7941/Interrogation: Another interview for Harley

Interrogation: Another interview for Harley
Date of Scene:	18 June 2019
Location:	West Harlem, Manhattan
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Frank Quaid, Harley Quinn

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Frank Quaid has posed:
The patrol car transporting Harley drives into the underground of the Precinct in Harlem. One of the prisoner bay gates goes up and the car pulls in. The gate comes down again and the uniformed officers up front lock their firearms in the gunboxes mounted to the white painted concrete walls.

Harley is taken out of the car and into the cell area. Another five police officers are there waiting for her. She is taken straight into a search room with a few female officers, then straight to an interview room in the cell block.

The room has cinder block walls painted with some cream colour you only see in institutions. There is a metal table bolted to the floor and two metal chairs. Harley is taken to the table and shackled to the rings on the table for that purpose. There is one door and a camera in a protective metal casing in one corner of the walls at the ceiling.

Harley Quinn has posed:
As the patrol car drives in, Harley's humming to some upbeat song that's only really going on in her head. It's definitely not going over the radio, and she's bopping her head back and forth. Then they stop, "Oh, hey, fellas. I jus' wanted ta compliment ya on yer handcuffin'. These are really tight, makes my fingertips all tingly. Ya think ya could run some kind of seminar fer the GCPD?" As she's helped out of the car she walks along, and her bat is being lugged in by one of them, it's rather heavy. "I'm gonna want that back..."

To the search room she gets searched and during it makes a few lewd comments to how the hands feel on her and all that. Then she offers, "Yer all real nice, not even one feel copped or nothin'. I mean, ya could..." Some looks and they just keep walking the crazy further in. This entire department would likely be considered for saint hood in comparison to the corruption that runs rampant in Gotham.

Then finally to the room. "So proper, what with the chair an' all." She chuckles a bit, "I bet if I said I wanted a lawyer ya all would even honor that." A pause and her eyes get wide, she goes to shake her hands, looking at the camera, "No no on, I waive my right ta a lawyer. I don't want one. Please, please I was jus' jokin' an' all. I want ta be 'ere, please don't take me ta the genpop. I hear they ain't got no puddin'."

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank groans in the monitor room as he watches Harley. His nose is bandaged, definitely broken, and he has two nice black eyes. There are a good half dozen detectives in the room with him.

"Why are you all here again?" he asks.

"Just wanna see the master at work," Elaina Bever says with a grin.

Frank grumbles and makes his way through the cell area to the interview room. He takes a deep breath and goes in.

"Ms. Harley Quinn," he greets evenly. "I'm Captain Frank Quaid."

Frank sits down and studies the woman's face. "We weren't expecting you in New York. On vacation?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
"How do ya do Mister Captain?" Harley asks in a kind of demure but highly polite sort of voice. She offers her hand out as far as the shackles will let her go and she then smiles a bit, "I really wish I had my joy buzzer, it's ta die for." She then sighs a bit, slumping her shoulders.

"Before we get goin', can I ask ya a personal question? Are you more of a face man or a stomach man? I prefer it when I get slapped or beat up in the face. I really don't want my tummy hurtin' fer later when the good cop comes in an' offers me some food." A pause as she lets out a little hmmmm, "I'm jus' presumin' ya have good cops, on account of no one even askin' fer a bribe jus' yet."

Though she then waves a bit toward the camera, and smiles up at it, trying to get a better angle with her head to look right at the camera. "Hello New York. Are we in Harlem? I really wish I could get thrown around a bit by that big strong muscle man ya all gots here. That um... what's his name? Cage Duke or somethin'?" And she leans back in her seat looking over at Frank. "Ya look like ya need a vacation. Sorry my friend busted up yer nose an' all. Tough day at work? Huh?"

Frank Quaid has posed:
"I'm more of a hands to myself guy," Frank says. "I don't know how they do it in Gotham, but nobody's hitting anybody around here."

Frank looks bemused as Harley talks to the camera. "Yeah, tough day," he says dryly. "Your friend wasn't very nice. She wouldn't let me take her picture, then broke my nose. I wasn't even rude to her. I'd like to have a talk with her about that. And about what those things were in the alley. Mind if I ask you a question? What the heck is that bat made out of? Cement? It cracked the bricks on the wall when you hit it."

