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“We don’t have space for a second clown. Unless you’re here to break me from this joint.”
Duela’s staring at old newspapers, browned and stained with time, and wondering how the JSA aren’t wrinkly old men when the voice rings out. She’d been careful entering the Brownstone. It’s late, so anyone within its halls is likely asleep. She’d watched to ensure no one with super-hearing would still be there. Avoiding the alarms had been too easy. She should give them tips. Yeah, sure, most villains wouldn't attack a place full of heroes, but this lack of security still can't be good.
Oh, right. Person.
She turns her head towards the man. His costume isn’t nearly as colorful as hers, but she respects the obvious harlequin inspiration. Too many people go for clowns and jesters these days. She thinks she's heard about this one, recently. Harlequin's Son? Pretty basic name. Wait, what does that say about her? “Nope,” Duela answers, popping the p as she says it. “Ya guys got a cool museum. Wanted to see it.” Her eyes rove around the room. The walls are covered with newspaper clippings and photos and even a few paintings. There are statues and replica weapons and items the JSA must’ve captured during battles.
“You aren’t going to get anything for that crap. It’s all fake.”
“Huh?” There’s a newspaper. August 1976. It itches at her brain. She blinks, jolts back to the conversation. “What? I ain’t here to steal nothing. I’m a friend. Visiting.” She’d thought that maybe… maybe there would be something about her here. There isn’t anywhere else, not until recently, and even those are near impossible to find. A few articles about a wannabe Joker buried in the middle of newspapers that no one ever reads. That’s it. It was a silly, desperate thought though. She’s never even talked to the JSA. Why would they have anything about her?
“Breaking in," Harlequin's Son corrects. His tone isn’t angry or even suspicious. More amused. At least he isn’t likely to immediately throw her into jail. That's been an issue too many times in Gotham.
Duela turns fully to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m a Titan.” She puts force behind the name. Sure she doesn’t have her badge and the tower won’t grant her access but she’s still a Titan. She remembers, she does. And the Titans and the JSA get along and have teamed up a few times and so that makes her a friend.
“Uh huh.” The man leans against the wall with a slight smirk on his face. "What's your name?"
Duela's face scrunches up in frustration. She knows where this is going, even as she answers, "Harlequin."
There's silence for a second and then he lets out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, right. I don't think we need any more Harlequins. Me and mom have that corner, well, cornered."
Duela's face heats up. She hates the way her eyes sting as she looks away. You'd think it would get easier being the point of mockery, but it doesn't. She mutters under her breath, more to herself than him. "Yeah, yeah. You and your mom and Harley Quinn and a dozen others. But never me, cuz no one remembers me. Not even the Titans…"
"…No one remembers you?" There's something in his voice, an edge that makes Duela think that (for once) she's not the butt of a joke. That a part of him understands. Maybe that's why she answers.
"It's all confused and screwed up now. I was a Titan. But then it all shifted and now they don't remember me and they don't come from me.
Silence hangs over them for a minute before Harlequin's Son breaks it. "Heard Garrick and Scott talking about it once. Universe went wonky, people disappeared, came back. First the Society then those weird sidekicks and who the hell knows who else in between. All the history's fucked." There's a beat. Duela thinks she already knew this, though she can't recall from where. But that's how everything is now, her mind fractured in a dozen different directions. It's a miracle her mind hasn't already wandered away in this conversation. "I'm not sure I existed three months ago. I have memories, but when you look? There isn't a whole lot of hard evidence that a Harlequin's Son was ever around before. Turns your head all around just thinking about it, huh?"
He turns towards her and flashes a crooked, sharp smile. Commiseration. That isn't something Duela's used to nowadays. She smiles back. "Oh, ya don't know the half of it. I can't keep anything straight. I think I was 50 once. And Donna Troy was getting married. I hated him." She tilts her head as she trails off, face scrunched up in thought.
Harlequin's Son laughs against. It's a high, sharp laugh, almost like a cackle. "You've got some stories. You know, I was about to sneak out. Spread some pain to some people who really, really deserve it. Tag along?"
Duela thinks she's misheard or zoned out again but when her wide eyes meet his, he just raises an eyebrow while waiting for an answer. "Ha, ya! 'Course!"
He seems pleased with the answer. He turns away, heading towards the door, but looks back behind his shoulder. "Michael."
This is the longest conversation anyone's had with her in… Months? Longer? The nicest too. He's being friendly. That makes her giddy