- the log is fucking long, don't care. i love it, couldn't cut it. those of you who know matt&i, know that the read is worth it.
- the log is credited to myself and my awesome boyfriend matt. hi hunny!
- i wanted a harley getting hurt session for a long time, and because it was my birthday this week matt gave it to me.
- yes that's her blood on his cheek.
- i love this photomanip so fucking much that if i catch someone using it without my permission [good luck on that one] - i will come to your house, punch you in the face and then eat your dog.
- soundtrack suggestions for this manip and reading material ; placebo - 'broken promise'
"Freeze!" The rent-a-cop screamed, a gun shaking in his sweaty fingers. he was scared nervous, he didn't have what it took to take a life. Or so Harley thought. She stared at him, a bored look on her painted features. Haunting and sobbing eyes staring daggers into him. Leather clad hips shifted as her hand was placed on her waist. "I'd like to see ya..." She was stupid, she was foolish, she was like a cat playing with a mouse, or a hyena poking at a not dead impala. She moved to fast and scared that guard, he fired the gun and everything seemed to move in slow motion now. She saw the spark from the gun, she didn't even know how to react, she was a deer in the headlights. The bullet exited the gun and into the little harlequin doll, impaling itself, it ripped through her leather bound corset that she'd started wearing again, and into her stomach. She felt a sharp pierce of pain in her stomach, as she saw where the bullet had hit. By her hip, right at her bone. Hands clamped over the wound as she tumbled to the ground.
The museum patrons were being herded up, and Joker's visage remained steadfast as he'd wander those halls with a sharp look on his face. Knowing full well that he wasn't about to steal all these works of art, he'd stare a hole at the elderly man whom shouted that he couldn't simply walk out with all this culture. Looking at the abstract painting, a single image of a man melting while the world around him remained steadfast, and he'd give a mock look of a man wounded for his taste of art. "I'm not here to steal it." Taking it off the wall, he'd move to dismantle the framework as he'd make his way towards the man. A dark hollow look on his face, and he'd hold the print out before fishing into his jacket. Producing a silver light, he'd flick it open and quickly mash the button bringing a flicker of flame to life before him. Teasing it near the corner, he'd watch the parchment begin to smolder and crumble under the flame as the antique painting would begin to feed that flame more and more. "You people treasure these old tired things. I'm more new age myself." Walking to the smoking hole of the guard who's face he had smashed in, sputtering blood and standing over him, he'd remark. "I call this one Broken Fac-" A gunshot cut him off, turning his gaze in the general direction of where it echoed from. Nothing was said at first, looking to the thugs with their SMG's and doing a head count of who all was here. No Harley, and so he'd start away from the hostages towards the exhibits. His gaze went to the man standing over *his* work of art, now laying bloody on the floor while the stunned guard was looking almost mortified at his actions. That made it easy for Joker to simply take the gun from him and shoot him point blank before enclosing the short distances to the downed Harley and stare at her.
The man stared shocked over the downed Harley Quinn, it didn't take a genius to realize that this kill was not a righteous one, for the most part Harley wasn't a danger to those who came in contact them, unless you got in the way. He didn't have to get in the way. Harley had been ordered to stand by the exit and make sure that no one stopped from leaving. She normally wasn't allowed in the building, she was meant to wait in the car, and right now she had been wishing she had. Her fingerless gloves betrayed the seriousness of her wound, but what gave it away was the white cuffs on her wrists, stained with red. She refused to cry out in pain. She wouldn't give the guard that treat, unsure if he wanted it or not, one hand moved from the wound trying to find her gun, hoping that he wouldn't finish her off. Hoping that she could fire another shot and the thugs would come running to help her. Or even Joker, but she held out little hope for him. She heard the gun fire and saw the guard hit the ground, no longer reaching for her gun, her hands dripping blood and a small puddle at her stomach. She saw a whirl of royal purple and fought to not let out a scream of relief, pain, agony. "Puddin'...." She groaned as her eyes threatened to close.
His head canted briefly to the side curious as he watched Harley tether on the edge of reality. His addled mind seeming to tip to and fro on the state of the matter, before looking towards the guard whom was already clearly dead. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. He was reloading at this point when the goon came on the scene and gave a jesus fucking christ at the scene. The man's head was now something resembling mush, and Joker's focus distorted and he recalled the crumbled form on the ground. Moving to his knees he'd rip her hand away and stare down towards the wound. Not sure of what to do yet, he simply hauled her up and pinned the blonde into him. Caring nothing for the blood that was leaking into his coat, he'd bark for the door to be opened and rushed out after them. Mind frantic trying to piece together an option to explore, the entire crime was abandoned all thanks to the luck of that one man's shot into the ill prepared Harley Quinn. The man sat in the back stooped over and putting pressure on the wound thinking of what to do.
