05-16-2016, 05:19 PM
The warmth from my amber liquid was increasingly making me feel more bubbly with every passing swig from the now half empty bottle. My body starting to shift to the natural beat of the music, which drew out that cool smirk of Jacket as he watched me. Raising my arms in the air to stretch, I could feel the heat fill every crevasse of my being. Bashing my eyelashes flirtatiously, I twisted my hips to the emotion of the dirty dive bar. This feeling of freedom was something I have not experienced for as long as I could remember, it was fun and you know me, I live for fun. Who knew decent music and bad tasting alcohol can make a girl feel like living?
I live boldly and I like to live life as if I was indestructible, even when I knew I wasn’t. I think it's a sad waste of time if you are not having fun. Unfortunately, my attitude can come off as being a bimbo, or worse someone starved for attention. However, that is never the case, most men can't come to terms that a woman like me can be confident with my body and everything that I do. Everyone has their flaws, and its very hard for someone to love the flaws that they have. It's even harder to get someone else to love your imperfections. There was a time I let a man run my life, tell me what to do and what to say, and how to live. I left that in my past a long time ago, so when some fat fuck wants to try to pass me for some cheap whore it takes me a minute to remember that most men can’t take no for an answer.
The whiskey in my blood was an unfortunate side effect that caused me to react late when this scum put his hands on me the first time. Even while being suspended by my hair, this ass hole was weak. The pain itself, if you can call it pain, was pitiful. There is no pleasure unless there is pain, which is something I took the time to love and understand. What a shame that it was time to give the drunk a brutal awakening. I have learned that if you look through all the bullshit and the testosterone men were far weaker than women. Too bad for him, he won't learn quick enough.
The bar became suddenly dark like a menacing figure had cast a grim shadow over the rodeo of sin. With a quirky giggle, I stepped back from the disgusting heap of flesh and tightened my grip on Baby, who rested peacefully on my thigh. The feeling of the glossy wood against my fishnets felt like a soft kiss on my flower. Baby needed to unwind and to not quench her thirst seemed selfish. With Baby on my mind, I hardly noticed when the band came alive with drums that pounded a mesmerizing beat. The allure of bass, matched with hypnotic soulful undertones, beckoned every gorgeous goddess working this dump to surround the creep. We had our own spotlight and the stage was set.
“Oh la la la la” the dancers, bartenders and other women in the bar sang while swaying their hips in tune with the musical performance. “Oh la la la la. Oh la la la la” boasted the sexy crew while they all pointed perfectly polished fingers towards the sad excuse of a man.
“Who the fuck do you think I is?” I burst out matching the melody, the words flowed naturally like I have sung them for years. Then I gave the punk a hard push down on his fat ass. There was no one else but my girls and I, nowhere for this fucker to hide. As I saw it, this was his funeral march I'd call it dinner and a show. The look on his ugly face was priceless and the shock and disbelief was a damn kodak moment. All around the girls stood over him and began to circle like hungry sharks. The clicking of high heel shoes made it sound like bullets in the background of a bad ass power ballad.
“You ain't fucking with no average bicth boy” I cooed while dragging the loser on his feet roughly. Getting within inches of his face I sang “You can kiss my fat ass boy” which was just loud enough to make him squirm like a worm on a hook. “I will bust your dick right off boy. And keep all that sugar, I got my own. Get off with a smile on my face, all alone.”
All around the girls filed behind me and as if we have been practicing in front of a crowd for ages, the steps matching the rhythmic tune of the band. With a flow all the same we marched at him with purpose and intimidation. “Bad motherfucker, god complex, back your ass up, call me Harley Quinn” I continued while I swung my bat like a cane used as a prop for a school dance. “Yo you stupid Mr? Fuck you loser, you can’t have me no, you’ll never have me no.”
The girls backed me up with a soulful sound that got louder and louder, “We ain't going to let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be”. I was swinging my bat so furiously I could almost fly away like a helicopter clown. The music was building to the orgasmic final crescendo which made my heart pound in my ears. With hair flips matching the clang of percussion cymbals, the show was ready to climax when a voice broke through the entry of my mind. Lights back on, patrons in the bar I found myself still in the hands of the greasy pig.
“Hey ass hole!” the voice of Jacket brought me down to earth and the bar became as it once was. Sweaty prick still had his nasty hold on me which made me mad as hell being just moments before I had him wetting his pants. Without a second to waste I brought him down with one sharp kick of a high heel stiletto. Then threateningly hissed “Do it again, you lose your life” in a tone that mirrored the former pitch. I turned to see the familiar face of the chicken head himself and it brought out a red-lipped smile. “What did you think of the show?” I asked excitedly, looking around for the sexy ass females here just a second ago.
“Yeah, nice kick.” He chuckled while spitting at the ground where the loser struggled to stand. I had to agree with him that my kick was flawless, a perfect ten, but I could not help but be confused.
“Yeah but,” I stopped when I saw the look on his face that seemed more lost than mine, “uh, nevermind”. What an, unfortunately, hilarious fantasy I lived a second ago, I miss it already. Laughing wild and uncontrollable, I waited to see if the fatso got the message.
