stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

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

The last client of the day had come and gone as that rain unleashed upon the city below, creating a world that glistened. The grey clouds that painted across the sky darkened the world in what looked like a monochrome filter. It was pretty in a melancholy way, even as it rained. On again, off again. It was like a game of tug of war. But Mother nature got fed up and tried to clean the filthy city herself anyways. The large window in the front of the shop had become like a screen for her to watch when it was quiet. She watched as the unprepared people rushed and sought overhangs to hide beneath like scurrying animals looking for some hollow to hide under. The people who possessed umbrellas, swiftly rushed purposefully by as they snuggled into it like it was a lifeline while in their rush to get from point A to point B. Would it kill anyone to just get a little wet? Get a little messy? No, everyone was too caught up in being too perfect. Wanted the perfect weather, the perfect job, the perfect everything at all times. She was trapped in a world where people searched for perfection when it didn't exist. No wonder why everyone was so goddamn miserable.

But she was just the woman in the shop, nobody looked inside, which made it far easier to watch them from her window. It was quiet in that parlour, giving her the chance to take care of a few office-related tasks that made her wish she was walking in that rain instead. An audible groan left her lips, tilting her head back. "I will take almost anything else other than paperwork..." Of course, there was a great deal of things she would rather not experience in its place and yet she was certain at least 90% of them were not possible.

But paperwork prevailed, it must be done. She ticked off those mental boxes of what she had to do, placing an order for inks as she gave herself a dizzying spin within her favoured rolly-chair. She had a song stuck in her brain, the woman giving into it as she sung those lyrics with gusto as she pushed off the table with a boot-clad foot and rolled smoothly away from her work area. Her secret favourite means of transportation within that shop as she rolled it to the front desk that had appeared empty and alone. Eventually she found a sense of contentment within her own company at the front desk. Maybe she could order food. She pondered, lost into a long strain of bizarre thoughts, floating a metal ball point pen in the air before her as it spun idly, with her chin on the palm of her hand, fingers cradling the side of her face. She flipped open her agenda, snatching the pen she had suspended in the air with her powers before scribbling in another appointment for the following week, eyeing the organized chaos within her next appointment which wasn't until two days from then. That was a rarity. She used to be able to remember every appointment by memory, that agenda was a new addition when trying to balance the impossible. She peeled off the wrapper of a Skor bar from the desk she had stashed in there, chocolate and butter toffee filled her mouth with an instant sweetness that she surrendered to complete sugary bliss.

Not too long later, the rain, fortunately, died down even though the overcast of that day lingered, not that it bothered her any. The petite woman disappeared into the back of her work room to grab her leather jacket that hung on a hook in her workspace, aka office as she liked it call it. There were still a few things she needed before she could close up. She didn't even make it to her jacket, when she heard the chiming of the door opening. She knew she should have locked it first. Yet... the prospect of another client certainly was nothing she would decline, or at the very least she could reschedule them in later.

Harley darted out of her work space to be taken aback by two very massive men who already made their way inside the store, they were imposing in every way even despite those casual clothes they wore. She had tattooed meaner, dealt with worse, she was so very certain. Which probably was why the feline woman hardly felt intimidated, petite woman steeling her spine as she prowled to the front desk. "Can I help you?" She remained on the other side of that desk, a natural buffer that people naturally did not cross. She rose a brow and and yet her eyes narrowed studied their every move as if sizing them up. Usually, she was quite good at profiling people when they walked in, guessing exactly what they were going to get. Only they seemed to ignore her existence entirely. What the fuck was with it with these people? Was she getting raided? They didn't look like cops. When she said she was bored she didn't actually mean she wanted swat to tear through her shop... Ugh.

She tried to get in the way of one of them, the bigger one, only to have him continue with his diligent search, for who the hell knew what. "Look here Bruno or whatever your name is, it's just a tattoo shop. Hey.. you aren't allowed back there. That's my-" They simply ignored her like she were a fly as they moved imposing bastards, barreling through her place like bulls in a china shop. They didn't seem to break anything but when they started opening up drawers she had just about had enough. " I do not care if you look like Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Rock had a baby. You can wait for your turn in the waiting room like everyone else." Okay, now she was getting a little pissed. Anger flared within her violet eyes alit with that inner fire. Who were these people thinking they could just come in here and do whatever the fuck they wanted? She could feel her powers tingle and creep down her arms as she was just about to force them out, she had more than a few things stashed around here to help her do just that. They hadn't actually ruined anything, they were just intrusive... very, very, intrusive.

They didn't even barely afford her a second glance besides maybe a polite excuse me as they moved by her. Well, it certainly seemed like her words had some level of effect.. because they retreated and she hadn't even used the metaphorical big guns yet.. although it was entirely impossible to know if it was from her intimidation tactics or if they were merely finished with whatever it was that they were doing. Okay, she took it back.. she would rather have the paperwork than more trouble that she didn't need. Maybe if she had her jacket covering her exposed slender arms, they would have taken her more seriously than the comfortable tank top that hardly made her seem as intimidating as that glare she wore.

