stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

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

No, was an easy enough word to say, she could say it all damn day long until the cows came home and she didn't even possess cattle. As though one could hope they could say that one little word with enough force for it to actually do something, to mean something. That teeny tiny word only meant something if that person valued human rights. Vampires, as it would seem believed in none of it. It was laughable. Her words had been so powerful, wielded like scalpel sharp blade. Without them, she felt nearly helpless. Her very words only no seemed to serve her as something to bury her. Harley was left with no choice but to fight for her own rights, the spark to ignite the flame she could not allow to flicker out unless she were to give up that fight all together. How far she would go to fight being nothing more than a petty little slave.

One would think that having a big brother hunter gave you brownie points amongst the supernatural but that itself was far more ridiculous to the point where it could have made her laugh if she wasn't too exhausted to do so. Big brother Adrien, off to save the world and he forgot all about his sister that was practically get picked apart by wolves. Not that she expected to be saved, she was no mere damsel in distress, she would climb out of this her own damn way, even if she died trying. "Damn right they do... now if they listen... that is another matter entirely. I suppose, I will need to focus on one victory at a time." She replied tersely. Her eyes darkened, those thoughts crashing like a might clash of the titans within the confines of her skull.

She made her way to her dinner table in a less that graceful fashion, her blood-stained jean clad legs wobbling in a way that hardly made her feel comfortable or steady. All she could hope for was for the slight chance they wouldn't give up on her, how pitiful she must have looked. How worn her very features might of looked at that given moment. Yet how few shits she could give, she was fresh out and too damn focused on not falling to worry about something as mundane as her appearance. All she could focus on in that very moment was not Matteo nor the hell she had been put through but her legs. Come on legs, don't fail me now. Blood loss and exhaustion wracked her petite form, surely lack of sustenance were to blame, that feline within her had demands and that voracious appetite made her somewhat of an eating machine. There were many reasons why her legs began to tremble and that very foot was hellbent of going one way while the other went another. She would be damned if she let herself fall like some kind of drunken buffoon, and even more so in front of someone. How unaware she was of a fretting Matteo's watchful eyes then, that abrupt launch into action in an attempts to rescue her from a decent downward. Those hands instinctually reached out to grasp at the corner of the table, that very action the only reason she didn't flop onto the floor like her legs were made of jello. How she hoped he might have missed that very blunder, far too busy nursing that bubbling pot on the gas stove. She hated the thought of anyone catching her in a moment of weakness with a distinct passion. She grits her teeth tightly in her own frustration and that realization before muttering that very comment about her 'stupid' legs. When she flopped into the embrace of that chair she was surprised to see that he wasn't within same spot in the kitchen she saw him in before. He'd seen it. Internally she groans. She seemed to urge such thoughts from her mind, willing to be distracted by that familiar, easy banter that so often transpired between them. It was way better than that embarrassment. It didn't take long for that daring expression to find his features and skeptical one finding her own, before she rolled her eyes as that steady chuckle escaped him. She knew he was in there somewhere..

"Of course, you did. At least your eyes are still in working condition.." That jab meaning who the hell knows what. It didn't take long for that sarcasm iconic to Harley herself to claw its way to the surface. At least it hadn't died completely, score one for her. He had been paying attention, perhaps a little too well. That question he offered was hardly a question at all, she was entirely convinced it was more like a trap to ensnare her in a harsh truth wielding smackdown. Whether or not she wanted to or not she suspected it was coming even if she said no. Tough love never felt all that warm and fuzzy on the best of days, no one wanted to hear where they went wrong, or find out how terribly flawed they were. It felt more akin to someone shoving a handful of rusted nails into your mouth and expected you to swallow. The only fortunate redeeming thing in that moment was that Harley's mouth was stuffed full of sweet cakes and she was mid chew when he started his verbal ass kicking. Her violet gaze follows the gesture he made toward her broken body. He gestured with a smoothness she currently lacked. When she swallowed that cake, she met him dead in the eyes. In that rare moment, she was painfully quiet, the gears in her mind churning almost getting ahead of herself. While those words were nothing but truthful, they were still laced with their own sting. That sting was all she needed for the floodgates to open and they did with a violent roar.

