stuff us in boxes that's where you want us
cardboard is boring, we brought our matches - look how it burns
Harley tore around her house like a veritable hurricane in her one-bedroom apartment, gathering up the last items she needed for that soon to be road trip. Knowing that now that nightfall had struck and she was severely unprepared..... it didn't look good. Isolt was bound to be here in no time, the crimson haired woman far more prone to be on time in comparison to herself. Once satisfied with the pile of clothes she selected and placed upon her bed, she threw them into those awaiting bags. She had tried to sleep most of the day, to adjust to the nocturnal lifestyle that awaited her. It was deemed fitting considering her general lifestyle changes. The very changes that had forced her to desire this much needed escape.
Once satisfied with her mighty efforts to scrounge some of her belongings together, she nearly emptied out her cupboards of snacks. What? The woman had to eat... so what if it was in the form of processed goodness? She was sure the drive would be just fine with copious caffeine stops and all the snacks enough to stock an entire army. Even if Isolt hardly needed food for sustenance any longer. Since Harley's own transformation into a furry feline with exceptionally soft fur, she found her appetite increased to an all-time high. The one perk about it all was that she hardly seemed to pack on the pounds. Fine by her. Three cheers for excelling an Olympic athlete's turbo metabolism!
She placed her hands firmly on her hips as she stared down her home with narrowed astute scrutiny, as if staring down Mount Everest itself. Hm, was she forgetting anything? Probably.. and yet... it hardly mattered. The dark haired spitfire was good at making the most of a situation lacking. It was a sharp knock upon the door that caused the feline-woman to freeze as if startled, she quickly threw in the last of those clothes with care before she hastily zippered it shut. Snatching it she carried with a newfound graceful dexterity borrowed from her feline counterpart, padding toward the front door where an overnight bag also lingered, waiting. Opening that door with a little too much zeal that launched lone strands of hair to fall in front of her face. In which case she attempted to heftily blow out in burst of air to launch the stubborn, wayward black hairs out of the way. Leaning against the door frame with a casual stance, she met a very pregnant Isolt with that content iconic closed lipped smirk, that face always holding a hint of mischief even if she wasn't actually doing anything inherently mischievous... yet.
"Jesus, no one reads the sign anymore.. 'no solicitors'." Easy playful sarcasm escaped her, lifting an idle hand allowing it to fall back gently to her side. She crossed her arms underneath her chest, the stance loose, relaxed, impossible in the presence in any other vampire other than Isolt.
"You are not nearly stoned enough to be preaching the Keith... please tell me you wrote him to convince him to be your kids god father. But after you pop out the little one... I make a mean brownie.. or rather... I know someone who could make a mean brownie.. if you know what I mean.. hmm... do vampires even get high?" The raven haired woman smirks within the confines of her sensical and nonsensical musings, that expression upon her feminine features near cleverly devilish as she so peered at companion. She suddenly, without warning, pulled the crimson haired vampire inside her dwelling by the arm, her violet eyes scanning over her companion attempting to keep that surprise from the bulge of her belly off her face. The woman was about to pop, there was no question about that. Hell, it was arguable if this road trip extravaganza was even a smart idea for someone.... So pregnant.
"So we have mysterious bag of tricks in bag number one... and... necessities in bag number two. I hope you are ready for this... How was the honeymoon? Please tell me you were still able to do something kinky that even your little one is like... my parents are freaks.. please let me out." She teased lightly.
How badly the raven-haired woman wanted, no, needed to escape the oppressive weight of the city, even if only for a little while. 2,500 miles away was certainly a good enough start. No matter how large it was, those newfound obligations after being turned into a were had.... Certainly, made it feel like those walls were closing in around her. A soft burdened sigh escaped Harley then, avoiding eye contact to simply look at those.. bags to avoid allowing Isolt seeing the worn look upon her features.
"I am all ready to go... you ready to kiss this hell bucket goodbye?" Harley questioned, wearing a simple, classic black tank top and her favourite pair of dark grey denim jeans, well-worn and perfect for travel. You couldn't make a more comfortable pair for driving for hours on end.
"I have a full tank of gas... Ace has Sterling... probably getting gourmet steak served to him as we speak.. we are golden... It's a shame Damon backed out on us taking his precious automobile. Total buzzkill." She leaned over to one of her bags, before plucking out an old school used and abused map. Nothing said road trip like a massive old school map. The roads were carefully followed with a black permanent marker with x's that marked the resting spots she intended to stop at. Those frequent spots they needed to take in order to ensure Isolt didn't burst into flames from sunlight's obliterating kiss. Did it bother her that they would be mostly traveling when her vampire keepers could easily traverse the moonlit streets, definitely. She could be content enough knowing that perhaps after recent events, her presence within Syn was hardly needed. Those worries were easily left unspoken... knowing, she might very well pay dearly for the cost of this mistake. Unwilling to sully the mood with a bitter reality check, she forced it from her mind.
Nothing could go wrong.... Nothing at all.