Pretty Perfume
**************
Among Gotham City’s wealthy elite, few people stood out more than Veronica Vreeland.
Physically, she was the kind of woman who caught people’s attention. She was a gorgeous-looking redhead, with armpit-long luscious hair, a soft white skin, a diamond-shaped face, and light green eyes. Her figure was slim, with curves in all the right places. However, she prided herself in not being a big-boobed bimbo with a fake butt, and never having resorted to plastic surgery.
Veronica was the typical idle rich of Gotham’s elite, with plenty of free time and even more money to spend. She was of every gala, every party, every event. More often than not, she was the one hosting them.
Not tonight though. Tonight’s gala was hosted at the Gotham City Museum of Natural History. Veronica couldn’t remember who was organizing it – nor could she be bothered to check. Still, she knew it was the event of the week. Veronica couldn’t afford to not attend.
In front of a human-size mirror, the red-haired socialite admired her outfit. The gown was deep black, though with a sparkling effect and short white sleeves and shoulders. It was sheath-shaped and fitted around the waist, and reached up to her calves. Assorted long black gloves covered her hands and forearms up to the elbows. Veronica’s high-heels were also black, and so were her tights. Even her dark lipstick matched the gown. Her gold jewels – earrings and necklace – were designed to create a contrast with the rest of her appearance, like stars on the night sky.
To the untrained eye, the gown looked quite modest – plain even. However, a trained eye would notice this dress was a unique piece, made by a great couturier with the world’s finest fabrics, and imported straight from France.
That was true high class, Veronica thought to herself. A far cry from the try-hards who thought they simply needed to slap expensive fabrics and jewels together without any account for fashion.
The socialite carefully adjusted her eyeliner. Just a subtle touch there… Done!
An interphone sprung to life.
“Miss Vreeland?”
It was Maila, Veronica’s aide, doorman (doorwoman technically), and house cleaner.
“Yes?”
“A woman wishes to speak with you.”
“I don’t exactly have much time. My limo arrives in 30 minutes.”
“She says it won’t take long.”
Veronica pondered briefly. Maila wouldn’t insist if it wasn’t important. “What does she want?”
“She’s a perfumer. Calls herself Dr Demeter. It’s a pseudonym, for her brand.”
Odd but not unusual. Pseudonyms were a marketing tool as good as any, using mystery to catch people’s attention. Veronica didn’t know about this ‘Dr Demeter’, but she couldn’t keep up with the numerous and ever-changing top designers, perfumers, and jewelers of the world. That was what she had Maila for.
“I did a quick background check. She’s from Greece. She’s a rising star in Europe. Her reputation hasn’t reached the US yet, but it’s a matter of weeks.”
Now, Veronica’s curiosity was peaked. She didn’t want to pass on an opportunity to buy the next trend before everyone else.
“Let her in.”
"Yes, miss Vreeland."
It'd take them at least five minutes to reach her room. In the meantime, Veronica finished adjusting her haircut. She decided a half-ponytail would do nicely. Maila knocked just as she finished.
“Enter.”
Maila was accompanying a red-haired woman dressed in white.
“This is Dr Demeter.”
Veronica frowned. Maila seemed a little different from usual. Her voice sounded wooden, and her gaze was a bit unfocused.
“Thank you, Maila. You can take the night off. And also the next day. You look like you need to rest.”
“Thank you, miss Vreeland.”
Maila exited the room, leaving Veronica alone with her guest.
The socialite smiled. “Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for agreeing to meet me in spite of your tight schedule.”
One glance allowed Veronica to assess Dr Demeter’s marketing strategy.
The woman didn’t look Greek at all. Smooth red hair, green eyes, and white skin? Of course, it wasn’t completely impossible she was a Greek citizen whose family immigrated at some point. However, Veronica suspected the woman’s so-called ‘Greek origins’ were a mere marketing ploy. Same with the clothes. The perfumer’s business outfit was the same white as a scientist’s lab coat, same with her high-heels. Her ponytail was tight and professional-looking. She was also wearing square-shaped glasses – fakes designed to make her look smarter. Veronica was convinced the other woman would soon claim her perfume had healthy properties.
Veronica gave the perfumer a pearly white smile, not betraying her thought process.
“So. Maila told me you want to advertise a new perfume.”
