Status: Complete! ❤
Angels & Demons
ONE || I DON'T KNOW A 'MISTER J'
"Damn it, Q. We're not going to pull this off if you don't get your ass down here!" Quinn Gallagher heard her business partner and roommate Abigail calling from down the stairs of the small house they shared. Rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror she was looking into, she turned and walked out of her bedroom.
"Calm yourself. I'm fuckin' ready," Quinn shot back as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Abigail looked her over and seemed to be impressed, which she ought to be. Quinn was a complete knockout in her tight blood-red dress that barely covered the parts of her it was supposed to cover. Her jet black six-inch heels glistened even in the dim light of the foyer. Her long dark hair was curled lazily, making it look effortless and completely gorgeous and her makeup was done expertly and precisely.
"Jesus. The plan wasn't for you to look about a million times better than me," Abigail said, trying to sound like she was joking. Quinn flashed her a smile before grabbing her small handbag off of a table and turning on her heel to exit the house. Once Abigail could no longer see her face, she smiled again to herself at the unabashed jealousy she'd heard in her friend's voice.
Both of them slid into Quinn's sleek black Lamborghini and they set off on the streets, Quinn driving recklessly and without abandon just like she always did and Abigail holding on and pretending not to be scared just like she always did.
They were on their way to their favorite nightclub, Midnight. Once there, the plan was to go around and dance with as many sleazy guys as possible and steal as many wallets as possible. It was their running con. Quinn had been doing it in the multiple nightclubs all over Gotham for just about as long as she could remember and they'd been at it for almost a year together. Somehow, they hadn't been caught yet. Quinn still wasn't sure how, exactly, but she also didn't really care. Abigail, however, was concerned. She was sure they'd get caught and thrown in the dingy Gotham Prison forever. Quinn kept telling her she could leave the con whenever she wanted, but for some reason she never actually did.
Quinn pulled up to the club and tossed her keys to the valet casually as she always did. She'd learned a long time ago that the saying 'fake it 'til you make it' was very relevant and completely useful in every day life. They strolled past the bouncer; he'd seen them go inside tons of times and didn't even card them anymore.
Once inside the club, they split up at once just like they always did. It wasn't long before Quinn found the perfect mark, and a glance across the dance floor showed her that Abigail had too. She danced with the guy briefly, and it was almost too easy for her to reach into his pocket and fish out his wallet, shoving it in her handbag before he even realized she'd touched him at all. Once he did realize, he just thought she was being frisky like they all always did.
She left her first mark a few minutes later, moving to another and then another after that. As she was dancing with the third one, there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned slightly to see a man standing there that she didn't recognize.
"Wait your turn, buddy," her inebriated dance partner slurred, holding on to her tightly.
"Actually, it's my turn now," the man standing behind them said, grabbing onto Quinn's shoulders hard enough to make her think about her escape plan just in case she needed it.
Deciding to cooperate and see where this might be going, she went with the man willingly and was surprised when she was led into one of the private dance rooms in the back of the club.
"Listen, I don't actually do any private dancing. You've got the wrong girl," Quinn said, still doing her best to ignore all of the instincts that were telling her to kick him in the crotch and get the hell out of there.
"I don't want your fuckin' dance. Mister J wants to see you," the man said simply, like that was enough of an explanation for her to know exactly what he was talking about.
"I don't know a 'Mister J'," she told him, and he shrugged casually.
"You will," he said, smiling at her in a sinister way before turning to leave the room. Once he did, she immediately tried the doorknob and wasn't totally surprised when she found it locked from the outside.
She'd been sitting on one of the couches for a few minutes before she started getting just a little bit anxious about the situation. Finally, just as she was contemplating trying to kick the door down, the knob turned and she felt so completely stupid for not expecting to see who she did.
The Joker himself swaggered into the room casually, like she was the most mundane and meaningless thing he'd laid eyes on in a while. She was sure that's how he approached everyone in every situation, but it made her feel about an inch tall. Which, she figured, was probably the purpose.
Aside from how off-putting just his demeanor was, she wasn't surprised at all to see him. Of course the 'Mister J' the other man had mentioned was the Joker. Quinn had known all along that The Joker owned pretty much every nightclub in Gotham and had been surprised for years that he'd never had her banned or something like that. She'd obviously never met him personally, but everyone in Gotham knew that you never fuck with the Joker.
He sat down on the couch across from her, looking straight into her eyes. She was surprised by the color of his eyes for some reason; they were a light blue that she almost felt like she could see right through. It was only then that she took a moment to survey the rest of him, from his bright green hair that was slicked back against his head, to his white shirt that hung open to reveal his tattooed chest. There was a gun holster that was slung over his torso, housing two pistols that she knew were loaded and suddenly she was much more scared than she wished she was.
"Hello, Quinn Gallagher," the Joker said to her, over-pronouncing her name dramatically.
"H-hello," she responded, cursing herself for the slight stutter.
