[OPEN.] Escaping the Carnival Tonight

[Harleen Quinzel]

Exposed. That’s the word Harley was looking for. The brightly lit streets of Gotham made her feel like every car headlight and light-up sign was her own, personal, revealing spotlight. She vaguely wondered if anyone in the crowd milling around her felt the same. She also wondered if they were also as worried about that notion as she was. Most people, she had to remind herself, didn’t have her criminal record. Oddly enough, those that did have her record (or far worse) didn’t look as normal as she did.

Harley swished her white-blonde ponytail to the side in obvious discomfort. It was a rare occasion for her to be so fully out of costume. She usually kept her liliripe-mocking pigtails in at a minimum. But as of late she’d come to notice the Gothamites were so afraid of each other that they feared any blonde pigtailed women (though, she couldn’t say how many there were beside herself). She often had to remind herself that the irrational fear of her appearance was nothing personal against her- just her acts; if that made any sense. Anyways, it was a rare occasion indeed when she ventured forth from their current Ha-Hacienda in anything but her black and red attire. Tonight was one of those nights.

She just wanted to be out for a night; out of the lifestyle, out of the spotlight, and just outside of their latest hideout. It was nothing permanent. Nothing that would make her want to turn her cowl in for good. Just an ache, much like the busted lip she still had because the latest prank had gone sour. She tongued at her lip, the taste of copper bubbling back up as the thin layer of skin that had formed since the incident broke away at her ministrations. Disappointment in herself was what it came down to; that she couldn’t handle the easiest capers and that she could give up (if only for one night) so easily. What had she done before her months at Arkham whenever she felt disappointment? Ah yes. She’d nursed some highly-alcoholic drink at a local, seedy bar. The bar was all she could afford on an intern’s salary- and it was cheapest to buy one strong drink rather then several, mild, sweet ones.

She debated with herself on where she’d go. She didn’t have a dime on her and she didn’t feel like being brought in for robbing a bar of its liquor. Anyways, she was done up just enough where some poor sucker would buy her a drink and hope she spread ‘em for him later that night. A pang of guilt swept through her. Even leading a boy on like that was akin to cheating on her ‘Mistah J.’ She only had one option if she wanted to stay out, and it wasn’t adhering very well to her stance to avoid criminals tonight. She took a left at the next street, her hands slipping out of her trench-coat pockets.

It was no hard task to find the only establishment in No Man’s Land that was profiting. The Iceberg Lounge had always done better then most places, and combining that with ol’ Cobblepot’s connections and swindling skills it was no surprise for it to be doing so well. Some bartered their possessions for a drink and pretty girl. The Rogues were allowed to just add it to a tab of favors. Harley’s was small enough where it wouldn’t take much for her to a get a drink (plus, she sometimes felt that Oswald harbored some pity for her. Though, she didn’t know why).

Harley slid into the joint, pulling her coat off with a less then glamorous pose. She tossed it to one of the door attendants and made herself comfortable on the first empty booth. A small pout spread across her face on its own accord as she looked around at the rest of the Iceberg’s inhabitants. Pretty girls. Roughed up men. It was nothing out of the ordinary. She slumped into the seat and sighed; waiting for company- be it waiter, vigilante, or rogue.

Funny, wasn't it? Even when she wanted to escape for a night, she couldn't. It was too late, too ingrained. Maybe she was just too lonely.

[vixen]

A soft voice filled the room, taking all the eyes off of the criminals and rogues and various pretty women. A sweetly accented voice melted the heart of every man she came across, a woman clad in a 'gatorskin coat with an outfit consisting of little more than some faux leopard skin straps across her private areas. Mari was deep in conversation with a seven foot tall, heavily built black man with an odd skin disease.

"- I see Mister Waylon but tell me this... It really a good thing to be eating human beings. We all part 'a the earth and all animals fighting for survival... But don't be killing the people like that, not a good thing"

She softly stroked along the man's face, feeling a mass of diseased and dead skin, forming scaled plates along his ripped body, sitting in his lap and using her various charms and whatnot to attempt to get his attention onto doing good and not being a violent cannibal.

"I will see you soon Waylon, keep out of trouble yah hear me?"

The man known as "Killer Croc" Mari felt a bond with him, at best the man's intelligence was at a low level and this seemed to be the only way to get through to the man. Mari strolled over to the bar and stared at the barkeep.

