𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍

Jules agreed with what Harper said about people writing inauthentic music wholeheartedly. "Yeah I fucking know right? Everything is so numb nowadays. Nothing matters." He blatantly rolled his eyes, it was something he thought about a lot. Despite his agreeance in this, the lyrics Jules writes aren't necessarily true to his own life. He meant everything he wrote, but it was all top layer stuff, politics, hatred, getting fucked up. It never went deep, it never went into Jules' life outside of partying and destruction. It actually summed up Jules pretty well, top layer, like an iceberg only showing it's tip. Or pond scum, which would probably be more accurate for Jules. He smiled at Harper mentioning he was the first person who has read her music, "Nice, glad to pop your cherry." He side, almost like a footnote. He could've made a thousand more jokes, but he didn't want to be dismissive, he knew showing other people your work was the hardest part of, well, anything. He was actually was a little proud to pop her cherry in this regard. "Good idea not to trust them. Probably immediately start shit talking it. Especially don't think they'll care enough to play it, even a jam like this might be too far." He was shaking his head like a disaproving old man. He kind of was.

Harper's musical request was quickly accepted and Jules played what he was asked to play without any word. He watched her intently, probably a little too intently, as she sang the short snippit. "Yeah it was! Fuck, I'm gonna have to poach you for three-oh-two now." He said, even if the poaching part was sarcastic. "You mind if I play something that I think would rock?" He asked. He felt the muse flowing through his blood, better than any intravenous crap he's ever had. He waited for approval, before continuing with the note that Harper had asked for initially, and travelling along a path that his fingers told him to go. He went at a comfortable enough pace for Harper to be able to follow along, but he watched her closely, for anything. A smile, a frown, he wanted to know how she felt about it, and it showed on his face.

The band would stay as such, regardless of what bad decisions he wanted to mix with his music; she knew better. Not that Harper did feelings or situationships all that well in the first place. Instead of dwelling on that, she decided to focus on the issues that might one day boil over for the other. While she didn't wish bad upon them, she wouldn't deny the satisfaction of a front seat to disaster. "I don't mix work and pleasure." That was the simple version of what could've become a verbal novel. If Jules wanted to be a mixologist, then who was Harper to judge? They both seemed to have made choices considered questionable by the other, and in a way, she liked it.

He wouldn't have been what she expected from the stories. Not that her bandmates were good judges of character, as they were all misfit toys themselves. Still, there was something whimsical about the myth that turned out not to fill the shoes that her friends created. Their creation was taking form, and she could begin losing herself in the music before acknowledging any consequences. Jules didn't need to be her enemy, at least not without reason; she had enough of those with purpose. Besides, music couldn't be constrained like that. "Where did this whole feud shit begin with anyway? What's the history?" Harper couldn't recall the details, not like she had ever outright asked before. In some ways, she felt it was easier to talk to Jules, whose opinions didn't matter like her bandmates. Situationally, she couldn't lose.

A laugh burst through her typically frozen stare, and a nod of agreement joined the party. "I don't know," she teased before leaning back on the couch that backed her place on the floor and motioned for him to take the metaphorical floor. Her eyes clasp shut to absorb each note as they danced from his fingers to her eardrums. A ringed index finger tapped along her leg to the rhythm, expression scrunching as he riffed, feeling it through her as she invested in the story he played. The pause was when she jumped roped into conversations, and her gaze shot over to him. "That was actually kind of fucking sick." Harper sat up, flipped a few pages forward in her journal, then waved him to play again. "Can we run it back one more time with that?" Then she filled the space with a few of the words that were scribbled on their own, finally finding where they might fit into the greater picture of the song.

"I brought pretzels," he pulled the packets from his bag as he listed the snacks, dumping them on the table, "rice krispie treats, Reece's pieces, cheez balls.... Oreos.... Oh, and this." The final item he pulled wasn't a snack at all, a record he held out for her to inspect, head tilted to one side as if he was waiting for her to form an opinion on it. "Gish. It's by this new band, the Smashing Pumpkins? Only came out like, a month ago. But I think it's pretty cool."

