The Queen and I

Nygma was completely taken aback by Harley's sudden loving embrace... Looking back he probably should presumed such an outcome, yet for some odd reason, he could never get used to Quinn's bubbling personality. He was, in all honesty flabbergasted by such an outburst. Upon impact, he made a small jump, grasping his bowler cap in his right hand, and keeping his left hovering above the air. His eyes had widened in shock, and his cheeks went to a hue of light red. He stood there for a brief moment, not quite sure in what to do... He felt a little bad now, actually... His introduction to his old fri-"COLLEAGUE!" was nothing but rude, and outright mean towards her thus far. Subtlety insulting her and her beloved home under the guise of a salesman giving a pitch. He'd never admit it, but he actually felt guilty. He could easily insult, say Jonathan or Joker, but Harley was something special, to nearly all of the Arkham rogues. After all, she gave such a warm and kind welcome, even after everything Edward had just said... He gave a nervous chuckle and scratched the back of his neck

"Heh, Heh..... Um... Hello Harley!" he said with an uncomfortable smile and an awkwardly poor attempt to reciprocate the hug (it came out a bit more like an uncomfortable pat on the back truthfully).

Once she had finally pushed away, the precarious prince of puzzles cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie. "*ahem* Yes.... Erm, pardon... Thus far my traversing through this wretched city, seemingly filled to the brim with utter morons, has been riddled with misfortune. Have you perhaps seen my grand introduction on your idiot box Quinn? Gave that blasted bat a run for his money, but alas.... All is atrocious, that stupid, insufferable twit CHEATED!!! as per usual! Then I got shipped off to some second-rate Arkham, that was interesting. Tetch was there. Other than my horrendous misfortune, positively nothing of any merit has occurred lately. I blame all the stupid people... Oh, I suppose you've heard me gripe enough for now, what about you? Word on the street is.... You've got yourself in some trouble with someone new...."

Harley Quinn

Nygma waved off the offer for a drink. Edward Nygma is much to brilliant for alcohol, after all! He slithered his way to the bar, and sat one of the stools, opposite to Harley. She spoke of a Dragon man, it was cryptic, but Nygma could deduce who she was talking about. He had a run in with brute as well, a nasty affair, his arm still wasn't fully healed. <Note to self: look into this "Blue Dragon", a tad more. Something tells me that moron will be problematic in the future>

"Non dead bat baby?" his ears perked up "First off: grammar, Harley. We've talked about this a thousand times before!" Nygma began, referring how she worded whomever the fellow was. Edward was a stickler for... Well... Everything, but he seemed to be unable to grasp the very simple fact of life: no one likes a grammar-nazi. That, or he does grasp this fact, and merely chooses to ignore it (both are highly plausible when dealing with a man like Edward Nygma). "Secondly: what do you mean by non dead bat baby? Are they associated with Batman?!" His tone went somewhat ominous as he spoke, emphasizing the importance of the question.

He had heard a man, in the back room of her tavern, screaming out for Nygma's help. She reassured the Prince of Puzzles that there was no need to pay fool any mind, before laughing it off with her annoying, yet ominous chortle. Her insane giggling was always endearing to the Arkham Rogues, even if it was annoying. Nygma gave a cheerful chuckle as he saw victim get dragged off



Harley Quinn

Nygma took a moment to ponder Harley's elaboration. Of coarse that idiot clown's poor handy work would come back to haunt everyone else. That witless swine clearly can't grasp the concept of repercussions.... Actually... He probably does, and simply giggles it off. Moron. He rubbed his forefinger on the ridge of his chin, and contemplated future events and schemes. The Emerald Enigma couldn't help but roll his eyes at the Cupid of Crime's quest to see him hydrated, but non the less, he accepted the glass with a slurp. Her acceptance of reality's grim fate made him honestly chuckle. Arkham Rogues knew, more than anyone else, that once the straight jacket's on.... Ain't no way you're taking it off. "Well, just look at you now! Surrounded by plebiscites, and hollow-minded goons.... Who would've thought? The Clown's moll of all people! Would become the Queen of the Big Apple?! Hoo-hoo-hooo! That's a joke even I could appreciate!" 

His Emerald gloves wrapped themselves around his glass and raised it for a cheers. His kind words were always slathered in such sarcasm and cynicism. Nygma never liked to think of himself as rude, rather he preferred the term honest or straightforward. His condescending tone was just a natural habit, spawned from years of abuse and neglect, and left to simmer. He took another sip from the glass, and planted it over the counter. The Quizzical King of Questions reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. "Cancer Stick?" he gestured the box towards her, a stalk of tobacco sticking out from its lid. He took a stick of his own, and planted it between his lips. Her smile lit up the room (which was already pulsating with blinding shades of pink and blue). And the aroma of Cotton Candy was an utterly strong stench about her. Nygma could never understand such a silly and warped person, an unsolved riddle for a later date. But her question, was reciprocated with a riddle of his own. "A head, but no neck. A tail but no legs. No body, no mind, not even an arm. What am I?"