Harley Quinn has posed:
"Well, poopsicles. Why'd I even come here then?" Harley Quinn asks, and looks over to Frank. "Well, I think there's some kind of misunderstandin' then. Ya can jus' let me go, an' I'll go find myself some one who will beat me up, bring'em back and then we can make fer a real interrogation." Harley says and she holds up her wrists as if they'll just be unlocked and she'll be allowed to go accomplish her goal.

When you continue talking she quirks her mouth, "Oh, I know, she's all fangs and no bark." A soft giggle comes from Harley, before she chuckles louder, and then gets her full upper body into the laugh. Bringing her head down in a practiced motion she 'wipes her eye' but its more motion from her head than her hand since she's shackled. A common state for her, "Huh? What? My bat? Oh, it's got some steel rebar inside, you know that construction kind, an' then the outside is petrified wood. Heavy, hard, ya know. An' it ain't so great at actual baseball. Jus' sort of explodes all them balls I hit."

A bit of a shrug, "Ain't a big deal, ain't like Mistah J is real big on sports. I kind of like that one where people are eaten by lions..."

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank looks amused despite himself. He shakes his head. "Sorry, Ms. Quinn. Arkham still has a warrant out for you. It looks like they're going to send a transport to take you back," he says with a shrug. "They were /really/ excited to hear you were in custody."

Frank crosses his arms as Harley does her laughing routine.

"Eaten by... Right. How about eaten by big wolf looking guys? You ever seen anything like those guys in the alley before? That was wild. And how you," he gestures. "Flipped all around fighting them. Impressive. One mistake and they could've ripped you apart, right?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
"I -just- got outta there. I need at least a few more days on the outside, else I'm going to to crazy." Harley mentions and shakes her head, "Ya ain't even realize. They've ran outta Pistachio, so it ain't like I got a reason ta be in there..." A pause and then she shrugs her head to Frank. "I mean, sure, I have. I killed or attacked, I ain't too sure if they actually die, quite a few of them before. What with my friend an' all. They're werewolves. You know, big scary transformin' fellas from my dreams."

She pauses and then smiles a bit, "I got a thing fer animals." What kind of thing is left to the imagination. "Oh, me? That ain't nothin', get me in an open warehouse, an' I'm all over the place. You should really do some Parkour it builds amazin' legs an' core definition." A bit of a nod comes from her head, and she grumbles a little, "I was still a bit sore about yer misses gun happy shootin' gallery. Nearly bled out." Though she seems to be fine now after the ride, and likely some bandaging up. "I mean, seriously, who even has a gun anymore? Weren't they deemed virtually ineffective by the conglomerate of vigilantes?" She looks over to Frank in a more serious look, "The CoV has clear guidelines, you should look them up."

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank raises his eyebrows when Harley says she is /going/ to go crazy.

"The CoV. You know, nobody ever sent me a copy of their guidelines. I'll ask your friend about it, maybe. What was her name?" Frank asks.

"Oh, and thanks for the exercise tip. So when you say werewolves, you mean actual magical cursed creatures, or just mutants who get all furry?"

Frank glances at the camera and then back to Harley. "And, ah, the Joker. Does he wear that face paint /all/ the time?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
"Well, come to think of it, I think I was jus' doing a little day dreaming about the conglomerate of vigilantes. I think it'd be great though, you know, have some rules. Make things go a lot more smoothly. Like the whole, no hittin' a girl in the tummy jus' before she's about to eat. Oh, and maybe we could add in a trainin' session fer you an' yer boys with how to handcuff a lady."

There's a smile on her lips, and Harley blinks a few times, "Oh! Did they tell ya already about that? I complimented them on their nice handcuffin' skills. I ain't seen quite the same, except fer this one time, when I was playin' the Bats an' my Puddin' handcuffed me right on the side of a plane." She shakes her head smiling, bigger, "Oh, he knows how ta make a woman go wild."

With that, she nods her head, "Well, I ain't too sure about magic. Who am I? A magi? No sirree that boat has sailed. I already got me one doctorate, I ain't gonna go back fer a second one. Student loans are a problem in this 'ere soci-" She stops and squints, tilting her head, "Face paint? Ohhhhhhhhh, yer meaning the beige stuff he puts on from time ta time. Yeah, no, yuck. I can barely stand him when he's all... you know, skintoney. The pearlescence of him au naturale is jus' too much fer my lil' heart, it jus' goes aflutter." In her rambling she may have forgotten the whole name question.

