A Broken Oath

An adventurer turned warrior, living life in defeat with no where to run. Harlow Leclair Pure of Heart → 1030 Corrupt Soul → 20 157 32 year old, Fae veterinarian. "I'd rather be alone, please."

[dressed-in-poetry]

[harlowleclair]

picnic in the city; harlow&open

                     Alright.This is a good spot. 

     Harlow had decided that it was entirely possible to be alone in a crowded place. It turns out that most people were just as anti-social as her and that advice she'd heard thrown around with children, "don't talk to strangers", seem to hold. Plus, if they were with their own groups, they'd be less likely to approach a lone soul. 

                  Just lay this bit here...

                                                                 ....and perfect!

     She smoothed down the corner of a checkered blanket, crawling on her hands and knees. A picnic in the middle of a busy park wasn't exactly the perfect afternoon for her taste but the allure of the jazz festival pulled her from the comforts of her own home. It was a chance to learn about the towns culture and human history. Music was a way they expressed themselves, an art form that Harlow could learn from and enjoy. 

     She relaxed and leaned back on her hands, legs crossed and she looked onto the stage, the vibrations of instruments met her ears and a small smile fell onto her lips.

     To say the place was only a bit crowded was a stretch. It'd been a challenge just to find the open spot of lawn that Harlow had planted herself on. People weaved in and out of blankets finding places to sit or sat, whichever was possible. Soon, she realized that she wouldn't be able to see the stage with everyone crowding around but it didn't really matter. The music was enough to make her happy. 

     She leaned back further until she was almost laying down, her elbows propping her up. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sound, a glass of lemonade in her hand. A foot tapped to the beat. Pure entertainment. 

                                                             C R A C K

     A hard yank that followed the collision of shoes pulled Harlow back to reality. Her thoughts were lost as her legs were tugged away from their spot by another's feet. 

     Someone had tripped over her tapping foot, oblivious to its movements as they tried to make their way through the crowd. 

     "Oh, god. I am so sorry."

     Her legs were tangled and fear was obvious in her features. The sudden jolt had spiked her senses and adrenaline, a shock she could have lived without. 

[aliiencandy]

[harlowleclair]

river-castillo:

"I think it is a reference to some sort of film or television show," River said, making a face in confusion.

"Oh..." Harlow paused. "Yeah, I know nothing about that..." She didn't have a tv, nor did she know who to use one. 

[harlowleclair]

zachary-ralston:

 "I’m not a local, not really. I’ve been here before but I don’t really remember where everything is…" Zachary looked around. "I might be able to help you if you don’t mind wandering around for a while."

"Sorry, I just assumed. You looked like you knew where you're going." 

            "I'd be wondering with out your guidance anyways. I could of swore the grocery store was over here, last time. " Harlow turned slightly at the hip to get a look at the surrounding buildings. She'd been to the store plenty of times but always walked there from the direction of her home, never from the park. "I don't usually go this way..."

[harlowleclair]

river-castillo:

"Someone told me that I speak like a Spock. I think Spock is a person…"

Confusion crossed her features. "A person?" Spock...

                         "That's an odd name for a person."

[fucker-s-princess]

[harlowleclair]

zachary-ralston:

"If you’re lost, I’m not exactly the person you should be talking to about directions."

"Oh, sorry. I figured my chances of asking a local were pretty high..."

                               "I don't usually get lost in this area. I must have made a wrong turn somewhere back there..." 

[harlowleclair]

river-castillo:

"Could someone perhaps tell me what is a Spock?"

"I—uh—what?" 

                                              "Do you mean a spot?" 

[harlowleclair]

clayton-doyle:

Clayton blinked and looked over slowly. She didn’t sound skeptical, but she didn’t sound all too convinced either, as though she knew more than she was letting on. He wasn’t sure how much to reveal about the truth behind all the town stories. He didn’t want to taint her image of the place.

"Maybe. I dunno. I’m not an expert on the supernatural." And by ‘supernatural’, he meant the afterlife, about ghosts and demons and angels. He wasn’t talking about vampires and werewolves, because he saw them more as predators of the earth, rather than mysterious entities. But that was just him.

"I hope I didn’t spoil your opinion of the town."

"Oh, not at all." She looked down, her fingers laced together to form a distraction. "It's still better then where I came from." The truth hurt. That was a phrase she could relate too. A town full of supernatural monsters wasn't as bad as seeing her home in ruins. Bindlebrim was just better by default. 

