Harley has Tara on her side, so Gale might as well consider the argument settled for now. He can't possibly hope to stand up to the both of them.
She trails through the house after him, pausing a couple times for a better look at some knick knack or other and then having to jog the few steps to catch up. Once her basic needs are met, she will certainly be a horrible little snoop.
The spare bedroom is nicer than anywhere she's been in recent memory. She rocks back on her heels at the doorway, like she's second guessing this all. It's entirely too good in the kind of way that must mean a trap.
But her stomach growls loudly at the sight of food, because she gets a meal about as often as she gets to sleep, and her treacherous body steps through the door entirely without her brain's input.
Once again, she does not wait for him to leave to start changing. It seems to be her preferred way of saying that his presence is no longer needed and that he can kindly fuck off.
She eats half the bread and cheese, packs away the rest in her satchel for later, and spends way too long trying to decide what to do with the door. She doesn't want to be bothered, so she closes it. She doesn't like being trapped in a room, so she opens it. There's a lot of fretful pacing before she settles on leaving it open just wide enough for Tara to fit in, and stacking books to fall and wake her if the door is pushed open any further. When she's done with that, she throws herself onto the bed with a satisfying fwump and wraps herself in a blanket cocoon.
All together, she sleeps a solid thirteen hours. The kind of deep, desperately needed sleep that leaves her totally disoriented on waking and fighting the blankets.
It's. Embarrassing.
She changes into her own clothes, double checks that nothing was taken from her bag, and tries to sneak out.
no subject
She trails through the house after him, pausing a couple times for a better look at some knick knack or other and then having to jog the few steps to catch up. Once her basic needs are met, she will certainly be a horrible little snoop.
The spare bedroom is nicer than anywhere she's been in recent memory. She rocks back on her heels at the doorway, like she's second guessing this all. It's entirely too good in the kind of way that must mean a trap.
But her stomach growls loudly at the sight of food, because she gets a meal about as often as she gets to sleep, and her treacherous body steps through the door entirely without her brain's input.
Once again, she does not wait for him to leave to start changing. It seems to be her preferred way of saying that his presence is no longer needed and that he can kindly fuck off.
She eats half the bread and cheese, packs away the rest in her satchel for later, and spends way too long trying to decide what to do with the door. She doesn't want to be bothered, so she closes it. She doesn't like being trapped in a room, so she opens it. There's a lot of fretful pacing before she settles on leaving it open just wide enough for Tara to fit in, and stacking books to fall and wake her if the door is pushed open any further. When she's done with that, she throws herself onto the bed with a satisfying fwump and wraps herself in a blanket cocoon.
All together, she sleeps a solid thirteen hours. The kind of deep, desperately needed sleep that leaves her totally disoriented on waking and fighting the blankets.
It's. Embarrassing.
She changes into her own clothes, double checks that nothing was taken from her bag, and tries to sneak out.