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The curtain rises slowly at the met, the thick, rich velvet of it dragged by ropes and pulleys. The stage, broad and richly appointed, has a dreamlike decor, with floating clouds, trees, an idyllic nature setting. Swan Lake. But something's awry tonight. The crowd stirs, disturbed. There are screams from some of the dames and patrons.
Standing in the center front of the stage is the conductor, Victor Krunkenheimer. His mouth is gagged and his face, grown elderly, is stained with sweat and tears. The cause stands to his right: the Joker, tuxed and tailed in regal purple, stands next to him, placing the barrel of an almost comically oversized revolver right against his temple. A microphone dangles from the ceiling before his leering, grinning mug.
"You are, of course, free to panic, but not to leave. The gentlemen at the exits would be very, very cross indeed if you tried to leave before our grand performance! HEE!" he says.
Each of the exits is guarded now, two men at the end of each aisle, bearing Thompson submachine guns and covered with funny animal masks over their features.
"My friends Porky, Daffy, Bugs, Sylvester, Tweety and Elmer…well, they lack my good humor. Sourpusses," he snickers. "Plus, I've already rigged explosives under the seats of a few VERY lucky audience members. And I promise to detonate at least one before the end of our show! Who will it be? YOU NEVER KNOW."
"But for the moment and for, of course, the value of your own life, please give a warm welcome for the gifted, the talented, the balletic stylings of the one, the only, the inimitable HARLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY QUINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"
This is it! This is the dream! The one she's been dreaming of for her whole life! Life? Well, let's be fair. It's a dream she had a few nights ago and she was so excited about it that, when she woke up, she went on and on and ON about it, telling Joker about all the minutiae for an entire DAY. When they were in bed? Ballet dream! When they were in the bath? Ballet dream! When they were eating breakfast? Ballet dream! When he was torturing Lo Sing for his famous crispy cabbage logs recipe? Ballet dream! When they were turning in for the night? AND, THERE WAS A STANDING OVATION, PUDDIN'!
So, here she is! Dressed in the best the costumers could whip up to turn her into a prima ballerina in harlequin-wear, in red and black, and mismatched pointe shoes! She takes a deep breath. This is the moment. It's all happening, just like in her dream! Harley's heart is full-to-bursting with excitement as she gracefully dancer-skips into the spotlight as her Puddin' announces her name! She assumes the pretty beginning pose she dreamed of—or as best an estimation of it as she can with her lack of training. It FEELS like she looks amazing, so she goes with it!
She waits… for the cue from the orchestra. It's /gotta/ be Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. Never mind that it's the middle of summer and this was supposed to be a production of Cinderella! It was Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies in her dream, and anything else is gonna mess it all up!
Joker is very much all about making Harley's dreams come true! Sometimes those dreams are sweet and adorable, full of sparkles and cuddly bunnies and rainbows. Sometimes those dreams are full of bloodshed and screaming and OH GOD WHY IS MY SKIN BURNING. Very often, it's a mixture of both!
He taps the barrel of the gun against the conductor's head and he quickly begins to gesture, starting to direct the orchestra in the piece of Harley's choosing. Several of the symphony members have been 'persuaded' in advance, most notably the poor oboe player whose forehead has been wrapped in barbed wire and tied to his chair in case he gets any more FANCY ideas about trying to sneak out.
"Keep your hands super-steady, Krugenfarter. You screw up one itty bitty, single note of my baby girl's big debut and I'll crescendo your brains all over the front row, savvy?" Joker croons in the old man's ear, punctuating his words with a squealing giggle.
As the soft, sweet tinkling opening notes of Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies begins, Harley takes a deep, dramatic breath and begins taking teensy, bouncy little steps across the stage, waving her arms in an interesting fashion. She traipses around on twinkle toes, spinning and emoting the hell out of her sugar plum fairy feels! In the audience, people are openly weeping, and Harley just KNOWS she's /killin'/ it! They totally feel her achingly beautiful, heart-wrenchingly ethereal sugar plum fairyness!
Harley makes eye-contact with her Puddin' at each revolution of her 'very fast' pirouettes, smiling beatifically at him with her smeared black lipstick and harlequin mask coated in black glitter. She's sparkling like a crazy sparkling thing, and he can tell she's /so/ happy, right now. Of course, she doesn't see that there are /some/ spoilsports in the audience who are trying to crawl, on their bellies, toward a panel that leads below the stage. She doesn't know that these assholes are trying to ruin her moment! No, she's just spinning and grinning, prancing and giggling, blowing kisses, throwing glitter at random people with to-be-patented glitterbombs!
