After a while, Harley was able to master herself and continue working. She thought out loud to herself “cake… round… what’s that shape thinga-ma-jig called? Cy-…Cylll, Cylind-” She then remembered that she was supposed to be quiet and lowered her voice, “-er, that’s what I need, cylinders!” And she began a more thorough inspection of the junk in the basement. She came across a large cable spool, a dryer tumbler screen, a circular, three-wheeled thingy she had seen people use to go under cars with, and a coffee can that contained something that smelled awful. She wished she had not opened the canister, but quelled her urge to vomit and shut the can back up. She located some old horse glue on a workbench and set to work pasting things together. She felt brilliant.
She looked at her rickety tower of cylindrical objects and thought, “now it needs paint… is there any paint in here? She turned around quickly and slipped on a piece of pipe that was laying about. As she fell, she knocked over the entire contents of the workbench, including her piece of art which had cracked in three distinct pieces. “Oh great,” she thought, sitting in the mess, “I’m gonna get it now…” She sat and waited for her imminent doom.
He was instantly awake at the sound of crashing, rolling his eyes as he realized it was only Harley and not Batman crashing through the ceiling. Of course, he had to go investigate. He was no longer tired and yelling at Harley seemed to be the most entertaining thing he had to do.
He quickly made his way down to the basement, throwing open the door only to see Harley sitting on the ground staring up at him. She was surrounded by tools and other miscellaneous things, and appeared quiet frustrated by the situation. He was silent for a moment, now a bit more curious than angry. “Harley…what are you doing on the floor?”
(Source: clownprinceofcrime13, via princessofcrime)