Post by Harley Quinn. on Aug 11, 2008 20:45:45 GMT -5
The Character
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Canon or your own: Canon.
Copyright (Marvel/DC/ect): DC.
Characters civilian name: Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel.
Code names/Aliases: Harley Quinn.
Class: Villain.
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Gender: Female.
Age: 28.
Apparent Age: 28.
Hair: Blonde, but usually hidden underneath her cap.
Eyes: Blue.
Height and weight: 5'3", 115 lbs.
Appearance:
Though she's usually hidden beneath a thick layer of clown makeup and a skin tight suit, Harley could be thought of as the 'All-American' type; she's a petite yet curvy blue-eyed blonde, and her hair, when not hidden beneath her cap, is almost always tied into either a ponytail or pigtails. But while wearing her suit, which is based off of a Harlequin jester costume but far more form-fitting, the only features that can be seen are her big, blue eyes and her signature grin, which is almost always plastered onto her face.
Picture [if available]:
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Super Powers: None.
Learned Abilities: Harley is an excellent gymnast, and with this comes great agility, strength, and reflexes. She is also quite the marksman, and she knows how to operate a lot of weaponry. As for mental abilities, she's a brilliant girl, but her insanity clouds her judgment. She's trained in psychoanalysis, and because of this, she's gotten pretty damn good at manipulating people (though it's not so easy to manipulate a certain puddin' of hers). Oh, and if 'insanity' is an ability, then she's got that down pat.
Equipment: She uses different weapons every day, from M-16s and grenades to gas bombs and boxing gloves on a stick. But two constants are her cap gun and her mallet.
Weaknesses (Must Have): Since Harley is only human, she has the same physical weaknesses as anyone else. She's also a definite klutz, despite the fact that she's a gymnast. But mentally, she's very obsessive about the people she loves (namely The Joker), and if anyone even mentions hurting somebody she cares about, she'll snap. She's also quite naïve and fairly easy to manipulate. Oh, and she hates fish...she won't even get near the stuff. Ick.
Background:
Harleen Francis Quinzel was born to a single Jewish mother in South New Jersey. She was a beautiful baby, with big, blue eyes and thick brown hair. Her father had left her mother when he found out that she was pregnant, and she had no money; she had to work two jobs to support Harley and herself. At first, she simply seemed like any other over-worked, stressed out new mother; horrified but excited, with high hopes for her future. But when Harley was around three, she noticed that her mother was acting strangely. Aside from her tough life, she was a somewhat normal young child, with a love of princesses and ponies and a dream of becoming a gymnast one day. In fact, she started gymnastics when she was the tender age of five. But as Harley grew, she noticed her mother acting stranger and more depressed, and she soon became scared of her mother's behavior. But she tried everything in her power to console her mother, wanting nothing more than to make her happy.
And then, when Harley was six, her mom finally found happiness through a man named Richard Hope, and she fell in love almost immediately.After just six months of dating, they married, and Harley wasn't too thrilled about this. And no, it wasn't because she didn't want a father figure, because she did; she desperately wanted to have a daddy so she could be like the other girls her age. But Richard abused and hurt both Harley and her mother, and she was terrified of the man, but she didn't say anything because he was the one person that made her mom happy. But his effect on her mother confused Harley; after all, he hurt her every day, and yet she came running back to him every time. She didn't know how to tell her mother that he wasn't right for her because she was so young, so she let out her frustration through gymnastics. It was the same way throughout middle school, and Harley had to lie to everyone every day and claim that she had gotten the bruises that she constantly had on her body were simply from practicing gymnastics. It wasn't easy to lie to her friends' faces every day; in fact, it was enough to drive her crazy.
