Chapter Text
NOVEMBER 12TH — 21:03
Never would Harvey Harvington have ever imagined to find himself in such a formidable predicament, but truly was his life such a never-ending cycle of pure misery when it came upon him the dreadful thought that this was actually happening. Firstly having endured what no normal human being could ever be capable of experiencing to still have the gall to live on normally afterwards, skimming scarred fingers over the strange texture of the black patch hiding away the empty space where his eye had once been. Though, the honest truth was that Harvey could no longer be qualified enough to continue on experiencing such a life with no left hand and no right eye, especially pondering the considerable indifference he felt towards the woman he envisioned spending the rest of his life with, even in such a situation he was in.
Toby, his adoring son, was scared of him. Absolutely terrified. Yet, he’d done nothing of the obvious to cause him such fear, instead the dark look in his remaining eye might’ve been enough to cause terror to the poor child who didn’t know why his once bright father now appeared to look like a broken shard of the man he once used to be. Harvey couldn’t blame the lad, not when Toby had rushed back to hide behind the tall frame of his mother with such a look of pure horror hidden behind his beaded eyes. Harvey’s wife: Eun-Mi, who gazed at him with the same disdain she had the first day she came to visit him in the hospital months ago, then handing him a couple of signed paperwork that turned out to be a divorce agreement leaving him with everything; only asking for sole custody of Toby Harvington.
Pleading with the woman he still so dearly loved back then to at least let him see his child one last time, even if it was from afar, before finally signing the contract of separation. She didn’t take anything, merely some clothes for herself and Toby, but the furniture, the gadgets, the house, the car, and half of the fund both partners had set up years ago in case of an emergency, all was left to Harvey’s name. He disliked it, loathed the fact, going to sleep and waking up in the absence of warmth next to him in bed, the early mornings where Toby would run into their bedroom to jump in their bed and annoy them awake.
He smiled a bit at the memory, attempting to, but only a droplet of blood stained the sleeve of his tux underneath from the stitched gash running alongside his face. Pain wasn’t a thing to him anymore, believing what had happened back at his humble stall to be the worst tragedy of his life which’d ruined it completely. Of course, somewhere along the way, there was a slight twitch in his still remaining eye at the ache from his pulled skin, but he ignored it completely when finally had he dropped to the lowest level of the abandoned warehouse he’d somehow managed to find along the Dark Web. Scouring throughout it at night because he’d been clever enough to drop the charges against the person who’d done this to him—simply wishing to repay back the favor in a more appropriate manner instead of meagerly allowing him the right to be jailed safely behind bars, away from Harvey’s amputated hand.
There was a boy with him, about a couple years older than Toby but still young enough to note the features of youth settled across his face, hidden behind a black mask worn to perhaps hide his identity. Only, he did take notice of the strange unlit gaze that skimmed him from head to toe, as if attempting to find out all his darkest secrets from simple vanity. Still some of Harvey’s old habits in him, he couldn’t resist but raise his left hand to course his fingers through the boy’s flush of curls resting idly upon his forehead, but he recalled then. He had no hand, no fingers. Additionally, the teenager had subsequently pulled out a dagger to aim at Harvey’s neck, pressing the tip of it dangerously close to his jugular like some trained hitman, and he would be lying had he not admitted to somewhat reliving his worst nightmare.
“Don’t touch me,” he barks, venom practically oozing from his tone of voice, “just ‘cause you’re a new client doesn’t mean anyone in this facility won’t wipe you out for oversteppin’ certain boundaries,” before Harvey could actually begin to process the warning to respond, the masked boy silently aided the dagger back into safety mode before locating it back to its original spot somewhere along his leather belt, deeming him harmless. “Mama Rare won’t take kindly to strangers touching her children.”
