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"Zeeeee," Harley wails, her voice scaling an entire octave and sliding down the other end. To cap it all, she's climbing up Zee's back with her arms and legs squirming like a huge milkweed beetle. Should be enough to get a reaction. "Why does no one ever want to play anymore?"
"Play what exactly?" Zee takes off her top hat before Harley's insistent nuzzling knocks it to the floor. Her hair is super-soft and shiny and she smells spritzy and bright, like vanilla and lemons and buttercups but with an undercurrent of cinnamon and burnt playing cards. To Harley's nostrils, it's the scent of magic!
"I don't know. Cards. Catch. Hooky. Sexy roleplay. Anything." Harley bounces like an overexcited child in front of presents it can't have yet. Zee staggers under her weight. "Is it because the world is going to shit? Newsflash: this ain't the first time, we're seasoned pros at armageddon scenarios, and if it's the dead-friggin'-last time, can't we just have some fun before we go out with a bang?"
Zee emits a sound that's only half a sigh. "Ekat reh ffo ym kcab," she intones and Harley is floating two feet above the ground, grinning with glee.
"Are you talking dirty to me?" Harley sniggers.
"Gag reh."
"I understoo—mmph."
"If you want to have some fun," Zee smirks, "we're going to play by house rules, which so happen to be mine. Nod if you agree."
Harley's head bobs so fast it threatens to fall off.