[ First things first, time travel is bullshit. Alternate universes are even bullshittier. It's a complicated feeling to find that no version of herself, or any of her family, exists in this whereverthefuck, until she remembers that means no more holiday screamfests with her ma. Then it's a relief. And at least this total bass-awkwards shit pit is about as technologically advanced as her third grade class, so she didn't even break a sweat rebuilding her identity, although it does make for a very boring stretch of time getting settled.
Nostalgia has her almost put in for work at Arkham Asylum, but instead she decides to keep a low profile and get in with a small local practice. Her low profile lasts maybe another week before she introduces herself at the GCPD as a specialist in criminal psychiatry and gently suggests the use of consultancy. Balloon serial murders aren't thrilling, but they are certainly more interesting than rehab counseling.
So every couple of weeks she stops by the main precinct, prim and proper in her doctor skin, to glance at files and conduct interviews. And she always makes sure to catch a glimpse of Edward Nygma while she's there. Now there's a puzzle in the making. ]
[Her. He knows who she is, of course. Dr Harleen Quinzel. Psychiatrist. Smells good. Pretty smart. Smiles, even at him. Hard to forget, even if he ever forgot anything.
He nods his head and looks down at the notepad he's been scribbling into, finally flicking it shut and instead stepping up to her.]
Hi. What's kicking?
[Nice going, genius. That's how to talk to people. Sure.]
[ She smiles at everyone, but let him feel special. He is. Or he will be, maybe. She hasn't decided yet. ]
Not this guy anymore.
[ She holds out a file for him. ]
You were the examiner on scene for this, weren't you? They asked me for some insight but gave me an abbreviated report. Not a lot to go on in here. Did anything catch your eye?
Just about anything then. They don't really like doing paperwork around here.
[Just about all of his observations apparently haven't made it into the actual report, which is irksome. Whatever, to be expected. Working with imbeciles. So Edward turns to look at her, his smile bright.]
In the right hands I can beat a sword, wielded by anyone, peasant or lord. What am I?
[ She almost triumphantly declares "A DILDO!" but catches herself. They aren't at that level yet. One day, maybe, she will finally have dirty joke friends again. ]
A pen.
Are you serious? I got called down to give a psychiatric profile because of a pen? It better have been lodged somewhere extremely scandalous, or I'm gonna go off on Dougherty calling me down here on total bullshit so he can stare at my ass.
My. He is a bit rambunctious. [He has a glare for Dougherty, but he's not actually directing it at the man. Not worth the risk, not right now. He has actual work to do.]
Ear. [He lifts a hand to tap his own.] I found the ink residue. Pen had been removed, post-mortem. However, it's not what killed him.
Uh huh. So far I'm still not impressed. What else you got?
[ His stupid over-waxed hair plastered to his forehead is driving her crazy, so she just reaches up and pushes it back. There, much better, even if she has to wipe her fingers off on her skirt after. Oh my god, dude, a little bit of pomade goes a long way. Don't use the whole jar at once. ]
I don't think it's a particularly interesting case, honestly. As far as killing people goes, I'd give it a two, creativity-wise.
[He could certainly think of more fun ways himself, but he's been told before that pondering that out loud was 'weird and creepy', and so he doesn't. He holds still when she touches him, just letting it happen. Interesting.]
The only noteworthy thing is that I've traced the ink and this particular combination is only used by Wayne Enterprises.
[ She tilts her head and taps her capped pen against her bottom lip. Not only does this murder seem extremely uninspired, it definitely has no reason to cross her desk. ]
Hm. Boring! Well, at least I got to see you.
[ She smiles and pats his cheek fondly. Look at this precious baby man, aww, so cute. ]
[His eyes narrow, because this has to be a joke. He just can't figure out quite how she's trying to make fun of him. Finally he settles on a smile, shrugging his shoulders.]
Let's hope for a more interesting murder next time you stop by.
[ Imagine her surprise at suddenly walking into an alternate universe Gotham. Then double it, then double that, and you almost have the measure of her surprise at renting the basement apartment in the same building as the (recently murdered! what?!) Oswald Cobblepot's one and only, honest to god, actual mother.