Mama Rare—Harvey recalled the name, seamlessly mentioned along the lines of the description on the website regarding this certain place; it’s master. But, instead of Mama, the word was Madame. Though mentioning the act of considering all the children she had working under her care, he supposed they might see her as a mother figure. Madame Rare—boss to all the workers in the field advertising what seemed to be discreet weapons, detonating bombs, fetish pornography, street narcotics, body parts, animal organs, human experiments, bottles containing strange liquids Harvey was sure was enough to declare martial law had they been brought to light. Though, he ignored everything and anyone who looked at him like he was the only strange thing in the spacious room, and instead focused on the large metal door he was then brought to by the earlier mentioned boy after a few minutes of more walking around the underground market.
On one side was a tall woman, lanky in the word itself, skinny enough to the point where Harvey could just about barely see the shape of her prodding bones, sunken cheekbones and hollow eyes that burned a fierce glare into his head the more she continued to goad on with her gaze. If looks could kill, Harvey had one foot in his grave already. At least he didn’t lose that to the torture. On the other was a short boy, just barely reaching the skinny woman’s shoulders with even the tall boots he wore on his feet, averagely shaped enough to notice the shape of his forearms strained against his loose sweatshirt, but stricken with this odd, sickening smile that further induced a plain discomfort within Harvey, eyes that saw through him and his new facade, likely just aiming to scare him of all people.
The woman stepped forward with her arms crossed over her bosom, a large machete hanging off the side of a belt strapped around her tiny thigh. Out of place. Yet, the more he continued to look over her features, the more he realized just how young she actually appeared to be. She couldn’t be older than sixteen. “¿This fuck the new client?,” Her fingertips caressed the handle of the large knife carefully, as if inspecting him to try and determine whether he was worthy enough for something particular. He just didn’t know what. “Mama Rare won’t, at all, enjoy how much you stare, ya’ fucken’ freak, and trust me when I say she’s a woman worth admiring.”
Harvey pinches his lips, “I apologize for staring.” He says, matter of factly, unable to determine what else he could say to enlighten the thick tension in the air, single eye instead looking around the area to keep his gaze distracted.
“Good man,” uttered the voice of a new child presenting herself alongside him; tired and sweet and melancholic. The frame of a seven-year old little girl clad in black and royal blue surprises the man to a certain extent where he couldn’t help but continue to observe the child perceptively, long magazines of bullets wrapped around her short torso whilst a large rifle-like gun settled around her neck to rest behind her, the dull look which turned up to examine him carefully as he had done to her, before nodding coolly to one of the teenagers in some beckoning manner. “Mama Rare loves submissive men, especially if they’re mutilated or scarred or traumatized, .. and you seem to be all three in one,” the humor in her voice doesn’t quite reach the look in her eyes, evidently frightening Harvey, but not to the cackling lot around him, as if used to the girl’s odd antics. “Like Quinn said, don’t look too much at her. Mama Rare is beautiful, indeed, but she doesn’t like to be gazed at with lust. ‘Else you’ll lose your remaining eye and will have to be forced to use your other senses to live on, like the other men and women who’ve stared for too long.” Nodding to herself as if in agreement, the tiny girl walks forward to the now opened doors, ushering Harvey on behind her with a nod of her head.
Harvey Harvington feels discomfort, proceeding casually without allowing the look of absolute disbelief taking over his expression. Squeezing his brows together, though, gives his nervousness away. He feels smaller than ever, sensing they could probably smell the fear of him, surrounded by the lot of teenagers, young adults, and small children who were much too impressionable to be in such a horrid place, though all looked at him with the same sense of peculiarity.