"Whiskey please, be quick now."

She said with a slight wink, hoping to make the man show some initiative and get her the drink faster, he got it quicker than a flash and she tipped him with a five dollar bill, her gaze looking towards the various rogues here, hoping for some information.

"This night been kindah fruitless... Question ignores me and no information on the whereabouts of Catwoman."

Swigging her drink she saw a sight to behold, a fair skinned blonde woman. One she knew from her visit into Arkham visiting her old friend Dr. Crane.

"Miss Quinzel?"

She said softly, not a enemy of this woman but knowing of her, hoping to strike up some kind of conversation in this boring place full of criminals.

"I'm Mari, friend of Crane's... Ex-friend I mean..."

She smiled, her soft mahogany lips parting to show a pearly white smile, her features angelic and cute, her amber eyes shining brightly and her brown dreadlocks swaying with every turn of her head.

[Harleen Quinzel]

Harley hadn’t noticed the woman as she’d entered. Most of her acquaintances were male, so the only woman she ever looked for in a crowd was Pamela Isly, her best friend ‘Red’. Her eyes had skimmed and made note of the various males in the room, especially the ones that would cause her trouble. There weren’t many of those; most would either leave her alone or be playfully friendly with her. She preferred the latter treatment. She was the youngest of the rogues, and most of them found her amusing as such. The sober, virgin of the teenage clique. Some smiled at her when she was out; those who’d been with her at Arkham (either as their doctor or as a fellow patient) knew who she was. Some even patted her. Some, on the simple fact she was The Joker’s stayed far, far away.

So when this dreadlocked, scantily clad woman stood in front of her as if they were old friends, all Harley could do for a few moments was blink and tilt her head just slightly to the side in wary curiosity. Most of the sane, simple patrons knew to stay away from the Rogues. Harley had to remind herself without her face paint she wasn’t the most easily spotted of the bunch.

The blonde arched both eyebrows as the woman’s words slipped past her lips. Her eyes, always far to expressive, went wide in false-innocence and confusion. “I’m sorry butuh I-“ She began but was swiftly cut off by one of the waitresses placing the other woman’s drink (strong, pure liquor by the smell of it) and her own, usual Shirley Temple (with extra cherries on top) in front of them. Harley gave the girl a quick smiled before pulling her drink across the smooth wood of the table and taking a long sip.

Finally, she began again. “I’m sorry, Mari butuh I’ma thinkin’ you got me mixed up with some other broad.” She took another tip before going cherry-diving with her spoon. Pulling out one she sucked on the little bit of fruit with a small amount of pure glee before pretending to contemplate the rest of this Mari’s words.

“And I, uh, I dun know any Crane. Unless you mean one of ‘em rogues. Most good girls dun run with those bad boys.”

Crane, Crane. Both she and the good Doctor had worked at Arkham and succumbed to insanity. Or whatever his doctor told him. The asylum’s track record clearly wasn’t the best. In truth she did know Crane and easily imagined him telling him of the sick, sycophantic clown girl who bothered him far too much. He wasn’t one of the rogues who smiled at her. She took another sip before leaning forward in her chair just slightly.

“You one of Ossie’s girls?” She asked bluntly, giving her another once over. Oswald kept stunning waitresses for bigger profits, but the most stunning and desperate did far more then serve drinks. Now and before the earthquake, being one of his girls was one of the highest paying jobs in the city. It was only natural that she would assume such. “ ‘Cause I dun lean thata way, so talkin’ to me is just money and time wastin’.”

[vixen]

Her gaze was on Harley, she absolutely knew this woman was Harleen Quinzel. She had no problem with her as her enemies were really only to do with crimes to do with exports of animal fur and crimes against said animals.

"I assure you, I'm no prostitute. Respecting yourself is the only way to get ahead in life-"

The stunning woman was cut off as she took a sip from her strong drink, leaving a slight lipstick mark onto the cold glass.

"-And spreading your legs to make a quick buck is no way to live."

She resumed smiling softly as she adjusted her coat, she always wore fake animal skin due to her hatred of an animal being killed for fashion. Taking another long sip from her drink she asked again to the young blonde woman.

"So what do you do? And what is your name? If you do not mind me asking"

Her soft african accent lingered as she spoke, hoping atleast to know what Miss Quinzel's moniker is now.

