Actions Speak Louder Than Words (Marvel Oc)

Schleppers

    ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───
schlep·per
noun
an inept or stupid person.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───

Harlow shifted. She kept her eyes shut, dammit she didn't want to wake from her dream. But she was forced when someone dare attempted to tie her to a chair. Of course, she didn't move because the knot was weak. Harlow wanted to wait for her dramatic exit. Also so she could bash these kids' skulls in, wait- no that sounded bad; Adult baby's skulls, that's better. Harlow blinked her eyes open, shit her shoulder and neck ached. They didn't even buy the good poisons that knock someone out without pain, just got the crappy one that causes shitty suffering. Looking around she noticed a couple of paintings with a cloth draped over the painting. No wonder these people were so crappy they were art thieves. She hated art thieves, they were just so outlandish she used to work with a couple. God even for being raised by the same folks as her they were extraordinary assholes.

     "Now you may be wondering why I'm here?" a man hissed as he walked forwards into the crude light of the oil lamp. His face was covered with a mask, it was dotted with speckles of dried blood. They were that bad of a thief they needed to murder people? God, what a disappointment, all she did was just knock people out with her perfected chloroform, which unlike theirs was made to soothe people to sleep. (but to make her look good we're gonna forget about the fact she brutally beat four guys because she forgot the sleeper medicine )

     "Sorry? No, I didn't really, it's not the first time I've had such bad service, being from the united kingdom and a mercenary of the Queen. You expected better of what you Americans fought for," Harlow laughed letting her British accent kick in. Just to confuse the fuck out of these brats. The man's eyes peered at her, it was clear he was trying to discover if she was complete bullshit or she was a part of the royal court. "Such bitter creatures," Harlow mocked putting on an act. "Of course, the Queen sends spies, no one-"

     "Yeah stop blabbering you English shit head," the man cut her off. Her smug smirk faded into a scowl, maybe these people had an IQ above ten after all.

     "Okay, gotcha, what do you want? A mentor? Someone, to run this boyband of yours? A teacher? Because I know I'm amazing and all but your too deep in this shit for me to care," Harlow snapped and glared at him. He scrutinized her and rolled his eyes. He opened his palm and showed off his dirk, it had golden crested markings on it that curled around the handle. He walked over, got close, her nose almost touching his. Yeah, that was too close, way too close. Her cheeks started burning up, this was uncomfortable. He raised the blade but stopped when he noticed her face and laughed.

     "I'm getting rid of the competition," He continued moving the blade until it was under her chin, he pressed it into her skin and lifted her head to glare at her. Blood crawled from her chin. This was way too close. Her face flushed bright red as she gritted her teeth, and with a swift pul, her wrists released. She brought them up and head-butted him. Her blood coated his mask, while it covered her neck. Harlow glared at him and punched his nose. She pulled the blade from his hand cutting her palm then she threw it at his thigh. She grabbed him by his mask and the hair underneath it.

    "Don't try any shit with me, because this isn't a competition the game had finished and I won, you just came late," Harlow snapped and threw him into the floor. She looked to the side and noticed her satchel and grabbed it. She ran outside the room and was met with two people, both masked. Her brow furrowed. "Look, I don't want to fight, I'm tired, you add tired, considering your boss is on the floor you should go to him," She stated and ran off, it was an order rather than a suggestion.

Harlow ran through the building, she took a left and was met with a vast open room. Ink-smudged paper covered the floors, old prints were spaced across the room. And stolen paintings were stacked in many piles. Harlow ran to a door and slammed it open, she was met with a dirty street that was made of bumpy cement which the holes had poorly been 'fixed' in with sharp pebbles. A few apartments were alongside the road but it was mostly abandoned buildings. Harlow took a turn and started running. She ran as quickly as her legs could take her but the blood and the fact that she had tripped and scrapped her legs on the tricky cement wasn't helping either. Pain pulled through her muscles but she persisted. And after half an hour of running the rain had started to pour again and she had found herself at a bus stop. Bloody, bruised, a total mess and tired as fuck she sat down. Harlow felt bad for the old lady next to her. Probably scared half to death.