Attempting to push that notion to the back of his mind, he begins to examine the room to divert his attention once more: in the middle of the large room was a desk, golden stubs rooted to the floor underneath which formed the large face of a four-leafed clover embedded into the dark oak wooden floor, a metal chandelier dangling from the high ceiling which held multiple candles keeping the entire room dimly lit. In a tall, regal chair made of red velvet cushions sat a sophisticated woman reading a thick book in her hands, cheek scrunched against the back of her hand; round glasses sitting low on the edge of her nose, eyes discreetly seeking to hide the tired lens which glazed her irises over after many long nights, though a boisterous yawn escaped her soon after. Harvey made it an effort to look away and instead stare at the many pictured frames of children playing in a grass field instead of admiring the woman in her workspace, but couldn’t possibly come to understand how mere children could understand boundaries better than he could, scolding himself under his breath with hushed incoherences.
“Ava, beautiful darling!,” Exhilarating was the tactical emotion Harvey would use to describe the sheer emotion that traveled from his heart all the way to his fingertips, knees failing to properly hold his weight up. Though, he didn’t fall, and instead leaned against the doorframe for a couple of seconds to slowly reclaim his strength, whereas he then observed how the expressionless child from before eagerly ran and then jumped into the woman’s welcoming arms, being safely held within the warm embrace of the gorgeous lady. “¿Come to do inventory with mama, hm?” Her voice was soothing, refreshingly mature though with this intent to sound as gentle as possible to the children around her, a delicate smile stretching across her balmed lips.
Ava, the girl who now held this confident smile and whose eyes shined far brighter than the burning sun, hummed along and nodded, holding the older woman’s hand in hers whilst grabbing a pen from the side and skimming over the documents laid out on the wooden desk. Carefully, the female took off each uncomfortable magazine and the single rifle before placing it towards the side on the carpet, beckoning one of the much older kids to handle it as she then placed a reassured peck to the girl’s temple.
An abrupt hand on his shoulder, Harvey couldn’t help but react almost instantly by shoving off the person’s palm and then stepping away to cower, emotion winning over logic. “Don’t touch me,” though he enjoyed the brief moment of human warmth on his clothed skin, he didn’t hesitate to walk forth and leave behind the skinny girl with an outstretched hand. His voice became gruff and unpleasant, this hesitant scowl settling upon his chapped lips, gaze observing everything that moved with certainty to attack at first sight. “I need to hire a goddamned hitman to take someone out, or .. buy a shit gun from you without any paper trail left behind. Whatever’s cheaper, mate.” He spat, alarming the crowd forming around him, certainly gaining him some attraction to have been talking so openly casually to the one person who could make that remotely possible.
“No need to be so fucking rude in front of my babies,” from her lips drip the sheer aura of authority that stands along with her cold gaze settling upon Harvey Harvington only seconds afterwards, shivers running up and down his spine that twitched with each brush at his joints. He gnaws the inside of his uncut cheek, eye burning with tears as he silently observes the unbothered child still in her care, drawing what seemed to be bloody knives in the corner of the paper. “I don’t particularly enjoy angry men under my roof, as all those who’ve come to yell in my presence have lost their vocal box in the process. I’m very comfortable where I sit, especially with a precious child on my lap, so consider yourself lucky I didn’t cut out that tongue of yours for spitting your venom on my floor.” Assures the confident woman, glimmering irises shooting him a nasty look that was sure to have made him wet himself a bit.
Harvey hadn’t yet exactly noticed the circumstances he’d placed himself in until he’s met with the leering gazes of murderous children ready to attack and kill at the woman’s orders, sinking back into this empty pod of himself where he could comfortably lie in. ¿He exhales gently, expelling all the hatred he held for one man ruining his life because what did this woman have to do with what’s happened to him? She’s done nothing but accept his clause on why he needs to make a purchase here, especially knowing she hadn’t been accepting new clients until explaining his reasoning for wishing to make a stop by the warehouse.
He breathes an apology, “I’m .. I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry,” running his single hand through what’s left of his now velvet hair, he takes another step forward and bows his head in some sort of respect she gladly appreciates. “I’m not the man I once used to be, but that’s no excuse for .. . fo-r being blatantly ignorant in the presence of your children,” hooded eye meets her piercing glare, no evident glint behind her reading glasses that were then placed down on the side table, “I’m sorry.” He repeats, exhaling briefly when she shows to have accepted his apology with a nod of hers.
