Post by Harleen Quinzel on Apr 18, 2021 4:08:16 GMT -5
Participants: Harleen Quinzel/Harvey McPhearson
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): The Cauldron District, Gotham City
Time of Day: Late evening
Weather: Overcast, wet, and generally miserable
Summary: DECORATING!
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): The Cauldron District, Gotham City
Time of Day: Late evening
Weather: Overcast, wet, and generally miserable
Summary: DECORATING!
Harley stepped back into the middle of the over-furnished room, thick, red paint dripping from the wide brush in her hand. With a proud smile, she admired her handiwork – much of the wall in front of her glistened with a fresh, crimson coat. So too did edges of the mostly-white ceiling, the result of some over-exuberant brush strokes. It was perfect – a bold, eye-catching, statement wall for the living room-slash-war room-slash-kitchen of the Quintet’s new base of operations. She fully intended to stencil diamonds upon it, and had a choice selection of liberated artwork too, but Harleen was forced to curb her enthusiasm a little: the self-help decoration books – of which there were dozens dotted about the room, all open on random pages that had nothing to do with painting - suggested it was apparently better to apply those things once the base paint was dry.
The run-down loft apartment, situated in the heart of Gotham’s Cauldron District, had been rented with a strict ‘no decoration’ policy. It had come with a ‘no pets’ clause too, but Bud and Lou sat in the small bathroom’s bathtub quite happily, watching the two Quintets rushing about, furnishing their new office-slash-living space. There were a number of other rules and regulations Harley was pretty sure they’d broken too; she’d not perused the contract carefully before signing, and had lost her copy somewhere in the move.
However, the old woman who’d leased her the flat didn’t seem the motivated, spot-check type. And if she was, Harley was confident in her skills of persuasion. After all, who didn’t want Gotham’s newest super-team operating out of their loft?
Wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, dabbing at the sweat that clung to her brow, Harley sighed contentedly – and smeared some of the paint still clung to the brush across her ghostly-pale face. Looking over at Harvey, who was attacking the other walls with the same vigour with which she’d attacked her own - but with black - she grinned. “How we doin’, Harv?” Dropping her paintbrush unceremoniously back into the pot she’d been working from, splattering paint across the wooden floor, she moved over to stand next to him, resting an arm on his shoulder. “I don’t know if it’s just me but…I’m dyin’ for a takeaway. My tummy's growlin' louder than Bud and Lou fightin' over their chew toys!”
o
c
i
a
l
h
u
b