"Its not that bad, right?" The Joker wrangler whimpered, what she was doing was unclear to everyone even herself. Maybe she was lying to herself, maybe she lying to Joker to make sure he didn't fall of the edge. It just stung, it was nothing!, she tried to smile at at him, but she was even too weak to do that, but she had to be fine right? She saw Batman take a bullet to the chest and he was fine. But what Harley didn't know that Batman for all intensive purposes was a freak of nature who had a really armored body suit. She cried out in pain when the hand was ripped away. Thanks to the red and black of her corset, it was hard to see just how bad the wound was. Of the goons who saw the blood on the floor and the damage done, offered his suggestion, just fucking leave her. Which was would have happened had she been anyone else. The Joker's men where expendable, but Harley, well Harley was being scooped up into Joker's arms. The pain from that was almost blinding, a weak little grip grabbed into the breast of his jacket, she saw how badly covered her hands where and she closed her eyes completely, she saw the damage. All of them piled into the van, thankfully Harley had left the keys in it, so one of the goons got to the wheel and started to race out. His hands on the wound was killing her, but he was helping, so was the corset, it was soon becoming with it's weight in stolen money.
The van was moving as Joker ringed his gloves and peeled them off almost angrily. Stupid, stupid girl, he growled and allowed his clammy hands to search through the back for something to stem the tide of blood so she didn't bleed to death. His jacket was fully removed and swelled up tightly in a ball, before compacted down upon the ichor and mess she was spilling out. Joker was asked where they were going, and his response wasn't immediately forth coming. The silence continued until he asked again, crooked gaze shifting and he hissed out his answer. "Thorne. Take us to Thorne." A snap back to Harley as she laid there, he came close to look at her painted face before mumbling down to her in an almost angry tone. "I won't let you take the easy way out. You aren't dying until I pick the date." Anger was the blinding force in him now, not at Harley, but at Harley's actions that led her to this weak and disrupted plan. Thorne was one of the untouchables in this city for his services, so much so that even in Joker's scattered mind he knew better than to cross the crime doctor. Keeping his eyes narrowed, he'd almost have to stifle a giggle at how much she was bleeding. Shot by a mopey guard, of all the laughable deaths.
Everyone in the van was on pins and needles, no one wanted to see what would happen if Harley actually did die in the van. To Thorne, a man who Harley had never heard of. "Whoses Throne?" Harley asked to deaf ears. She could feel the life blood ooze out of her and roll down the parts of her body that was hidden by the corset. Oh she hated herself for this, she shouldn't even been in there, but she did her cutest little pout and there she was in the building. She was already cursing herself for being so stupid, she should have had her gun in hand. She shouldn't have been playing games with the guard, she should have shot him the second he got in her cross fires. She felt the coat come into contact with her wound, it felt warm and smelt like him, it almost seemed to calm the little clown girl down. "I'm sorry...please don't be mad at me." This girl was really insane, here she was bleeding to death and she was pleading with the Joker to not be mad her. The goons all sat there in hushed and stupefied silence.
The van rolled up to it's destination quickly enough, speeding and praying that a cop wouldn't take notice of a vehicle matching said description that was given at the job down at the museum. That van came to a turn and down into the seedier part of time, where Gotham wore the face of crime like a second layer of skin. Crime Alley was where you went in Gotham when you needed something done on the down low. For extreme cases of treatment, you went to Matthew Thorne. Rolling around into the alley that used his small clinic as a front, Joker would remain with the lump of red and black (more red than usual) while one of the thugs pounded on the door to get the attention of the crotchy old man. Shouting to the man through the metal door, it would take abit of time before the metal gate was torn open and he quietly instructed them how to proceed. Atleast he tried to, for Joker was climbing out of the back with the wounded mess in his arms and barging right past the doctor. A frumbled glare from the man, no one liked doing business with The Joker after all, before he followed after and insisted the rest stay outside. Moving to lead her into a windowless room the clown would deposit her on a the flat surface as Thorne moved to begin sanitizing his hands. Hot streams of water blasted across his scrubbing hands. "Looks like a bullet wound, if we're lucky there won't be too much damage. But I don't promise anything, and if you threaten me you can let her die out in the street for all I care. Now go, get out so I can work." Leave his wounded loon with some decripted man? The Joker made it quiet clear from the face he made he wasn't going anywhere. Ignoring the sticky blood caked against his body, that smell assaulting him, he'd remain stationary as Thorne would give a look that said quite simply suit yourself. The sound of popping gloves and Joker was hovering over her face staring into those glass eyes.