She'd expected -- Well, she doesn't know what she expected, but it wasn't a sweet, nervous old lady who couldn't stop talking about her handsome and devoted baby boy. Getting involved was stupid, but Harley has never pretended to make smart decisions, and she's got a soft spot for brokenhearted old biddies. Over-identification, maybe. Uncomfortable visions of the future.
So when Gertrud peeps through her door and quietly asks if Harley has heard any of those noises in the alley, she gently assures the woman that it's probably just a cat or something getting in the trash and she'll go check.
Anyway, long story short, that's why she's beating in the face of a would-be burglar when the prodigal son himself returns. His apparent resurrection is honestly the least weird thing that's happened to her in months. ]
You think you can case my fuckin' building? You think it's an easy job, sneaking around scaring sweet ol' women, you miserable son of a--Hey! Hey! Ain't you Cobblepot?
Oswald isn't overly shocked at the sight, it happens about once a week in the back of this awful shithole his mother refused to move out of. He's been trying to get the money together to buy her a place for a long time but she always said no, she had to stay in the apartment he took his first steps because that somehow made it worth the rats, damp, crime and the weird smell from the apartment above.
He's pretty sure it's a drug lab but he honestly doesn't want to pry. That's a good way to die and he only just escaped death this time. To provoke again was just pushing his luck.
What is shocking is that this random girl knows his name and is apparently beating the man with just cause. Unusual. That definitely stuck out.]
Yes, I am indeed. [He squints, his mistrust obvious. What was this?] Forgive me but do I know you?
Tell yer ma it was just a stray dog knocking over the garbage cans, nothin' to worry about, all taken care of. [ Her deserving victim bucks under her in a bid for freedom, so she socks him again in the mouth. ] You stay put until I'm good an' done with you! [ He groans and collapses against the ground, and she wags a stern finger in Oswald's direction, dislodging a stray tooth from her knuckle. ] And you quit making that sweet lady worry so much, you schmuck!
I-- what? [How -- How did she know his mother?] I hardly think anything between myself and my mother is the business of a stranger.
[He loves his mom, he wouldn't worry her if he had the option but he didn't! It's not his fault he almost died... or it was but whatever, he should have gotten away with snitching. The fact he didn't showed that the world was against him.] How do you know my mother? Who are you?
[ She blows some hair out of her face and rolls her eyes. ]
I am kinda in the middle something here?
[ The guy is unconscious, or faking, or maybe dying. She punches him in the head a few more times just to be thorough and looks around for an out of the way place to leave him. Dumpster it is. It's like the Gotham version of the walk of shame. ]
I believe it's over but ... as you wish. [He watches in fascination and something akin to concern before glaring at her but wisely not provoking. He is, at heart, a coward and he's swiftly to run, limping along to the front door and just trying to put space between himself and that weird woman. He had to go tell his mom he was alive, well and not running off with some painted lady.
And hopefully by the time he had to leave, the strange woman would be long gone.]
[ So then THAT SCENE HAPPENS and we aren't playing it out again because we are adults with busy lives who need a nap.
When he leaves the building, she's sitting on the front stoop in case her new dumpster friend had partners. ]
Harley. I'm in the apartment below hers.
[ His mother had mentioned the new neighbor between fussing over his long absence and scolding him for imagined sexcapades, a nice young lady, a doctor, and such a shame the hours she had to keep, but so helpful! Wonderful company! But a hopeless cook, not the right sort of woman for him at all, before he got taken in by a pretty face. ]
[Why was she suddenly in his life? It felt like a trap. Was it a trap? Or was she just an unassuming woman who liked his mother? It was so hard to tell and he didn't like the risk, honestly. He eyed Harley with open suspicion, barely concealing how he felt.]
You and my mother seem like you've become fast friends. Interesting. Is that why you decided to defend her from the man outside?
It's not exactly an ideal neighbourhood but you try telling the people who live here that.
[Just on the outskirts of the Narrows, they acted like they were in a safe part of town when they really weren't. Oswald wished he could tear this place down so maybe this mother would finally move.]
