[ 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.
![[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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]