She was beginning to get worst, much worst. She was having only brief moments of keeping those prized baby blue eyes opening. Every time she did though she searched for Joker, searched for his face. The familiar smell of him was beginning to get drowned out by the smell of her coppery smelling blood. "It's bad." She said her voice weak and her speech slurred. The thug that was pounding the door, screamed that a woman was hurt out here, in hopes that it would get the doctor much faster then normal. It seemed like every little movement was killing her, he moved her back into his arms. At whatever kind of gentle Joker possessed, limp in his arms she was dead weight now. The thugs outside almost seemed thankful for the reprieve from all of this, since this was the exact opposite of what Harley Quinn was, she wasn't limp and lifeless she was bubbly and lively. Eyes once again opened for him, the brightness of the room hurting her, but she saw him and she mustered a smile for him.
Thorne grabbing a pair shears from the table, struggling to remove the leather corset that was now almost stuck to Harley's torso. She let out a little whimper, as the doctor began to destroy one of her favorite bits of clothing. The sharp shears managed to cut through the leather of her corset and he pulled it back exposing the little Harlequin's torso. Smooth stomach now covered in blood, the bullet hole exposed to both the Joker and the Doctor.
That mind was racing now to try and keep himself stable and not act irrational. Fighting his own demented thoughts was alot harder than he had imagined and that clown would listen to the man ramble on as he explained his actions. Unsure of if he was in the way, and not really caring, he seem to float to her head and hold it steady so she had no option but to stare up at him. Blacken eyes kept themselves focused down on her and occasionally shifting towards the doctor in question. He'd have normally slugged anyone for attempting to even try an undress Harley, but when the article of clothing was stripped away he saw the seriousness of the wound and grimaced slightly at it. Thinking it best to keep her conscience, Joker would block out the prattling of the man and speak directly to Harley now, his voice mumbling with the occasional louder croak then the rest. "You're such a mess Harley. Stop laying there dying. It's disgusting. Stop it. Look at me. Lookatme. C'mere. Hey? You think I'm.. I'm going to take care of your ugly dog if you're not around?" It wasn't panic, simply he wasn't willing to accept an absences of that woman. It was a thought he abhored, and the man would fight to not jar her awake if she started floating off from him in her thoughts.
The corset had saved her life, and no one but the doctor probably realized it. It's thick real cow skin with it's hard boning to give Harl a more curvy and hour glass appearance, and it also acted like a bullet proof vest of sorts. It stopped the bullet from going right though her, hitting important organs and probably killing her on the spot. But the bullet was still embedded in her flesh and muscle of her torso. He didn't have anything to numb her, nothing that would do her any good. And it wasn't that kind of doctor's office, he cleaned the wound the area the best he could. Gloved fingers pushing down on her stomach, fingers dipping in the wound to look to see how deep the bullet was. She tried out in pain when he did so, waking her up for that. She tried to turn her head, but felt his hands and the fight stopped. She looked right at him, eyes welling with tears. She needed him here with her, a reminder of what she had to keep fighting for. Sick and twisted but she didn't want to leave him, who would cook for him, clean for him, do his make up? Who would do all the things Harley needed to do. He actually made her laugh as weak as it may have been. When he asked who would take care of her pup, "The guys could." Eyes again drifting infront of him, only to shoot open when Thorne applyed more pressure to her stomach forcing the bullet to show itself well he fished for it.
The guys half the time could barely tie there own shoes let alone remember to feed a dog. White tipped fingers had forced that head still so she focused only on that wirey man's distortedand dark face. When she squirmed he'd attempt his best to keep her from lashing out or disrupting the man's work. Thorne's thorough nature already beat out Joker's first idea, to simply pluck the bullet out without any sort of assistance. Of course Harley'd have been dead by now, a bloody stain in the back of a abandoned van. On retrospective part of him questioned his judgment in simply leaving her to die. Perhaps her death would have been a personal loss to himself. Real tears were mixing with the painted black ones, and he dared to brush a thumb to wipe one away. His words still keeping himself just as calm as her. "We can't let you die Harley. Who's face am I going to get into and laugh at? With. Stay awake."