Madame Rare, that’s her alias. He would just need to call her this in the meantime before eventually discovering her real name, or not, he pondered, though he didn’t think he would need her services more than once. Maybe. “So, toots, in your little message to my bright student handling all the requests; you stated you wanted someone dead,” her hand comes to smooth out the tangles of Ava’s hair done into knots, before a brush appears in her other hand and she’s separating her hair into two parts. “Though I’m not a big fan of questioning my clients why they would wish such an atrocity on someone, .. your story piques my interest. I wonder why an attractive, distorted man, such as yourself, would want to murder someone in cold blood without the authorities on your ass.” One part of the girl’s curly hair done up into one tail, she grabs a tie for the other side.
Harvey glances around the room with uncertainty, “Forgive me, but .. I don’t feel .. comfortable speaking about what happened to me in front of … children.” He hides his stump of a hand behind his other, staring blindly at the floor to hide his tears threatening to spill, stomach plunged with a deep regret of even considering murder as one of his options.
The woman cackled in astonished amusement at such a remark. “Oh, come on, sweet cheeks,” she revels in the sight of the flushed man sighing to part ways with the throbbing of his achy heart, “you act as if not every person in this room has done something worthy of being looked at with disgust, or has been wronged in ways no child should be treated. These darling kids have gone through worse than you I suppose, but .. we don’t judge, nor do we compare,” Madame Rare hates the look in his eye; it's weak, it's fragile, unworthy of her time. Nevertheless, she remembers the same glint in all the classes of kids who’d come to her for help; the feeling’s nostalgic, and she feels ashamed to have thought such a thing about a grown man as well. Everyone has problems, she ponders, this guy isn’t any different than the rest. “But, if you’re so hellbent on not speaking your truths in front of a bunch of .. ‘children,’ then I ask everyone here to kindly leave the room please. No eavesdropping either, ya’ brats, I can smell the lies!” Humoring the immature, about thirty people exit the room, a minute or two passes by before the woman and the man are left alone in her office to comfortable silence, only the tune of a nearby radio playing jazz in the background somewhat eases Harvey’s shoulders. Deja vu, he calls it, recalling the many times he would try to teach his ex-wife how to dance correctly to the genre, always ending in her tripping or stepping on his shoes.
“¿Do you like .. jazz, or .. is it just there for background music?” Once they’re both left to their thoughts, Harvey can’t help but inquire about the song without first thinking thoroughly of his inquiry, recognizing the tune instantly whilst stepping away from Madame Rare.
Arching a curious brow, she leans back into the chair before swiping some papers away from the desk, settling her heeled feet above the wooden surface to relax, a glass cup of wine appearing in her palm. Harvey turns to stare, plainly admiring the manner how her long skirt remained glued to her hips, running along the curve of her waist, tucked underneath the hem was a white lace button-down just barely clasped around her chest area, revealing one tattoo hiding behind the material and a silver necklace that held a heart-shaped locket, swirls of red and thorned roses on its front cover, coinciding perfectly with the silver swords that hung from her ears, just long enough to reach her shoulders.
A curious hum befalls her red lips, “Audrey Hepburn is one amongst my many favorites. I quite fancy the silk of her soothing voice, and the instruments ease my nerves—yes, I do enjoy jazz,” though, her opinion on the matter doesn’t stop there, and in her hand appears a blood red pocket knife stained with rust, a sharpened edge carefully applied to the flesh of her wrist, slicing only a thin cut to draw enough blood to scare Harvey’s wits. Not uttering a sound, she suddenly throws the dagger like a reflex of hers, naturally, aiming at the picture on the side wall he hadn’t even noticed was there beforehand. In its contents was the sight of a decapitated human head, empty eye sockets and an empty mouth devoid of a tongue and teeth, the tip of the knife hitting the picture square in the forehead. “Helps my brain heal after a long day of work.” Harvey didn’t want to ask what that meant, for his own sanity, and instead took it upon himself to sit in the seat adjacent to the woman.