[Harleen Quinzel]

Harley gave the other woman an amused look playing with the straw in her drink. She rolled one of the sweet cherries around her mouth before biting down sharply. The quick movement let a small dribble of alcohol and fruit juice escape the corner over her mouth, sliding over her busted and now scabbed lip. She swallowed and arched both eyebrows as she met the other woman’s eyes.

” I dun know where you come from, butuh, when you’re doin’ it right it most certainly shouldn’ be quick.” She chuckled, leaning against the back of her chair. She pulled her drink with her, holding it up to her mouth as she took a few long sips- eyes wide in that faux-innocence again.

Harley fidgeted slightly as gooseflesh spread from the back of her neck over her body, and she found herself wishing she had a jacket to wrap around her tighter. Most of her clothing, unlike her new acquaintance, was real leather. Tough, durable, expensive (though she rarely paid the price) leather. She didn’t give a spit about the animals and the PETA nutjobs that ran around streets naked for them.

Mari’s next words made Harley snort and roll her eyes, once again letting her eyes sweep across the rest of the establishment before returning to the woman opposite her. If Harley hadn’t already had a bell or two ringing in her head about her, Mari was giving her ‘I’m not your average citizen’ status away. People in the ruined Gotham had a way of doing things. People who put their nose in places they didn’t belong had more then that piece of body broken nowadays.

“Jessica Sturr.” She said waving a hand at the seat opposite her in a small invitation to sit down. It was bad enough that she had to crane her neck upwards to talk to people when she stood up, but to do it while sitting and enjoying a drink was simply annoying. “But you can call me Jess, everyone does.”

She took another sip, contemplating her next move. Finally she leaned forward again, crossing her arms on the table and leaning against them. She let a sigh escape her nose and mouth, cocking her head and giving her a look that was free of her usual innocent eyes. ”Look, girly. I dun know what kinda gig you’ruh tryin’ to pull here, butuh it’s not gunna work. Just say whatcha wanna say and be done with it.”

[vixen]

Mari took up the woman's offer and took a seat opposite her. Sipping that highly alcoholic drink, barely making her tipsy due to her high tolerance of various toxins.

"Jess Sturr..."

She repeated softly, trying to figure out such a moniker. Suddenly a thought popped into her head, The Joker... Only somebody who was a lackey of his would use such a name, thinking of him she tried to psyche out the young woman.

"Hmm... Well I am Mari call me Vixen, publicly known who I am so no point in hiding it. I hold down The Narrows with my friend Question, bumped off a few of Joker's goons, yeesh... Should have seen the job ol' Q pulled on them. Even in prison they don't offer your internal organs as your last meal."

A soft giggle escaped her mahogany lips, creeping into a slightly cocky smile.

"I can only imagine what Q is gonna do to Joker when he finds him."

She had realized not who this woman was but possibly who she works for. Especially in a bar like this, disagreeing with Questions methods of elimination but god was it efficient to say the least, not to mention has every rogue within a 10 mile radius shook up.

[Harleen Quinzel]

Harley had finally emptied the glass of its liquid contents, letting it fall to the side. The ice spilled out into the table with a rush, the machine made tubular cubes skimming across the finished wood. She grabbed one from just inside the cup, popping it into her mouth and biting with a sickening crunch. Contemplating Mari’s, or this Vixen’s, words, she shattered the cube in a thousand little pieces until the melted in her mouth and down her throat.

Finally she spoke, eyebrows arched as if in appreciation of such a deed. “Oh really now? And uh, your buddy did some crazy shit to them boys? Everyone in the gallery knows those boys didn’ need no more messin’ up. I heard one of them, Shift, ate his own mother. How more Freudian do you get?”

Harley snorted and picked another cube up, poking her tongue into the hole as best she could. After a few moments she grew bored and spit the cube back into the glass (which she’d turned right side up again). “And you and youruh buddy must be bonkers too. No one holds down the freakin’ Narrows. Not even Ratman himself. Though he went and left a while back.”

Her tone had shifted to a more dark, threatening tone at the mention of the Joker. Her usual girlish tone was a sharp contrast to the way she spat out her words then. “And your Cue ball boy may thinks he’suh the next big guy on campus, but yer wrong. No one has the upper hand in the Narrows, and no one has an upper hand against Mistah J. Ya here me, toots? No one.”

