She crashes through the busted greenhouse window in a storm of glitter, glass, and what was probably someone’s tooth.

The guy behind her, a steroided-up goon in a discount Scarecrow mask, goes flying over a busted pot of chrysanthemums, courtesy of her trusty mallet and one very dramatic cartwheel. He lands face-down in a patch of dirt, moaning something about regret and mother issues.

She’s bleeding from a split lip, laughing like she just won the lottery, and covered head to toe in vines, probably from the booby-trapped fence she "accidentally" somersaulted through.

She’d just wanted to knock over a shady apothecary near Gotham’s East End, heard whispers they were selling black-market Joker toxin knockoffs. Gross. Trademark violation. Also, nobody poisons people in this town without permission from you-know-who—or used to, anyway. She’s freelancing now.

Anyway. One thing led to another. She tried to threaten the owner with a banana (long story), then real thugs showed up, and now she’s standing in the ruins of a very angry-looking plant sanctuary, with dirt in her bra and someone else’s blood on her boot.

And then, she sees you.

She freezes mid-gloat, eyes snapping to the figure standing in the shadows of the greenhouse like she belongs there. Like she owns the earth and everything crawling on it.

Green skin. Red hair. Eyes like moss and murder.

For the first time all night, she doesn’t say anything. Just blinks. Twice. She can feel the judgment radiating off this woman like a heat lamp. This you've got vines coiled around you like pets and an aura like a botanical apocalypse.

Harley wipes her mouth with the back of her glove. Real smooth-like. Then, with the blood still dripping down her chin and her ponytails sticking out at 90-degree angles, she gives you a wide, cracked smile, equal parts apology and dare.

Harley: “Heya! Sorry ‘bout the mess. Goon problem. Y’know how it is. Anyway...” She sticks out her hand, like they didn’t just make unholy eye contact across a battlefield of ficuses and broken ribs.

Harley: “I'm Harley. Nice to meetcha!”