No witty comment came from her when he ask who he'd laugh at, laugh with. She was taken back by it. Taken back by how he wiped her tear away. She wanted to ask him why even bothered to save her, but she was too weak and too embarrassed to ask. She saw all the blood that was on his vest when those blue eyes rolled backwards. This hurt worst then anything that'd happened to her, worst then being thrown off Batman's back time and time again when the three got into it. All she'd ever suffered from this life where bruises and cuts. Even the fear toxin wasn't this bad, or the attempted brain washing. She heard him warn Joker to hold onto her, he needed to cut the bullet out. Then stitch her back up, a painful process when you consider he was doing this without pain meds. Or even putting her under, she wanted to complain, but since he was the only doctor that Joker knew she wouldn't. She was now just focused on Joker, eyes focused on his mouth, his lips. Trying to read his reactions until she felt that weakness fall over her again.
He was unable to look at her anymore properly. The sobbing and pleading woman below him could have torn at anyone's heart strings, and since he undeniably the strong one of the two, he instead focused on the tweezers that were being brought to bear on the woman. He watched them go into the sizable hole that had been cast in his doll, felt him work it abit to pinch it down and finally dislodge it, and the pluck as it came free. Her shoulders had become his hostages at this point. Insisting she stay still by putting her in a familiar position, that of being pinned, he'd grit his teeth when he saw the man was getting ready to begin to disinfect the wound. Again his grip tightened to brace the woman as he awaited the incoming pour of that bottle. She was pressured into a singular purpose, stay still and don't scream too much. His own body looming over her as he'd no doubt have to watch her thrash and braced for it with a cold stare at Thorne.
She sat there like a trooper through the tweezers part, she remembered doing this with Batman, she gasped in pain when he removed the bullet that had caused all this pain. Eyes once again welling with tears as he moved a gloved finger in the hole to look to see if anything had broken off inside of her. Tweezers went to assault her one last time, pulling little pieces of bullet out of the wound, all she did was silently cry well he was doing it. A bit of relief came from her when he removed the bullet. And she knew what was coming next. The part that would hurt, flushing the wound. She couldn't help herself, she screamed, and thrashed about under Joker's strong hold. She cried out for him, wanting to see his face close to hers. Like it normally was when he pinned her. The doctor moved away from her, allowing the disinfectate to do it's work. Bubbling and cleaning out the second threat compared to her blood loss, infection. The doctor would busy himself well the little clown girl cried, readying her for the stitches.
That fight was hard for him, hearing her yell to high hell in anger and having to wrestle those arms down harder at one point when she attempted to break free from him. Each little sharp prod and pluck of those shards would give him a pause and glare. He was starting to think he hadn't quite shot that guard enough. A mush of face flashed into his mind, thinking privately that he was going to blow up that whole museum now in responses for this. He was going to hunt down that security guards family, his friends, people he happened to say hello to today. His property wasn't something that he liked getting damaged, let alone on the verge of knocking on death's door. The stitches he hoped wouldn't be as bad for her, that attention of his face coming down again to her and allowing the curtain of mucky green hair to spill about wildly. A bit of her blood had smudged on his chin unknowingly, he was covered in the stuff now, a butcher's look for that mad clown. "It's over. It's over. He's going to stitch you up. Look at me. You're going to get over this. If you don't I'll finish the job myself." A threat while she laid there on the table? Only The Joker could offer up promises of maiming and murder while his fellow puzzle piece squirmed in overwhelming pain. That sneer stitched onto his face and his warped smile, keeping his composure and knowing that the choice of Thorne so far had suited them both quite well. Well, him more than her due in part to the whole mind numbing pain she was being forced to suffer through.
Oh to be the doctor right now, the bond between the two clowns showing intense, bright, strong, like a white hot light. Or even who ever saw the tape of tonight in the museum, how he carried her bridle style out of the museum, or how he'd unloaded a clip into a guard's face. Had Harl been in her right mind and not shot, she would have been down right giddy over the fact that he was this protective of his prize. The black tears that had been painted on her face where smeared thanks to Joker's touch and her own real tears. But she got what she wanted, she wanted to see him. He told her it over and she believe him, like the religion he was to her. The stitches, compared to this it would be a walk in the park. He wanted her to get over this, he wanted her to get better and she nodded slowly silently promising her maker that she'd recover. Once Harley had stopped squirming and thrashing in pain, Thorne began stitching her up explaining that he was doing two sets, one on her thorn and ripped muscles that would dissolve on their own inside of her. That one was a bit more intense for Harley, once again she had to stop herself from screaming, biting down on her lip. He'd finish the ones internal and move the external ones. Mumbling because she was a woman he'd do a good job of it. Wouldn't want to leave too big of a scar.