Harper wasn't convinced, and it read on her face. She didn't hide how she felt, whether she wanted to or not, emotion naturally finding her features. Besides, when Sky made claims like that, after proving the very opposite time and time again. She'd let him live in ignorant bliss for now. There would be time to harp on him later as she fixed the blemish he'd caused in record time from his last. "Sky, I wouldn't be surprised if you hit something leaving the parking lot after I just fixed it." Harper didn't think there was any use in pretending when they both knew the truth. He couldn't deny fact as it sat in her garage waiting for a fender bender band-aid. "No curb is safe from you." And that was only the first of many objects she'd suggest stay away when he was on the road.

A treat piqued her interest, watching as each item was presented, and with each her tight-lipped smile grew. "Alright, you got me." As if she hadn't already clocked in for the night to work on his car, the surprise affirmed her evening plans. Before getting to work, she treated herself to a snack after not having eaten anything since her peanut butter and jelly at lunch. Two Oreos were pulled apart so she could eat the raw cookie first and combine the rest to create a double-decker cookie. "I'm a double-stuff girl," she explained, seeing him watch her process, as if it needed any clarification. "And put that shit on and crank it." One thing about working after hours was that she got control of the music, which meant the louder, the better. Harper believed her best work came when she was a few beers in, blowing out her eardrums.

Lucien had always been a big fan of competition, mostly the friendly sort of it, but he'd also been known to dabble in the not so friendly type of competition, too. Ever since his accident, however, he'd not felt adequate compared to a lot of people; he couldn't do the things that he used to, couldn't win the fights that he used to pick, couldn't participate in the competition that he once kept going at all costs. It made him feel less than in so many different ways, and so to have people in his life that helped him to not only avoid those feelings, but to also prove them wrong? Well, it meant just about everything to Lucien. That was how he felt there with Harper, like there was a high chance that she'd win, but that he wasn't completely counted out.

When arriving in Cardinal Hill, she wasn’t sure if her fresh start would find her or if it’d end up as stained as her past. She didn’t pretend to not have come from darkness but found those familiar with it as well. Harper had her secrets, even from the guys, but their band felt like some sort of dysfunctional family. When they were together, life felt normal again, and music gave her a better release compared to those that Harper turned to before. It hadn’t been the same playing on her own; Wrathchild was different. They were an isle of misfit toys that sometimes felt like the world threw out, and that made for some great music. Lucien was her favorite, not that Harper told them she had favorites, loving them all in their own unique way. They were her boys, even if most of her life had been kept close to her chest. The girl's bandmates knew Harper now, and that's who mattered. Billy would've had something to say about it anyway; he usually did, regardless.

The girl nodded her head confidently, arms folded across her chest, while the pool stick lay against the table in wait. A hand untangled from its pretzel to present the green velvet like a red carpet for Lucien to show the technique he boasted about. "Oh, please, be my guest." There was a smile at the edge of her lips that she pushed down to keep her facade a little longer. When it actually turned out to be a success, Harper nearly released the air that puffed her chest when it pressed out as a laugh instead. "No chance," she confirmed, her hidden smile finally taking center stage. Before taking her next turn, Harper stepped toward him and used her thumb to wipe off the chalk mark. "And you're so going to pay for that." The grin turned into a furrow of focus, turning her attention back to the game at hand, and finding a way back on top. Harper took the pool stick back, rubbing it between her palm with her fingers while deciphering her next move. While her opponent set himself up perfectly, it put the girl in a less-than-ideal situation, one she'd need to pull out moves above her pay grade to complete. "Why don't we make the game a little more... interesting?" An eyebrow arched in challenge with a fair dose of curiosity to boot.

Her face stayed unamused in its straight, serious nature at his cooing. The last thing she was going to do was entertain the narrative he chose to make up. Dylan had his own way of getting under her skin, and she was just lucky enough to work with him every day. "Do you talk to hear your own voice or because you actually have something useful to say?" The girl looked at his work, arched her brow, and turned back to the mechanic himself. For how cocky he was she didn't think his work owned up to it. Harper clocked him for the type who didn't bother to double-check anything or believe he did something incorrectly. He had yet to prove her right, but he also had yet to prove her wrong. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night." The girl glanced at him through furrowed brows before exhaling into her usual monotone expression. "If you think you look sexy doing it, you're probably doing it wrong."

