stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

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

Harley was entirely unaware to the thoughts that plagued the man, if he were struggling with something within his mind, his eyes didn't show it. Those silvery eyes held a vivacious twinkle that said there was more going on in that mind than met the eye. If only Harley could see that future, she would take a sledge hammer and shatter it into pieces. There was no way in hell she was going to believe she couldn't cling to the illusion of freewill. She was no one's goddamn puppet! If for even a second, Harley could see that future Matteo saw, she would have probably fought it all tooth and nail, dug her heels in the mud and become the literal definition of defiance itself. So those subtle hints at the future that left his pretty little mouth or was going to leave it, she wouldn't believe it.

The world has taught her that much, the series of unfortunate events that had shaped her into the woman she was, a darkened rose on a dreary tombstone, all thorns while those drying petals fell. Oh but she didn't feel bad, oh no, she spent that all that time to sharpen her thorns so that they could be forged into weapons. Weak little defenseless human and Harley did not mingle. Oh hell no.

A rich chuckle left his lips after she blatantly asks about his ethnicity. His words hold that eerie confidence that made her want to know what he was about, wondering what she had to do to figure it out or it was going to drive her insane. But saying she was going to wind up in France? Maybe in another life, dude. She gave him a cheeky smile, waving her finger. "Funny man.. I make good money.. but not that good." She shook her head with a lingering thought on her mind. She still carried her parent's home that she hadn't stepped foot in for how long? She was crazy for holding on to it, seeing that was the place they were slaughtered in. Even though the carpet was new, she could still see red. But she couldn't seem to let it go. Not a soul knew about that house that held so many secrets of her past, except Isolt and her brother, if he was even alive she hardly knew. The last fractured memory when she possessed a family, her brother, her mother, and father.

The term darling did seem entirely outrageous to her, she was far from darling. If the concept of being called a pet name wasn't bad enough. She had been called a many array of things in her lifetime. Bitch was definitely one of the top tier names she could recall in that very moment, oddly enough, although she did find herself quite amused the more colourful a moniker truly was. You would be surprised by the ingenuity of people when they really 'dug deep' into those creative juices. The raven-haired woman would always appreciate a really good insult.

Then that smooth accented voice let out and even smoother compliment, she raised her brows with her violet eyes searching for some kind of hint of a joke laced within them. Within the silver of his own eyes, she couldn't seem to find that humour anywhere. But she wasn't going to go all soft just because he could he could be smooth on the ears as he was on the eyes. Nothing disappointing about her? He should really have a chat with her brother, or maybe to any of those men she chewed up and spat out. "You just haven't been stuck in a room with me long enough yet." She grinned, that knowing grin. She heard that idle pet name once more and this time her eyes flash. Did he know he was playing with dynamite? "With all the flowery French words, Cherie is the best you can come up with?" The woman challenged. She was not going to let this one go if he kept throwing it around at her. She was sure if she scrolled through google she could find at least two more fitting names. The term darling seemed far more suitable for a 'southern belle' or a woman of society with a big fanciful dress and arrogant yet demure attitude. Yes both were possible. Don't know how it was accomplished but she had seen it with her own eyes. Darling was certainly not a term she would fall under, not with her thorns and acerbity, and daggers for eyes.

Harley challenged him, claiming he was fucking with her now. How easily his teasing words fall from his lips and she had to admit it sounded carnal in every sense of a word. But still, it wasn't enough to get the spitfire to blush. Things like blushing and crying were entirely rare to the point it pretty much never happened. Perhaps she was grateful of such a thing. A wicked little smirk spread across her lips at the thought, her mind churning in such a way that she knew she placed his back against a wall. She seems to take him in then as if considering something.

"Really now. So then how exactly would you plan to do that?" The raven haired woman did not back down, instead she dared him further almost smugly satisfied. She was confident this was where she had him cornered and she would win this little war of verbal repartee. He was travelling in dangerous waters and she could very well be a shark. Everyone had their limits, Harley, as it would seem kept pushing hers until it blurred into obscurity.

However, talking of those tattoos seemed to reveal something new about the man before her. Definitely not human. Although she should have known by his sureness and the way he conducted himself with such charisma that she had not to find in this lifetime. Shit, she very rarely found herself surprised by much, but she didn't need to be good at math to know he was old as fuck..

