#stage-set

"FUCK'S wrong with you?"

harley is not having it today. she hasn't slept, and seeing this girl bitching - high-and-mighty, small, annoying, hopeful and angry - has agitated her beyond repair. and right in her fucking house! (well, on the street outside her apartment. whatever.)

"stupid fucking -"

she almost tries pushing her onto the road. idiot. freak. for a moment, harley looks at her wide eyes and dyed hair and feels something - a glimmer of shame, maybe, some sort of regret, and buries it.

"get out of here, y'hear me? get out!"

she grabs her hair, winds her long fingers through it. pulls. almost slams her against the wall, but instead, simply pulls her head back. a show of absurd strength.

(and where did harley get this from? she can't stop thinking about it. duela's wide, pretty eyes stare into hers, and all harley can think of is her own face in the mirror, a thousand nights past, when someone both her and duela idolize didn't have as much restraint. for half a second, harley's fingers lighten. are you really doing this? are you really attacking her? for what? for what?)

she remembers it mostly. slightly. sometimes, it’s rough to remember after a few shots to the head. she’s got flashes, ended up in the wrong bar around the wrong throng of sleazebags, proved that she was clearly the most capable one in the room. she’d left a pocketful of cash on the bar and staggered out.

and here she is. but she was beginning to feel like any more steps were inevitable for unconsciousness. if she took another inch forward she would’ve dove headfirst into the snow. the cold bites around her. her eyes float up, exhausted and vague. she gestures with an open, visible flourish to her left ear.

“bad hearing. ask that again one more time so i can watch you talk. can’t really hear okay.”

she leans in patiently. scarlet clings in muddy patches to her brow, gone clayish brown, stuck from where it’s dripped to her scabbing temple. the right side of her face is deep mauve, a galaxy of cobalt exploding beneath her right eye. it’ll blacken in no time.

"you don't have to do this."

the younger girl is furiously bandaging her arm, and jeannie resists the urge to yank it away. not for any fault of duela's, of course, but because jeannie is an adult who shouldn't be relying on kids to patch her up. this alleyway isn't a place for children, (though, how old is duela? 16? 17? even if jeannie is a few years older, she feels like an old woman).

"you should be in school," she says. "you go to school?"

jeannie didn't mean to get hurt. normally, her coat keeps her safe enough - but a client was angry, couldn't handle the pictures she'd shown him, and she left with a nasty gash on her arm. must have been seen from a mile away. enough for a nice kid to come across her and decide this pale scrap of a woman needed help before she died of blood loss.

"i - jesus. you're -"

she looks over at her. duela's hair is bright. she's always wanted to have lovely black hair.

her arm tenses. she forces it to relax.

It's rare he needs to deal with someone at the club. It is, after all, a place OF monsters- monsters he's come to live incredibly dearly since Amaris took him in as her dog.

Kumari freezes – eyes wide. Oh… Her hands are already up to her shoulders, fingers splayed with the sudden stress. She swallows. Licks her dry bottom lip. “O-Okay… I’m not moving… see?”

Billy’s movements halt. Silence ensues – pregnant with something oily and twisted. Staff members, a few nurses and a handful of orderlies, quickly stiffen and glance anywhere but either doctor. They don’t want to get involved – they shouldn’t.

“You’re new here, Dr. Lambros”, he comments amiably – too amiably. He takes a few steps until they are inches from one another. “-- so I can forgive that one.” His smile vanishes, a darkness inhibiting his gaze; something that swallows light and destroys it whole. “You like your job, right?” He leans in a bit. “Maybe keep your mouth shut if you wanna keep it.” He could get his license revoked with a single phone call – bar him from ever practicing again. He could also re-arrange his organs and leave him in the dumpster behind the factory on the edge of town. He wouldn’t be the first. He leans back, offers another empty smile, and goes back to his explanation.