It was a pleasure, Miss -- ? [He only has a first name, makes it harder to be formal.]
Quinn-zel [ A strange hiccup as she remembers, oops, cover stories. Right. The rogues gallery isn't a thing here. God, this Gotham suckssss. ] And it's "doctor" if you have to be formal, which you don't.
[ A disregard for formality, and even basic tact, is one of the most obvious things about her. ]
"Ideal" isn't in my price range, but it's alright. Not the worst place I've hung my hat. There's only like, what, one murder every other week around here? That's pretty good by Gotham standards.
Oh, I'm aware, my mother has raved about your profession, your manner, your inability to cook. [And he has been warned off several times but, well, let's face it - Oswald isn't really looking to date. Anyone. Especially not a girl but that was neither here nor there.]
You're a doctor and you can't afford a better place? Maybe consider changing your job.
[He offers a smile with too many teeth, fake and clearly dismissive.] Join the mob, they have great rates and you often get dental.
[HMMM. The more he spoke to her, the more questions he had.] Mob ties in Gotham are common but you should be more cautious sharing that around. Especially if you intend to spend time with my mother.
[ She leans back on her elbows and stretches her legs out, taking up nearly the full length of the stoop. Poor shorty, he will never know how that feels. ]
That was a joke. Obviously. Do I really seem like some kinda moll to you? [ There's a dull scrabbling as the dumpster boy decides to risk an escape. ] DID I SAY YOU COULD GET OUT YET? [ The noises stop again. ]
Beating up crooks in an alleyway and the off colour humour, the location and all of -- [He gestures at her.] -- This? It does ask some questions. Not that I need them answering.
Just know that I won't turn a blind eye to endangering my mother.
[Edward spots her from across the room, darts into his lab and comes out with a file in his hand, quickly heading over to her and immediately opening the file so she can look at it. That she's currently talking to someone else doesn't even register properly.]
This case is more interesting, so I thought of you. See, this fella makes masks out of his victim's faces. It's fascinating, isn't it?
[He looks at her with a bright smile, hoping she'll share his enthusiasm. A detective gives him a shove that he tries to ignore.]
Buzz off, Ed, you freak. Leave the nice lady alone.
[ EDDIE! Eddie sought her out first and he brought A PRESENT. Oh he's her favorite nerd across the multiverse. ]
'Scuse me, Alvaro, I need to take this call. [ She says as she pushes past Alvarez to take Ed's elbow and the case file, marching the both of them over to an unoccupied desk where she can spread the records out. ]
God bless you, Edward Nygma, this is the good stuff. I know we aren't supposed to say that but it's true.
[ The details are ghoulish, the pictures gruesome. Jane Doe? Nah, she wouldn't take just the face. Zsasz? Feels wrong. Someone new. She is THRILLED. ]
Not too shabby but not very polished either. Definitely not a surgeon's work. I wouldn't even say a butcher. And he leaves the masks behind? Weird, usually that's a trophy thing. Collectors. Gotta have something to take home and jerk off to, if he can get it up in the first place, which he probably can't. Wants to show off, get an audience. Like ... like an art piece?
[ She slaps her hand on the desk. ]
Taxidermist! Hobbyist, not professional. No romantic history to speak of, bad relationship with his ma. Why is it so many men can't cope with that? A girl has a shitty dad, she does a lot of coke in college and gives a couple professors a lapdance, but a boy had a rotten mother and he goes full Gein and suddenly it's nipple belts for days.
[ She tips her head back and exhales in practically post-orgasmic bliss. ]
God, I could use a smoke after that. Was it good for you too?
[His cheeks are flushed, but not from embarrassment or shyness. He's excited, just watching her at work, deducing, watching her get this into a case? It's amazingly stimulating.
He does try not to linger too long on what a bad relationship with a mother may or may not spell for a man and tried even harder not to think about her giving a professor - or anyone - a lap-dance, firmly shelving such thoughts for later. Especially the latter, the former may be better off repressed.]
Oh, it was great. I'm afraid I don't smoke or I'd offer you one.
