The Poet and the Riddler 3

Harlequin


When I was a kid, I had a habit of getting into trouble.

So, why am I a guard again?

Why would a troublemaker work for the law?

Mostly because I'm a very contrary person.

Partially because I was bored.

Friday

8 AM- Wake up

8:30- Jog

9 AM- Combat exercises

9:30- Eat

10 AM- Shower/get ready

11 AM- Get to work!

12 PM-1:30- Guard duty at Arkham (women's sector)

1:30-2 PM- Lunch

2 PM- 4 PM- Back to work / chat with Harley

I'd say Harley and I get along. Somewhat.

"So, how'd ya games with tha Riddla go, hun?"

"Eh…"

When I 'guard' this sector, it's normally during the inmates 'free-time', so Harley and I were sitting at a table together…which was sometimes actually encouraged. Something about having a sane person there to help make an insane person sane through osmosis, I guess…

Harley frowned at me. "Didn't go well?"

I shook my head. "No, it went fine, it's just…"

"Did Mista J interrupt you loveboids again?"

I nodded, then my mind fully processed what she'd just said. I sighed.

"It's the same with you sometimes, Harley. It's not like we're an item or anything…"

"Aw, but you two'd be so cute togetha!"

I drummed my fingers on the table, bored and slightly irritated. "I chat with him once a week and we play our game. That's it."

"Nothin' deepa?"

"How would I manage that?"

"Love can find a way!" She exclaimed cheerfully. "It always does!"

I sighed again then placed both hands flat on the table. "Harley, I do notlike the Riddler in that way."

"Ri-ight…but wait, you just said you liked 'im, didn't chya?"

"Is that all you heard?" I asked, rubbing my temples.

"Hun, that's all I needed ta hear."

"More like all you wanted to hear…"

Harley sat back in her chair (or tried to; all the furniture in Arkham is welded to the floor).

"Wanted, needed, it makes no difference ta me."

I sighed again. "Gotta say, Harley, sometimes I just prefer my own company..."

"Don't be such a downa, hun. I'm just messin' with ya."

"You and pretty much the whole asylum."

"Well, try ta see it as we see it."

I groaned. "And how do you and the asylum see it?"

Harley leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. "Well...you don't hate 'im."

...

"...and?"

Harley rolled her eyes. I was obviously missing something here...

"Everybody hates tha Riddla, hun."

"Everybody, eh?"

She nodded. "Yep."

I sat there, thinking about that. Did everybody really hate the the Riddler?

"So..." I started. "Why does everybody hate the Riddler?"

"Well, ta staht...he's obsessed with 'imself, he's a snob, a bit of a know-it-all..." She was ticking off the reasons with her fingers. "He's annoyin', neva shuts up...want me ta keep goin'?"

I shook my head and rubbed my temples. "I think I've heard enough..."

"Maybe you're just more tolerant of 'im than othas. I dunno. But when he's not in 'is cell, he's downright unbearable."

"Is it really that bad...?"

"Do ya really wanna know?"

I shook my head again. "No, not really..."

"Then don' ask, hun."

She glanced over my head at something. "Time ta go soon, hun."

I glanced over my shoulder. It was about a quarter to four; I got off at four.

I stood up. "Nice chatting with you as always, Harley."

She smiled and waved. "See ya Monday, hun."

So I left, spending the majority of my afternoon thinking about my rather odd conversation with Harley, and trying to think of another good reason for why the whole damn asylum thinks of the Riddler and I as an item, and...

Trying to think up a new riddle to use against the Riddler next week.