She ogles at him with that piercing gaze of hers, skimming his body over and the atrocities of his face. Unbeknownst to him, Ava had been right; she simply adored people who’d been mangled and only allowed to live with the single broken parts of themselves, and Harvey Harvington embodied exactly that. Her fantasy. He had this stare of his that made her skin crawl with eager goosebumps, underneath the new facade of melancholy was a handsome face she’d much enjoy soothing with a brush of her hands like she had other pathetic people. Much to his knowledge, she just meagerly studied him, unaware of the slick liquid staining her garments underneath her skirt, crossing her one leg over the other to squeeze past the throbbing of her wet cunt pulsing strongly.
Exhaling briefly, Harvey uses his single hand and rests his maimed eye-pocket upon his palm, staring at his other arm, devoid of its hand. “Before all .. of this, I had a wife, a child. ¿Believe me when I say we were happy, though .. we had our financial struggles like every other suburban family attempting to survive in a cruel world, right?,” He begins with this tone of voice that makes her hips ache, a brush of her hand on her lap enough for her lip to come and be gnawed at by her teeth. “I ran a quaint stall for some months after being fired from a job I hadn’t even started, and it was going great for the first few weeks of it being installed. ‘Had regular customers who’d come and go whenever they needed money, and I made many friends through these encounters—always ending the day with a smile, having helped strangers and all, of course.” Breath becoming ragged and broken, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for the grown man once she saw the trickle of streaming tears staining the left side of his face.
She lacked the courage to comfort him, “Good man, toots, you’re a good man.” Though interjected with the one thing she could possibly say in these moments, a surprised smile grazes his lips upon her comment, alleviating the pressure of his throbbing chest.
“Thank you, Madame Rare. Truly,” he continued to smile, “though, not always do I have the pleasure to experience only the goodness of people. Some realized that if they inflicted pain upon me, more physically than emotionally, they’d receive more money. Hundreds, thousands,” shakily breathing, she hands him a glass cup of water she had at her side, and he thanks her once more before sipping its contents. “A few months into it, I came across a person who needed exactly $25,000 for a surgery they desperately needed. They started off nice and easy, with a feather. Though $500 later, they purchased a needle. Then a pair of scissors, a flame, a knife, ..” Bloody tears fall from behind Harvey’s patch, albeit a cloth is then tossed his way. Blood red, a handkerchief with two inscribed initials in the corner. Hers, most likely. His stitches might begin to rip, had he continued to smile the way he was doing so naturally; unable to remember the last time someone had been capable of even relieving him of this constant physiological distress.
Madame Rare stands from her designated seat behind the desk and dims the light further, which Harvey so gratefully appreciates with a third muttered ‘thank you’ as he’d never been one to enjoy being looked at when in such a vulnerable state. Her high heels clicked against the tiled floor for some time, before reaching to sit alongside the man, bum pressed up against the tall desk before slipping herself atop the surface, right in front of the weeping man. ¿Gosh, when’s the last time she even had the time to think about sex and pathetic men or women? Much less pleasure herself with no one around to meet her high standards, and she hummed eagerly once imagining all the different opportunities she would have to cage this man into her clutches to use him for her own advantages.
Hands patting her lap like a doting mother beckoning her knee-scraped child, Harvey Harvington doesn’t exactly recall what the definition of human warmth meant to him anymore. Spending months in the hospital room with no one visiting him, even considering the scared nurses and hesitant doctors taking care of him in his time of desperate need didn’t much help when they barely paid him any attention; no one dared touch him in fear of what reaction he’d give them. Considering the many moments of screaming and crying and shoving from his part. But, the woman in front of him held such a warm smile he couldn’t possibly resist, welcoming arms outstretched towards him expectedly until he couldn’t take it anymore—pathetically throwing his own arms around the dip of her waist and settling his head onto her warm lap, long fingers beginning to comb through Harvey’s most sensitive areas of his velvet hair.
