#* killerdame .

what did the world smell like before humankind came along and ruined everything? moist dirt? sweet fruits? animal shit? rustin can't even try and guess anymore; the plane he exists in has had every single atom infiltrated by the hot stench of tobacco. it had a weight to it, this smell. a texture ... sometimes the sharp taste of something chemical will zap him out of the dull smokey rhythm he has fallen into but it is only momentary. soon enough he'll need another hit. something stronger, something weirder, something deadlier...

dove gestures for him to sit and all rustin can offer in return is a small nod. what did she smell like before the still dusty louisiana waters soaked her wings down? something lighter, he imagines. lighter than all the expensive furniture she's surrounded with. but dove doesn't look like she owns any of it --- she is part of the decoration, another velvet lined thing for the cancerous agents of his camel cigarettes to slowly sink into. a stuffed bird gaining dust around her feathers; damned if she breathes, damned if she don't.

"i ain't gonna waste your time, dove," rustin drawls, sitting at her kitchen table at a weird angle. he hadn't fully risen from his barbiturate induced sleep --- there was another layer of methaqualone he needed to push through in order to start feeling things again. "ain't here as police either." he blinked lazily at her, his head shake more of a twitch than anything. cohle's boss had chewed him off for stalking dove's husband around town. if he were to find out he was inside whitfield's home he might get suspended for a while. wouldn't be the first time.

the sun sets for gotham city. in the dying sunlight, it looks like any other place where an honest man can make it through the night. harvey dent has been having a hard time calling himself that as of late. the coin in his pocket grows heavier with each day that goes by in which he doesn't manage to heal the city --- there's too much black mould growing over the skeleton of his birthplace. he wonders if he hasn't breathed some of it in. wonders if everyone who is born there doesn't have some of the same disease, lodged between their lungs, growing into monstrous proportions. he glanced at the woman beside him; looking at dove, bathed in bright orange light, that theory sounds ridiculous.

had this been any other place and she wouldn't have to deal with men like cobblepot or him. harvey scoffed. had this been any other place, he wouldn't feel this pull towards one boyish fantasy: the one where he saves the girl. slays the dragon. everyone lives happily ever after. roll credits. "you know, ms. moreno...if i get my way, you're going to be out of a job before the year ends. suppose that's not very good campaigning on my part." he turned to face her, brandishing a cocky half-smile. their time together is coming to an end. soon she'll return to the iceberg lounge and he to his office and pretend to stand on opposite plates of a scale none of them had built.

shadows have begun to cover the rooftops. soon, all of gotham would drown in darkness. all of the humour in dent suddenly vanished. inside his jacket's pocket, his thumb brushes over his lucky coin. "i think you ought to look for another line of work." he turned to face her then. though the sunlight no longer touched half of her face, dove's eyes still shined as bright as sapphires. "anywhere else would be lucky to have you." it's an admission which comes easy. harvey wishes dove would stay --- wishes he could keep her by his side.

13. What’s their favorite sex position(s)?

he usually gravitates between missionary and cowgirl but his preferences have a tendency to fluctuate depending on his mood. despite usually being a very giving and attentive lover (in his best days, nothing gives him more pleasure than to watch his partner come undone because of him), harvey has a lot of pent up anger. as his condition worsens and the voice inside his head gets increasingly louder and clearer, dent becomes bolder in the bedroom --- when dent is in a particularly bad place he'll want his partner to turn away from him, will actively hold their face so that they are not facing him and will become more domineering and rough when handling whoever's decided to get into bed with him. doggy, inverted cowgirls, bent over a table or with their face pressed against a wall, anything that avoids eye contact becomes a favourite for dent. especially after he has fully embraced a life of crime and violence.

14. What’s their least favorite sex position(s)?

on a good day, harvey isn't necessarily opposed to any sex position that his partner is interested or willing to try. perhaps his least favourites are those which require him to hold his partner up and off the ground relying solely on his upper body strength. he can usually manage but it gets tiring quickly and leaves him sore in the morning...and not in a good way. on a bad day, missionary might be the worst position he can imagine. having someone staring into his mismatched eyes makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. he will have no qualms in covering his partner's eyes or pressing the side of their face to the mattress so that they are not looking directly at him.

15. Tell us about their sex fantasy? Things they want to try and do, but haven’t yet.

oswald cobblepot had been dodging his calls lately. man should be under investigation for about a thousand different crimes ranging from illegal firearm possession, to blackmail, to tax evasion, to coldblooded murder. and, as much as harvey believed in doing things by the book, he also knew when to recognise that the system was rigged against him. half the office he was currently working with was bought over by the mob and everyone with two working brain cells could tell. corruption kept gotham city from freeing itself from the shackles of vigilantism ; his home shouldn't have to rely on a couple of gymnasts in fetish gear to feel safe. but only masked weirdos seemed worthy of his trust --- how was he supposed to tell which cops were righteous and which ones were waiting to dump him in the river?

[ COUPL'A BAD APPLES SPOIL THE BUNCH , BETTER START DIGGIN' A BIG OL' HOLE HARVEY 'N' DUMP ALL 'EM FUCKIN' APPLES SIX FEET UNDER . BECOMIN' WORM FOOD'S THE BEST PUBLIC SERVICE A COPPER CAN EVER DO ANYWAYS ]

he shook his head. the iceberg's lights were making him dizzy. harvey sunk his hand into his pants' pocket. the coin was still there. the gravely voice inside his head would quiet down --- for now. as he walked through the club, he did his best to stay alert. mismatched eyes scanned every face he could. but when he didn't manage to find cobblepot amongst the crowd, he decided to try and slip into one of the back rooms. it wasn't hard keeping his head in the game. but that didn't mean harvey did not notice the group of dancers brushing past him. some did a double take, others waggled their fingers at him --- they must have recognised him from the campaign posters.

it wasn't lost on him that this might be a bad look --- a man running for gotham's district attorney, hanging out at the iceberg lounge? not good press. which was why it was so important for him to get his hands on oswald ; that was the only reward worthy of staining his impeccable reputation for. or so he thought until his gaze met hers ; those eyes glistened like a pair of damn sapphires. even in the dimness of the lounge, every bit of light seemed to reflect off of her. bright blond hair, full-lips and a look of surprise which immediately tugged at the corners of dent's lips; she must have known who he was too.