But she still hadn't expected to hear that this place held its own darkness. It would have been a major factor when deciding to escape to this little town instead of another one. 

Her thoughts wondered for a moment before looking back at him. "You're not scared?" The same question that'd started the conversation was directed at him. 

[harlowleclair]

cursed-odette:

Gardening. Much more interesting than the screaming children at her feet. But books were not to be buried in when hands grabbed at pants legs. A knowing look was cast toward the woman looking for recipes. Odette understood. That’s what going outside was for. How she had dreaded the days when the rambunctious children had remained inside to play. It was a madhouse. Much worse than when they separated themselves onto the carousel or the swings or the slide or monkey bars.

"They’re younger than kindergarten," Odette whispered now, horrified. "That’s the age I taught. And I thought those were rowdy. This is an entirely new level of neglect." She wondered if the woman could hear this hushed conversation. But she decided that the human’s hearing was not so keen as to master the sounds of voices over the din of the little ones underneath her. "What sorts of recipes were you looking for?" She looked to the shelves, hoping for a distraction, though she knew it more than likely wouldn’t come unless the manager came from the back and put a stop to this. "Maybe two on the job will make it go faster."

  "You're a teacher?" Harlow smiled, realizing that if a teacher was frustrated with the children's behavior, than it had to be bad. She crinkled her nose as an absurdly loud scream erupted from one of the children, if that hadn't gotten the mother's attention, she didn't know what would but at least the shop keepers head popped out of the backroom. He probably assumed someone had gotten hurt. His eyes followed the children running around in circles. 

He approached them, if anything out of fear that they might knock over one of the shelves. Harlow looked back to the friendly woman beside her, not wanting to hear the consultation. 

"Umm.." She looked down at the two books in her hand, one for deserts and one for entrees, contemplating. "I'm really not sure. I just thought I'd broaden my horizons. There's only so many times you can eat a plain tomato before it gets old." Humans seemed to have an exceptional way of preparing food. Harlow found the complexities of recipes intriguing. In the Fae world they ate mostly nuts and berries but none of their recipes were as intricate as in the human world. Every meal burst with flavor, even the vegetarian ones Harlow stuck too. 

[heartcountry]

I almost thanked you for teaching me something about survival back there, but then I remembered that the ocean never handed me the gift of swimming. I gave it to myself.

Y.Z, what I forgot to remember (via deadsearps)

[nicolavalenti-deactivated201407]

Moon Gazing \\ Harlow & Nicola

[harlowleclair]

nicolavalenti:

Given his state of mind it didn’t seem particularly odd that there was someone out in the woods at that point in the night, and he didn’t give a second thought to the fact that she was quite obviously not part of the gathering that raged behind him. Through the muffled thrum and swell of bass behind him it was difficult to make out her words exactly but he what he did manage to make out were ‘up there’ and ‘state of mind’ — They didn’t exactly seem like they answered his question and so he sat perplexed for a moment with curious brown eyes affixed to the brunette below while he attempted to ponder the meaning of what she’d said. Was it a comment on the moon being up in the sky? What had a state of mind to do with that, though?

He frowned a little and moved one hand from the banister up to scrub over his cheek as he continued to think unaware of the silence that stretched between them which was broken only occasionally and briefly but a roar from the mostly forgotten about party goers and the snap of a window being pulled shut or opened above.  Finally, like the sun breaking over the edge of the horizon it dawned on him what it was the woman had said and he very slowly his mouth moved from a tight line into a grin, “I’m fine. I’m really much more balanced when I’m like this than I am normally.” Of course he didn’t man physically balanced, he meant mentally but since she’d inquired about his state of mind he felt like it was a reasonable answer. “Besides, if I fell you’d call an ambulance wouldn’t you?” Nicola leaned forward ever so slightly to take in a full perspective of just how high up from the leaves and rocks scattered below — From this height he’d likely not break anything unless he fell with his full weight on a leg or an arm … Or, obviously, if he fell and landed on his head. Perhaps a hairline fracture if he somehow managed to land right on his rump … But his bizarre train of thought ended abruptly as they tended to do when alcohol was more abundant in his veins than blood. When he looked at her this time there was a stupid grin on his face and a gleam in his eyes,                                 “Hey — If I jump will  you catch me?”

