Purple_bitch_-_harley_quinn_and_punchline_chill... Access

"Hey, I've got layers! Like a stinky onion or an expensive cake," Harley laughed, nudging a small cooler toward Punchline. "Want a drink? It’s not poisoned. Well, probably not. I lost track of which one was which."

Punchline paused, her eyes shifting to the cooler then back to the horizon. For a moment, the tension of being "the ex" and "the current" faded into the background. They weren't fighting over a clown; they were just two women watching a city burn slowly from the top down. purple_bitch_-_Harley_Quinn_and_Punchline_chill...

"Fine," Punchline muttered, reaching for a can. "But if I start seeing giant plushies, I’m throwing you off the roof." "Hey, I've got layers

The safehouse rooftop was surprisingly quiet, overlooking the flickering neon of Gotham’s Diamond District. Harley leaned back in a lawn chair that had seen better days, sipping a lukewarm soda. Punchline sat a few feet away, her legs dangling over the edge of the building, sharpening a blade with methodical precision. It’s not poisoned

"You know, for someone so 'ideological,' you're really good at sitting still," Harley remarked, popping a bubble with her gum.

Punchline didn't look up. "Chaos requires focus, Harley. You just happen to be the loudest version of it."