And in fact, soon enough, it did. By the time she was a freshman in high school, she was loony, to say the least. Her crazy personality caused people to avoid her, and she never made any friends. Because of this, she had no motivation to study, though she was a naturally smart girl. She always got decent grades, but she never gave it much of an effort, so she was never at the top of her class. But when her senior year rolled around, she ended up getting a scholarship to Gotham University for gymnastics, and she immediately accepted it. But she also decided that she would take advantage of the scholarship and study something that she had always been interested in - psychology. She had been horrified yet fascinated with her mother's behavior all of her life, and she wanted to learn more about it. And soon enough, she was college bound, and to be honest, she couldn't get there sooner; no more bruises from Richard, no more worrying about her mom. For once, she could just focus on Harley. And that was a good thing...right?
Wrong. In college, she was just as much of an outcast as she had been in high school. In fact, her roommate was so driven off the wall by Harley's antics that she transfered schools. Not that Harley was complaining about that, though; she got her own room. She did gymnastics throughout her college career and worked as a cocktail waitress to pay off her extra college bills, she got half-decent marks, and soon enough, she got a great boyfriend. Or, at least she thought he was great. He was sweet, loving, and kind; nothing like any of the people she had ever cared about. But in her senior year, he committed suicide, and she was absolutely devastated. Because of this, she lost her job and began failing school because of her depression. Her low marks didn't bother her until she found out that unless she aced the final, she was not going to be able to graduate, let alone earn her master's in psychology like she wanted to. And, surprise surprise, she failed the final. And thus, in a desperate attempt to get her grades up, she seduced her professor and ended up at the top of her class.
She felt guilty about what she had done, but she was soon distracted from the guilt when Arkham noticed her high marks and asked her if she wanted an internship. She was thrilled, especially because she was absolutely fascinated by the criminally insane. Plus, it would open so many doors for her; she dreamed of becoming a pop psychologist by writing a tell-all book about the criminals at Arkham, and perhaps even come out with a line of self help books. She soon began working at Arkham, and before she knew it, although she was not a real doctor yet, people were referring to her as 'Dr. Harleen Quinzel'.
Edit: I'm just guessing that she's Harleen Quinzel for now, and we'll RP it out until she becomes Harley Quinn. But if you want me to add the Joker part into her history, just ask!
Personality :
Harleen Quinzel is insane. There's really not much else to her to the common eye; she seems rather one-dimensional when you first meet her. She seems to simply be a kooky, wacky nutcase who is too naive to see that she is head-over-heels, hopelessly, obsessively in love with a homicidal clown. But there is far more to Harley Quinn than this, and people can't seem to see beyond the surface, though this is mainly because the only people who spend much time with her aside from her puddin', her pet hyenas, and Red are Batman and her victims. But the first view that one gets from Harley is as accurate as any; she's positively crazy, and she isn't afraid to admit it.
But there is much more to Harley beyond the surface. When it comes to the people she cares about (which is a very select few, might I add), she will go to any length to protect them and make them happy. Though she hardly trusts anyone aside from The Joker and Poison Ivy, so it isn't easy to gain her affection. But that's not to say that she's a good person - if The Joker says the word, she'll kill anyone in a heartbeat. She also loves crime, and she thrives on adrenaline, whether it's from a car chase or a robbery. In other words, she's just not a good person.
Surprisingly, Harley is quite intelligent. Though her judgment is clouded (well, okay, so completely blocked is more like it) because of her obsession with you-know-who, she has a genius-level IQ and vast knowledge in the field of psychology. Though her intelligence isn't what caused her to thrive in college; she only passed because she seduced her professor. But she knows how to manipulate, and she takes full advantage of this. Of course, nobody realizes this because she comes across as such a ditz, and she's lost the finesse that she once had.
Overall, Harley has never been an angel, but she has the potential to do some good. Of course, all of this potential is completely unused, and she is too caught up in her life of crime and hopeless obsession to realize that her life has gone Loony Tunes. She has grown to love her life of crime, and she hardly cares about anyone. She has also grown to hate authority of any kind, because she's convinced that they've hurt her puddin'. And don't let her playful, ebullient exterior fool you - she's a nutcase.
Other: Nope!
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Brief Sample Roleplay
“We found him!”