Just when you think you figured out all the creatures that were out to get you, those apex predators on the food chain that had already surpassed humans. There just had to be one more added to that list of creatures who could easily kill you. Wonder-fucking-ful. He claimed vampires had a taste for fae blood. Well, that sucked. "Well you can join the vampires want to eat me club.." She tried to consider this a moment and really it shouldn't be as terribly surprising as it was. There was Risque's brother, Ryker.. and well the only interest Risque had in her blood was to spill it in a bathtub that she could bathe in. "So if vampires like eating you... what do you have a taste for?" TASTY LITTLE MORTAL WOMEN? She might as well accused him of it and yet she remained more curious than worried for her life. Life hadn't killed her yet, she was quite confident she wasn't dying in this tattoo shop today.

But learning of fae was mind-boggling. He didn't have any little Tinkerbell wings that she could see. Did they even have them? She inspected just to be sure.. yes.. inspected in the name of science, not just to take another glimpse at the body that was exposed before her to ogle.... To be entirely honest, she hadn't the faintest idea what a fae even was. Did they dance among the stars naked sprinkling fairy dust across the land? Or were they alluring on the outside only to turn you into their prey? Oh, fucking great, that's the last thing the world needed were more ancient predators. They already had animalistic ones, human monsters, vampires with exceptional abilities to suck you dry and warlocks who may or may not be okay about human sacrifice. Humans always got the shitty end of the stick. Surely, they already had all their bases covered. What more could they throw into the mix? Really, she hardly seemed surprised anymore. "You don't feast on the flesh of mortals or anything like that right?" She eyed him curiously.. Because if he said yes to that question she would have just told him to get in line. "Because the world sure as hell doesn't need any more things eating us humans.. That stern glare showed the hellion she was even if she was simply mortal.

When you learned just how bad the supernatural problem really was, you suddenly felt more and more like a juicy filet minion. Well shit..

Fae or not, she still flat out called him a dilf, well he was wasn't he? He was striking, confident, and just as bold as she was. The jury was still out on who would take the prize on that one. He met her word for word, stare for stare. Surely there was something she could do that could make him sweat, just a little. He would make a good sparring partner. He seemed to laugh at her comment, truly laugh, that rich laughter filled the room, every damn corner, she would be able to recognize it anywhere. He lifted his arms in a teasing way before bowing deeply. Harley couldn't help her own laughter. He raised his gaze to lock upon her own as he uttered those words. Ever the theatrical charmer. She was positive he must have been the best Casanova around, with that wit and charm. "Life's too short, frenchifry. Plus someone has to challenge the world and not be a slave to social conformity." How many vampires tried to time that fiery spirit tried to lower her volume. They were in for one hell of a kick in the balls when they realized she could not be a force that could be harnessed. Perhaps his compliment meant more than she would ever admit for that simple reason. When he rose from his mock bow, he easily slipped his shirt back on, leaning against the countertop.

Lover's quarrel she asked in a teasing way, she hadn't expected to get an honest answer. She was confident that a man that looked like him, with such confidence was 99.9% gay. Well score 1 for ladies, it would seem. "Well then I am happy as hell to help with this.." A deviousness sparked within her eye. "So what does getting the world on your feet mean to you? Besides a clever plot to cause your friend some turmoil." If only there was a way to get a reaction out of her friends in that manner, she would most likely do it just to see their faces. But then again, they had come to expect the wayward nature of the raven-haired woman.

Then the conversation shifted to kittycats. How passionate he was about them! Her thoughts on them could not be swayed so easily by that French charm and accented words that undoubtedly made women everywhere fawn over him. He undoubtedly used it to his advantage, he certainly possessed that Casanova flair she thought. The topic of cats, however, reminded her of their claws and how bad those claws could hurt. She could feel the phantom pain of claws upon her stomach all over again, the scars would never fade into anything, no nothing that deep could truly heal. She had seen enough cats play to the vampire's fickle whims at just a bat of an eye. She remembered how fast they were, how sharp those talons and teeth were... how uncaring those glowing eyes were.