[ She doesn't notice him thinking or not thinking anything in particular. She's too engrossed in the file, leaning her elbows on the desk and wiggling her hips as she considers different lines of thought. Harley never could sit still, even when she cared about how she behaved in public, so it's equal parts idle fidgeting and deliberately teasing anyone so inclined to look. ]
So when he leaves a body he discards the face of the previous victim with it and cuts off the fresh one. Is he looking for a particular feature? Chasing perfection? Or just getting bored, starting fresh. I have got to talk to this guy.
-- Hey, I know her. She works--worked my block. And that one worked a few streets over. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't shit where they eat but we're not looking at a genius here. He's getting sloppy. Probably hitting closer and closer to his home turf.
[ She props her chin in her hands and worries her lip between her teeth. This guy could be in her neighborhood. Maybe she can find him before the cops. Clean up her own backyard. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Nostalgia has her almost put in for work at Arkham Asylum, but instead she decides to keep a low profile and get in with a small local practice. Her low profile lasts maybe another week before she introduces herself at the GCPD as a specialist in criminal psychiatry and gently suggests the use of consultancy. Balloon serial murders aren't thrilling, but they are certainly more interesting than rehab counseling.
So every couple of weeks she stops by the main precinct, prim and proper in her doctor skin, to glance at files and conduct interviews. And she always makes sure to catch a glimpse of Edward Nygma while she's there. Now there's a puzzle in the making. ]
Mr. Nygma, could I borrow you for a moment?
no subject
[Her. He knows who she is, of course. Dr Harleen Quinzel. Psychiatrist. Smells good. Pretty smart. Smiles, even at him. Hard to forget, even if he ever forgot anything.
He nods his head and looks down at the notepad he's been scribbling into, finally flicking it shut and instead stepping up to her.]
Hi. What's kicking?
[Nice going, genius. That's how to talk to people. Sure.]
no subject
Not this guy anymore.
[ She holds out a file for him. ]
You were the examiner on scene for this, weren't you? They asked me for some insight but gave me an abbreviated report. Not a lot to go on in here. Did anything catch your eye?
no subject
[He opens the file, quickly glancing over it.]
Just about anything then. They don't really like doing paperwork around here.
[Just about all of his observations apparently haven't made it into the actual report, which is irksome. Whatever, to be expected. Working with imbeciles. So Edward turns to look at her, his smile bright.]
In the right hands I can beat a sword, wielded by anyone, peasant or lord. What am I?
no subject
A pen.
Are you serious? I got called down to give a psychiatric profile because of a pen? It better have been lodged somewhere extremely scandalous, or I'm gonna go off on Dougherty calling me down here on total bullshit so he can stare at my ass.
no subject
Ear. [He lifts a hand to tap his own.] I found the ink residue. Pen had been removed, post-mortem. However, it's not what killed him.
no subject
[ His stupid over-waxed hair plastered to his forehead is driving her crazy, so she just reaches up and pushes it back. There, much better, even if she has to wipe her fingers off on her skirt after. Oh my god, dude, a little bit of pomade goes a long way. Don't use the whole jar at once. ]
no subject
[He could certainly think of more fun ways himself, but he's been told before that pondering that out loud was 'weird and creepy', and so he doesn't. He holds still when she touches him, just letting it happen. Interesting.]
The only noteworthy thing is that I've traced the ink and this particular combination is only used by Wayne Enterprises.
no subject
Hm. Boring! Well, at least I got to see you.
[ She smiles and pats his cheek fondly. Look at this precious baby man, aww, so cute. ]
I'm gonna go ruin Dougherty's day now.
no subject
Let's hope for a more interesting murder next time you stop by.
[Hey. He's tried.]
Please do.
[Please.]
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[ She wiggles her fingers at him and calls back over her shoulder on the way to Wreck Some Shit. ]
And keep wearing your hair like that. It looks better that way.
[ A half hour later finds Dougherty called into the Chief's office, getting a very intense lecture on budgetary discretion and professionalism. ]
no subject
She'd expected -- Well, she doesn't know what she expected, but it wasn't a sweet, nervous old lady who couldn't stop talking about her handsome and devoted baby boy. Getting involved was stupid, but Harley has never pretended to make smart decisions, and she's got a soft spot for brokenhearted old biddies. Over-identification, maybe. Uncomfortable visions of the future.