The other redhead nodded. “Brand new. I call it Demeter’s Tear. It had quite the success in Greece, Italy, and France. May I?”
Veronica took off her left glove, and showed her wrist. “Please.”
Dr Demeter sprayed perfume on it.
Veronica sniffed it. “The smell is indeed delicious.”
“I pride myself in being unrivaled in my craft.”
Veronica took a few more sniffs. “A bit strong though, isn’t it?” She was almost beginning to feel dizzy.
“I prefer to say it has character.”
“It’s too strong for tonight’s party. But for a date…” Veronica mused. “I’d be interested to buy a few bottles.” She suppressed a yawn. “Oh dear. I didn’t think I was that tired. And the party hasn’t even begun yet…”
Dr Demeter smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about tonight’s gala.”
Veronica suppressed a second yawn. There was no mistake. She was indeed feeling dizzy. “I’m sorry, I spaced out for a seconds. Did you say something?” Her eyes were itchy all of the sudden. She reflexively rubbed them.
“I said the gala will be the least of your worries tonight.”
Veronica staggered. Was it her imagination, or was there something a bit… devilish in the doctor’s smile?
Her eyes were so itchy. She couldn’t help but blink. And why were her limbs feeling so heavy all of the sudden?
She attempted to speak, but found her voice was slurry; her mind, more and more foggish. “… perfume… strong…” she mumbled.
The room began to spin.
Veronica cupped her forehead with a hand, moaned feebly, then collapsed onto the soft carpet with a dull thud.
“… too strong…”
She curled up on herself, and went still. Her eyelids closed as she fell asleep.
**************
‘Dr Demeter’ glared coldly at the slumbering socialite, and checked her pulse.
It was slow and steady. Veronica Vreeland was in a deep sleep, her chest slowly heaving, and would keep on sleeping for a couple of hours.
“It’s from my harmless brands. Consider yourself lucky.”
Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, didn’t care about bystanders’ lives. But Harley had a soft spot for Veronica Vreeland – had had one ever since that time she sort-of kidnapped the socialite during a shopping spree gone wrong.
And Pamela had a soft spot for Harley.
She untied her ponytail, letting her red hair fall loose on her shoulders, then threw away her fake glasses.
Looking at Vreeland from up close, Pamela easily deduced why Harley had this fondness for the red-haired socialite. Veronica indeed looked a lot like Pamela. The reason was a bit superficial, but Ivy wasn’t going to complain – at least not tonight.
Her whole scheme relied on their resemblance.
She worked on removing the socialite’s accessories, gloves, shoes, tights, and gala gown. Pamela didn’t think highly of those expensive tokens of vanity, but she knew how to handle them with care. She took off the jewelry and high-heels first, then pulled off the gloves. Next, she lifted the legs to delicately shimmy the tights down Veronica’s legs. Finally, she unstrapped and peeled off the gown.
Vreeland’s undergarments matched the dress – black and sparkly – but were also designed to not make pleats. She was wearing a comfortable full-cup bra with some fancy lace around the cups, and high-cut French panties with the same lace around the waistband strap.
Veronica had an eye for details, Pamela would give her that.
Poison Ivy briefly calculated how long Veronica would remain unconscious. She decided she needed a way to make sure the socialite would stay put for a longer while. Preferably in a way that wouldn’t render her comatose, brain-dead, or paralyzed for life.
Pamela sighed to herself. The things she did for Harley, really...
Ivy scanned the room, then noticed a potted plant. “Ah. Perfect.” She planted a few seeds, poured a vial of her strongest fertilizer on them, and used her powers.
Thick vines grew up unnaturally fast. Obeying Ivy’s command, some plants then wrapped themselves around Veronica’s legs to bind them together. Some other vines bound the redhead’s wrists behind her back, then a few more restrained her upper-arms below and above the breasts and pinned them against her sides. Finally, one thick vine wrapped itself around Veronica’s lower-face, found its way in-between her teeth, and cleave-gagged her.
Ivy admired her work, and nodded to herself. “I’m pretty sure Harley won’t mind the bondage. She’s not the jealous type.” The vines were as strong as ropes. Pamela was confident Veronica stood no chance of freeing herself from her bonds and gag. The socialite would have to spend the night trussed up on her carpet...
She stopped paying attention to her victim. She still had much work to do if she wanted to steal Vreeland’s identity, and infiltrate tonight’s charity gala.
