Chapter Text
Amanda Waller was, according to most everyone who worked under her, the Bitch the Devil belonged to.
She was mean, she was smart, and, she was self-aware enough to admit this, a hardass. It’s what got the job done.
But right now, what was needed to get the job done was something she didn’t want to do.
She stares at the phone in trepidation and runs through her options again.
One, she could try to keep inmate K under sedation until task force X reaches Gotham and pray the roughshod magic holds. Or two, call in the JL and have them keep K in certain custody until X reaches Gotham, but include the JL in the mission.
She picks up the phone.
Harley fucked up. Bruce is gonna kill her. Ivy’s gonna kill her– hell Alfred’ll restrict her cookie privileges. It’s June, red velvet month, one of her faves.
Ugh.
“I ain’t never heard o’ you, jingles, why does Waller think you’re a baddie.”
Crusty old man, whose main weapon is a boomerang? “My name is Harley Quinn, you can call me doctor.”
“Doctor?” The one with the red eye piece says is disbelief, “What the hell is a doctor doing here?”
“Psychologist, if that helps.”
“The fuck is a head shrinker doing with us?”
Harley doesn’t even deem the ice theme lady with a response. Head shrinker, rude. Yeah, she knows about the assholes in her line of work, but still.
“Hey, black and blue,” Jesus, a girl wears faux-leather leggings and a comfy sweater and gets all kindsa nicknames. “I’m talking to you.”
“I know, you’re voice is incredibly annoying.”
Ice lady's face contorts into the second ugliest scowl she’s ever seen, but the large door opening shuts her up.
And oh. My. God. It’s the devil herself, “Amanda Waller.”
To her credit, she doesn’t freeze but she does to a purposeful full stop before facing her fully, “Harleen Quinzel.”
“What’s up Mrs. Hell?”
Harley can feel Waller get more cautious, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I guess ‘cause you couldn’t grab Pammy?”
“...Yes, you know of your wife's past misdemeanors?”
Harley snorts, “‘Misdemeanors,’ that’s one way to put ecoterrorism.”
“Curious, some time back I recruited her to assist and mentioned someone name ‘Harls’ who would’ve been a great help.”
She nods, “I would’ve been, I knew Arkham like the back of my hand. Don’t after the remodel, thank god.”
Waller hums, “How have you avoided being incarcerated? You’ve been captured multiple times by both inside and outside Gotham forces.”
Harley shrugs, “I got better and got good friends.”
Waller turns from her, not even with a ‘by your leave.’ How rude. “I am Amanda Waller. You inmates have been recruited as a part of task force X.”
There’s an assortment of shouting from a few of the baddies in the room, Ice Lady, Shark Dude and Stripes, specifically. Harley stays seated on the floor.
Boomerang lazily waves an arm, “Always down to get time off my sentence boss.”
No-Eye Guy lifts his chin at Waller, “Nice to see you again, what’s the job this time?”
Waller talks loud to drowned out the noise of the room, “You’ve all been brought in to make contact with the Demons of Gotham.”
Now that got protests.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy–”
“The Demons? Otva’li–”
“Jesus, I thought starfish was bad–” Oh yeah, Harley heard about that one, the League showed up in the middle (finally) to help.
“I’d rather go vegan–”
Ice Lady just gives a resounding ‘No.’
Waller waits for the objections to die down, which takes a minute, before speaking again, “Quinzel is going to be your guide–”
“And what is stopping us from leaving?” Stripes asks.
“The bomb in our necks,” Ohh, No-Eye knows what’s up.
“Bullshit, that is a waste of resources.”
Waller steps out of the doorway, “Go on. Call my bluff.”
Stripes does.
“Welp,” Harley tilts her head, “That was stupid.”
“Now, the Demons. This mission is going to be complicated, we have a magical informant being held by the JL that you’re going to take with you. We need information from both the informant and the Demons are the only one who can get it from him.”
“So we’re going to be your sacrificial lambs?”
“X is a suicide squad, Frost, that’s the job description.”