The voice of a security guard called from the hallway of Arkham Asylum, and Harley’s ears immediately perked up with curiosity. She stood up and followed the voice that had just hollered, somewhat happy for a distraction from the boring, eventless workday. It had been a very slow day, so she was stuck sitting at her desk, driving herself mad with worry. The Joker was gone, and he could be anywhere; lost, scared, alone, and—she shuddered at the thought—dead. She could hear him calling for her in her head, begging her to go and find him, but she couldn’t leave; instead, she was trapped in her everyday routine, which was starting to feel like walls that were closing in on her. When she finally found the source of the call, she noticed that a somewhat large crowd of doctors and patients alike had surrounded the guards, who were holding a body down. She couldn’t tell who it was, so she managed to work her way in front of the crowd, desperate to find out who was causing such an ordeal. But she had not prepared herself for what she was about to see.
It was The Joker. Batman had found him, and he had shown no mercy. His body was broken, and the smile that seemed to be eternally spread across his red lips was not there. She stared at the scene for a few moments, her eyes wide with disbelief. She felt her legs numbing, and after a moment, she couldn’t feel anything. Her jaw had subconsciously dropped, and she felt her eyes well up with tears. “What did they do to him?” She murmured under her breath, not asking anyone in particular. But it was obvious that nobody heard her; they were far too fixated on the scene to notice anything. She parted her lips to ask again, but she then found herself looking at The Joker straight in the eyes. She looked at him for a moment, her heart pounding, before they dragged him away. She ran after him, but she felt two people grab her arms, restraining her from going any further. “Let me go,” she begged, but instead, she found herself being dragged in the opposite direction. She tried to tell them to stop once again, but she found herself bursting into a fit of sobs, rendering her unable to speak, see, or hardly even breathe.
The rest of the day was hell on Harley. She had been sent home so that she could pull herself together, but this just caused her to keep on thinking about him. Had they hurt him any more after she left? Was he going to be okay? What if the wounds killed him? Her mind was filled with questions that nobody could answer. And then she realized it: she had to help The Joker escape, and fast. She had the key to The Joker's cell, so it would be easy as pie. But what if someone did see her? After a moment, she knew the perfect solution—a disguise. She couldn’t sew, but she could just swing by a costume store on her way and throw on the first thing she saw.
She sprinted outside and hopped into her car, ignoring the pouring rain, thunder, and lightning that were occurring. Thunder storms were frequent in Gotham, so she wasn't concerned. She stopped by a small costume store that was on the way, knowing that it was the perfect place to find a disguise; she constantly saw it on her way to work and nobody was ever there, so she assumed that they didn’t take very high security measures. She ran out of her car and into the store, simply looking for something that would disguise her at first. But then, something caught her eye—a Harlequin jester suit. It looked small even for her and she knew that it would be skin tight, but it suited her perfectly, and The Joker might even know who she was right off the bat because of his nickname for her. She threw it over her shoulder and grabbed some face paint and a mask before heading to the back of the store and throwing on the number as quickly as she could, topping it off with some black lipstick that was left in her purse. When the clerk spotted her and began to scold her, she simply swung her fist at him, punching him out of the way so that she could get to her car. Next stop, Arkham Asylum.
She slammed down the gas pedal in her car, her eyes fixated on the familiar route ahead of her. “Harleen, you don’t want to do this,” a voice in the back of her head said. It was the Dr. Harleen Quinzel inside of her, her more logical and intelligent counterpart. For a moment, she slowed down, considering what would happen to her if she were caught or if her escape plan didn’t work out. But she shrugged it off and slammed down on the gas pedal once again. “You could lose everything you’ve worked for,” the little voice continued. “I didn’t work for any of it,” Harley muttered. She was fully aware that she was talking to herself, but she was too distracted to care about whether or not that was normal behavior. “I slept my way through college, remember? I don’t deserve any of this life. Not this job, not this car, not even this costume…” She bit down on her bottom lip in frustration, zooming past every store before finally pulling into Arkham, slamming on the brakes and stepping out of her car. “And my name is not Harleen.”