“There, there, my dear, you’re safe here,” she coos sweetly with this gentle tone of hers that reminds him she’s only human, with sympathy to give, her other hand coming to draw circles on the nape of his tight neck, reluctant shoulders shaking to release the tension having built up over the long weeks of constant mandatory court dates and appointed video calls with his lawyers. “No one will harm you ever again, honey bun, not under my careful watch—I’ll take care of you.” Somehow, somewhat, the words she so carefully picks to usher to him in an almost hushed tone of voice soothe Harvey. He remembers the nights of naked embraces between him and Eun-Mi, the love bites she would leave marked on his shoulders, the hickeys he’d leave between her thighs, and he revels in the recollection of flushed souvenirs from the loving marriage he’d once had, spilling dirty tears onto the woman’s beautiful skirt, tugging on the hem of her shirt as if striving to mold with her, to be made small and be kept forever in the safety of her front pocket.
He sobs pitifully, “I- .. I’m .. I’m sorry, I rea-lly am.”
She shushes him with a finger to his lips, “Don’t be, Harvey,” he liked the way his name rolled off the tip of her tongue, hoping to hear it once more. “You’re a good, strong, brave man who’s done absolutely nothing worth apologizing over—¿all humans have feelings, all humans feel pain, all humans have hearts, and aren’t you a human being like the rest of us?,” He nods, and she hums cheerfully in response, “So, cry, yell, and scream all you want, Harvey. You have the right to do and say anything you want, and no one can tell you otherwise.” Feeling her warm hand back in its designated place in his mess of hair, he shudders and exhales after seeming to calm down.
“Yo-You’re right .. you’re right.” He repeats back to himself.
Chuckling, Madame Rare ruffles his curls and nods, “I always am, Harvey,” with this tight-lipped smile, she closes her eyes and expresses full support for the man as he begins to wipe away any stray tears, finally catching sight of the stains he’d left on her skirt. Opening his mouth to apologize, but she silenced him once more with both her hands settled to cup his cheeks, seamlessly caressing his pale skin with her thumb, careful to avoid the stitches of his scar, surprisingly soft to the very touch. “Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks, clothes are unimportant right now. We need to begin considering the many options we have for the fool who had the gall to hurt you, either you killing him or one of us does the murdering. ¿What’s your pick?” Keenly observing how he begins to process the two options, she stands from her place on the desk and walks to the back of the room, and what Harvey notices to be a screen door in the corner of the room where she then takes a step to stand behind, the silhouette of her figure beginning to take off her skirt made a torch burn wildly from within his aching chest.
¿How long has it been? Approximately eight months, he determined, without the goading touch of another human being upon his body. Much less the acts of sexual intimacy. Albeit, he soon processed the thoughts to himself that every time he’d lay Eun-Mi down to have sex, it was only that. Sex. Harvey much enjoyed the performance of it all, to know that his ex-wife once was also pleased by his dutiful, blissful work on her to appease her desperate neediness, but to recall the memories that it was only ever a part of their signed contract of marriage. Not once did they ever make love, they only had sex. Nevertheless, that was the difference between him and her. Unable to tear away his lingering gaze from the shadow of the woman’s looming body, he recalled the words of the little girl, Ava, from before. Harvey certainly wanted to keep all his remaining limbs, but there was just something so overbearing about the woman—as if her mere essence enthralled him to an intoxicating circumstance where he couldn’t abide by the rules, following blindly. With a twitching tent in his pants, Harvey pat himself on the back for wearing a black tux instead of his usual pastels; surely, the woman wouldn’t take notice of his unusual state considering she’d only made the sacrifice of bringing him solace, unable to rely on the tactical lust of an average man.