“How d’we know jingles can handle herself.”
OH Boomerang is asking for it.
Harley flips to her feet just to show off, “Ya’wanna check Boomerang Man?”
“It’s Captain Boomerang.”
“Like that’s better.”
“Quinzel is more than capable.”
No-Eye, who seems to be the only person in here with a trackable mind, interrupts, “Who’s this informant we’re farrying.”
“You’re Gotham.”
Harley just raises an eyebrow.
The… child? Laughs, “Oh hohohohooo, this’ll be fun.”
The kid– Klarion, apparently got a bit too excited and one of the League magic users (Zatanna maybe?) said… something and he buzzed before glaring at her.
“I’m just trying to be nice.” he whines.
“Be nice from a distance.”
Klarion huffs but turns back to Harley, “So you’re considered a villain and have a connection to the Demon. How curious.”
“Klarion,” Waller steps up in front of team X, “You will–”
“Accompany, answer questions, blah blah blah, I know.”
Superman (lordy, Bruce wasn’t kidding about him being southern sunshine) steps forward to speak for the JL, “You’ll keep to the agreement?”
“I’m a woman of my word, Superman. As long as you keep to your.”
Kal nods and gestures to his right, at what Harley assumes to be magic users, “This is Zatanna, Constantine, and Doctor Fate, they’ll be accompanying you.”
Waller looks like she swallowed a lemon, “We agreed one.”
Ohhh! Brucie!! “Fate is a back-up plan, he’ll remain outside of Gotham, but near enough if Klarion gets free. Both Zatanna and Constantine are needed to keep Klarion bound.”
Yes they are necessary little brother!
Waller looked even more sour (both because of the amount of Leaguers on the mission and because she didn’t know who Bruce was) but conceded, “Alright, we move tomorrow. You’ll meet at the assigned point.”
Bruce was beyond incensed.
“Harley!”
All but one of the make-shift bunk room inhabitants jump.
“What~” she whines.
“How in the hell did Waller get you?”
Harley falls back, starfished, on her assigned cot, “Drugs.”
The other villains of the room watched with a rainbow of different emotions, but mainly confusion, as Harley conversed with the fucking Batman like they’re friends.
The conversation was entirely too convoluted to follow and eventually devolved into sharp whistles and the weirdest language that shouldn’t even be possible with human vocal cords.
By the time Batman swept out of the room as quickly, quietly, and dramatically as he did while entering, Killer Frost had sworn never to anger Quinzel lest she bring down Batman’s wrath.
The meet-up point was a warehouse just outside Gotham.
When team X finally arrived, the JL was already there and waiting with two cars and a bike.
Waller took charge, “Klarion will go in one of the cars with one of the magicians and Killer Frost. Boomerang, Deadshot, and King Shark will take the other. Quinzel will take a bike with the other magician.”
Zatanna and Constantine debate for a moment while the rest of team X loads up. Constantine ends up on the bike with Harley and they race ahead of the cars, leading them through Gotham to one of the ‘holy places’ that one of the Colonies marked.
Harley slows the bike behind the Gotham Public Library and waits for Constantine to climb off before hefting herself off. The cars stop not too long after and join the two of them at the base of the building.
Constantine had been radiating anxiety ever since they had crossed Gotham's borders and it seemed like Zatanna had the same issue. Klarion, if– what, Chaos Lord or something?– body language was the same as a human's, he was nervous.
The assorted villains and anti-heros were all agitated to varying degrees. Everyone knew the stories, the Gotham Devils were monsters that could steal souls, destroy entire underground governments in a night, and kill paranormal clowns (Harley still didn’t know how Joker was thought of as ‘paranormal,’ he was just a narcissistic sociopathic bitch).
She jerks her chin up at the roof, “We’ve gotta get up there.”
“Why would a Harbor Entity use a Library of all places?” Oh, point for Constantine, he knows his shit.
“Just one of them uses the Library, there are different places for each one.”
Constantine stuffs his hands into his pockets to pull out a cigarette and a lighter, “Jesus, ‘just one’ what the fuck.”