"How is silence defiance?" That challenge evident in her voice. Silence sounded another fancy word for meekness to her and she hardly wished to succumb to that. She wanted to be the thunder and lightning of the storm she would hurl toward her enemies like a Zeus himself. Ok, maybe she was pushing it to compare herself to a god.. But hey one day, she would be more than just rumbling thunder. One day. "Well someone needs to face them. I may not always have the most couth in the world but at least I am not bending to them. People like that, you give them a little they keep taking until there is nothing left to give. Those walking cancer's had taken enough, why couldn't she take them down a few pegs?

Were there some things she should have bit her tongue at? Yeah, she heard those warning bells and she said them anyway like she couldn't stop them from spewing from her lips. "My words are my way of fighting back, I clearly can't go challenging them to one on one combat. I'm not going to roll over on my back and ask them how they want me. They have taken enough from me.." Those words seemed to rattle something loose within her, those powers answering to her distress leaking out of her unintentionally. She hardly noticed the way that the cutlery began to move upon their own accord, those now blazing eyes focusing on the lackadaisical fae across from her. upon that table began to rise, that metal calling to her distress, that anger that was found beneath layers of composure and façade she simply didn't have anymore.

She was quick to pounce on those very words laid out before her like bait she snapped at with an eagerness. While what he said was truthful, she knew it deep down. The raven-haired woman hardly wanted to accept that in order to survive, she needed to succumb. "He needs no reason to hurt me. It's what they do." She countered. Those words all but punctuated with her fire, still a pale comparison of what it could be. She recalled Darcy's like of throwing things, which brought a strange look to her worn features. She tried the silence thing for a whole few minutes and how it caused a bone to get launched at her head. Harley was quite certain that he had missed his calling as a pitcher.

One battle in a war. Those words seemed to linger in her mind, she honed in on them. That statement was clearly an accurate one. But she hated the sound of it. Any prolonged time with that sadistic fanged one hardly sounded appetizing in the least. How much could her body survive? How much could her mind put up with?

"Asking me not to respond to Darcy's dumbassery is impossible. He's just got a face you want to, punch a few times..." She lifts her hands up clenching them in to fists, as though she were wringing his bloody neck. Her lips parting just enough to allow a sigh. She paused, shaking her head slowly in her own discontent. Those metal utensils suspended in the air quivering and yet not leaving their suspended.. "He makes for such easy prey the words are out before I can even.... Oh shit!" Not again... The moment she noticed it they fell once more, clattering loudly as they fell back upon the table. She seemed stunned for a moment. "So that happens now... Now I am a fucking x-man. Surprise." She replied grumpily, that bitter sarcasm making light of a truth that terrified her.

Once that ordeal settled. That bread he effortlessly summoned certainly looked tasty, a mere move of his wrist and the basket was suddenly in his waiting hand, placing it in the middle of the table. One minute he was next to her, the next he appeared opposite to her, nestled contentedly in his own chair with their feast sprawled out between them. It would seem that appetite was returning in full force, especially at the way she eyes that bread.

"Damn, I was so set on Bali too." She clearly didn't think this through, her hair absolutely refused hot and humid as a combination for long periods. "Does Sweden count? I think I could get behind this. I can learn the language and even get a nifty accent." But then that itching question still lingered. Who would fight that fight? Who would finally put an end to that psychotic era? Would she ever truly be free, even if lived in an igloo or a in descript shack in the middle of nowhere? She didn't need anything fancy to get by to find a semblance of happiness. But would she ever have the chance to stop looking over her shoulder? A frown found her face as that happy place seemed suddenly tarnished with reality. She grabbed a piece of that bread absently, lost in an unending trail of her own thoughts.

