stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

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

There was a smug satisfaction that dawned upon the raven-haired woman, the wary Randall looked at her then before her left, closing that heavy door with a solemn final-ness. She had made him wary and in turn that somehow felt like a victory. Albeit, a small one, but it was better than nothing. One down, who the hell knew how many more she could go for too. First impressions did so tend to last. Perhaps she should have focused her attention on coasting to the end of this night rather than run straight-on into a losing battle with nothing but a pair of sunglasses and her own two hands and an unpredictable feline monster sharing a body with her. How unprepared she truly was for that evening, even with those steel forged walls and sharpened glare it wouldn't help her now. Arguably, could anything? She should have been studying the enemy, not provoking him. She has this in the bag she thought right before a bone sliced through the air, she could hear that whirring sound it made as she barely had any time to claw herself out of the way. That chair went scattering across the room, it sounded near violent as it crashed. Her chest rose and fell out of rage, her breathing deepening as though it could fuel the adrenaline within her to issue an attack. How foolish it would have been to do so. With her raven locks a disarray around her face as she reeled to face him but nothing more than that, at least she was on her feet. How she hated that satisfied look upon that vampire's face, how casual he seemed perched with that creepy staring feline. How it made her skin crawl. Those chiding words dance from his lips as he remained almost too composed. It made her lips twitch and yet she remains cemented in place by her sheer willpower alone, an idle hand casually sweeping her hair from her face.

"You missed." Her voice lowers, but incredibly steady considering the rage that wants nothing more to pummel its way to the surface like battering ram crashing against a brittle wooden door threatening to burst. She could not let that happen, she could not let her own control wane. Her striking simmering gaze drifted to the way he caressed that blade, he was toying with it... slowly. All as he knows she is watching it, anticipating it to sing through the air as that bone had. She could feel her muscles start to brace, her skin prickling from agitation ringing throughout her body. Yet he does not stop his careful, antagonizing movements, as precise as they were, scraping across those obsidian hued sheets without fraying that fabric. The raven-haired spitfire hardly afforded herself the time to stare that closely, not enjoying the thoughts it imbued. His point was made, as her practiced such unnerving control over that blade in his hand and it was all for show, a flash of bravado of sorts to make some kind of example to show off how menacing he truly was. This first meeting was nothing more than a moment to set the very tone, how aware of it she was.

She is unimpressed by it, at least it was better than rage. Rage would only serve to get her killed faster. She drew in a cool breath, to steady herself to release that coiled tension that riddles her form. She needed to swallow it all down, learn to embrace that begrudged compliancy that went against everything in her very core. Easier said than done. It helped that Darcy's attention seemed entirely focused upon that blade, entranced by it, it suited her just fine, as long as his mind stayed on that blade and not her. Unfortunately, she had a question to answer and those goading words were simply too easy to grasp, it felt like they gave her power. Her words seem to pluck forward a simple shrug, a blank glance and a vague statement that lacked any kind of impact to the woman. How quickly she was to not afford those words a second thought. Why the fuck did he care if she ate or not?

Her attention wavered to that judgmental feline, indignant to her very presence allowing her focus to drift away from the knife obsessed vampire. It was when Darcy rose from the bed with that near vampiric graceful ease that her eyes drifted back toward the towering vampire. What now, dead eyes? Harley thought near challengingly, watching in an anticipatory way as he sliced across that room toward an idle desk in that room as if she wasn't even there. How quickly that vampire's mood seemed to shift before all too violently slamming that knife into that wooden desk that was plagued with all kinds of lacerations upon that once smooth surface. Better an inanimate object takes that abuse than her she thought, even though that violent shudder of the desk nearly made her jump. It was truly such a pity that the knife wasn't within reach, even still, possessing a weapon would have only made things far worse for her. Without hesitation, he slid on that leather jacket. She inquired about his accent, unable to be sure if it was fake or not. Perhaps it was the fact that he hardly threw that blade at her, that she decides to press the man, as foolish as it was.

That deathly quiet that overcame that room was near deafening... like one could hear her heartbeat steadily beating within her chest. That quiet could not be good, especially as he takes his time, simply putting on those leather gloves ever so patiently. Her view was hindered by his own form, she remains still, poised and daringly unafraid, not daring to leave her vibrant gaze from him. At first, she hardly expects a response at all. Fine by her. That was when he peers at her over his shoulder and she was truly finding it annoying just to stand there, the feline part of her had so desperately felt the need to pace. How she fights that urge as his bone-chilling voice reaches for her.

Why did vampires seem to feel this overwhelming need to express how old they were? Like they deserved a fucking medal for being the apex predator the longest or perhaps that it would earn them fear or respect, or both. Then that cowboy vampire from hell did some Hannibal lector shit that she found particularly disturbing like he scented the air for the very scent of her. She rolls her eyes, looking up at the ceiling like she had somewhere better to be. How badly she wanted to knock those unique eyes of his cross-eyed, maybe not looking at him made it feel better. It didn't. She hardly wanted those eyes on her, she swore she could still feel them, roving and assessing. It was fucking creepy. How she could hardly help that wariness that crept in, but she refused to falter even though every ounce of her being wanted out of there. That glint of his raptor teeth as he approached left her looking for an exit she would never reach in time. "My name is Harley. With an H." Darcy.. Harley.. Harley Darcy.. now they were best friends woop-dee-fucking-do. There was an internal voice screaming in the back of her mind to shut the hell up. But she could hardly help herself. How much willpower it took to simply stand there with him at her back, it felt like the worst place for him to be, for her.