The voice of a security guard called from the hallway of Arkham Asylum, and Harley’s ears immediately perked up with curiosity. She stood up and followed the voice that had just hollered, somewhat happy for a distraction from the boring, eventless workday. It had been a very slow day, so she was stuck sitting at her desk, driving herself mad with worry. The Joker was gone, and he could be anywhere; lost, scared, alone, and—she shuddered at the thought—dead. She could hear him calling for her in her head, begging her to go and find him, but she couldn’t leave; instead, she was trapped in her everyday routine, which was starting to feel like walls that were closing in on her. When she finally found the source of the call, she noticed that a somewhat large crowd of doctors and patients alike had surrounded the guards, who were holding a body down. She couldn’t tell who it was, so she managed to work her way in front of the crowd, desperate to find out who was causing such an ordeal. But she had not prepared herself for what she was about to see.
It was The Joker. Batman had found him, and he had shown no mercy. His body was broken, and the smile that seemed to be eternally spread across his red lips was not there. She stared at the scene for a few moments, her eyes wide with disbelief. She felt her legs numbing, and after a moment, she couldn’t feel anything. Her jaw had subconsciously dropped, and she felt her eyes well up with tears. “What did they do to him?” She murmured under her breath, not asking anyone in particular. But it was obvious that nobody heard her; they were far too fixated on the scene to notice anything. She parted her lips to ask again, but she then found herself looking at The Joker straight in the eyes. She looked at him for a moment, her heart pounding, before they dragged him away. She ran after him, but she felt two people grab her arms, restraining her from going any further. “Let me go,” she begged, but instead, she found herself being dragged in the opposite direction. She tried to tell them to stop once again, but she found herself bursting into a fit of sobs, rendering her unable to speak, see, or hardly even breathe.
The rest of the day was hell on Harley. She had been sent home so that she could pull herself together, but this just caused her to keep on thinking about him. Had they hurt him any more after she left? Was he going to be okay? What if the wounds killed him? Her mind was filled with questions that nobody could answer. And then she realized it: she had to help The Joker escape, and fast. She had the key to The Joker's cell, so it would be easy as pie. But what if someone did see her? After a moment, she knew the perfect solution—a disguise. She couldn’t sew, but she could just swing by a costume store on her way and throw on the first thing she saw.
She sprinted outside and hopped into her car, ignoring the pouring rain, thunder, and lightning that were occurring. Thunder storms were frequent in Gotham, so she wasn't concerned. She stopped by a small costume store that was on the way, knowing that it was the perfect place to find a disguise; she constantly saw it on her way to work and nobody was ever there, so she assumed that they didn’t take very high security measures. She ran out of her car and into the store, simply looking for something that would disguise her at first. But then, something caught her eye—a Harlequin jester suit. It looked small even for her and she knew that it would be skin tight, but it suited her perfectly, and The Joker might even know who she was right off the bat because of his nickname for her. She threw it over her shoulder and grabbed some face paint and a mask before heading to the back of the store and throwing on the number as quickly as she could, topping it off with some black lipstick that was left in her purse. When the clerk spotted her and began to scold her, she simply swung her fist at him, punching him out of the way so that she could get to her car. Next stop, Arkham Asylum.
She slammed down the gas pedal in her car, her eyes fixated on the familiar route ahead of her. “Harleen, you don’t want to do this,” a voice in the back of her head said. It was the Dr. Harleen Quinzel inside of her, her more logical and intelligent counterpart. For a moment, she slowed down, considering what would happen to her if she were caught or if her escape plan didn’t work out. But she shrugged it off and slammed down on the gas pedal once again. “You could lose everything you’ve worked for,” the little voice continued. “I didn’t work for any of it,” Harley muttered. She was fully aware that she was talking to herself, but she was too distracted to care about whether or not that was normal behavior. “I slept my way through college, remember? I don’t deserve any of this life. Not this job, not this car, not even this costume…” She bit down on her bottom lip in frustration, zooming past every store before finally pulling into Arkham, slamming on the brakes and stepping out of her car. “And my name is not Harleen.”
