"Doc, y'ever feel like..." Harley sighed. She laid as she always did during your sessions together; strewn out on the plush couch of your office, a leg dangling lazily over the side and swinging back and forth, back and forth with the time of her words. "Like the whole world's just against ya? Everything seemed great when I was with Puddin', sure, but it ended with tears and fire and...well...sometimes I just feel like all of Gotham is goin' after Harley Quinn. For what?!"

She lurched into a sit, sending blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. She was in a constant state of frazzled, so it seemed. Her orange Arkham jumpsuit was always wrinkled, her hair always done up in messy pigtails, and that thick New York accent always clung to her words. Especially when she was upset.

"I ain't that bad, am I? I mean I ain't no saint, with the murders and the laughing gas and the giggle bombs.... but come ON! How much misery can one person be due?!"

Harley groaned, before slumping back dramatically against the couch.

Sometimes it really did feel like the whole word was against Harley Quinn...not you, though. Normally she didn't like shrinks all that much. She had been one herself, she knew all the tactics you used whenever you spoke to her, but....well...she liked you, surprisingly. You were easy to talk to, to connect with. Her favorite psychiatrist in Arkham.