She could hardly help the way she turns her head to follow him over her shoulder, just how badly she wanted to face him but fights it with every last fraying thread of her composure. How she could feel that very iciness of his very presence exudes from him, it slices through even her own leather jacket to produce a chill. That defiant glare never dared to falter even as he finally stood face to face with her. Harley was so used to people being taller than her that she barely noticed it, but this suffocating man felt like he eclipsed the light itself. How Harley flinches at that singular touch as he forces her gaze upon them.. Those sunglasses better work, that very trust she put within that impish fairy was tested in that very moment as those vibrant violet eyes met Darcy's unique gaze. She hardly knew which eye to settle upon, her lips twitched at the very beginnings of a snarl that never fully formed. She hated that very touch, wanted to riot against it with every last resolve she possessed even if it killed her.

That gaze does not waver, a testament to her inner strength, even as she tries with all her might not to break out into a goofy grin at his accent. Eventually, he lips twitch at the corners, barely.. before a sigh escapes her from his threat. "Alright cowboy, I get the drill. Get to the point.. All you vampires, your threats are all the same, I get it. You like to jump right to the murder and threats. I'm going to kill you if you don't do as I say." It took every ounce of control not to roll her eyes as that sarcasm hardly seemed willing to leave. He wasn't even the scariest beast she looked into the eye. At least not yet. She could handle this, she could handle him. Her eyes narrowed, that smile diminished as his lips grey into that smile, her eyes near gawking at his ominous teeth. He was all teeth and no soul. You think that would be enough to stifle her and yet..."If I could have a fucking dollar for every time someone told me that. I would be sitting in the Bahamas sipping a glass of top-shelf tequila." It would seem Harley needed a lesson in shutting the hell up.

How quick it all happened, like a blur she hardly saw coming. His hand suddenly wrapped around her neck, sealing her words. But that was not even the worst part. The sizzling flesh sears through that fragile sensitive skin, she could feel it before she smelt it, the smell of charred flesh, coming from her. How she hated that smell, how she felt like a very monster to feel that hiss caused from nothing other than silver and fire. How she tries to jerk away but to no avail. That apathetic man hardly bats an eye, lifting her like she were weightless by her throat, her toes desperately trying to keep on the ground and they do, just barely despite how useless it was. His words distract her momentarily, and for an atrocious moment, they are nearly eye to eye. Ouch, that fucking hurt.. Her eyes were still wide from that rude surprise. How her mind sang with insults droning on and on like a factory mill churning them out with near-mechanical precision even despite that terrible pain. Fuck.... Fuck ouch fuckity fuck ooouuuch.... Her mind sang.


How she braces herself to knee him right where the sun doesn't shine, her body coiled and ready for that assault before he tosses her idly discarding her. How the man would have dealt with such assault, it was probably for the better that she ended up nearly soaring through the air, for a second or so. However, her body seems to act on newfound instinct. Her human self would have crashed and burned, but now, her body seeks to right itself like a cat landing on its feet. Her feet skid across the ground from that sheer force of it, her fingertips upon the ground scraping against the floor as she skidded slight, her body so low to the ground it was like she was ready to pounce. How she hardly looked human then, unable to help that look of sheer loathing. How it rumbles deep within her chest like her inner panther might break free with violent force, all while panting for air while he just as uncaring as before, utterly emotionlessly turns from her as he procured his guns. How she dearly wants to tear at him, but she knew better to not flat out assault a vampire without a plan. Yet she nearly trembled with that lack of control. He next reaches for that collar and lead that Randydolphin brought, gesturing it toward her before as she pulls herself into a standing position, back against the wall. Her neck..fucking hurt.. The scent of her blood assaults her.

"Save your fetish collar for your little kitten. I might be a bitch but I can walk my damn self." She uttered grumpily, arms crossed to stop herself from touching that wound. Just who she meant by kitten, how she treads that very cautious line. She needed to rein herself in, get control over herself of she was going to talk herself right into an early grave.

Yet, amidst his malevolence, he seemed exceptionally tender to his pet. Mind you, it was fascinating in a purely objective way, all things aside, to see that cat completely fond of what that serial killer psychopathic vampire. It was so very clear that the two of them were quite affectionate of one another, that feline obediently listening to his every whim, leaping onto his shoulder as he whistles to her. How obedient that little feline was with him and how he seemed to relish in it, in her like he...... loved the little lynx. It almost seemed terribly human of him, even despite how there was nothing human-esque about that man who was all teeth. She nearly gapes at that display.. "Well, are we going to get this shit over with? Or do you two need a moment alone." She rasped, her hand reaching for her throat, hissing at the raw chain mark that embedded deeply there. How long did silver take to heal?

Harley Westward