Pamela dropped her current disguise onto the floor, only keeping her green underwear. Then she donned Veronica’s expensive tights, gown, gloves, high-heels, and jewelry.
Since she was usually seen in her villainous ‘Poison Ivy’ costume, people often forgot Pamela knew how to wear high society’s outfits. She knew how to wear them, and how to look good in them. Her skills were on par with Veronica’s in that domain.
Pamela did her hair, and copied Veronica’s half-ponytail. The socialite’s shade of hair color had been easy to replicate. She had used a dye from one of her plants. For the eye color, she used contact lenses. Temporary facial implants, and a bit of make-up, helped her become Veronica’s double. She couldn’t do much about the height difference – Veronica was slightly taller – but she knew it wouldn’t matter as long as she wore the dress. People only saw what they wanted to see, what they expected to see. For days, gossip magazines had been gushing about Veronica Vreeland’s new gown – a one-of-a-kind model imported straight from France. Gotham’s elite would only see the dress. Some would notice the gown didn't exactly match Pamela's figure, but they'd be way too happy to spread the gossip that Veronica didn't buy a fitting dress to suspect the real reason why the clothes didn't fit...
Veronica was a famous socialite, but how many of these fools knew her? Truly knew her? Well-enough to spot the little imperfections?
In doubt, Pamela used a perfume filled with her pheromones. She chose tame ones – barely strong enough to dull the minds of the people talking to her, and make them less suspicious. She didn’t want to draw too much attention on herself. She only had one target in mind.
Veronica’s father, General Vreeland.
Pamela took her cellphone, and dialed a number. The woman she was calling didn’t give her a chance to speak first.
“Pam’!” Harley’s voice chirped happily. “Did you get your dress? Was it fun?”
“Yes I did, and no it wasn’t.”
“Oh… shucks…”
She sounded genuinely disappointed. Pamela felt the reflexive urge to cheer her up. It was a weakness she'd never be able to give up on.
“When all of this is over, you can pay Vreeland a visit if you want. She’s all gift-wrapped for you.”
“Bondage fun requires consent, Pam’!” Harley retorted.
Pamela rolled her eyes. Harley had these weird moral boundaries. Robbing, manhandling, and even killing were all fine. But God forbade she touched a woman inappropriately without consent! She’d knock out a girl, strip her to her underwear, and truss her up without any problem – since in her mind those were merely a way to criminalize. But then she’d make sure to not accidentally grope her victim when binding and stashing her.
Still, it wasn’t exactly Ivy’s place to judge. “As you wish. Thanks for your help.”
“Anything to help fellow girlbosses! They sure are lucky to have you!”
Pamela groaned to herself, and ended the call.
She didn’t want to do this. She hated every minute of it.
And yet, she wanted even less to not do it.
Lily, Violet, Poppy, and Sakura had been dumb enough to get caught. But they still were HER dumb henchwomen, and their loyalty wasn’t misplaced.
Dear Daddy Vreeland was a highly-decorated general. And an influential one at that. Influential enough to be authorized to deploy tanks in Gotham City, and get away with the ensuing property damage. He was supposed to attend to the charity gala at Gotham City’s Museum.
Lucky coincidence (for Ivy), her four girls were supposed to be transferred the same night. Since they were high-profile criminals, the army itself had been involved to help with the escort.
Pamela made sure to apply mind-control serum on her lips with her lipstick. Surely General Vreeland wouldn’t mind his daughter kissing him on the cheek… And then, he’d be willing to help her break the four prisoners free.
Pamela snatched one of Veronica’s coats, as well as a handbag. She was careful to choose ones that matched the gown.
Time to work!
When she left Veronica’s room, Pamela noticed Maila. The aide was standing still in a corner of the corridor, staring vacantly.
“Oh right. Forgot about you.”
Her mind-control pheromones would wear off in a few hours. She needed to get rid of the aide too.
However, Harley would certainly make a fuss if she harmed Veronica’s ‘womanservant’...
“Go sit on the chair over there.” Pamela instructed.
The mind-controlled woman complied without a word.
Pamela threw a few more seeds in an other potted plant, and used the vines to bind Maila to the chair and gag her.
“There. Snug as a bug.”
She was a bit late, but she knew the limo driver would wait for 'Veronica'. After all, a proper lady was always fashionably late...