As always, the prick did not get the picture and was back at it again hounding my bones with a hungry snarl. Some guys only get it after death, maybe he needed 3 days to figure it out. Right before I was going to smash his skull with my bat Baby, Jacket laid one right between his eyes. Wowza, what a punch! He sure knew how to make a girl feel special.
When Red Eye had made his way through the crowd of bustling clubbers he found the couple at their place at the bar. He knew instantly that this pair was not from around these parts and even worse they were not like everyone else. The real trouble these people can be is that they are not on the same level as anyone else but Big Daddy and he had to approach with caution. Red Eye used his mechanical iris to scan their features in his identification database so he could have a better understanding what he was up against. As expected, he got a hit on the both of them with help from Coruscant surveillance. They were Primes alright, fresh primes by the looks of it. The data displaying across his vision started to flash an alarming red around the guy in the jacket. All the sudden photos of a bloody massacre came across his eyes and a report that claimed this scrawny guy had killed some guards. The girl, however, had very little to nothing available from the data on his screen vision, it only showed question marks and 0%.
By the time, he was through with his own analysis Rattataki had come up to him with that spiced look that Red Eye had known too well. “So what do you think metal man,” Rat asked with that stoned slur in his voice. That shit was poison and the cyborg was grateful with his body modifications were he did not crave it. Never have and I never will.
“I think we have a good shot with the guy in the jacket, but that dame is probably as useful as a stripper.” Looking around the room he knew their options were scarce and the bimbo’s usefulness could, if anything, be used as bait for the front lines. Red Eye could see the thirst on his partner's face as he watched the painted face lady which was intensified by the high from the spice. “The only issue with these clown Rati is that they are primes."
“How is that a problem?” Rattataki said in confusion which was no surprise to Red Eye since Ratti was not known not to use the head on his shoulders. Frustrated, the cyborg placed a firm grip on his partner's shoulders and pulled him closer. “Listen closely friend so I don’t need to repeat myself, primes are dangerous and unpredictable.” Red Eye said while pulling the spice spliff from out of Ratatat's mouth and tossing to the floor.
Clearly annoyed the suit-clad gangster picked up his cigarette and blew off whatever stuck to it on the floor. “Listen tin can, you have any better ideas for this run or are we going to risk our own skins alone?”
Letting out a robotic sigh, Red Eye knew that his buddy in crime was right. However, he was not going to die by the likes of these freaks. The main problem with primes, no matter how low level on the power tier they are is that they don’t fear death. Another problem the robotic thug had with recruiting primes is that there is very little to gain for primes, they can do anything they wanted. Dangerous and unpredictable they are, so the half robot had his blaster in his palm charged and ready to go by the time he approached the man in the jacket.
I live boldly and I like to live life as if I was indestructible, even when I knew I wasn’t. I think it's a sad waste of time if you are not having fun. Unfortunately, my attitude can come off as being a bimbo, or worse someone starved for attention. However, that is never the case, most men can't come to terms that a woman like me can be confident with my body and everything that I do. Everyone has their flaws, and its very hard for someone to love the flaws that they have. It's even harder to get someone else to love your imperfections. There was a time I let a man run my life, tell me what to do and what to say, and how to live. I left that in my past a long time ago, so when some fat fuck wants to try to pass me for some cheap whore it takes me a minute to remember that most men can’t take no for an answer.
The whiskey in my blood was an unfortunate side effect that caused me to react late when this scum put his hands on me the first time. Even while being suspended by my hair, this ass hole was weak. The pain itself, if you can call it pain, was pitiful. There is no pleasure unless there is pain, which is something I took the time to love and understand. What a shame that it was time to give the drunk a brutal awakening. I have learned that if you look through all the bullshit and the testosterone men were far weaker than women. Too bad for him, he won't learn quick enough.
The bar became suddenly dark like a menacing figure had cast a grim shadow over the rodeo of sin. With a quirky giggle, I stepped back from the disgusting heap of flesh and tightened my grip on Baby, who rested peacefully on my thigh. The feeling of the glossy wood against my fishnets felt like a soft kiss on my flower. Baby needed to unwind and to not quench her thirst seemed selfish. With Baby on my mind, I hardly noticed when the band came alive with drums that pounded a mesmerizing beat. The allure of bass, matched with hypnotic soulful undertones, beckoned every gorgeous goddess working this dump to surround the creep. We had our own spotlight and the stage was set.
“Oh la la la la” the dancers, bartenders and other women in the bar sang while swaying their hips in tune with the musical performance. “Oh la la la la. Oh la la la la” boasted the sexy crew while they all pointed perfectly polished fingers towards the sad excuse of a man.
“Who the fuck do you think I is?” I burst out matching the melody, the words flowed naturally like I have sung them for years. Then I gave the punk a hard push down on his fat ass. There was no one else but my girls and I, nowhere for this fucker to hide. As I saw it, this was his funeral march I'd call it dinner and a show. The look on his ugly face was priceless and the shock and disbelief was a damn kodak moment. All around the girls stood over him and began to circle like hungry sharks. The clicking of high heel shoes made it sound like bullets in the background of a bad ass power ballad.