She hissed her words at first, ending in a quiet snarl. She’d unfurled her legs from their Indian-crossed position and was very nearly standing as she leaned across the table. Her palms pressed against the wet wood, the blood seeping from her already pale skin and turning them a stomach-wrenching shade of white. As she leaned forward, under the small light above the table, her week old black eye came into view. The garish color was even more visible under the harsh lighting.

“And Vixen or whatever your name is, I’ma suggest you state your business or get out. Verbal bantah about the Joker ain’t gunna get you nuthin' but hurt.” She said, letting her hands relax but not moving from her position crouched over the piece of furniture.

[vixen]

She chuckled softly, it was the woman Batman had mentioned a fair few times from his meetings with her and Question, Harley Quinn.

"Harley... I've heard much about you."

She said with a small smile towards the bruised woman, cringing at the sight of her wounds.

"- I however have no problem with Joker. I needed to find out who you truly are. To be honest I don't care about what you do because it is not my business, that's more Question's thing."

She finished the drink, chugging the last of the strong liquid wincing a little at how strong it was and not even slightly feeling the effects of it. Mari did a few buttons up on her coat and smiled towards Harley.

"Now, hear me out. I would be happy to stop Q from killing your lackey's I don't agree with his methods and it honestly sickens me. I may have laughed about it earlier but really it makes me cringe when he slaughters men like that, so if you want I can mislead him, means less lives lost and we are all happy. Deal?"

She asked him her usual friendly way to Harley, she wasn't mean or stoic like Batman or Question, she just wanted to be a friend and nice person.

"May I ask how you acquired those wounds?"

She asked looking concerned, feeling she might have been abused by someone.

[Harleen Quinzel]

“Yea, yea. Don’t go believin’ everythin’ ya hear.”

Harley eyed the woman for a few moments, her mind calculating a number of things all at once. Ossie didn’t like when Rogues played around in his joint. He especially didn’t like when they spilled blood. Was it really worth it, to attack this slip of a woman? One shot and it would be done, she supposed. But then she’d have to apologize and deal with Ossie’s anger at her disruption of the night and the mess she’d mucked up. She may be the little under-the-wing rogue at the moment, but even siblings and parents tired of children’s naughty antics.

She finally sat down, popping another small ice cube into her mouth and sucking on it. She processed the other woman’s words (relieved that she’d covered up some of the skin that she’d been flashing about for the whole club to see. Honestly, didn’t women have class nowadays?) as she moved the ice cube against her teeth and tongue. It wasn’t moments until her glass was replaced with another by the eager little waiter. She spit the ice cube into the glass unceremoniously.

“Why do ya gotta know who I am? Just read the papers, woman! Hell, there’s medical papers written ‘bout me. It’d be easier then stumbling into this joint any day of the year. I couldn't give two shinny pennies about Mistah J’s goonies, but I dun like ya goin’ and makin’ comments about him." She paused, taking a long sip of her drink, leaning over the glass with her body leaning over the glass for optimal drinkability.

“For this, uh deal. What do I gotta do?”

Harley blushed bright red when the woman brought up her battle scars. It was bad enough with Red and Joanie bringing ‘em up, but did a random stranger have to as well? It was like when relatives brought up how you lost your license for drunk driving that one time after curfew. It was bad enough you were publically shamed and punished- but did people have to point it out?

“I dun think how Mistah J chooses to punish me for my screw-ups is any of ya business.”

[vixen]

With a slight look towards the rest of the patrons of this bar she smiled, her dark lips peeling back to show a pearly white smile. Not the kind you ever see in a place like Gotham.

"Slaughter of the innocent, things like that are inexcusable. But... These men that Question murdered last patrol were sick, not evil..."

Her words dragged slightly as she rolled her eyes at the various rogues staring at her. She brushed the thick matted dreadlocks away from her face and looked interested that Harley seemed less likely to splatter her brains and seemed a bit more friendly.

"For this deal... Do not go into the Narrows... Not with Joker, it's suicide with the amount that operate there."

She shrugged slightly, it was her stomping ground. Harley and her shared an odd connection, both totally engrossed by a cold hearted man.

"I will also take a few vigilantes off yah back that are on my network. We will focus on Bane instead to keep you both out of the spotlight, deal?"