**************
Harley pocketed her cellphone, and wrapped a friendly arm around the shoulder of the person seated next to her – a cute black-haired young woman with a pixie cut, a light skin, and blue eyes.
“This reminds me our last girl trip… The hotel’s staff had such nice uniforms. The trousers were soooo classy. And I loved the waistcoats… and the bow ties! Of course the tricky part was to grab a couple of girls our size. And make sure they would stay put. Ivy’s vines can be so useful… One looked a bit like you, actually. Short black hair, light skin, blue eyes… Do you happen to have a sister? Or a cousin maybe?”
The woman with whom she was speaking didn’t answer – save for a frightened moan, muffled by the tape sealing her lips.
Harley didn’t pay attention. She removed her arm of the woman's shoulder.
“Okay, gotta go. Night’s gonna be busy. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Of course, it wasn’t like the unlucky woman could do much – wrists, upper-arms, and ankles bound with ropes; mouth gagged with tape; and stripped down to her white lacy cheeky panties, and matching lace-adorned full-cup bra.
Just as she was about to leave the captive, Harley paused.
“Oh right. I almost forgot.”
She returned to the trussed up woman.
“I have to make sure you don’t make a fuss.”
The bound-and-gagged woman shook her head, and attempted to plea.
Harley ignored her moans.
“Nighty night~”
She grabbed a small bottle filled with a knock-out perfume (courtesy of Ivy!), and sprayed some under the woman's nose.
The black-haired woman shook her heand, and moaned. Her eyes rolled back into her skull, and she slumped unconscious onto her side.
Harley stretched. The buttons of her party dress were having a hard time containing her chest. She was more buxom than the woman she had mugged.
“Gotta be careful with them…”
She adjusted the cocktail outfit she had stolen – a knee-long party dress fitted around the waist, with long sleeves and gold front buttons, then did the same with the beige tights, and gold-plated high-heels.
https://invitadisima.com/44493-thickbox ... uribel.jpg
Next, she exited the shelter.
The landscape outside offered a big contrast with Harley’s expansive garment. It was a construction site.
“Alright, girls! Is everyone ready?”
Her question was met by a chorus of enthusiastic “Yes!” (and one grumpy “Yeah.”).
A group of girls – all clad in stolen party outfits – was waiting. Their cocktail dresses looked similar to Harley’s – knee-length, fitted at the waist, long sleeves, gold buttons – albeit with other colors: blue, red, black, green, and purple. Their tights were all beige; and their high-heels, gold-plated.
Behind them, there was a minibus – the vehicle Harley and her gang had intercepted and hijacked. It had been supposed to drive a bunch of groupies of rock star Devin Allendale to Gotham City’s Museum of Natural History. He had bought a bunch of tickets for tonight’s charity gala, and given them to his fans through a lottery. A little further away, a police car was half-concealed behind metal containers.
Against the frame of the minibus, eight half-naked unconscious women were seated. Their limp bodies were resting against each other.
Five of the girls were real stunners. There were one curvy brown-haired tanned-skinned Latina dressed in a black lacy thong and a blue demi-bra made of silk; two leggy blondes in matching sets of patriotic red-blue-and-white hipster panties and full-cup bra; one cute black-haired Japanese-American woman clad in pure white lacy lingerie (bikini panties and push-up bra), and one sexy redhead wearing green tanga panties and a matching balcony bra. They were all bound with ropes, gagged with tape, and sedated.
At the left end of the line, there was a trussed up black-haired woman who looked very different from the party goers. She was plain-looking with a short functional ponytail, and clad in comfortable but very un-sexy teal blue boxer undershorts, a matching tank top, and black socks. She was the chauffeur. The woman of Harley’s gang wearing her uniform was the only sour one.
At the other end of the line, there were two other women who also offered a great contrast with the groupies. One brunette and one African-American woman, both with the athletic figures of people trained in hand-to-hand combat. The former was wearing a navy blue sports bra with matching boyshorts and socks; the latter was clad in white knickers, a light pink t-shirt bra, and red socks. They were bound with more ropes and gagged with more tape than the other girls. They were supposed to be policewomen – though obviously they had had an unfortunate run-in with Harley and her gang during their patrol earlier. Harley had used their uniforms and patrol car to stop the minibus of groupies on their way to the gala, and lure them into a trap.