                         She flinched when he moved his hand from gripping the banister. There was no way he wouldn't sway over the edge but the silence that covered them seemed to stay just like his balance. She almost began to believe he hadn't heard her and turned to leave when she heard his voice break through the noise. 

                       "An ambulance?" She knew what it was, one of those red and white vehicles that made a lot of noise and maybe carried sick people to the hospital? But how do you call one? 

                         She stepped forward as he leaned, again afraid he might lose balance but the grin on his face told her this was on purpose. The gleam in his eyes seeped mischief though and she took in a deep breath. 

                                                             will you catch me?

             "No!" She yelled and leaped forward, hands up, palms flat. "Don't. I can't catch you!" Harlow was strong enough sure, but her small five foot three inch frame would never be enough to shield him from the forces of gravity. He'd still hit the ground even if it was with less impact. 

[isaiahpowell]

in for the kill; isaiah & harlow

[harlowleclair]

isaiahpowell:

    It was unfortunate that this fae girl  had run into him and ruined his hunt, but Isaiah had decided that she needed to learn from what she had done. He would should her, but perhaps he would play with her a bit first. He narrowed his eyes and watched the girl warily as she stood in front of him, daring him to shoot, almost begging for him to pierce her between the eyes with an arrow.  

    “This isn’t about money my dear,” he replied to her, finishing his statement with a growl. He held his bow up and aimed an arrow at her again. He would feel no guilt for killing her, really. He hadn’t killed anyone like her before but right about now it would feel very satisfying. No one would miss her, they would simply think she had disappeared he presumed.        Isaiah, in his human form, had learned how to torment those who deserved it. In his opinion, any human person deserved it just for being human. But those who were not were a bit different, he wondered if she had been hurt by humans before.  Of course right now it didn’t matter, she had really screwed up and left him without pay for the next few weeks. He would have to either retrace the doe down or find some rabbits to kill in the meantime.     Neither sounded appealing at the moment. Not when he had just been so close.

   ”Be careful what you ask for,”  he threatened.   “Where shall it be? Between the eyes? In the stomach? The chest?” He aimed clearly at each location he suggested. “Shame, it’s not tipped with iron.”     Wanting so badly for the girl to realize that she had royally screwed him over, he was more interested in getting revenge than in the fact that she had in the grand scheme of things only caused him a small inconvenience. But patience was not his best quality, in fact it was generally a virtue he neglected to practice.    Before the girl responded to the question he let the arrow fly.

                       Iron. Some how he'd know who she was. The wild eyes that stared her down sparked the image of a wolf in her mind. There was no way to be certain, werewolf or shapeshifter, but he held the same presence as the ones she'd met in the her life time. 

                 Her stance held, her chest. It was the last target he mentioned and now there was an arrow spiraling towards her. She held, and held, willing to stay still but in a last desperate act, her body reacted to save her life. A little to the left and the arrow lodged just below her collar bone, close to her arm. 

           A scream broke the air, she felt the edge tear through muscle. The pain was familiar but she still fell to her knees. Gripping grass between her fingers to distract from the pain, she looked up. "You bastard. You're sick." 

         She'd asked for it, she expected it but the fact that this man had no conscious about killing someone in the middle of the woods made her nausea, or was it the pain? 

       "For someone who's-—." She struggled, blood seeping down her white shirt, the bright red, a contrast to the green foliage surrounding them. Harlow wasn't one to give up though, she shook as she stood up again; arm hanging limp, careful not to move the arrow. She didn't know how close it was to her artery and feared nicking it. 

She started over. "—You have no respect. Given your condition, you should have more respect." Her train of thought was clouded with pain. Her point being lost in repeated phrases. 

[harlowleclair]

fredrick-cannon:

An old name for a young woman who didn’t want to see a drawing of herself. For a silly moment, he wondered if she looked in mirrors. Wasn’t there some sort of phobia which involved not wanting to see your own reflection? “Well - thank you.”

