Pamela stood beneath the dense shade of the trees, but the sunlight outside still made her squint. When she saw Harley approaching, she couldn't help complaining, "I'm actually starting to miss Gotham's clouds."
"You need to get used to this kind of life," Harley said. "The trendiest American girls are supposed to sunbathe every day."
"Haha, I'm still better suited to sitting in a lab under fluorescent lights."
"You'll probably have to use your Vines to move this stuff into the warehouse first. Their vehicle won't be fixed for a few more days, and a hurricane is coming soon."
"I knew we should've spent more of the budget on a vehicle." Though Pamela said that, she still summoned her Vines and dragged the furniture drying in the clearing into the warehouse.
This was one of the three farms Schiller had handed over to them for renovation, and the oldest of the three. It had been built during the Wild West era and was steeped in Western style.
The place could be described as a wreck in need of rebuilding. The warehouse was old, the house was run-down, the furniture was unusable, there was no vehicle, and the vegetable patch had gone wild.
Its only advantage was that the trees were old enough to keep them from baking in the sun.
Yesterday, they had gone to the local flea market and picked up a pile of useful things for cheap. Other than a vehicle, furniture had been the most important purchase.
The United States had a thriving secondhand market where practically any used item could be bought, and it was relatively well developed, with established references for appraising all kinds of goods.
Cars in the United States were not expensive to begin with, and used cars were even cheaper. Presentable ones