Zatanna eyes her suspiciously, “Why this one?”
Harley snorts, “Do you know literally anything about Gotham?”
“Ya’ mean other than the Demons and the shi’ they protect the city from?”
Harley turns to Boomerang, “What do you know about the Demons?”
“They're not actually Demons, for starters, they’re Harbor Entities. Things from other planes bound to this one out of– hell, lots of things. But it’s always ‘cause they want to be.”
She nods, “Constantine at least knows what he’s talking about.”
“They’re old.”
She raises an eyebrow at Klarion. Wonder how Bruce swung that one. Blood, probably.
“The oldest Components? Mercy and Wrath? They’re older than I am. Probably older than Fate, too.”
Killer Frost curses, “Then this was a waste of damn time? He can only answer to someone his damn age!”
“Waller’s a bitch,” Deadshot interrupts, “But she wouldn’t send us on a goose chase for nothing.”
Shark grunts, “And if she did?”
Harley snorts, “She didn’t, you really didn’t do any homework huh?”
Zatanna bristles, “The things known outside of Gotham–”
“Don’t care,” Harley brushes off, “If you listened to Klarion he said the oldest Components.”
Zatanna’s anxiety grows, “There’s more?”
“Hold on now, lassie, what the hell is a component?”
Harley really likes Constantine, she kinda wants to befriend him. “We only have one Harbor Entity, it’s just split up into a bunch of tiny pieces. And has some vassals, but the Components are the only thing you need to worry about right now.”
“Vassals?”
“We’re wasting time,” she waves off Klarion, “We’ll miss Comunion Dawn if we don’t get on the roof. I’ll explain more later.”
After assorted rappelling, floating, growing of ice structures, and climbing, they finally make it up on the roof ledge of the Library.
Like every building in this god forsaken city, the Gothic architecture makes it a nightmare to find the Colony Roost unless you know where to look. After looking around for the word ‘flittermouse’ carved somewhere, she finds a small opening between one arch and the next. She slings the small side satchel she brought through and climbs in after it, it only takes a moment for the others to follow after her. Klarion whines about the tears in his suit, but Zatanna hisses something about ‘Teekle’ and he shuts up.
There’s an incredibly small opening right above her, letting Gotham moonlight through and filling up the room. All four slanted walls are filled with carved words and spray painted prayers. The entire room is filled with pictures and letters and items of various natures, mostly pertaining to jewelry of various kinds. Somebody had taken the idea of ‘promise ring’ and ran with it. Tim never complained.
“What the fuuuuck.”
“Don’t!”
Frost jerked her hand back that had been reaching out to pick up a small wooden carving of a little girl. A lost one, probably. A parent praying for Promise to use Vengeance, most likely.
“Wha’ in the hell is this place?”
Constantine huffs, “A shrine. A temple. Take your pick.”
“I’d put the cig out and throw it outside if I were you,” Harley heads for the circle in the center of the area. The reflected W symbol always shows up after a shrine is claimed. Everyone recognises it as the Gothama symbol and never touches it, out of either reverence or fear.
She slings off her satchel and opens it up, taking out six candles, one for each leg of the symbol. She sets them out but doesn’t light them.
The rest of the team seems to have gotten the message about not touching anything, but Harley keeps an eye on them regardless.
“So,” She takes out two red ribbons to connect the top right leg of the symbol to the bottom left and visa versa for the top left and bottom right, setting the candles on top on the ends, “We need to go over formalities.”
Frost nods, “Makes sense.”
Harley looks up from the satchel, “Really?”
She shrugs, “I mean, they’re basically local gods. I’d want special treatment if I was a god.”
Harley concedes the point and pulls out a third black ribbon, “Don’t speak until I give you a signal, since I’m the one calling Promise, I’m the one who has to start the conversation.” She lays out the black ribbon from the end of the middle top leg to the end of the middle bottom leg and sets the candles on both ends. “Don’t make any aggressive movements, give it any reason to think it’s in danger and the best scenario is that it leaves and never talks to us again.”