Matteo spoke about those visions and it prompted a look of lurid curiosity, blinking back the tiredness that exudes from her. He seemed to pause that very silence nearly pregnant, as if considering something profound that she was entirely oblivious to. The bread was sopping up that delicious broth when those vivid eyes slid from her soup toward the fae that sat across from her. It but a moment those familiar silver eyes meet her own, only to emphasize his next question. Her mind was swimming in slowmo, often obsessing over those disturbing details and the dire reality of her own situation. That shit just wasn't healthy. The offer seemed to be a much-needed distraction, a chance to understand rather than seeking to blame them and the knowledge he possessed. It hardly seemed fair and yet emotions rarely were. He hardly seemed the kind of man to explain himself to anyone and yet he was offering a chance to take a glimpse into the convoluted looking glass of the very world he saw. For a slight lull, she simply lingered upon his face for but a moment, considering the weight of those words before uttering her own.

"I do actually, I want to understand. You aren't worried you're going to lose your mystere though do you?" This new forthcoming fairy before her seemed entirely startling, that honesty in a world full of lies was all together refreshing. It was a chance to actually understand him, well to some degree further that she had not yet seen. She suspected she wouldn't get the same opportunity twice from that ever intangible fae. She brought that that hot soup saturated that bread, savouring the rich notes of flavor that told a story in itself. That bread near melting in her mouth. She could feel herself returning, slowly, but surely. Like waking up from a vivid nightmare that left you feeling disoriented the next day. Yet the more she sat within this world, the more she nourished her form, separated from that bitch of night she could feel that return of her own. She was going to need a lot more than mere food, but it was a start to regain that sense of her once more.

Harley responded candidly in those moments. That offer to be her veritable punching bag offered then and there. What good would such a thing do? It was a decidedly selfless offer and yet it hardly seemed fair in any sense. Of all people Darcy deserved to be her personal punching bag, not the man who only seemed to want to help. That notion still felt odd, that unbreakable pinkie swear bond still fresh somewhere within her incorporeal mind. In that moment she recalled many thoughts, mainly faces scattered with memories she would rather forget. She was tired of being trapped, stuffed in boxes and forced to be something that was desired of her. Something hardly herself, like a bird with clipped wings, never to know what it was like to soar. Nathaniel and Ryker seemed entirely content to stuff her in a cage, cages came in copious shapes and sizes.. a room, a house. Often times even that city felt like one. That thought of that cage she was thrown in just for speaking her mind. How small it made her feel, how contained, how weak. A reoccurring symbolism for most of her adult life. Everyone seemed to want to control her in some way, place her within the bars of those cages to tone down that fire that they seemed to be amused by but only desired it when it suited them. Yet it was that very will.. that wild spirit could hardly be truly tamed and not one god damn soul had yet to recognize it.

His words seemed to dance easily off of his lips. Perhaps he was right. Apparently, 2000 years gave you insight, perspective. Perspective she could hardly see behind from only mere years of hell that seemed so determined to lay claim to her. It refused to leave her alone. But there was a part of her that wondered if it was only a perilous downhill slope from here. She snapped closed her eyes, swallowing that soup that she had just brought to her lips. For a moment she just stole a breath, as though that mere act seemed to remind her it was her breath, her air that filled her lungs. Not Nathaniel, not Darcy, or Risque or who ever the fuck else that wanted a piece of her. Her lids fluttered open soon after, but that mere breath felt like eternity, somehow more imperative than it actually was. "The world isn't getting any better any time soon. I don't need to be a seer to know that this is just the start to a long line of battles... Lucky me.. I get all the chances to get this right.. although I suspect. I never will. Then again who knows.. I never thought I would own a cowboy hat.... look at me now." There was a grim smile that slowly crept upon her lips, that idle gesture toward that black hat that hung precariously upon her chair. Her mind honed in upon those other words that did not go unnoticed. "Little ol' me worried you? Aw.. Come on now, you aren't getting soft on me are you? You should have come tomorrow, my armour would be in working order... and you wouldn't have to see whatever.. this mess is. Although, I am sure I am quite the spectacle." That easy bitter sarcasm dancing with that familiar mischief.


It was almost uncanny the way the French fae sat perfectly poised, eating that soup like he was posing for a vogue photo shoot. A perfect mask of obscurity. It was in that moment she was envious of him, being able to sever off those emotions from the world. He dropped those words just as easily then. She merely gawked at him then. "Partial?" She questioned, it took a moment to register just what he was referring to. The striking violet gaze slid to those violet glasses in question. Was that what he was referring to? "Oh... that.... Now I know you are getting soft on me, why only partial? Especially if you are splitting it with a certain Marty-O. I feel like he is someone you might know." She rose her dark brow pointedly, there was a resemblance within that name.