“You ain't fucking with no average bicth boy” I cooed while dragging the loser on his feet roughly. Getting within inches of his face I sang “You can kiss my fat ass boy” which was just loud enough to make him squirm like a worm on a hook. “I will bust your dick right off boy. And keep all that sugar, I got my own. Get off with a smile on my face, all alone.”
All around the girls filed behind me and as if we have been practicing in front of a crowd for ages, the steps matching the rhythmic tune of the band. With a flow all the same we marched at him with purpose and intimidation. “Bad motherfucker, god complex, back your ass up, call me Harley Quinn” I continued while I swung my bat like a cane used as a prop for a school dance. “Yo you stupid Mr? Fuck you loser, you can’t have me no, you’ll never have me no.”
The girls backed me up with a soulful sound that got louder and louder, “We ain't going to let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be”. I was swinging my bat so furiously I could almost fly away like a helicopter clown. The music was building to the orgasmic final crescendo which made my heart pound in my ears. With hair flips matching the clang of percussion cymbals, the show was ready to climax when a voice broke through the entry of my mind. Lights back on, patrons in the bar I found myself still in the hands of the greasy pig.
“Hey ass hole!” the voice of Jacket brought me down to earth and the bar became as it once was. Sweaty prick still had his nasty hold on me which made me mad as hell being just moments before I had him wetting his pants. Without a second to waste I brought him down with one sharp kick of a high heel stiletto. Then threateningly hissed “Do it again, you lose your life” in a tone that mirrored the former pitch. I turned to see the familiar face of the chicken head himself and it brought out a red-lipped smile. “What did you think of the show?” I asked excitedly, looking around for the sexy ass females here just a second ago.
“Yeah, nice kick.” He chuckled while spitting at the ground where the loser struggled to stand. I had to agree with him that my kick was flawless, a perfect ten, but I could not help but be confused.
“Yeah but,” I stopped when I saw the look on his face that seemed more lost than mine, “uh, nevermind”. What an, unfortunately, hilarious fantasy I lived a second ago, I miss it already. Laughing wild and uncontrollable, I waited to see if the fatso got the message.
As always, the prick did not get the picture and was back at it again hounding my bones with a hungry snarl. Some guys only get it after death, maybe he needed 3 days to figure it out. Right before I was going to smash his skull with my bat Baby, Jacket laid one right between his eyes. Wowza, what a punch! He sure knew how to make a girl feel special.
When Red Eye had made his way through the crowd of bustling clubbers he found the couple at their place at the bar. He knew instantly that this pair was not from around these parts and even worse they were not like everyone else. The real trouble these people can be is that they are not on the same level as anyone else but Big Daddy and he had to approach with caution. Red Eye used his mechanical iris to scan their features in his identification database so he could have a better understanding what he was up against. As expected, he got a hit on the both of them with help from Coruscant surveillance. They were Primes alright, fresh primes by the looks of it. The data displaying across his vision started to flash an alarming red around the guy in the jacket. All the sudden photos of a bloody massacre came across his eyes and a report that claimed this scrawny guy had killed some guards. The girl, however, had very little to nothing available from the data on his screen vision, it only showed question marks and 0%.
By the time, he was through with his own analysis Rattataki had come up to him with that spiced look that Red Eye had known too well. “So what do you think metal man,” Rat asked with that stoned slur in his voice. That shit was poison and the cyborg was grateful with his body modifications were he did not crave it. Never have and I never will.
“I think we have a good shot with the guy in the jacket, but that dame is probably as useful as a stripper.” Looking around the room he knew their options were scarce and the bimbo’s usefulness could, if anything, be used as bait for the front lines. Red Eye could see the thirst on his partner's face as he watched the painted face lady which was intensified by the high from the spice. “The only issue with these clown Rati is that they are primes."
“How is that a problem?” Rattataki said in confusion which was no surprise to Red Eye since Ratti was not known not to use the head on his shoulders. Frustrated, the cyborg placed a firm grip on his partner's shoulders and pulled him closer. “Listen closely friend so I don’t need to repeat myself, primes are dangerous and unpredictable.” Red Eye said while pulling the spice spliff from out of Ratatat's mouth and tossing to the floor.
Clearly annoyed the suit-clad gangster picked up his cigarette and blew off whatever stuck to it on the floor. “Listen tin can, you have any better ideas for this run or are we going to risk our own skins alone?”
Letting out a robotic sigh, Red Eye knew that his buddy in crime was right. However, he was not going to die by the likes of these freaks. The main problem with primes, no matter how low level on the power tier they are is that they don’t fear death. Another problem the robotic thug had with recruiting primes is that there is very little to gain for primes, they can do anything they wanted. Dangerous and unpredictable they are, so the half robot had his blaster in his palm charged and ready to go by the time he approached the man in the jacket.
![[Image: harley-quinn-arkham-city-gif-7.gif]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2018/06/05/harley-quinn-arkham-city-gif-7.gif)