( He wasn’t about to ask if she had that phobia. ) "O…kay." He did say that, though, drawing out the first syllable in his obvious bewilderment. He didn’t mind it, per se; not when he’d have to flip through a dozen and a half unfinished or completed sketches in order to show her. And what would she think if she saw the crossbones in soil, the faces in windows, and the sketches of the wolves with the red eyes he saw in his nightmares? Dark were his drawings outside of portraits. And sometimes, even his portraits fell prey to it.  ( That was because - he saw a lot of pain and darkness in all people.       Perhaps that’s why she didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want to be reminded. ) He could respect that. "A few months ago, huh. Well, hopefully the town’s treating you all right." He let that easy smile appear as he further tucked the sketchbook away. Fully in his backpack now. "I’ve lived here all my life and sometimes, it gets tougher than it should be."

 "It's alright...there's a nice fresh market every Saturday." In truth she'd kept to herself; rarely leaving her home unless it was to go to work. Only now was she meeting more people, and just like this situation, it was usually by accident. Harlow never meant to begin conversations but even she had to realize that after a while, she was bound to run into someone. She couldn't hide away for long, no matter how much she wanted. 

It gets tougher than it should be. Words she didn't expect to hear in a welcoming. She knew their was a story behind it but she didn't want to pry. He'd given her privacy by not asking about her reaction to the sketch. She could do the same. 

Instead she decided on her next question.  He was a Bindlebrim native, maybe he had some knowledge about the town she'd been lacking. "I still haven't found the library, haven't had the chance I guess. Do you think you could give me directions?" 

[harlowleclair]

cursed-odette:

Odette’s keen hearing made her wince backwards as another scream erupted. None of the sounds seemed to be emerging because of pain, but rather just playing. Indeed, the children were having the time of their lives. But this was behaviour better suited for a playground or the inside recess of a classroom, not the middle of a bookstore, where patrons were looking to purchase, browse, or curl up in silence with a mug of coffee. For a split second, she thought about attempting to gain the attention of the mother and politely asking her to quiet down the children. But what good would that do? More than likely nothing; she had dealt with stubborn parents, worse than the loud children, before. Convinced that their babies were immune from being hellions. (If this wasn’t being a hellion, she wasn’t sure what was.) "Indeed," she whispered back, pursing a smile and restraining a chuckle at the antics. "When they’re safe in their cribs and dreaming of someplace like Neverland or Nutcrackers dancing over their heads." She was one of the latter children, swept back in time to the place of her great-great-grandmama on the Russian ballet, dancing to the original orchestrations of Tchaikovsky. "I think it’s called, playing outside.” A rattle made her skin erupt in goosebumps. Everything was so loud. "And not in here. What is she thinking?"

"Or peaceful fields of flowers...something they can go play in, outside." It seemed her mind was on the same track as the stranger's. She would have smiled if it weren't for the faint headache coming on. 

"I'm not sure she is thinking, I think she's too absorbed in that book to even realize." Harlow looked to the woman, nose buried in a book about gardening. At any other moment, she would have felt a little pride. Someone else was interested in aiding the life of nature but at this moment, she felt the woman's interests were better suited to a How to Parent book. 

It was a harsh thought but at times like these where her comfort was threaten and stress boiled under her skin, Harlow's feelings were a little bit more dark than the kindhearted nature she usually felt.

"I can't even concentrate on finding a recipe book—the lines blur every time one of them screeches." 

[harlowleclair]

clayton-doyle:

Clayton eyed the space she made for him. In truth, he was reluctant to linger any longer. It wasn’t that she was bad company, he was just not used to spending time around people who were willing to listen. It almost felt wrong. 

But he decided to stay. With a nod of appreciation, he sat down next to her, her many plastic bags on one side. What should he tell her? She seemed quite eager to hear of the stories. Would she be as keen if she knew that the monsters were real?

"Well, there’s Wraith Woods, the forest around here. People say that it’s cursed, and satanic rituals’ve been carried out there, apparently. As well as murders. So I guess people make up stories about demons and ghosts and the like."

                Evil. Things she needed to stay away from but it still sparked an interest. Wraith Woods was her backyard and she sensed a bit of fear bubble. Murders, Satanic rituals, it could poison the energy the trees held. Blood soaked ground was the last thing Harlow needed to live on. 

             "Made up?" By now she'd sensed his aura and knew he wasn't speaking of myths and tales. He knew the truth because he was living a lie. Masquerading as human while his real identity remained a secret but Harlow didn't feel the same danger she felt with the others she'd come across. She didn't know what he was, exactly, but there was a distance in his aura, a sadness, and yet she found comfort in it.