"This town is full of dudes who love their cars," he began, "so really, I'm the only one left keeping you afloat. I can't say it'd be a crime for me to learn the big stuff, but it'd feel like that to me. Call me too kind for my own good if you'd like," he almost broke out into laughter at his own stupid bit. "But for you, I'm totally cool keeping your lessons to the little stuff." A playful wink followed his playful words. He was glad that Harper was so far receptive to the way he was speaking - along with the fact that he was talking at all, considering they were meant to be doing a business transaction.

"You got that right," the girl agreed with a shake of her head in exasperation. More men came back with their own slew of ideas as to what the problem actually was or how she could do her job better, as if they knew half the things about cars that Harper did. It made her happy that guys like Lucky still existed; something about his genuine nature and openness about his lack of knowledge on the subject made her all the more attracted to him. He didn't seem threatened by a girl who could fix his car, which had been a problem with men in her past. Still, she was at work, and for the moment, he was still technically a customer. "Ah, what a saint you are, keeping a girl like me employed. I can't lose my favorite customer, can I?" A smile seemed to sit naturally in his presence, where she typically wore a scowl. Her fellow mechanics liked to remind her of her resting bitch face that his sun seemed to light up.

When it came to a drink, she wasn't picky but would pick a beer over a cocktail any day. Her father let her take a sip when she was a tween, and even then, Harper knew she would like them when she could buy them herself. The preference hadn't changed, and she'd happily drink whatever brewski he provided. "I knew you had good taste." His question was brushed off with her hand. Harper kept a toolbox in her car at all times and would grab a jack before leaving work whenever she came by. "I'll make sure we've got what we need." That would be her half of the bargain, a job that she'd easily be able to complete. "You're kidding," Harper replied with a layer of surprise in her tone. "He's missing out. We'll have to get like extra dirty now." The girl bit the inside of her lip, knowing their conversation would have to come to a close once she got him closed out. In a way, Harper wasn't ready for the best company she'd had all day to leave. "This weekend work for you?"

"I practice a lot, also burned one side of my bedroom once when I was practicing," they admitted it with a shrug. "If you want to use it more casually, you have to get to know it for it's intensity, does that make sense?" They held out the lighter to Harper. "Your turn. Don't worry, I'll contain it if it gets too crazy."

"That's like the coolest thing anyone's ever done for me. What an honor to be a sandwhich, fuck a cereal box," she replied through a smile. Harper's heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of her teacher and friend. They weren't like anyone else she'd ever met. Not only did their handle on magic leave her in awe, but the way they treated others had an affected even on a girl like her. Harper was rough around the edges, raised by her father with a temper, and a garage full of men, the very same. They cursed over their work and kicked the tire when the vehicle didn't cooperate. For a time, that's the only way they knew to handle things, including their powers, but it was Eve who had a hand in taming her fire. "Well it's a bitch for that," the raven-haired girl muttered before focusing in on what their teacher did to control the fire instead of letting it control her. Harper didn't know where she'd gone wrong, but understood the feeling that came along with it needed to be rearranged.

"Fuck, alright," she exhaled, taking the lighter in her hand for her first attempt. The flame rose, and her hand along with it. There was a moment where it followed her finger, a smile forming with her heart that started to tap rapidly. Once she started to whisper, the flame grew swifter than before, almost as if getting lost in the words, Harper drew them back. Her hand shoved back down towards the base of the lights and quickly flicked it shut. "That wasn't the worst."

“Hath the harpy returned?” Dylan widened his eyes in an expression of faux terror as his coworker - the so called harpy he had so rudely referred to - entered the garage, before pretending to duck behind the open hood of the Honda Civic he was currently working on. “I thought we had vanquished the terrifying beast already. Please, spare me. I am but a young man, with so much life left to live……..”