A few seconds of trumpets and drums on the stereo, Harvey whips his head to look away once Madame Rare exits the makeshift changing room with charcoal dress-pants instead of the earlier skirt, hugging the dip of her waist down to the curve of her bulging bottom before extending into bell bottoms at her ankles, burgundy leather boots on her feet just barely prodding through the two v-cut slits revealing her flush skin from underneath. Her figure brings about an air of dignified strength once she begins walking down the narrow office, taking her seat back across the desk from him, fingers coming to mold together underneath her chin as she then turns to observe him intently. An air of comfortable vibrations filled the room, although Harvey felt a bit nervous under her watchful gaze; his achy cock doesn’t help either.
Looking down to his wrists, he exhales shakily, before turning to truly take in the woman—the sight of forming feet of crows at each dip of her almond eyes, adoringly enough reminding him that she was another adult, wiser, like him, only attempting to make life thrive through the art of her work. Even if it was through murder and illegal atrocities. There are smile lines that form around her full lips, just barely protruding the effects of her sinkening cheekbones. Harvey counts one, three, seven scars on her face, each a nudge of recollection that she’s obviously lived a much harder life than he has. But, as she said, there’s nothing to compare.
“I’m going to do it myself,” the words eventually find a way out from the back of his pinched throat, burning with the intensity of the minimal truth that’d suddenly escaped him from nowhere. Truly, he didn’t know where that had come from. But, he’s said it, he means it, and he can’t take it back. He won’t. “¿What if ..? This must sound cruel of me, but . .. .. I don’t know if you even offer services of taking a hostage.”
“Why, Harvey, I offer all kinds of help.”
His hand is at the nape of his neck, scratching an itch that wasn’t natural, more so called upon by the reckoning that he was actually doing this. There was no going back. Did he even want to? “Okay. I want .. I want to kidnap that .. fu- … that disgusting waste of air, keep him hostage for a couple of days. ¿Weeks, maybe, a couple of months? I truly don’t know at the moment, perhaps I’ll recognize my intentions once I’ve actually committed the act of kidnapping him and torturing him like he tortured me,” it was a weird feeling, that burning sensation in the back of his throat. Unlike that of wishing to cry windedly, it was furthermore the subject of a yearning wish to inflict the same amount of pain to the person who’d mutilated him, maybe even more. “I don’t want to waste too much of my time and energy on that jerk. He doesn’t deserve it, not my mercy, not my time. But, he deserves to be made aware that he can’t do to other people what he did to me.” Harvey didn’t know he had it in him to speak such things so casually, as he had never ever enjoyed being in the presence of a horror movie. Gore was too much for him, the sight of blood and tears and sweat made him anxious.
And here he was, speaking about it so calmly.
Madame Rare presents to him this marvelous grin, swelling her chest with absolute pride. It felt like watching her kid graduate. The feeling was familiar, as many of her children eventually returned to study where they left off, finished high school, and were sent readily eager to the real world. College, their first job, their first paycheck, their first love. But, Harvey was a grown man who’d probably done all that, though she couldn’t help but still feel wonder. “Lovely, sweet-cheeks. ¿It’ll cost a pretty penny, though I’m sure that won’t be an issue for you, right?” Just to make sure, she threatens him with a soft and playful glare that Harvey doesn’t know how to respond to, except with this questionable smile.
He then nods confidently, “¿Is a check good for you?”
She smirks softly, “Make it cash, sweetheart,” she reminds him with a wave of her finger disagreeing with him, like softly scolding a forgetful child, “remember, no paper trail left behind. ¿Can’t have my business plundering because of one minimal mistake made by a second party, can I? We wouldn’t want that.”
Black brows coming together to mesh the look of resolve, head bouncing up and down once more like an eager stray, Harvey agrees. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m new to this.” He chuckles huskily.
“I can certainly tell.”