Pamela leaned forward across the booth, her green eyes locked on Barbara's. "So you're telling me you've met both Harley Quinn and the Joker? They're two of Batman's biggest enemies."
Barbara nodded, her lips tightening as though she was weighing her words. "Yeah… but Harley? She's actually pretty normal. I think she just got in over her head. Joker's a master manipulator. I don't think she even wants to be with him most of the time—but she's hooked. Probably addicted to the drama and chaos."
Pamela tilted her head, her brow furrowing. Barbara went on, her tone softening. "She's only like twenty-one or twenty-two. About our age."
Pamela's eyes widened, her voice breaking in disbelief. "Oh my god. She's that young?"
Barbara gave a faint shrug, almost bitter. "That's nothing. The Joker made her prove her love by jumping into a vat of chemicals. It turned her skin pale white… but luckily it faded after a couple of weeks. She just wears white makeup now so he doesn't notice."
Pamela pressed a hand to her chest, the thought sinking deep. "Well, I'm glad she didn't leave her skin like that. That sounds awful."
"Not that he'd notice anyway," Barbara said, her voice carrying quiet disdain. "He's too obsessed with Batman to pay attention to her."
Pamela shook her head, her red hair brushing against her shoulders. "That's… tragic. She deserves better than that."
Barbara exhaled through her nose, then shrugged again. "Still sucks getting kidnapped all the time. That's why my dad's been extra protective lately. If I even think about leaving campus, he's got a full protective detail shadowing me. Armed cops and everything. It's hard to sneak off and just do something fun."
A wry curve touched her lips. "I'm sure you're glad you don't have to live like that."
Pamela tapped a finger against her coffee cup, her eyes flickering with curiosity. "Man… that sounds kind of exciting, honestly."
Barbara rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint laugh that slipped through. "Exciting's one word for it."
Pamela took another sip of her coffee, her free hand resting casually against the wooden edge of the booth. A small potted flower sat at the windowsill beside her. Without warning, one of its thin green tendrils shifted, curling toward her wrist as if drawn by an invisible pull. Pamela stiffened as the vine wrapped around her skin.
She flinched back instinctively. "What the—?"
The pot wobbled dangerously as she tried to yank her hand free, but the plant clung tighter, winding stubbornly around her wrist. Her pulse quickened, panic flashing in her eyes as she struggled to shake it off.
Barbara stared, her mouth falling open. "What's going on with that plant? Why is it holding onto you like that?"
Pamela swallowed hard, tugging again against the living grip. "I don't know. Ever since I fainted in class this afternoon, I've felt… strange."
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