“And the worst?”
She looks up at Deadshot, “You got a daughter at home?”
He looks wary, “Yeah.”
“You’re lucky Mercy doesn't choose children outside Gotham.” She turns back to her work. She might be having a liiiitle too much fun with upping the supernatural ideas surrounding her family, but it’s just so. Fucking. Funny. She can’t help it. The last items she takes out of the satchel are a lighter and a small, plain, silver ring. It’s really just a cheap ring you get out of one of those nickel machines but any ring works as long as it’s new. She places the ring at the very center of the symbol, over the intersection of the three ribbons, and stands.
“Okay, ready?”
There’s a moment where everybody glances around at each other, minus Klarion who honestly looked kind of excited, before Deadshot nods, “Ready.”
She nods, “Stand by the entrance, but in the light, remember, no threataning moves.”
She moves to light all six candles before joining the others near the entrance and waits.
…
.
.
.
“How long is this supposed to take?”
“One to thirty minutes.” Unless there was an Arkham breakout, then it didn’t happen until the next night. And one of them would likely visit you in your home instead.
“Thirty?”
She shrugs, “They’re busy things.”
Just then the light from above disappeared and the entrance had something slammed in front of it. She shushed the loud exclamations from behind her and pointed to the symbol.
Ohhhhhh~ Tim looks terrifying! She hadn’t seen the new suit yet but it was awesome!
The showgirl wings were, sadly, removed, and replaced with prosthetic wings (she says prosthetic because in an emergency they work like actual wings, but usually just work as a guidance system for the jetpack) akin to a ravens. The silent-but-deadly boots were sleeker than the prototypes were, actually looking like a second skin this time, and colored using vanta black before joining his armored legging in designs that curl around his legs like smoke. The upper part of his leggings were blood red that faded as it went up the stomach plating and changed to a pale orange at the breast plate before turning into an eye-burning yellow at the very end of the collar.
His Promise mask was stretched up to the middle of his forehead and stopped just under his cheek bones. The mask nose was just a bit longer then she’d last seen it and a little more hooked, kind of reminding her of a plague doctor mask. There were small feathers covering the outside of his eyes and pointed towards his ears at the slightest slant. The further out the feathers the longer they were. Really sold the bird motif, she liked it.
The eyes were, of course, pure white and unblinking, but the ‘cry’ mechanism was probably already installed, knowing Tim. The black dye ready to be released to cover what would be the whites of a human eye in pitch black, the oil spilling down the mask.
All in all, very intimidating, 8/10.
“Promise,” she forms her hands into ‘handshake’ position and lays them over her chest to form a rudimentary X, “We’ve come to request your help.”
Tim jitters into the ‘good’ Component greeting; one leg stretched forward and torso tilted oddly, before standing. “We hear,” his modulator makes his voice sound smooth as butter and deep as the Bay, “The one known-” his voice clicks, “K-k-k-k as Thaal threatenssss us.”
Harley dips her head, “Yes, and we need your assistance, this child, Klarion,” she gestures behind herself, “He knows useful information, but the curse–”
“He can tell no one younger than he-e-e-e.” god she loves those modulators, “We are aware.”
She can tell Zatanna and Constantine are worried about how Promise knows, but they’re smart enough not to speak, “Will you assist us?”
Promise hums, “I will meet with Waller and the League.”
“Why–”
Harley elbows Boomerang in the stomach, “Thank you, Promise, three days time at Comunion Dawn?”
Promises’ head dips, “That is acceptable, but the Chaos Lord must be given his familiar.”
Harley looks back at the Leaguers (who do not look happy) and Klarion (who’s– kneeling? and looks terrified and gleeful in equal measure). Constantine, who knows better than to argue, nods.
She turns back and does a chest X again, “Thank you, Promise.”
Its head tilts before a wind blows through and the candles blow out. Moments later bother openings are unblocked and she blinks against the light.
“Well,” she puts her hands on her hips, “That went better than I thought it would!” she says cheerfully.