Then like some cryptic Yoda he twisted those words once more wielding them in that effortless fashion that had her eyes narrow, not entirely sure how to answer that question. What a peculiar question, yet her mind instantly tries to formulate some kind of answer. "That place is built like a labyrinth, like a goddamn house of horrors.. So many layers and twists and turns and.... Doors. How many reinforced silver doors does one person need? Talk about overkill.. Then again Risque is the prime example of... overdone. I know she cares for those cats though, you can tell by the way she cares for them... It's weird how someone can abuse something so much and yet... still care for them. I think I might have an in with a bartender though, he seems to like to talk as long as Darcy doesn't silence him."

How aware she was that she taunted the Frenchman with the very knowledge, the easiest way to a vampire's heart. She tried her best at a stoic face, she almost looked serious as a heart attack. Almost. "Yes.. it is also the quickest..." She decided to draw it out, that small echo of a quirk of her lips, nodding her head once in affirmation. "I have come to the conclusion, after careful consideration that the quickest way to a vampire's heart is a rocket launcher to the chest.. or flag pole.. depends on how someone feels that night." There was humour that danced within her words, even as she brought up the very way Tybalt's himself had perished that night. "Tybalt can attest to the flag pole."

That conversation soon shifted to that delicious food and it was either starvation or Matteo's exceptional cooking prowess that produced that very compliment. That teasing smile tugged at the corners of her lips and the normalcy of it did bring a comfort she hadn't truly realized until now. She brought some more of that soup to her lips, relishing the warmth of it before speaking once more. "I know even half dead I'm damn good company but you need to give your cooking more credit." The smirk flourished upon her lips. Of course, she knew he was attempting to preen his own feathers and she only teased him because it seemed like the perfect opportunity to. "But I suppose, you're company is alright too." She conceded slightly.

However, there was a sudden shift to his features, one that she noticed as she worked on chewing on a diced piece of meat within that soup. Her inner feline seemed to appreciate that, for a moment she seemed to relish in that simple taste of chewing and swallowing. She was mid swallow when he spoke, it would seem this visit had a purpose all along. It was a rational deduction, or so she thought. Immediately she sat up straighter.

"I knew there was a catch. What is it?" The woman stated dryly. How she fell so perfectly into that trap, but she did so fully expecting the man to be serious. That was her first mistake. She took a final spoonful to appear unflappable, even despite that amusement dancing in his silver gaze. That look should have been an indication that she stumbled within her, he had worn at her defenses. But it was the sigh that had made her seem like nothing was amiss. Tricky little fairy. But what the hell did Matteo want? That was the question of the damn century. His words fell from his lips easily. She choked on the soup she had in her mouth, putting the spoon down, she looked entirely wide-eyed stunned. She coughed hardly expecting that demand part from the Frenchman although she truly should have known better. She cleared her throat, itching for immediate composure.

"You told me you wouldn't fuck with me." She spoke simply. But his expression did not falter while her own remained entirely baffled by how quickly he pivoted that very conversation. "I'm not stripping, I look like swiss cheese. You do it.." She demanded as if that alone had been a challenge that secured her victory somehow. It hardly made any sense... at least until that grin spreads across his lips, giving way into a dazzling smile. That warm, true laughter floods the entire room, as though there wasn't a single corner it couldn't reach.. He seemed to harbor a joke she was simply unaware of. An unimpressed look soon overtook her features, even though that sound seemed to awaken that very dismal room. She tilted her head back, throwing her hands in the air.

"I fell right into that one." She shook her head in her own disbelief. "You are sometimes a strange a cruel man.. You better not be lying.. if this is some elaborate trick to take off my shirt, there is no telling what I will do." She couldn't believe she was actually considering this. What the hell. It wasn't like anything was ever normal anymore. It hadn't been for some time. She stood up suddenly, her hand reaching for that jacket. "I hate myself for even saying this.. I think I need some help."

Harley Westward