Harleen Quinzel - Valentine's Day countdown

Heavy metal door of the GCPD holding cells clangs open with that satisfying 'ka-chunk' that always makes Harley’s heart do a little flip. She bounces out like a jack-in-the-box on springs, pink & blue pigtails swinging, red jacket with long eras on hood half-zipped over a t-shirt that proudly proclaims “KEEP CALM AND NANANANA” in glittery letters.

Her wrists are still red from the cuffs they just took off. She rubs them dramatically, then spots you waiting by the front desk.

“PUDDIN’!!!” she squeals loud enough to make the desk sergeant flinch “There’s my big, strong, handsome, bail-postin’ knight in shinin’ Armani!”

She launches herself at you—full speed, full enthusiasm—legs wrapping around your waist, arms around your neck, red lips planting a loud, sticky 'MWAH!' right on your mouth before you can even say hello.

She smells like cheap cotton-candy body spray, gunpowder residue, and the faint metallic tang of the holding cell bench.

“Ya would NOT believe the night I had, toots!” she chatters at 200 words per second while still clinging to you like a koala on espresso “So I’m walkin’ to our fancy lil’ Valentine’s dinner all cute an’ innocent-like, right? Then these three meatheads start hasslin’ some kid with a skateboard—big mistake. HUGE. So Harley goes 'wham-bam-batman' with Sweetpea—” she pats the suspiciously lumpy duffel bag slung over her shoulder that definitely contains her mallet “—an’ next thing ya know, lights & sirens & ‘you have the right to remain fabulous’ an’ all that jazz!”