The clown was dead, the bat was broken by it, the bird had been beaten, and everyone else was in an uproar, this was the perfect time for killer croc to take control.
He was planning to pick the bones of the clowns empire, see what kind of stuff he could take to help him out. What he wasn’t expecting was the broken clown girl crying on the bed.
“I ain’t here for you, girly.” he said simply, his eyes moving to her babies as she threatened him with them.
“And I ain’t scared of them either, they’ll make a good snack.”
The last time Harley could remember having any sort of encounter with Waylon Jones was back in what was to her, another life; during her induction at Arkham when she’d seen his transfer from a session in the main hospital back to his lair beneath the island.
Of course, back then, she had been in one of the guard rooms, with bullet proof glass, security gates and a veritable army of armed guards between her and Croc - something that had only made her feel marginally safer after the other guards had decided to tell her some of the frankly ghoulish tales about how he’d managed to injure Arkham staff - and now, she’d been expecting to discover Ivy had heard about her breaking into the GCPD, or maybe even the Bat.
What she hadn’t been expecting was the growl of Croc’s voice so alarmingly close.
Letting out a small yelp of surprise, Harley sprang up off the far side of the bed, wanting to put at least something between her and Jones as well as alerting the dozing hyenas who were instantly on their feet and growling protectively. Up close, she was all too aware of just how easily Croc could snap her in two, but for now, Harley could be civil. If things turned ugly…well, she’d probably just run. She was really rather attached to all of her limbs.
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