"Oh boy are we going to have fun," the Joker proclaimed, staring into her soul again and holding his left hand up in front of his mouth, showcasing the wide smile that was tattooed there.
"Calm yourself. I'm fuckin' ready," Quinn shot back as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Abigail looked her over and seemed to be impressed, which she ought to be. Quinn was a complete knockout in her tight blood-red dress that barely covered the parts of her it was supposed to cover. Her jet black six-inch heels glistened even in the dim light of the foyer. Her long dark hair was curled lazily, making it look effortless and completely gorgeous and her makeup was done expertly and precisely.
"Jesus. The plan wasn't for you to look about a million times better than me," Abigail said, trying to sound like she was joking. Quinn flashed her a smile before grabbing her small handbag off of a table and turning on her heel to exit the house. Once Abigail could no longer see her face, she smiled again to herself at the unabashed jealousy she'd heard in her friend's voice.
Both of them slid into Quinn's sleek black Lamborghini and they set off on the streets, Quinn driving recklessly and without abandon just like she always did and Abigail holding on and pretending not to be scared just like she always did.
They were on their way to their favorite nightclub, Midnight. Once there, the plan was to go around and dance with as many sleazy guys as possible and steal as many wallets as possible. It was their running con. Quinn had been doing it in the multiple nightclubs all over Gotham for just about as long as she could remember and they'd been at it for almost a year together. Somehow, they hadn't been caught yet. Quinn still wasn't sure how, exactly, but she also didn't really care. Abigail, however, was concerned. She was sure they'd get caught and thrown in the dingy Gotham Prison forever. Quinn kept telling her she could leave the con whenever she wanted, but for some reason she never actually did.
Quinn pulled up to the club and tossed her keys to the valet casually as she always did. She'd learned a long time ago that the saying 'fake it 'til you make it' was very relevant and completely useful in every day life. They strolled past the bouncer; he'd seen them go inside tons of times and didn't even card them anymore.
Once inside the club, they split up at once just like they always did. It wasn't long before Quinn found the perfect mark, and a glance across the dance floor showed her that Abigail had too. She danced with the guy briefly, and it was almost too easy for her to reach into his pocket and fish out his wallet, shoving it in her handbag before he even realized she'd touched him at all. Once he did realize, he just thought she was being frisky like they all always did.
She left her first mark a few minutes later, moving to another and then another after that. As she was dancing with the third one, there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned slightly to see a man standing there that she didn't recognize.
"Wait your turn, buddy," her inebriated dance partner slurred, holding on to her tightly.
"Actually, it's my turn now," the man standing behind them said, grabbing onto Quinn's shoulders hard enough to make her think about her escape plan just in case she needed it.
Deciding to cooperate and see where this might be going, she went with the man willingly and was surprised when she was led into one of the private dance rooms in the back of the club.
"Listen, I don't actually do any private dancing. You've got the wrong girl," Quinn said, still doing her best to ignore all of the instincts that were telling her to kick him in the crotch and get the hell out of there.
"I don't want your fuckin' dance. Mister J wants to see you," the man said simply, like that was enough of an explanation for her to know exactly what he was talking about.
"I don't know a 'Mister J'," she told him, and he shrugged casually.
"You will," he said, smiling at her in a sinister way before turning to leave the room. Once he did, she immediately tried the doorknob and wasn't totally surprised when she found it locked from the outside.
She'd been sitting on one of the couches for a few minutes before she started getting just a little bit anxious about the situation. Finally, just as she was contemplating trying to kick the door down, the knob turned and she felt so completely stupid for not expecting to see who she did.
The Joker himself swaggered into the room casually, like she was the most mundane and meaningless thing he'd laid eyes on in a while. She was sure that's how he approached everyone in every situation, but it made her feel about an inch tall. Which, she figured, was probably the purpose.
Aside from how off-putting just his demeanor was, she wasn't surprised at all to see him. Of course the 'Mister J' the other man had mentioned was the Joker. Quinn had known all along that The Joker owned pretty much every nightclub in Gotham and had been surprised for years that he'd never had her banned or something like that. She'd obviously never met him personally, but everyone in Gotham knew that you never fuck with the Joker.
He sat down on the couch across from her, looking straight into her eyes. She was surprised by the color of his eyes for some reason; they were a light blue that she almost felt like she could see right through. It was only then that she took a moment to survey the rest of him, from his bright green hair that was slicked back against his head, to his white shirt that hung open to reveal his tattooed chest. There was a gun holster that was slung over his torso, housing two pistols that she knew were loaded and suddenly she was much more scared than she wished she was.
"Hello, Quinn Gallagher," the Joker said to her, over-pronouncing her name dramatically.
"H-hello," she responded, cursing herself for the slight stutter.
"Oh boy are we going to have fun," the Joker proclaimed, staring into her soul again and holding his left hand up in front of his mouth, showcasing the wide smile that was tattooed there.