The pair of burly men stood on either side of the door like they were imposing sentinels. Just as she stood, hands on hips, just above the thick black belt that strung through her fitted jeans as she took to guarding the back of that shop. There was no way she was letting them pass a second time. She could sense at least one of them was a Were too and yet it didn't matter what they were and her inner feline seemed to bristle all the same. They announced the location was secure. Secure for what? When they declared to make way for the king of Italy. So that one caught her off guard, halting the grumbling words that threatened to spill from her lips. So much so that she couldn't help the surprise sound of a stifled laugh. Yeah, okay...

Maybe they were some weird LARP guild or a bunch of actors in character. Was she supposed to play along? Yet there was one man who was far more well dressed than the others who had stepped inside with another, wearing a long expensive trench, with a clean-cut handsome face. Neither one of those people seemed to fit the types of people who larped. A gang maybe? Still not quite giving up on the actor's troop thing. Yet the man who seemed to all but drift into the shop, like a butterfly drawn to the designs on the wall. He was enamoured by her side in particular. He didn't even seem to notice her at first, aloof, no he was far too purposeful to be aloof. Then again, who paraded around calling themselves a king everywhere they went? It was then that he finally decided to notice her, presenting her a question if she drew the art that lined the walls. Did he just say terribly lovely? Then a gentle kind of smile formed upon his features as he gestured toward the flowers. "Yeah, everything on this wall you see here is mine, the other wall there.." she gestured loosely. "Is from another artist that works here. If you like those flowers you would have loved the pretty tramp stamp of sunflowers I did on this one girl a couple of weeks ago." She still chose to be some what amicable, you could only kick someone out once after all. There was plenty of time to ask him what his deal was or to simply send them all out and she had to admit her interest was hovering above piqued.

Then it was like he remembered her or maybe it was the expression she was wearing, a mixture of bafflement and irritation. He introduced himself just as his entourage had. Only it sounded more believable in his own accented voice. She had to give it to him, he didn't even break character. He spoke with a rare kind of eloquence that most people didn't use. He claimed his guards were just making sure the place was safe. That he simply desired a closer look at the artwork on the walls.

"So they do that everywhere you go? You must make a lot of friends with outings like these." She added with a hint of sarcasm but still held a hint of incredulity from this strange turn of events that interrupted her once peaceful store that now somehow felt cramped with so many big bodies.

"So are you all here for matching flower tattoos or something?" She baited in an attempt to pry into finding out what the hell was going on and yet it seemed to be a hard no given their reaction. That was a missed opportunity if she ever heard one.

Her gaze narrowed as if she waited for the other shoe to drop. There was always another shoe. The guy was also wearing a trench coat and in a city like Sacrosanct, one must never let their guard around a man in a trench. Not even a fancy one. The brazen woman eyed the man intently, noticing his very silver eyes that looked so similar and yet not enough to ring those bells in her memory. At the next moment, the Italian pulled out his sketchbook which seemed to surprise her. So, he wasn't referring to his art ironically.

She cautiously eyed that book that looked better quality than anything she had owned, as he cracked it open to the page to what she assumed was the most recent sketch he had spoken about. The woman had no choice but to take a few strides closer to settle beside him, despite the intimidating looks from his entourage that watched her every move. What peered up at her was a rather sweet scene depicted in that mostly black and white sketch, it was not at all what she expected. Nor was it the kind of art someone found in a tattoo shop.

Instinctually, the woman rose her hand to touch the corner of her book and she swore all the goons looked like they were going to jump her. Touchy, weren't they? Yet she didn't move her hand. Once certain she wasn't about to be manhandled. Hey, they were in her store, they could behave, like good little 'thugs', even if that was not what they actually were. Her gaze fluttered back toward the sketchbook before her. Whoever this Dorian guy really was, he was clearly talented. She even liked the black and white look with a splash of colour that danced around the people. But was it just artistic license? Or was it a splash of meaningless magic, she couldn't tell.

Her bright violet eyes shifted to the side to look at the proclaimed king, catching his silver eyes once more, removing her hand that found her hip while the other hung loosely at her side. "This doesn't look unsuccessful to me. This is actually pretty good. What is the... misty pops of colour around the people?" She questioned. Harley never really liked drawing people, but then again she really did like most people enough to warrant her to draw them. She lifted her gaze only to notice that she had a room full of men staring at her.

She was not prepared for that final question, nor did he break character for a second. He wished to ask her about her art? That was oddly a new one and truthfully harmless. Where was he going with all of this?

She removed her hand crossing her arms loosely even though she didn't move back behind that desk. "Dorian, was it? Your goons aren't going jump me, are they?" She questioned relatively calm considering the circumstances. It would seem that her curiousity got the better of her and for whatever reason, she gave the guy a chance. "What is it you wanted to know?"

Harley Westward