Harley nodded, and mentioned the inside of the construction site shelter. “Please show our friends their accommodation for the night.”
Her gang carried all the unlucky party goers (plus their chauffeur and the two police officers), and stashed them all next to the black-haired girl Harley had mugged. They closed and locked the door of the site shelter.
The blond gang leader nodded.
“Let’s go, Harleys! We’re being hired for a distraction! Get ready for action!”
**************
Davis was used to eccentric people. One quickly became blasé when working as bouncer for parties hosted by Gotham’s elite. Rich folks had too much money and too much free time, and they hated nothing more than boredom.
Extravagance was the norm.
Still, from time to time, Davis came across a sight which made him raise an eyebrow.
The group of young women who was stepping out of their minibus was one of such examples. Sure, they looked the part, and dressed the part. But there was something in the way they walked, the way they teased each others, that set them apart from the average socialite.
Davis shared a glance with his colleague. “I’ll deal with them.”
“Thank God!”
These girls weren’t part of the wealthy elite. They were way too uncouth for that. But they weren’t your typical escorts either – too rowdy, too unrefined. Their figures were slim, some of them had decent curves, and the blond ringleader of the group was a true bombshell. However, those were the fit figures of women who exercised a lot, not the sexy bodies of women who spent half their life in-between beauticians and plastic surgeons.
No. If he had to bet, he’d wager they were groupies. Or maybe cheerleaders. Fans of some trendy celebrity who won a chance to mingle with high society for one night.
Davis refrained a sigh, and braced himself.
The group’s blond ringleader flashed him their invitation, alongside with a big toothy smile and a peak at her cleavage.
From up close, that woman was indeed a smokeshow. Curvy figure (her dress was even having a hard time containing her breasts), gorgeous blue eyes, soft blond hair tied up into a cute high ponytail, and flawless light skin. Yet, there was something unnerving in her smile – something that made him think he definitely wouldn’t want to date her.
Still, the tickets were genuine. His hunch was correct – they were groupies who had lucked out. Maybe Allendale liked them quirky. Quirky being the polite way to say 'crazy'.
He nodded. “Have a good night.”
The blonde winked. “Oh, I’m sure we will.”
She and her posse giggled together, and entered the Museum.
Davis sighed.
His colleague leaned towards him, and whispered: “Who are these girls?”
“They’re with Devin Allendale.”
“The rock singer?”
“Yes. He bought twenty-five tickets for his entourage. Organized a lottery with some of them, from what I recall. I’m surprised he can remember who any of them are.”
Davis was sure of one thing.
These girls were going to make tonight's gala a lot rowdier.
**************
And I'll leave it open-ended here. Don't necessarily expect a follow-up. There might be one, but don't bet your head on it. I simply decided that if I ventured into DC USB fanfics, then I might as well feature at least once the poster girl for uniform stealing in DC Comics, the Queen herself, Harley Quinn.
**************
Veronica Vreeland
I’ve made no secret I’m usually not fond of the redesigns a lot of characters of Batman TAS received for the New Batman Adventures (Riddler’s and Ivy’s redesigns are notably ugly in my opinion.)
That being said, Veronica Vreeland is one of the few exceptions, so I used a mix of her comicbook appearance and New Adventures of Batman looks.
https://comicvine.gamespot.com/veronica ... 05-149547/
https://dcau.fandom.com/wiki/Veronica_Vreeland
As for Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, I don't think they need an introduction...
I didn't have a specific design in mind. I'll just mention the design I DID NOT use for Ivy: the ugly-as-sin redesign of Poison Ivy in the New Batman Adventures. THAT disgusting piece of barf can rot in hell.https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Poison_Ivy
https://batmantheanimatedseries.fandom. ... Poison_Ivy
https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Harley_Quinn
https://batmantheanimatedseries.fandom. ... rley_Quinn
**************
The maid Harley refers to in her dialogue – and who’s said to look like the woman she’s currently mugging – is a reference to the canon scene in Harley Quinn: The Eat Bang Kill Tour #4 (2021).
viewtopic.php?p=20346#p20346
The whole Allendale thing is also a reference to an other Harley Quinn scene – from Harley and Ivy: Love on the Lam – though in that one technically they don’t steal the outfits, just the tickets and (maybe) a scarf.
viewtopic.php?p=2587&hilit=harley+ivy#p2587