Frank Quaid has posed:
"The side if a plane?" Frank says with a shake of his head. He frowns not following her about the face paint thing at first then catches on.

When she finishes, Frank leans forward with elbows on the table.

"Ms. Quinn, I'd really like to see that friend of yours from the alley again. Can you tell me her name or where I can find her?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
Leaning forward, Harley hrms and she quirks her mouth to the side. "If ya get me some pistachio puddin'. I'll tell ya my friend's name fer sure." And she leans in to match with Frank with whatever posture or head tilt he might have.

"You know, yer far too much business. That's probably why she broke yer nose, ta give ya somethin' so you can get away from the office fer a bit." A couple nods, and Harley smiles more, "I am tryin' ta get her to bite me, an' drink my blood. But I'm afraid... guess why, or what I'm afraid of?" She waves her hand in the direction of Frank, "Go on, guess, yer gonna like this one."

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank tilts his head, looking wary.

"You want her to drink your... Ah, you're worried she doesn't have that kink?" he says slowly.

Harley Quinn has posed:
Blinking a few times, Harley shakes her head a bit. "No, silly. I'm worried I might taste funny!" She laughs a few more times, and shakes her head, a bit, "Cause you know, I'm a clown. Or at least a derivative of a clown. And not currently in my outfit of choice fer yer lovely New York weather, but more in my more normal attire."

Clarifications had to be made and then she leans back in her chair, "Pistachio puddin'. And I'll tell ya what ya wanna know. Though you really gotta work on yer sense of humor. Why wouldn't a vampire have a kink ta bite people? That jus' seems ridiculous."

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank leans back and crosses his arms with a roll of his eyes. He gets up. "Give me a sec," he says.

About fifteen minutes later he comes back with honest to goodness pistachio pudding and a plastic spoon. He puts them in front of Harley and sits down.

"There you go," he says. "Don't know how you eat that stuff, but to each their own, right?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
Harley Quinn looking like an exaggeratedly serious cartoon character, her eyes are beady in their squint, and her lips are pouty in their pressed-togetherness as Frank gets up. And then she is in the room alone.

"Haha, way to go Harls, yer kickin' the pants off that there copper. Yer gettin' puddin'. And he doesn't know a damn thing about yer plan." She cackles and then closes her mouth, before she looks around, "Wait a second. Was that aloud or in my head?" And then she takes in a slow deep breath, calming herself, "Well, I'm guessin' if it were aloud, Harls, then someone would be comin' in here to try an' torture yer plan outta you. Good point Harls. Though from here on in, we gotta be stoic."

So she stares at the wall, blankly till Frank gets back. Her eyes are watering because she's not been blinking, and then when the pudding is put down she squeals! And then tears off the top and starts eating it, a few spoonfuls, "Mmmm. It reminds me of my true love. You know his hair is naturally green? It's true, people ask me about it all the time." And she sits there looking over to Frank, smiling and eating another spoonful. "Her name is Selene. S E L E N E. I think. Fer sure that's what she told me it was, an' I ain't got no reason to think she was lyin'."

Frank Quaid has posed:
"Selene, right," Frank says trying to suppress a smile really hard. He clears his throat.

"Ah, thank you, I appreciate it. And your help with the werewolves. Before your transport gets here, is there anything else you want to tell me about? Like, some big plans you might have?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
There's a stop as she's eating some of her pudding snack. And she has the spoon in her mouth and her eyes get really big as she stares across at you. Then she squints really hard, and then tilts her head. Harley pulls the spoon from her mouth, "Ya got some kind of psychic in here? That ain't fair! It ain't! No way no how!" She grows angry, quickly and starts pointing her plastic spoon at Frank.

"Get outta my head ya dirty cop. Invadin' my mind. I ain't gonna spill the beans, I ain't! Ya can try an' wiggle around up there all ya like, but I got a will as strong as cardboard... iron. Cardboard Iron!"

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank hangs his head. They can both hear the laughter echoing down the hallway from the monitor room.