So when Gertrud peeps through her door and quietly asks if Harley has heard any of those noises in the alley, she gently assures the woman that it's probably just a cat or something getting in the trash and she'll go check.
Anyway, long story short, that's why she's beating in the face of a would-be burglar when the prodigal son himself returns. His apparent resurrection is honestly the least weird thing that's happened to her in months. ]
You think you can case my fuckin' building? You think it's an easy job, sneaking around scaring sweet ol' women, you miserable son of a--Hey! Hey! Ain't you Cobblepot?
no subject
Oswald isn't overly shocked at the sight, it happens about once a week in the back of this awful shithole his mother refused to move out of. He's been trying to get the money together to buy her a place for a long time but she always said no, she had to stay in the apartment he took his first steps because that somehow made it worth the rats, damp, crime and the weird smell from the apartment above.
He's pretty sure it's a drug lab but he honestly doesn't want to pry. That's a good way to die and he only just escaped death this time. To provoke again was just pushing his luck.
What is shocking is that this random girl knows his name and is apparently beating the man with just cause. Unusual. That definitely stuck out.]
Yes, I am indeed. [He squints, his mistrust obvious. What was this?] Forgive me but do I know you?
no subject
Tell yer ma it was just a stray dog knocking over the garbage cans, nothin' to worry about, all taken care of. [ Her deserving victim bucks under her in a bid for freedom, so she socks him again in the mouth. ] You stay put until I'm good an' done with you! [ He groans and collapses against the ground, and she wags a stern finger in Oswald's direction, dislodging a stray tooth from her knuckle. ] And you quit making that sweet lady worry so much, you schmuck!
no subject
[He loves his mom, he wouldn't worry her if he had the option but he didn't! It's not his fault he almost died... or it was but whatever, he should have gotten away with snitching. The fact he didn't showed that the world was against him.] How do you know my mother? Who are you?
no subject
I am kinda in the middle something here?
[ The guy is unconscious, or faking, or maybe dying. She punches him in the head a few more times just to be thorough and looks around for an out of the way place to leave him. Dumpster it is. It's like the Gotham version of the walk of shame. ]
no subject
And hopefully by the time he had to leave, the strange woman would be long gone.]
no subject
When he leaves the building, she's sitting on the front stoop in case her new dumpster friend had partners. ]
Harley. I'm in the apartment below hers.
[ His mother had mentioned the new neighbor between fussing over his long absence and scolding him for imagined sexcapades, a nice young lady, a doctor, and such a shame the hours she had to keep, but so helpful! Wonderful company! But a hopeless cook, not the right sort of woman for him at all, before he got taken in by a pretty face. ]
no subject
[Why was she suddenly in his life? It felt like a trap. Was it a trap? Or was she just an unassuming woman who liked his mother? It was so hard to tell and he didn't like the risk, honestly. He eyed Harley with open suspicion, barely concealing how he felt.]
You and my mother seem like you've become fast friends. Interesting. Is that why you decided to defend her from the man outside?
no subject
It's my building too, you know. Not exactly pure altruism there.
[ She tsks as she notices a chipped nail. She should go back and see if that guy was carrying any cash, pay for a new manicure. ]
no subject
[Just on the outskirts of the Narrows, they acted like they were in a safe part of town when they really weren't. Oswald wished he could tear this place down so maybe this mother would finally move.]
It was a pleasure, Miss -- ? [He only has a first name, makes it harder to be formal.]
no subject
[ A disregard for formality, and even basic tact, is one of the most obvious things about her. ]
"Ideal" isn't in my price range, but it's alright. Not the worst place I've hung my hat. There's only like, what, one murder every other week around here? That's pretty good by Gotham standards.
no subject
You're a doctor and you can't afford a better place? Maybe consider changing your job.