Her every sound and whimper was attuned to him as he'd fight to keep her through this. Afraid to give into whatever might have been dwelling inside him, he'd actually dare to streak back some of her hair in a soothing pet. His vision constantly shifting from the sobbing little pixie of a woman to the doctor's work and his unphased concentration. The comment did nothing to razzle Joker, whom had bigger things on his plate then a slight against his facial deformity. Each prick and knot of that string would allow him to watch her flesh pull in such ways it wasn't meant to. A scar, he didn't mind if she would brandish one for this. It'd be a good reminder of her slip up, slipping between dread lord of crime and concerned.. whatever he was.. like the pendelum of the clock. Stepping around her, he'd move to the man's side and settle his steely gaze upon that wound as he worked, sure enough to keep distances as to not disturb that man's work. Rolling up his sleeves as he'd pace about in a aggitated state, his forearm bristling against his mouth to wipe away a streak of his own paint and smear the red smile heavily. Nerves, still thinking she could crash at any time. A faint step back to her side and pushing the lid of her eye open abit to peer into it. He made his way towards the doctor's stash, pulling and opening things to look through it and find something to ease her pain. She had suffered too long in that unnumbed state, and his scolding and reprimanding did little to dissuade him as he snapped back. "I'm the one paying for this. You want to be paid right?" Keeping his tone monotone to avoid the hint of a threat at Thorne.
Her breathing was still a little more erratic then it should have been, the pain doing nothing but worsening her already fragile state. She moved her neck to push her skull into his touch, she now managed to get a little bit of blood in her hair, not a hard feet considering her platinum locks had just been freshly redyed. Truly Harley didn't mind the scar for the same reason, this would help her in the long run, she would be colder, a little bit more calculating when the duo was out in public. She actually care for herself as well as Joker. Eyes had drifted shut when he wasn't around to keep her awake. A tired blue eye stared at him as he forced the painted lid open. "I'm awake..." She cooed, trying her best to comfort him, to ease his nerves. Her flesh was puckered and released, sewn tightly shut as he finished the stitches. His hand rubbing another form of antispect on her stitches, a little to rough because she gasped in pain. The clown getting on the doctors nerves when he was snooping in his stash. Her stomach still smeared with fade traces of red, heavier in some places. Thorne stood up removing his blood stained gloves, he didn't want the clown messing things up. First he'd hand Joker four little pills, a look on his face as he'd try to find a spot of Joker that wasn't covered in blood. "If she has anymore pain, give her one half. But for now." Reaching for a bottle and syringe, he plunged the needle in and pulled out a yellow liquid, morphine.
The man would find himself giving up ever figuring out what went with what or what would be beneficial to the blonde at this current time. Sweeping his hand about he'd decide to throw those grimey hands of his into the water next and begin to attempt and wipe the blood from them. Crimson stained liquid diluting itself as it spilled into the water and drained itself down into the swirl at the bottom of that sink. Hands were wiped off on a lap coat as Joker was deep down a asshole to everyone, even those who helped him in such a way as preserving the one life that he actually would have been slightly disappointed in seeing slip away. The shot that Harley took he knew would knock her loopy, and those pills would be slipped into the breast pocket of his vest. Looking to her, he'd gingerly go back to gathering up that blonde whom was fast approaching dream street. A lift and clutch into his chest, he'd haul her out of that room and make his way to the door. "Pay him for his time." Going to take her into the back of the van without showing a single sign of thanks. He had his Harley back at the time, that was all that mattered to him now privately. "He's.. that way." spoke one of the hired thugs.
Needle pushed into a vein in her tiny arms, he stained the yellow by drawing the plunger back and pulling out more blood from her, before pushing it back in. "Morphine?" She asked, scared of what he'd just given her. She was able to relax once he nodded to her. He warned Joker, almost half caring, half hoping the clown would be done with him. That he needed to keep her resting for a couple of days and to keep an eye on her. Giving up, he heard the rumors about Joker's pet, she was a former doctor. She'd figure it out. The shot would knock Harls out for most of the night and to just allow her to sleep. She should be ok, he told Joker, baring any kind of inflection and if the wound recieved proper car. Harley only heard what seemed like horns, like in the Charlie Brown cartoons when the adults spoke. The pain was starting to melt away. She didn't even wince when Joker scooped her up into his arms, once again she was the only person in the entire world to feel safe in that killer's arms. Her head pushed against his chest, feeling his heart thud. "I'm sorry....for all the trouble, Mistah J."