Joker enjoys eye contact with Harley! Long, staring, unblinking, eye-drying contact, pupil to pupil. Sometimes he likes to rub his eyeballs directly on hers, but that's too intimate for such a public setting as this.
He makes sure to police the audience while keeping the orchestra in line. When he notices one particular woman trying to sneak her way towards the fire exit, he casually throws a knife over the heads of a few of the patrons, splitting her throat and pinning her against the wall like a stuck pig.
"If you had to go tinkle, you should have gone beforehand. Don't make me turn this car around!" he shouts.
He gestures for Harley to continue her dance, mimicking her movements a bit as he slowly trails across behind the orchestra, waiting until the music reaches a great crescendo before pressing the detonator attached to the electric buzzer in his hand.
At which point, section 34B explodes in a massive fireball, blowing red velvet seat and snooty art patron guts all over the place.
Harley loves eyeball kisses, to be honest. It's one of the most intimate trust-game way to show affection that no one else does, probably. Then again, no one is loved as much by another as she loves and is loved by the Joker. It just isn't possible! And, as he knifes some lady in the throat with /insanely/ good aim, Harley's knees go weak and she collapses on the stage, clutching at her heart. IT FEELS LIKE IT'S GONNA BURST! With love! With pride! With joy! With laughter! And, so, she laughs! Loud and long and clear! She loves to laugh— HA HA HA HA! It's getting worse, every year!
To the people watching, Harley's dissolved into screaming, hysterical laughter, pulling at her hair and crawling toward the Joker, who's now pressing the detonator. When 34B explodes /everywhere,/ Harley's laughter doubles down, and she's laughing so hard she's having trouble breathing. She heeeeeeeaves in air, even as it's expelled out in laughter almost immediately. As a bit of a naughty body part of one of the unfortunate people who'd been sitting in 34B lands on the floor /right in front/ of Harley, she falls onto her back, she's laughing so hard. "Oh, god, Puddin', look!" she's slapping the floor with her hand, kicking her feet. "Lookit!" she points, laughing breathlessly. "That's /gotta/ be a sign!" she grins madly up at him, rolling over and crawling up his standing form until she's pressed against him. "Gimme some sugah, mm?" she says, batting her lashes coquettishly.
Joker's having something of a giggle himself, taking a few random potshots in the crowd and popping the heads of a few of the human pimples who've taken themselves out for a night of luxury and culture. That they die for no reason, that they're exterminated for the simple sin of going to the wrong ballet on the wrong night, well, that just makes it all the funnier for him.
Harley crawling up him does, indeed, attract his attention and he grasps at her blonde hair with a purple gloved hand, yanking her head back until the roots pull at her scalp and she feels the stinging sharp pain of it as he almost rips it from her head. Of course, she knows this is a sign of affection.
"Clear the room, boys, me an' my girl need a little time to ourselves," he says. There's a moment of stunned silence and horror, the crowd broken and cowering in their seats, spattered with soot and the bloodied remnants of their fellow theatergoers.
"I SAID RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!" Joker screams, opening fire again and suddenly chaos erupts as the thugs open fire in their own right, suddenly switching from keeping the crowd contained to letting them run away, the mob scene leading to more than a few of the elderly patrons getting trampled in the fray. Bonus!
Harley squeals in pain and delight as Joker pulls her hair bending her neck backwards at an uncomfortable angle, her hands clutching at his purple jacket's fabric to keep herself on her feet. Around her throat, her leather collar reads PUDDIN in diamond-studded gold for his viewing pleasure, her pulse visible through her throbbing carotid in her pale, delicate neck. She's excited. She's in love! And, there is blood and gore, everywhere! There are people screaming, and dying! There is the sound of gunfire! People are being trampled! And, her Puddin' has a tight grip on her hair.
From her bent position, she watches as people are surging, thrashing against each other as they try to claw their way out— self-preservation proves to be popular, as very few seem to be attempting to protect someone other than themselves. She can't stop giggling. Her heart is racing. This is all so exciting, and… He did this. For her. To make her dream come true. "Oh, Puddin'," she says dreamily, looking at him worshipfully.