Steam curled lazily from three mugs of black coffee, the rich scent lingering in the air of Steam Bean Express. Their corner booth was littered with napkins and half-emptied cups, the clatter of dishes from the counter fading now that the rush had passed. Pamela leaned back against the vinyl seat, Barbara beside her, Harley sprawled opposite with her boots up on the bench.
Harley's eyes glimmered as she looked between the two of them. "If you're serious about this whole criminal gig, then you gotta have a proper base. That's rule number one. Joker always just squats in whatever busted warehouse he finds, but real criminals? They build lairs. Even Batman has one. He pretends he's a hero, but let's be honest—half the time he qualifies as a villain."
Barbara nodded, considering it. "We do have a name for our lair. We've been calling it Midnight Madness."
Pamela shook her head, a frown crossing her face. "Actually, Barbara, I think we should drop that name. It's too close to Midnight Mayhem, our syndicate. People will get confused. It's hard enough cementing one name in people's heads, let alone two that sound almost the same."
Barbara tilted her head, surprised. "But we agreed on Midnight Madness because of the black rose you created. That name meant something."
Pamela leaned forward, her tone soft but firm. "It still does. But clarity matters more. We'll find something stronger, something that can change if we have to relocate. Midnight Madness doesn't have the same bite anymore."
Harley pointed at them both with a bark of laughter. "She's right. Midnight Mayhem and Midnight Madness? Sounds like a circus act. Bad branding. Like a fireworks show or some tacky theme park."
Barbara exhaled heavily and lifted her mug, hiding her expression in the rising steam. "Fine."
Pamela watched her, lips curving faintly, then leaned her chin against her hand. "You'r percolating, aren't you?"
Barbara sat up straighter, nodding quickly. "This coffee is amazing. It's practically buzzing in my veins. The caffeine content here is insane."
Harley lifted her own mug in salute. "That's why I love this place. I come here all the time when Joker's locked up. Little breaks between the chaos."
Barbara's eyes shifted, thoughtful. "You've worked with a lot of crews, Harley. What do you think about leadership? Should we even bother designating one?"
Harley shrugged and turned her attention to Pamela. "Somebody's gotta steer the ship. So, Pamela, are you the leader?"
Barbara didn't hesitate. "Of course she is. This whole thing started with her."
Harley's gaze sharpened, studying Pamela. "Just because it was your idea doesn't automatically make you leader material. The real question is—do you want it? Can you handle it? Do you have plans?"
Pamela met Harley's stare evenly, her voice steady. "I already have plans for everything. A legitimate business front to hide the criminal one. Targets we can exploit. Assets we'll need. And I've already chosen a villain name." Her eyes gleamed with quiet certainty. "Poison Ivy."
Harley whistled softly and leaned back against the booth. "Now that is catchy. Strong. Dangerous. Poison Ivy." She smirked. "I like it."
She turned toward Barbara. "So what about you? Got a name yet?"
Barbara blinked, caught off guard. "Honestly... I haven't thought that far ahead. I don't have one."
Both Harley and Pamela groaned at once, rolling their eyes.
Pamela's tone softened, teasing but reassuring. "Don't worry, Barbara. We'll come up with something for you."
Barbara's cheeks colored faintly, and she lowered her gaze into her coffee. "Alright," she said quietly.
Harley suddenly straightened, eyes wide, finger stabbing the air between them. "Oh my God."
Pamela arched a brow, curious. "What?"
Harley turned to Barbara with exaggerated astonishment, drawing out the words. "Oh. My. God. Barbara Gordon..."
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