stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

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

The journey home had felt like an eternity and not days. The only way she could tell it was nightfall within that underground prison was because the vampires were out, waken from their daytime slumber. It must have been nice to be able to sleep so blissfully carefree from the torment that seemed to be woven within these walls. They slept while she paced that small cell, corner to corner, traversing like an irritated animal with far too much time for her own thoughts to turn against her. Eventually, she curled up into herself with in that cell haunting by the roars and cries of felines. Using her hat as a makeshift pillow, it still smelled like Tybalt which only made the memories of that night even more vivid, she scoffed at that very thought. The only saving grace was that no one really bothered with her. Which really didn't say much because by the end of it she had turned her god damn cell into a hell of her own making.

Anything was better than being stuck in a windowless basement dungeon, it looked more like a twisted zoo of felines nestled somewhere beneath Syn itself. Considering there were so many cats, she was surprised to find how little it smelled. Great, so at least the underground horror room was at the very least well maintained. No matter how it was decorated or well-maintained, it didn't change the fact that they were all still glorified cages, relying on artificial light to illuminate that cavernous dungeon. She could vaguely recall the route Randall took through that labyrinth to get there, the world around her was a haze, her mind just as foggy. To the hefty vampire's credit, he didn't man handle her too much (not that he needed to), nor did he throwback jabs that the sharp-tongued woman surely deserved. He followed Darcy's orders to the letter. She remembered asking him what it was like to be Darcy's little bitch and she could hardly recall how he responded. All she could remember that there were a lot of twists and turns and too many god damn doors. How many fucking doors did one place need? Maybe they were there to mock you and your helpless escape. At least without a key fob, escape was near impossible. Oh and don't forget, those doors were lined with silver, her own affinity with metal easily reached out toward the substance weakly. Her body seemed to instantly want to recoil from it, especially with those burn marks still adorning her flesh, a reminder of the beast that dwelled inside of her.

Harley had a long time to think, too much time to rake over that nightly occurrence, reliving the violence and carnage with a fine-tooth comb as though her existence was solely just to torment herself. Then the dread started to seep in. Those pesky little thoughts of doubt weaving about her mind, needling and mocking realizations. Realizations like what her future held. Don't you worry, it wasn't all doom and gloom there was also plenty of time for thoughts of premeditated murder. At least she was nothing short of creative, thinking of the countless ways she could kill Darcy and Risque. Fantasy after fantasy played throughout her mind, anything that she could to cling onto a semblance of sanity. In those very moments she was actually glad no one even gave her a second glance.

At least she was afforded those timed bathroom breaks, where she could actually look at her wounds that barely healed. They looked awful like they were in desperate need for a cleaning. Apparently being starved prevented you from healing. Good to know she thought bitterly.

She left that town car glumly, nearly dragging her feet, just to hear the sound. The same despondent were-cat at least drove her home. She was fully ready to walk it, content to wallow in her own misery... even if she was in no shape to do so. Harley shuffles along, as if on autopilot, wanting nothing more than meet the quietude of her dark miserable home. Everything felt altered somehow, most of all, herself. Not dwelling on it, she fumbled with the keys, surprised they had never left her pocket through the whole ordeal. She removed the key, fiddling with the stupid handle that apparently didn't want to cooperate. Even her handle had to be a jackass, she thought having half a mind to get into an argument with her door. She swung open that door with a forceful push, perhaps a little too dramatically just because it felt good to take it out on.. something. What she found was nothing she could ever be prepared for. She was struck with a blast of sensory overload.

The raven-haired spitfire was not met with the dark quiet stuffy apartment she left behind, as anticipated, but greeted with a flurry of activity and an assault of delicious scents. She clutched that mahogany box ever tighter, fully ready to use it as a weapon, if she could even stand to take the first swipe. Still some fight left in her, it would seem. Harley hesitated at the door frame only to be met with the break and enterer himself who leaned artfully poised against the kitchen countertop with that perpetually amused expression upon his face. She half expected it to be Darcy, ready to find new ways to fuck with her.

Matteo was the absolutely last person she expected, hell she expected the embrace of a dark empty home. Not one full of life, her dull purple eyes blink a few times as if to blink away that scene she wasn't exactly sold on. From all the coherent things she could have said, she opened her mouth to utter. "What the fuck?" It was the best she could muster in that moment. She was too achy, too tired to sift through what she was feeling at that very moment. The last time she saw that face was when he yet again showed up unannounced going over all those faces of Syn. How long ago that felt, a time where she still had hope and the cocky bravado to match. She was so sure then. This was not the same woman. How foolish she was to think she could disassemble that complicated perverse machine in a mere evening alone. How foolish she was to believe him when he said there was ever a chance of being free from all of this.

