#willreveal

❛ I’m not interrupting anything, am I? ❜ ( i mean ajskhdfg not like he cares BUT )

ONE MUTABLE EYE   cracks open to examine his erstwhile guest. Universal awareness--dimensional protection--calls for observation on a scale larger than life. Larger than the Earth and its planets surrounding. Small wonder that he misses this minute detail then, though as he lowers his astral form upon his physical he cannot help but take in the ostentatious suit and wonder how he managed to do so.

' Aren't you always ? ' Stephen drawls, drawing cloak about his shoulders as he rises to his feet. He can't say he's wholly disappointed--The Question is far better company than some he could name, forgiving his intrusive nature. ' Meditation's good for the soul. I thought you and I agreed on that. Now here you are, strutting straight into my oh-so-precious alone time. What brings you back to New York ? '

“Fuck no,” spouts a vulgar tongue, almost immediately. He’d been in this type of situation a thousand times already-- approached by the curious and the desperate alike, seeking to compare fiction with fact. To judge for themselves if the man that few had reason to speak favourably of was deserving of his infamy.      He was sick and tired of the attention.

hurt.  /  accepting.  /  @willreveal​

Easier said than done.  And not just because she’s bleeding out.  Harley’s just too good at going away when she’s hurting.  At passing out when she’s aching.  At disappearing into her own delusions when she’s beat or broken or abused.  Harley’s never stayed present in herself when she was in pain — a necessary skill when the love of your life frequently beat you JUST FOR FUN.  Every single self - preservation instinct Harley has ever learned is telling her to CHECK OUT in one way or another.  Passing out would be easiest.

Vic begs her to stay awake.  And she’s very good at FOLLOWING ORDERS, too.  What a conundrum.

“Vicky — you some kinda sadist?  I only do…I only do stuff that hurts me if we t - talked it over first.”  The joke falls flat.  Her voice is faint and distant, half - there like the muted laugh that follows it.  Harley blinks and it takes her too long to force her eyes back open.  FUCK.  She’s losing it.

Her good arm moves; she manages to dig her nails into her opposite bicep until she feels blood bloom and trickle down.  The pain’s not loud enough to outshout the other injuries and therefore keep her awake; dammit.  And no knives on her person at present, so that’s not an option.  Her hand falls back into her lap.

“I — I’m hurtin’ real bad, buddy.  Dunno how long I can promise ——”

She bites hard at the inside of her cheek when she vision starts to fade.  Tastes blood, but at least things go sharper for a second.