Okay, if Ivy's not up for some hootin' and lootin', Harley can very well entertain herself. She already has a new playmate in mind.
Getting to him might prove a little difficult, though.
Wonder of wonders, Ivy actually leaves her banana trees or whatever to answer her call. "What happened?"
"Your plants happened!" Harley points to her beloved bike – her dream of chrome and black and crimson she'd nicknamed Harley 2.0 – and nearly loses it. She has to work off her shock by gesticulating wildly; the energy behind it could power six arms. "First, you ignore me. Which, okay, I can get behind. It's been a tough couple of days. Then, you're not in the mood to hang with me no matter what I suggest. Fine. Be a sourpuss. Spoil my fun. But why'd you have to take it out on my baby?!"
Harley throws her arms around the gas tank and weeps into the moss covering it.
"You don't like my decorations?" The flowers on the handlebars sway in the light breeze.
"Decor—?" Barely a speck is left that ain't green. "I call that destruction!" She can already hear the rust eating its way into the fenders. "How can you be that way? You know how much my baby meant to me."
"You stole it last week," Ivy deadpans. "In another, you'll be over it."
"But I can't go on joyrides now..."
"You mean kidnap little boys from school."
Harley pouts. "I'd be doing him a favor."