If it were any other day, maybe she would have been far less hostile toward seeing him. But she was beaten, her wounds hardly allowed to heal and her dignity and pride fallen to the same ruin of her leather jacket. Harley closed the door behind her, not even bothering with the locks. What was the point, people just let themselves in either way. He was already facing her like he was expecting her. That familiar French accent easily reached her. How he could be so casual in someone's kitchen like it was typical, she had no damn clue. He made the most bizarre things seem perfectly normal. Did he say cake and coffee? Damn that sounded good. Yet at the same time, the thought of food made the vibrant eyed woman feel almost queasy to her stomach.

But dinner was perhaps everything she needed right now. Her face formed into a hard frown trying to search for the words, unsure how to formulate them. "Look... after the few days I've had... I don't know how you expect me to deal with all this you-ness." How did one even describe Matteo? She gestured at him, a loose wobbly somewhat circular flick of her hand in his direction. Surely, that gesture would be enough to describe the impossible. The ancient fairy was certainly a unique level of his own making, one that needed to be dealt with on one's top game. Maybe he wanted to swoop in for an easy victory? Harley could not help the way she inhaled forth a copious amount of intermingling and competing scents then, trying to continue her own unamused face. But that required too much damn work. His own aroma nearly overpowered by the scent of something begrudgingly delicious bubbling on the stove, along with the faint aroma of coffee and vanilla cake that sat out, teasingly upon her dining table.

It was difficult to be mad with too many delicious scents assaulting her all at once. Maybe that was his plan all along. It hardly mattered now. She was pissed. She needed to stay pissed, for fear of any other emotion she let leak out right now. But damn it was too exhausting to maintain that level of anger when she could barely keep a grip upon that mystery mahogany box in her hand. She hardly felt like moving from her spot by the door, but did so anyways, moving sluggishly toward the edge of that kitchen countertop, that wasn't being utilized by all of Matteo's... stuff. She took off those useful glasses, placing them folded upon that still unopened wooden box that once belonged to Tybalt. At least she didn't come home empty handed and those violet tinted sunglasses had surprisingly stayed in one piece despite Darcy's hatred of them. It took a moment for her eyes to see in full colour again. Did her home always look so dreary? Maybe. She leaned against that countertop still sporting that well-worn cowboy hat that served to be a makeshift pillow and a reminder of that night and Tybalt's torn face.

A weary sigh escaped her. Matteo knew all of this, he had to. Part of her wanted to rip him a new one simply for leaving out so much of that future he seemed to know so intimately while she remained purposely in the dark. At least 40% of her anger felt directed at the ancient fae in her damn kitchen, all kinds of hell cat fury. The other and more prominent number was directed at Douchebag Darcy, the very thought of his name made her nuclear. It made her damn bristle that he had probably healed from her blood in his system and slept like a fucking baby, living the highlife right fucking now. The thought of it made her inwardly and outwardly cringe just before the raven-haired woman lashed out at the man that knew everything and said nothing.

"Did you enjoy the show? You have a highlight?" That caustic sarcasm lashed out easily, surely he had to know what she was talking about. There was a reason why she looked like someone had made her their own personal voodoo doll. Dried blood saturated her shirt and spattered across her flesh, she looked like she had fought a battle. She had no time to even look in a mirror or evaluate the damage of her wounds that still hadn't fully healed. The weight of her vibrant eyes landed upon him then, shooting a diluted version of the razor glare she wished to give him. She wanted to collapse, wanted to go through all the vile emotions that had been brewing inside of her. Harley didn't want anyone to see her breakdown, least of all the man who knew it all and didn't think to tell her.

Why did he have to create so many delicious scents and cake no less, when she was trying to continue that anger at him? The heavenly scent of coffee that flooded her nostrils. Ok,.. maybe she could be mad at him later. Just because she ate this feast.... Didn't mean she had to be... nice. Right? She meandered toward she her table where the cake and coffee resided like a lure she took the bait of. Also, sitting seemed great, her knees felt wobbly.

"I'm just going to glower at you from here." She muttered grumpily, it was arguable if he even heard the pouty woman. She took off her hat, hanging it off the side of her chair, slumping into that chair heavily. How much her body ached, how unaware she was of it before. The act of raising her hand to run along through her unkempt raven locks hurt caused that barely healed bite wound to throb. That pain only made her more irritable.

She knew it was only a matter of time for this eccentric fae to stop showing up all together. She would bet all her worldly possessions on that. Maybe it would be better if they just skipped to that part. "So... What are you even doing here? We can skip to the part where you stop pretending to give shit? It will save us both a hell of a lot of trouble." Her voice sounded weary as she felt, but she willed what little strength she could to not make it sound... so pitiful. She peered down at that cake, every ounce of her wanted to stuff her face and never stop. Instead, she attempts composure. Ugh she had too many questions swirling around her head and she was simply too damn exhausted to voice them all... just yet. Tentatively she reached for that spongey sweet perfection. Dessert first. That seemed like something she could get behind. She took a small nibble and she was hardly prepared to admit how divine it was.

Harley Westward