Her voice was soft and sweet, giving a sort of angelic innocence with each sentence. Suddenly Mari gasped hearing of Joker striking her like that, she looked very concerned, Mari was not like the other vigilantes and just wanted people's safety.

"I don't understand why you would spend your time with a man that would beat you that savagely... It's horrible."

Her face was one of shock, if it had been her in a scuffle with another vigilante or rival rogue it would not be so surprising, but someone she oddly enough seems to love, it was plain disturbing to hear of such abuse.

[Harleen Quinzel]

“Slaughtah of the innocent? No one’s really innocent, Vixey. No one.”

Harley had mumbled the words, her teeth grazing across her bottom lip as she stared straight into the other woman’s head. She wondered if her thick, matted offered any protection against hits and bullets. It looked almost like it would provide a slight cushion between her easily-shattered skull and the butt of a gun. Harley titled her head to the side, tongue poking just slightly out of the corner of her mouth as she pictured it. Her eyes narrowed a small amount as her thoughts drifted to whether or not they would protect her neck from a roundhouse kick. That’s what it was like nowadays; constantly wondering if you had the upper hand in a fight or not. It didn’t mean Harley was about to whip out her own shiny silver weapon in a matter of seconds, but it did mean she was prepared.

At Mari’s next words, Harley couldn’t let out a laugh, tossing her head backwards and patting her wrist against the table in sheer amusement. “Not go inta the Narrows?” she choked out, still giggling at the idea. “This whole City is in the Narrows now. And that’s where the fun is. And I like having fun.”

Harley let her small laughs die down, brushing her hair out of her face- the pony tail she’d placed in wasn’t holding up well. She quickly reached up and yanked the rubber band from her blond locks and used another on her wrist to put her usual, favorite low-hanging pig tails back in. Her hands twitched as they were lowered again to reach up and scratch at her grease-paint free face. It had felt weird without her hair in its usual spot, but she felt naked at the sudden realization that her face was visible. When she had it on she felt far more invincible. When she had it on, no one asked stupid questions about black eyes and bruises and busted lips.

“S’not savage. I deserve it most of the time. Mistah J just likes to play a little rough. He loves me though, and I love him. And I can take it.” Her tone was most insisting then it should have been to a common stranger, but how often had she had to tell Joanie and Red and everyone else that talked to her about Him the same thing?

“If ya just gunna sit here and play The- Rapist with me, I’ma gunna peace. I didn’t break outta Arkham for nuthin’.”

[vixen]

Vixen was intrigued by this woman's views and opinions, maybe she was right. All of us are guilty at some point or another. With a swift smirk upon her lips she replied to this using her quite vast wisdom and slightly witty style.

"Innocent or not, does anyone truly deserve the horrors that have been dished out upon the citizens of this city? Rogue or not, nobody needs to be slaughtered. I have witnessed many citizens here clubbed like seals by grease-painted, psychotic thugs. Pathetic really, the only way they deal with a situation is pounding the other into a pile of red mush..."

Each individual word carried a message, this woman was a voice of reason in this wretched city. The dreadlocked temptress clicked her fingers loudly.

"Another drink?"

The slightly jittery waiter asked, taken by her beauty as she used against many.... Friend and foe alike.

"Yes, the same... Hold the ice, thank you."

She winked with a smile towards him, her gaze then going back towards the blonde woman before her, now pigtailed and looking quite jittery herself.

"You escaped Arkham? Impressive!"

A slight giggle escaped from her lips, her gleaming smile still showing, ready as ever.

[Harleen Quinzel]

Harley shrugged at Mari's words, her lips pursed slightly. The scenes the other woman were describing made Harley feel almost nothing. The tone the other woman was using made her feel, in the bottom pit of her stomach, that she should. The sound of her voice, changing just slightly, made the blonde squirm slightly under her gaze. Was she desensitized to violence? Death? Medical school reduced most people's sensitivity when it came to blood and gore. How well could a doctor who fainted at the site of open wounds and gun shots treat patients in the Emergency Room?

Harley may only have been a therapist, but the first time she saw a recovering addict in the burn ward at Gotham General twitching from withdrawal she'd learned just how squeamish she couldn't afford to be. She swallowed, quickly recovering from the unforgiving, paranoid train of thought she'd just experienced. Her voice was the teeniest bit shaky as she replied.

