stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

cardboard is boring, we brought our matches - look how it burns

The raven-haired spitfire watched intently as the obviously buff man clenched his jaw and raised the big broad shoulders in a shrug. His deep voice reached out to her as though it curled around something in her head, he stated normal was whatever she wanted it to be. "Damn straight." She nodded, meeting his eyes as he peered into her own. That at the very least was something they could agree on.

But now, it was time to drop the banter and prove herself. It wasn't often that she found herself in the hot seat, she had been at this for a while, but it was usually on her own terms. Harley was hardly prepared for a job interview, let alone to be put on the spot. Then again, it was totally a spontaneous act inviting herself into the closed shop in the first place. She was hardly conventional and there was a part of her that enjoyed that spontaneity. To grab life by the balls and tell it exactly what you wanted. She wasn't always in control in a world flooded with supernatural creatures that wanted your blood, body, or whatever they damn well pleased. So she grabbed that control whenever she damn well could. She enjoyed throwing herself into strange situations without a damn clue the outcome because she chose to do so. She met that challenge with her usual biting sarcasm, if he was going to work with her, he at least better get a taste of that scalpel blade tongue. To be honest, she might have taken it slightly easier on him, as she was demanding a job from him. But she wasn't going to kiss his ass to get it.

How could anyone be prepared for that devastating force that was Harley?

Ten minutes, she couldn't believe he thought he could judge her skills in a measly 10 god damn minutes. He should have let her tattoo him and play a little roulette with her. Now that would have been fun. Nah, he hardly seemed that reckless and yet she amuses herself with the thought all the same. She bites at the inside of her cheek and corner of her lip, an idle gesture to focus on her drawing. She needed to concentrate, not focus on that intense gaze. Staring, flat out watching every move she made, she didn't need to look up to see it. She felt the intensity of it. Her ten minutes were up and she slammed that pen into the desk in a gesture of finality. She shoved that drawing toward him. She could have and probably should have drawn the last piece she did on that vampire, a picture of an ornate gunslinger's revolver. She was proud of that piece, it was a shame he had died the true death to truly wear it. She had configured her tattoo gun and set up to be able to tattoo the skin of a vampire. It was not a walk in the park, it took UV light and silver. Both things, incredibly painful for a vampire. They had to endure a shit load of pain and she didn't tolerate squirming in her chair. She would not stop until she was satisfied with that piece. There were no time restraints when it came to her work.

She tried, mildly in comparison to her usual flair, to penetrate what steel-like composure. Not her best effort but she attempted to needle her way under his skin anyways. There was not a single person who could thwart her when she decided to play with their buttons. Buttons were made for pushing. She was nothing short of stubborn, fearless, and resilient. So when she had her mind set, you were as good as cinder, one way or another. She snatched that paper he passed back to her, not even a little sign of humour danced upon his stern features. She folded it into a small square before sliding it in her butt pocket, yeah, an awkward maneuver, yet she pulled it off anyways. Of course, in true Harley fashion, she knew all too well she would probably forget that it was even there, and it would end up obliterated in the wash.

The only comment she got was a statement saying she was a strange human. He was going to have to get far more creative than the name strange to get her to bat an eyelash. "I have been called worse things than strange." She stated, speaking in that classic goading way as if encouraging him for more. She offers him a big grin that reflected those goading words, while mischief sparkled in those ethereal purple eyes.

She bristled at that very comment of being inexperienced in the supernatural world. He had no goddamn clue. "I've seen enough magical bullshit for a lifetime.." She could not hide that jadedness that crept within her words. Hell, her best friends were part of the supernatural club. Who the fuck wasn't something these days? In all actuality, it was a stunner being ass deep in supernatural drama that hadn't been killed or turned by now. She had certainly been munched on enough, beaten enough like a glorious human punching bag. If there was a magnet for danger, then she was it. She took it, got knocked on her ass more times than she could count and she got right back up swinging. There was nothing that could diminish her spirit beside death itself and she already gave it the finger.

He essentially said she better get used to his gift or gtfo. "It's not my fault you got stuck with creepy poltergeist powers." God, he certainly had a thorn stuck up his ass. Was he always so grumpy? "Why don't you show me what else you can do with your little parlour trick." Sardonic humour laced her words, daring him to 'shock' her.

The moment he started droning on and on about rules, she mentally checked out. If he was talking about boring shit, she must have gotten the job. "Ha, I knew you would like me." And she didn't even have to put on the real 'charm'. His gaze narrows while he stared her down, and she hardly wavers under that scrutiny. He reached out to grab her hand. For a moment she looked at it as if she wasn't sure she was supposed to do with that thing. But then she supposed she had to shake it. They had an accord if you will. She stood up from her seat, before shaking that hand with a grip that was surprising for someone so small. Wow, this proximity was distracting. Damn his hand was big, she had to put some considerable force behind that gesture. Everything about him was big. Well maybe not everything, it was hard to tell when he wore pants. Definitely, don't think about bossman's whatever he has going on. She smirks at him, staring him straight in the eye despite the tangent her brain was having. "Brenden.." The dark haired woman tasted that name upon her tongue. "So what does that make you... Dark hunter, warlock... vampire... furry?" Dark hunter seemed fitting for someone so irritable. "I am not down for human sacrifice and murdering... or that kind of maim and torture thing that vampires are into. So as long as we can agree on that. Why don't you give me the tour, boss man." She suggested, she did deserve to properly scope out the place did she not?

Maybe she could work on the grumpy face of his in the mean time.

Harley Westward