⬖ Remedial Treatment ⬘

[She's no stranger to her head feeling all kinds'a funny, and while she's very much not sure about what's going or why she's here... The festive atmosphere is real contagious, and there's no broody bats in sight to stop her from having fun, which means she's joining in. Weird fake memories and all that mumbo jumbo can be dealt with at a later date, thank you.

So what if she technically ain't allowed to be runnin' any booths or nothin' without the proper type of permissions? Harley has a bad streak of not listening to authority anyway, which means them fancy rules and regulations don't mean squat when she really wants to put her mind to it. Which is precisely why she's stolen a table. It wasn't exactly like she'd bothered to be all stealthy-like about it either; she dragged the thing scraping and banging all the way down from the second floor to the first, setting up right in front of the library and claiming the spot for herself.

There's glitter... Everywhere. Various hues of pinks, reds, and blues that have been haphazardly dumped around the area, both on the table itself and the surrounding floorspace. It's going to be hell to clean up afterwards, but later problems are for a later Harley to deal with. There's a construction paper sign hanging on the wall behind the table that reads, "hOROSCOPES and tRAuMA THERAPY!" The letters themselves cut out from various sources and glued onto the paper itself like some sort of love letter to the serial killer trope.

She herself has modified the school uniform to fit her needs; the white uniform shirt has been cut and tied to be more fashionable and show off her middriff, the waistband of the skirt rolled up a few times so that the hem rests higher up at the mid-thigh. She has on a pair of knee high platform boots, a mismatched pair of thigh high stockings - the left being pink and the right one black, and her two cross ties have been repurposed into accessories for her twin ponytails. She is also covered in glitter, though this is less of a fashion choice and more of a side effect from her "decorating."

She's sitting behind her table, visibly bored and waiting for someone to walk up and talk to her. This doesn't seem to be occurring naturally, and after clearly getting fed up with the lack of customers she pulls a bean bag - totally not stolen from another game booth - out of her stocking and chucks it at the nearest loitering person.]

Hey! You! Get ov'a here, I'm givin' ya a readin'.

⬙ Two Of Hearts ⬗

[Later in the week she can also be found up in the fourth floor rest area, sprawled out on her back one of the rugs with her legs propped up perpendicular on the wall. She's got the white cat on her chest, and she's just idly petting the kitty and feeding it treats while she babbles on to the animal itself.]

An' then he says to me, "You always take shots from folks who just don't get the joke!" [Her normally high pitched voice turns all low and grumpy as she quotes the sentence, clearly doing an impression.] An' then he tosses me out the window! Can ya believe it? Men. They have no respect for us broads who know how to do things bett'a than they ev'a could.

'Course, we stayed togeth'a for a while longer afterward. Mist'a J always did know how to sweet talk a lady into stayin' loyal. Ya put up with more than ya should when you're in love, ya know? [One finger comes up to poke the cat right on the nose as she talks. They're bonding.]

[She goes from aggravated to bright and chipper at the flip of a switch, bouncing a bit as she moves to sit up a bit straighter. Taking the beanbag back, she sets it to the side, aggressively patting the table for him to sit across from her and kicking the spare chair she'd brought over earlier so that he can... Y'know. actually sit.]

What'cha name, sweetheart? Ya know all ya star-signs and stuff?

Noah, of course! [She drags his name out for several seconds, nodding sagely to herself.] Ya definitely look like a Noah, kid. Ya know the name means strength or whatev'a? It's the mark of a real warrior. Good at boat makin' too! It might be smart for ya to branch off int'a the boatin' business.

[It's not, it doesn't mean that at all, and she's absolutely bullshitting. Similarly, she reaches into the bust of her shirt to pull out a crumpled up paper. She rubs it against the edge of the table a few times to straighten it out before she's hiding it under the table, still visible to her but not for Noah. She pauses to read the words on the page, then leans forward to prop her chin up on her palm and give him a bright smile.]

So. I'm guessin' you've been havin' a hard time lately, yeah Noah? It's written all ov'a your stars.