#9otham

he says it like he means it. like he believes it .

something in her demeanor shifts, making room for a softer, far more genuine smile. time shifts around her as she just so slightly leans . . . reaching for sun bloom where his hand finds her cheek. still, it's only a moment before palm closes around the cash and she swallows the feeling to resume playful spark. ❝ oh, you're too sweet for a place like this. ❞ but who wouldn't take it if they had the chance? funny, how quickly tables turn and harlow finds herself wondering. it IS a pretty shit part of town for a gentleman like him. someone found few and far between. ❝ how about we make a deal ? give it a good go and come back to me. tell 'em— like you mean it— what you're worth. maybe i'll have a token for you next time, hm ? ❞

Want to know what else is funny? How she finds herself knocking at Eve's door. There is no mansion for Sofia to return home to. There is no brother to welcome her back. She has nothing and no one; she is nothing and no one. But she remembers Eve. She remembers the warmth of admiration that had filled her stomach at the woman. How she had a strength and a vulnerability, too, that Sofia admired.

❛ It's the Hangman, ❜ she says when Eve opens the door. And she might as well be the psycho killer everyone, even Eve, thinks she is. Maybe it'd be better, to have done the crimes. Fuck, The Hangman feels more comfortable than being Sofia at this point. Her voice is as quiet as her appearance. No more bold outfits or dark, black makeup. She has nothing, remember? She is no one, got it? Like she's weak, she hangs on the open door, like she needs the support. ❛ Boo. ❜

his face is momentarily blank. then he smiles, the way one might at a small dog that has given up its belly. a show of vulnerability that deserves its own reward.

the pigeon in his hands ruffles its wings with a burbling coo. oswald places it delicately back inside the coop with its fellows, which puff their iridescent breasts and tip their heads. ❛ as a diamond in the rough. ❜ latching the door, he peels off his surgical gloves, exposing his pale fat hands. one of them gestures to vic, almost patting him on the chest. ❛ with a little polishing, you could really be someone in this town. ❜

he   raises   an   eyebrow   at   the   doubt   he   is   faced   with.   perhaps   he   would   have   expected   the   question   in   a   different   context,   different   situation.   now   that   they   are   facing   dessert–   even   steve   rogers   has   to   bite   his   tongue   with   a   pinch   of   sarcasm   lingering   on   it.   he   manages.   he   always   does.   ❛   i   know   it   doesn’t   look   very   inviting   but   …   it’s   dessert.   you   can   never   go   wrong   with   dessert,   can   you   ?   we   used   to   eat   baked   apple   pudding   when   there   weren’t   many   resources.   try   it.   if   you   still   hate   it   then   …   you   cam   blame   me   for   having   a   bad   idea.   ❜

TROUBLE SEEMS LIKE THE LAST THING THEY NEED. a soft, genuine groan escapes, awash in the comfort of familiar company. ❝ i'd say i already had my fair share━ you shoulda seen the shit i used to get into. ❞ it isn't like they don't deal with enough on a regular basis. such is the curse of being so good at the work. eve would know better than anyone the shit men get into on this side of town. at least they have each other. harlow's known plenty of trouble, but a hell of a lot less than if she didn't have someone like eve . . . someone who understands.

harlow settles forward on the counter, intentionally warm doe eyes rising to catch the other's gaze. maybe batting her eyelashes will work. ❝ so i have this thing━ an annoying, troublesome, rich person thing. come along with me? a little bit of trouble might be good for a hot thing like you too . ❞