The second she returned from lunch Harper was greeted with the snarky comments of co-worker, Dylan. He seemed to find amusement in his antics, but her simple pleasure of a turkey sub was wiped clean by his teasing. Not that Harper took offense to the nickname, but more so annoyed that he always had to add the theatrics. Dylan seemed to thrive on over the top, and she was quite the opposite. “Oh you’re soo funny,” the raven-haired girl remarked as she pulled her locks back into a low ponytail. “If I really were a monster, I’d eat you first.” A snap of her jaw gave retaliation to his jokes. She came around the hood, giving the top a smack as she did to rattle her co-worker. In some ways, Harper could very well be a beast of sorts, her magic being misunderstood by the witch herself. After so many years of being confused by who she was, she felt like she was finding some clarity in a small town with an unfamiliar name. "What're you workin' on, Dylhole?"

Her next statement though, as derogatory as it might have sounded, came across as maybe even a joke, something that could almost have come out between friends, and at that Sky seemed to relax, a slight amount of tension leaving his shoulders as if his body had finally realised the anxiety it had carried when he arrived was unnecessary. “Technically it took me five tries to pass,” he said truthfully, the slight upward curve of the corner of his lips showing he was less ashamed of this fact and more simply accepting of it. “My sister said they probably just took pity on me. Or, they never wanted to have to get in a car with me again, and that was the easiest way out. But unless you need a lift anywhere all you need to worry about is getting the license plate reattached, so….. And, I brought snacks and a present.”

Harper made her way around the vehicle to assess the damage, and the scrunched Honda looked back sadly as if begging for help. The mechanic's eyes shift between the license plate hanging by a thread and the one to blame for its ill state. "Oh yeah, just casually backed into a wall, sounds about right," she said with her arms folded in thought. This was when there had to be some problem-solving, so he wasn't out an arm and a leg due to the damage. Sky was far too good at doing this to have a budget that could maintain the habit. At least they didn't need to replace any parts; it was easier to save on body damage when the highest cost was Harper's time.

The truth had her jaw hanging loose. Maybe that didn't mean he didn't deserve a license, but nothing proved to her that he did. Sky was a problem to himself, sure, as long as no other vehicles were involved. "You're a hazard," Harper laughed with a shake of her head.

If the look on his face was more than a little sheepish, then even then, he would be playing it far cooler than he felt. Truth be told, Sky did not want to be dealing with a mechanic right now.

Not because she was in any way incompetent, nor mean. Nothing like that at all, actually. The simple truth was that Sky was fairly easily intimidated by just about anyone, and when just about anyone happened to be a heavily tattooed, pierced woman wielding a wrench - well, it didn't exactly dissuade his feelings of nervousness, to say the least. He'd met Harper a few times now, a side effect of his inability to drive from point A to B without incident, and yet his anxiety remained - maybe partially due to a sense that he was about to be ridiculed justifiably for the reasoning behind his third trip to Romano's this month alone. "Hey, uh, I might have fucked up a bit this time...."

Harper was easy to spot at work, being the only female mechanic kind of had that effect, but it was a title she wore with pride. The same couldn’t be said for every customer. She did her best to remember someone, but that usually only went as far as the car they drove. That couldn’t be said about Sky and the car that couldn’t catch a break. If it were visiting her, it wouldn’t have been a good day for the vehicle. Most of the staff had gone home for the day, but Harper would rather be anywhere than her trailer, which benefited her late work hours. She was up front, looking through a parts catalogue when he came in, and a knowing expression already sloughed into her face. “What did you do this time?” Harper had swung around on her stool to hop off and go around the counter to assess the damage. “Pull her into the garage and I’ll take a look,” she instructed, giving him the signal to go ahead and bring the car in. Her hands shoved into her coveralls, squinting out at the damage at hand before turning her curiosity back to the driver. “How did you ever get a license?” The comment was not meant in offense but more as amusement. Technically, she benefited from his faults in driving, still cutting him a deal because she got a kick out of it now.