[hr][hr][h1][color=#a64dff][center]Folly Quinzel[/center][/color][/h1][center][img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/443a469668402111a9f043462bf53d05/tumblr_n6z14ftUjh1s8crczo3_250.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: Arkham Asylum 
Day of the Week: Wednesday[/center][hr][hr]Folly smiled weakly, unconsciously rubbing at her neck. Her skin prickled against her touch, in protest of her fingers running over the slowly fading scar. Despite her blood remaining in her body, Folly still felt as if her presumed father had indeed once more slit her throat, and left her on the ground, surrounded in a pool of her own blood. No amount of medication or group therapy could change what had happened to her. For her mother's child, Folly had been particularly sane. The question for most, her guardian especially, was whether or not her sanity had been robbed from her. 

[color=a64dff]"It is to laugh,"[/color] Folly said quietly, the small smile playing across her lips. The security guards opened up the gigantic gates of Arkham, ushering the children inside. A Korean girl named Mallory was taken kicking and screaming away, shouting off complete nonsense. They usually had one or two end up in police custody by the end of the field trip. The school to prison pipeline was more than a metaphor for the students of Wayne High--it was a reality. 

[color=a64dff]"Do you suppose they'll make me see [i]him[/i]?"[/color] Folly asked Marygold, touching the scarf wrapped around her neck. There was no proof that the Joker, or Jack Fairfax as his medical forms identified him, had any relation to Folly. No DNA test had been performed, and had it not been for the porcelain color of Folly's skin, Deadshot would have proven a far more likely father. As things were, however, the Clown Prince of Crime could have been ruled out. 

He was rumored to have been dead at the very time her mother became pregnant. Laying low, it would have been hard for the two of them to create a child, especially as her mother was avoiding him like the plague at that time in her life. "Quinn, Isley, you're in group therapy session 28-A," Dr. Borgman announced briskly, tapping his pencil against a clipboard as he gestured to an open door. Armed guards stood on either side, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. 

[color=a64dff]"It appears we have each other this time...."[/color] Folly observed, before heading into the therapy room.