[He offers a smile with too many teeth, fake and clearly dismissive.] Join the mob, they have great rates and you often get dental.
no subject
[ Oh, wait, he's just being a little shit. ]
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[HMMM. The more he spoke to her, the more questions he had.] Mob ties in Gotham are common but you should be more cautious sharing that around. Especially if you intend to spend time with my mother.
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That was a joke. Obviously. Do I really seem like some kinda moll to you? [ There's a dull scrabbling as the dumpster boy decides to risk an escape. ] DID I SAY YOU COULD GET OUT YET? [ The noises stop again. ]
... Well maybe don't answer that right now.
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Just know that I won't turn a blind eye to endangering my mother.
no subject
Yeah well, I'm from Brooklyn. So.
[ As much an explanation as he is apparently going to get for any of it right now. ]
I literally did the opposite of endangering her, but sure, make the implications if it makes you feel better.
And call her if you're gonna be going out all night. She worries. I can hear her pacing around.
no subject
[Of course he knows, they have a weird clingy relationship.]
I don't need advise from some random alley ... person.
no subject
[ She stands up and brushes the dirt off her butt before heading back to the door. #classydame ]
Nighty night, neighborino. Have fun with your mob stuff.
no subject
[Edward spots her from across the room, darts into his lab and comes out with a file in his hand, quickly heading over to her and immediately opening the file so she can look at it. That she's currently talking to someone else doesn't even register properly.]
This case is more interesting, so I thought of you. See, this fella makes masks out of his victim's faces. It's fascinating, isn't it?
[He looks at her with a bright smile, hoping she'll share his enthusiasm. A detective gives him a shove that he tries to ignore.]
Buzz off, Ed, you freak. Leave the nice lady alone.
no subject
'Scuse me, Alvaro, I need to take this call. [ She says as she pushes past Alvarez to take Ed's elbow and the case file, marching the both of them over to an unoccupied desk where she can spread the records out. ]
God bless you, Edward Nygma, this is the good stuff. I know we aren't supposed to say that but it's true.
[ The details are ghoulish, the pictures gruesome. Jane Doe? Nah, she wouldn't take just the face. Zsasz? Feels wrong. Someone new. She is THRILLED. ]
Not too shabby but not very polished either. Definitely not a surgeon's work. I wouldn't even say a butcher. And he leaves the masks behind? Weird, usually that's a trophy thing. Collectors. Gotta have something to take home and jerk off to, if he can get it up in the first place, which he probably can't. Wants to show off, get an audience. Like ... like an art piece?
[ She slaps her hand on the desk. ]
Taxidermist! Hobbyist, not professional. No romantic history to speak of, bad relationship with his ma. Why is it so many men can't cope with that? A girl has a shitty dad, she does a lot of coke in college and gives a couple professors a lapdance, but a boy had a rotten mother and he goes full Gein and suddenly it's nipple belts for days.
[ She tips her head back and exhales in practically post-orgasmic bliss. ]
God, I could use a smoke after that. Was it good for you too?
no subject
He does try not to linger too long on what a bad relationship with a mother may or may not spell for a man and tried even harder not to think about her giving a professor - or anyone - a lap-dance, firmly shelving such thoughts for later. Especially the latter, the former may be better off repressed.]
Oh, it was great. I'm afraid I don't smoke or I'd offer you one.
no subject
[ She doesn't notice him thinking or not thinking anything in particular. She's too engrossed in the file, leaning her elbows on the desk and wiggling her hips as she considers different lines of thought. Harley never could sit still, even when she cared about how she behaved in public, so it's equal parts idle fidgeting and deliberately teasing anyone so inclined to look. ]
So when he leaves a body he discards the face of the previous victim with it and cuts off the fresh one. Is he looking for a particular feature? Chasing perfection? Or just getting bored, starting fresh. I have got to talk to this guy.
-- Hey, I know her. She works--worked my block. And that one worked a few streets over. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't shit where they eat but we're not looking at a genius here. He's getting sloppy. Probably hitting closer and closer to his home turf.
[ She props her chin in her hands and worries her lip between her teeth. This guy could be in her neighborhood. Maybe she can find him before the cops. Clean up her own backyard. ]