I don't think heaven smells like mothballs. But if that's what gets you in the mood, who am I to judge?

[ Harley presses her ear to the door and strains to hear any sign of goons on the other side. She starts a list in her head of everyone she might have pissed off that would shove her in a closet, but loses count.

The door doesn't yield when she tries the knob so she starts feeling around in the dark for something she can use to knock it down. Her searching hands find his chest. Oh. Well.

Maybe she can stay for a few minutes. ]

So what're you in for?