“Must natta been Mistah J's goonies. They got masks. Me 'n him are the only ones that wear grease paint.”

Speaking of greasepaint, Harley's fingers twitched again and she forced them onto the table. They tapped quickly, starting on their own accord. Her lips were chapped and vulnerable to the elements without a thick layer of garish red paint. She bit on her bottom lip, skimming her tongue over the tender flesh. Maybe she should start carrying tubs of clown face in her purse. Maybe she should start carrying a purse.

She was distracted by Vixen's words of praise. Harley gave her a skeptical look, unsure if her words were dripping in sarcasm. The blonde didn't pick up on it that well. “Uh, yea? It's easier then breakin' ya way outta a wet paper bag. 'Specially nowadays.”

The other woman's laugh didn't even crack a smile on Harley. Some people's laughs made her want to join in- His especially- but hers wasn't pleasurable to listen to. Not nearly as bad as B-man's, but it most certaintly wasn't something she wanted to hear all to often. “Wasso funny?”

[vixen]

She had unnerved the blonde before her, successfully. Maybe the crimes she fought against were not the doings of true Joker goons but of young copycats. The men in question weren't over the ages of 17.

"Hmm..-"

She sipped at her whiskey, showing no sign of intoxication. Any tranquilizers or poisons simply just don't react with her, winning many bets from drinking contests and so on.

"-Well these men must have been copycats, simple minded and angsty.... Bad combination, yet isn't it much worse to realize you have instilled these violent feelings into these ill young men?"

She looked smug, using her calming and concerned tone, using it on anyone if she really wanted to pull at the heartstrings of a rogue or potential danger. Inspecting the woman's arms she realized she was twitchy and potentially could attempt to attack, planning out a getaway in her head she gazed her dark amber eyes upon Harley, speaking her reply to the Arkham comment.

"Indeed, seems you and Mr. Joker have escaped quite a few times, I have an idea for you.... How do you both feel about losing some competition, help me and my friends take out certain Rogues here that you have problems with... If you do that, me and the few crime fighters I team with will make it easier for you... Can't say the same about Batman but you can't win them all... Deal?"

She smirked softly towards the rogue, hoping to have less trouble from the various criminals around Gotham.

[Harleen Quinzel]

[Sorry that took so long! I'm outta brain meats for this thread =/ Wanna finish up with your post?]



“Look, doll.” Harley Quinn said polishing off her second Shirley Temple of the night. She bit her lip at that realization, if only for a moment. She wasn't the type to drink, but when something sweet and with maraschino cherries came her way she couldn't resist. She should stop now, while she was ahead of herself. No more drinks for her tonight, not one more sip. She went back to the conversation with Mari. “I don't give a shit about what feelin's I'm incitin' in boys. Sometimes they're violent, sometimes they're dirty. Ya get used to it, lemme tell you.”

And the boys always were slightly predictable in their unpredictability. They were always men and always clinically bonkers. They all had different issues and they were all plenty amusing. There was no rules about playing on the Joker's side. Some of them hadn't seen a woman in years being locked up in Arkham. It wasn't a rule that they stay far away from the vicious blonde who preferred to dally with their leader, but the ones that did tended to live longer. It wasn't Harley's fault that she was naturally giggly and flirty, but neither was it her fault that she had relatively good aim and enjoyed target practice. When her Puddin' wasn't in the mood to play the possessive card, Harley was willing to play it for him. Wolf whistle at her, will ya? She'll show you. No one whistled at the boss' girl. Harley let out an involuntary giggle.

Her train of thought went downhill from there, to the point where she was ignoring the girl in front of her with her thoughts. They were far more entertaining then the wanna be vigilante (great name for a reality show, huh?), and far less child approved. However she was jerked out of her mind when she caught the other's words.

“You want Mistah J and I to fink on they other baddies? We're like a sorority!” She cried, before biting her lip and thinking for a minute. “Alright, too rough for a girly house. We're more like a frat! I may not like Two-Face's coin but I'm not gunna rat on him! Would ya take down Vulturess just 'cause you don't like the color purple! Though, I don't know why ya wouldn't like purple. 'S my favorite thing about the broad!” She proclaimed. “No deal, Vixey. No deal at all.”

And with that, Harley (who'd stood up as she'd cried out her indignant words at the other woman), stood up and swept out, readjusting the coat around her body as she swept out onto the street.