But his story on his pet cat made her mind paint the most amusing picture, beyond the fancy language. She was certain he was exaggerating. "If it is not your cat then you have some pretty fat rats with the glossiest coats ever.." She mused.. His next words seem to take on a sincerity, his hand daringly allowing to caress her fingers in the faintest touch that tingled as he did so. She eyed him almost curiously, perhaps to challenge him, expecting to see that impish gleam but it was gone. His face was as sincere as his words it made her pause. She then removed her hand to place it upon his own for but a moment to say those words before she pulled it away "Maybe one day my fortune cookie, but that day is not today.." She declared, she was as stubborn as she was bold. She didn't buy the mysterious miss Cleo thing, she was not one to believe simply because it sounded convincing.. and it did, eerily so. Perhaps in those moments, she should have listened a little more closely, maybe she should have questioned him more. But isn't hindsight always 20/20? She did peer at him for a second longer she intended and getting a big fat nothing in return. Shit got heavy real quick, one moment they were talking about cats and the next moment they were having a meaningful moment..... about cats. This guy was a total trip. She enjoyed it thoroughly.

She slipped away toward her workstation, she felt a strange heaviness as his words replayed in her mind. She almost wanted to just shake it off, instead, she looked away towards her sleeping little pup. Seeing him passed out like the dead on his back, little paw twitching seemed to help shirk it away.

"Incredibly useful and I promise it is comfy so you shouldn't experience any back pain." Was that her first old man joke? Maybe it was.

He perched upon that black plush leather-clad seat with an ease that proved he was certainly not old in body. She was quite certain he would move, very, very well. He seemed so at ease, his body draping across that chair like he was ready to be painted. Your canvas he announced. She let her eyes drift from head to toe. "Perfection.. Now I am just going to prepare the area and slap on a little magic." She organized her workstation efficiently, preparing the ink, the transfer paper and pen. She rummaged for the cream, finding it at the back of her drawer. Most of men that came in declared they didn't need such wussy shit. Even if she knew they would be making girlish noises and squirm like a worm on the end of a fishing hook. They wished they tried the cream, every single time... But sometimes men possessed a complex like they could take better than the next guy.

He then asked her about the French revolution and she was all too surprised by that question, she even paused after shaving his feet from any peach fuzz that lingered there. She gave him a contemplative look as if considering to bite at his question or not. Of all the things he could have talked about. How long it had been since she stepped foot into a classroom or watched a movie involving Marie Antoinette. Alright, she would bite. "Hmm. Well, the poor were seriously pissed off, being overtaxed and starving.. while the rich got richer and fatter on cake and weren't able to go to Marie Antoinette's badass parties. So they revolted to overthrow the monarchy." She asked, curious about that the French revolution had to do with anything. She opened the tube of magical numbing goodness and lathered his feet with a thick layer. He was really going to need this more than he knew. She went onto her sketch before putting it onto his skin and making it permanent.

She felt his eyes watching her as she skillfully worked on that sketch, she was focused on placing those lines carefully to the scale of his foot, keeping in mind it had to look good on a surface that wasn't flat. Once finished, her drawing she raised it between her fingers before him for him to scrutinize. His words fell easily from his lips, that clear compliment rolling off his tongue. She wiped away the remaining cream, cleaning it well before she carefully placed that transfer paper upon where the map should go. "Careful what you wish for, it might be a little more than you bargained for.." She gave him a wicked little smirk before pulling the transfer paper away. First try and the placement was as the French would say... Magnifique. But it wasn't about what she thought. It was all him, he was the client after all. "What do you think of the placement?" She inquired, but her opinion what would be inked forever upon his flesh.

"Oh my, music to my ears." Her eyes narrowed in that mischievous way as he claimed he was ready for her. How easy it was to dance this saucy little dance, toe for toe

She feigned a look of innocence, with a minxy smile. "Before we begin, care to suck on something sweet?" She asked, turning around before pulling out some candies, an assortment of lollis and sucking candies. She kept them on hand to make sure no one passed out on her watch from low blood sugar.

"Let me know if things get a little too intense, we can take a break if you need it. Ok? I'm a tattoo artist not a masochist.." She said as she slid on those somewhat thick black, flexible working gloves and reached for her needle gun and tub of ink, well maybe only a little bit of a masochist.

Harley Westward