'm a prostitute, but if I did have a PhD in psychology or suh'n like that, I'd say Harley is goin' through a post traumatic change stage of social evolution an' is reachin' out to the community she once stood in oposition against for support." It's easier to sound like someone whose actually asking for help when she can pretend like she's not herself... or something.

Turns out being a whore has its benefits?

"An' the fact tha' huge numbahs of them seem to be disinterest't in, not jus' helpin', but her success at all, it's no wondah that the rehabilitation of criminality in this post hero world is next tah nonexistant. It's a society of instant gratification, where a person either changes immediately or some two bit child pretendin' they know shit about shit is callin'em a psychopath on tha internet."

Knifing through the pancakes, stabbing it with a fork, and putting it in her mouth. She talks with her mouth partially full, "Good thing Ha'lee aint trackin' her ass down an' turnin' OKAY BOOMER into a game of dinomite hot potato."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Good thing, definitely." By this time, Terry's been having some thoughts. But, deciding not to rock the boat, he takes a Taoist approach to the whole thing: What will be will be. Reality is what it is- whether he's sitting here pancaking with Vanessa, or-

"Well, you know about how that is. There's a lot of stigma associated with sex work, and people are just cruel and brutal about it."It's a good rationalization for how she coculd come to those conclusions, "If she reaches out.... well. There are peple who won't turn her aside. I bet my money that he could talk to Wonder Woman about what she's going through. If Superman were alive..." he sighs, "Yeah. He would've been good, too. Batman-" he takes a swig of his milk "N-nn-ooo. You know, I don't know if there is a service like that for people who want to change life in the community. I think it'd be a great thing..." he ponders.

"You know... I bet I could talk to Miss Lane and talk about this. And April. Could become a series of articles and segments, put it to the public. Education. Let people ee more of the story."

He looks at the window, briefly lost in his thought, and then turns back to Harley. "Thank you, Vanessa. That's very insightful, and maybe something could be done once you get enough people aware of the problems."

He has a twinkle in his eye. There's ideas brewing there, and for the moment it doesn't really matter who he is sitting with. He has just gotten the beginnings of a story about people. Stories are like birds- they do no good when they're caged up and only one person can hear it.

He scarfs the remainder of his pancakes and stands up, "It's been really cool, V, but I have to jet. I need to get back to Metropolis and write some of these ideas down. Maybe get Ape to reach out to HQ and get some of her side on this, that sort of thing. I also need to get back and rest or Miss Lane is going to yell at me over the phone for not resting like I should." He smirks, pointing to his bandaged shoulder. "You're super cool, I see why Ape likes you. Let her know I came by, okay?" He starts walking towards the door, to put his jacket back on.

Harley Quinn has posed:
Harley finishes her food, in a manner that is a lot like a hyena, and does in fact involve letting the hyenas who woke up with the smell of bacon, clean her plate. "They're relaly good midget preformers." She says matter of factly as they scarf down the rest of her pancakes and bacon, and... try to eat the plate. "Don't eat the plate, I ain't cleanin' china outta yer poop..." Nudging at Bud with her bare foot.

The noises are pleasant.

The grin she's wearing is... not. There's a lunacy to it. The look in her eyes coupled with that entirely too wide grin. "Maybe yer onta suh'n, yeh.. We'll get ol' cray cray some help! I aint nothin' but a whore, but I know people! Tha' I whored for." She's savaging on poor Vanessa, but it's on account that she doesn't know her an' she could be a figment of her mental delusion for all Harley is concerned.

She does stand up from her seat when Terry makes to leave, "Yeah, ya tell Lois Lane tha', maybe, she could get an interview wit Ha'lee Quinn? An' I unno if ya know Wonder Woman'er whatevah, but..." Scratching at her neck.

Play the game, walk the tight rope.

Her hand suddenly jumps out into an over exagerated wave to the departing Cousin of April. "I'll let April know ya came by, an' that ya was a proper gentleman makin' her house guest pancakes an' all that." There's also coffee, which she desperately needs, and consumes... straight from the pot.

Once she's alone in the quiet of the apartment, however... she frowns. Glancing around.. and begins collecting her things. Boots, guns back in place, and finally her leather jacket. The last thing is her hair, tied up in loose, messy pig-tails up high on her head. "Come'ere ya big dummies, time ta get outta here. We aint tryin' to ovah stay our welcome'er nothin'... Oh stop yer whinin'!"

Seriously, this negociation with a pair of twinsy hyenas could take a while.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
A Terry walks down the stairs, he manages to put his phone in one-hand mode, and texts:

<Hey, Ape! So... what does Vanessa look like, again?>

His Uber is waiting outside by the time he gets out, and his trip back to Metropolis is a quiet, contemplative one.