stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

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

Just to spite her boss, she decided to let herself in after hours and get some work done without the judgey eyes watching her every move. Harley had just finished an ornate black and white back piece of night and day within a yin and yang. In the white half of the circle it was blissful picture of the city, content and happy and the other half was the night, with demons and ghouls lurking in those concealing shadows. How accurate and profound that piece actually was, more than she wished to admit and yet she was quite sure that there was enough bad shit that occurred during the day to make her own skin crawl. It was the creatures that came out in the night that were her least favourite, the ones that have certifiably screwed with her life every which way into Sunday. But at least the light illuminated those monsters, even though the ones that came out in the day had to be craftier, hiding in plain sight. One just could not win. It was a wonder why the raven-haired spitfire was even still alive with so many creatures trying to take a bite out of her and that secretive darkness just wanted nothing more than to have its way with her.

She could barely remember a time that was simpler when she wasn't jaded by the complex reality of what truly lurked in those obscure shadows.

Harley seemed almost innocent and unburdened at that very moment when she concentrated on her work, her face holding none of that usual signature derision and mischief. But not now, as she focused on those intricacies of her work. Lost in another world, finding beauty in that sadistic dark. She was deep within her drawing, with Ace snoozing happily in the shop somewhere. Her boots kicked up on in a nonchalant fashion upon the table next to her workstation, draped lazily in a plush leather rolly chair, her knees slightly bent using them as a makeshift table. She was sketching in the pages of a worn leather-bound book, contently focused. Of course, her themes themselves were actually quite morbid. Often drawing death and monsters. She had seen so much of it in her relatively short lifetime that it haunted her dreams, all that death, decay and monsters made appearances almost nightly, chasing her and she was never fast enough.

She drew two skulls absent mindedly, they symbolized her parents. They probably were nothing but bones now in the ground. The only comforting thought was that they had found some sort of peace in an afterlife if there was one.

That was when her creative lull had been interrupted by a man that entered the shop, that ding garnered her attention, leaning back in her chair leaning to catch a glimpse. Oh fuck, she hoped it wasn't her boss. She technically wasn't even supposed to be here. She only had one person scheduled today and they and had come and gone at least an hour ago. She was almost too relieved to see that it was a potential client. Apparently, she was not the only one who ignored closed signs. She supposed she could fit in a walk in, it wasn't like she had anything better to do. Unless, he was one of those people that walked in not knowing what the hell they wanted and hmmed and hawed, basically talking themselves out of the tattoo. She really got to see all sides of people when she worked. Like watching masculine burly men whine and squirm at a little pain. This was not real pain. She knew real pain, this was like a tickle in comparison to the real deal. There was no sympathy for those types. There was absolutely no squirming allowed in her chair, she had lines to perfect and she would be damned to allow some asshole who can't hold their shit together for a few freaking hours and just sit damn still. It was hard enough to paint on a canvas let alone a squirmy, moving person with skin and grooves.

She tossed that drawing pad aside onto the table that her feet kicked off so she rolled out of her little nook in a rather dramatic gesture. Once the chair stopped, she stood up with purpose, keeping her eyes fixated on the fresh meat that walked in. She never balked, never showed weakness. "What can I do you for?" That slight hint of playful sarcasm laced casually within her words.

He seemed to study her as though he knew her and she studied his face with the same assessing eyes before those words fell from his lips. Perhaps she should have been a little creeped out by that so-called expectation of her age. Younger than he expected? Maybe he followed her art and tattoo career she posted online for people view. Very rarely did anyone casually walk in anymore. "I am old enough." She replied cheekily, letting that comment slide for now. "Care to see my drivers license?"

"I may not be THE artist. But I am an artist." She quipped a wicked little grin dancing upon her features. "Worldly, huh? That depends on your interpretation of the world." Not exactly sure what he meant by that.. Worldly as in a block of cheese from France is worldly? She supposed that very definition depended on that man before her. What kind of man was he? She was already sifting through the pieces of his puzzle as if trying to piece him together.

"But, you can't get any more worldly than an actual world. Although, I had a hipster come in who got the word written on their forearm in bold." She nearly snorted at the thought. She shook her head not understanding the trend of stamping words on your flesh permanently. As though you needed to wear description words in order to convince the world that you were trendy. Kismet, wanderlust, worldly, and her favourite, 'Alive'. What happens when you died? Did you get the artist to cross that out and write dead instead?

She casually pushed her book forward that contained various examples of her work, there was even a picture of a vampire she had done such a pretty piece on, only to have Ryker incinerating him for some misdeed moments later. But no one seemed to know that. He placed him in the 'sun' room. She was so livid she saw red, all that damn work for nothing!

She studies him, searching him for any hints of a tattoo unable to find a single trace upon those exposed pieces of skin. "Tattoo virgin?" She questioned, curiously. It had been a long time since her hands landed on one of those, a sassy smirk spreading across her lips as though she could eat him alive. Little did she know he was far older than she thought.

Harley Westward