@banditborn
It was rare that Harley took clients without meeting them first, but her contact had told her that it was urgent and that formalities could cost lives. So she’d waved her rule and agreed to meet him the very next day. There was the little problem of her home being difficult to find, charmed to be unnoticeable and impossible to remember the directions to, but she’d found a way around that quite easily. A piece of paper with the name of her road written on it, impossible to remember unless you were holding it. Any attempt to copy it down would come out ineligible - a mess of nonsensical letters and symbols. It was a matter of safety.
She was currently stood outside, wrapped up in an oversized black poncho to fight off the chill as she scanned the street for anyone new. Sure enough, a huge man rounded the corner with a piece of paper clutched in his hand and a confused look on his face. The moment he set foot on her street the delicate writing on the paper started to run like fresh ink, until it was completely unreadable.
The chunky heels of her boots clicked against the floor as she approached him, expression guarded as she looked him over, as if assessing. Tall, muscular, rough around the edges. Could easily overpower her physically, but didn’t look like he’d try to. Good.
“Hello, Bandit.” The words were soft, and she held out a delicate hand with black pointed nails. “My name is Harley.”
His hand dwarfed hers buts he shook it firmly and then turned, expecting him to follow.
“Let’s get you inside. I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me exactly what happened.”