Barrow Fields the worst thing about prison was the dementors

It was with the most extreme precision that Harley hunkered down low, belly flush with the earth, her ocre-tinged pelt obscuring herself from view. Right behind the coast’s treeline she dwelled, not make a moment nor a sound,  her attention entirely enrapture by a seagull, clomping its little flat feet across the sand-dirt, seemingly out of place in the ice and cold of the northern winter. Perhaps it too was a rebel, striking out on its own, away from home — not unlike the chocolate girl herself — but had the gull known what lay in wait, perhaps it would have stayed with its larger group. The scent of it had pulled Harley from a great distance; she was hungry and hadn’t a scant meal in several days. Now she sat still amongst the low-lying scrub and watch it with an inquisitive cant of her head, wondering the best way to achieve her goal when she could not take flight herself.

…and this was the extent of her knowledge about hunting birds. 

Suddenly, the gull spooked and burst forth and took a short, noisy flight! The hoyden was, for a moment, shocked but quickly her faculties snapped to sudden attention: eyes alert, ears alert, every part of her body down the very hairs that rippled across her shoulder crest down her spine, alert.  Her mind flashed red, as if saying react! react! react! and, with snapdragon jaws Harley sprang from her asylum and leapt towards the bird in an attempt to bring it down mid-flight, by grabbing a wing or a leg or something — and despite her spring-like attempts to salvage her meal, the gull took the air freely and left Harley glued to the earth’s surface, bow-legged and panting from her sudden exertions. 

Then it was all silent, but only for another moment; the only reaction she felt could appropriately encompass the true displeasure she felt was a sharp hiss and grumble that rattled across her tongue and danced upon her lips.  

lol love the office ref <3

springtime had come to the teekons, just ahead of mahler, he supposed. with the renewed budding of life came a greater variety of birdsong, the glowing bells of melting snow, the dull thuds ice breaking free across the surface of streams and creeks. and the man saw these things, and he was pleased that music had returned to the world.
the polychromatic beast trudged now through the snow of what would be a field when the white melted away under the warming sun, and he stood in its middle, sweeping the expanse for movement of prey or kith.
the cold lavender of the musiker's eyes settled on the figure of a wolf not far off. a mingling of graceful limbs and sculpted angles that proclaimed her as female, surely, though mahler would not be upset to find he was wrong. it was her gait that commanded the man's attention, dulcet in its elegance, and he watched her short-lived hunt. 
he fancied he could see a bit of gilt beneath the dark cinnamon of her coat; if a songnote lived, this was it. overjoyed behind the mien he kept so neutral, mahler was still. perhaps she would see him. and perhaps not; he was in plain view of her now, some twenty feet away, but her focus might not allow for distraction.

just… the best

Though consumed with frustration was she, Harley immediately took notice of the figure in the background. He traipsed around the meadow as would a bull in a china shop, and very quickly the blame of her failed hunt shifted from her inexperience in hunting fowl to him, entirely. She was nearly certain that if he had not arrived on the scene, the gull would hang limp in her mouth and she would go to sleep that night, belly warm and full — and how her temper flared at the thought of another night, alone and cold.

The velveteen hoyden held in breath, then dispersed it slowly through pursed lips, feeling her escape from her release valve. Raiden had always told her of this, that she was too quick to anger — and over things that were not worth being angry about — and so Harley bit her tongue, swallowed the bark that clamored in her throat, and pressed forward to approach him. She supposed there was a possibility that it was not his fault, and it was just her hunger, making her cranky. The girl drifted closer upon four black stockings, stopping several yards away. 

“It is not fair,” she mused.  “How they can fly, but we can’t…”

the absolute BEST

the note did not only notice him, she drew near. mahler was perturbed, then annoyed; his features arranged themselves into a perfectly implacable wall. he had only wanted to observe her, after all, not be dragged into a conversation unfit for his tongue. or perhaps his tongue was unfit for conversation. the unfriendly lilac of his eyes took in whatever detail she presented, down to her ebon legs and the manner in which her tones trailed away.
mahler did not immediately offer a response; here, his focus was for the music of her movement, but the sylph's speaking finally elicited a gruff nod from the musiker. "unfair," he agreed, hoping the she-wolf would be quiet so he could return to his analysis of her gait and inner focus.

The way the man stared had started to become a bother.

He didn’t even say that much, or attempt to engage her in conversation, instead brushing off her musings with a one-worded response. The man had agreed with her sentiments, of course, for hunting birds was certainly not a task any wolf was especially attuned to. Her fizzled hunt was not entirely her fault. Nature was working against her, after all, but the way he did not seem to place importance on her words was annoying. 

The hoyden shifted her weight from one stockinged foot to the other in restlessness. She had never the skill to hide her emotions, and wore them as if they were the onyx mask across her face; it sometimes was enough to cause trouble, and Harley hoped that’s not how this situation would deteriorate… and yet, how she wished it would! 

Her head and neck lowered to the ground and she peered up at him from the new perspective, trying to figure out the man and his taciturn motives. Her castory plume lashed behind her, all attentions converging upon the nameless, monochrome brute who stood soundly only [what could be] several stride away. Her demeanor became less abrasive — and much more curious.

when she did not depart, but instead focused fully upon him, until mahler's hackles prickled with the unfamilar sensation of being so thoroughly observed. it was quite often himself on the other side of a proverbial microscope; her appraisal displeased him a great deal. however, he only slowly brought his ears to bear, otherwise he did not move and met her curious look with a cold stare of his own. 
so open was the woman about her own state of mind that the musiker amused himself by counting how many emotions tangled together across her dark features. but still the she-wolf did not depart, and mahler was growing weary of the game. he stood finally, approaching her with his full height and his broad tread confident; drew close, seeking to hold her feline eyes with his own in a new sort of game. one more pleasant for him.

Harley didn’t often stop to consider the other wolves that coexisted upon this earth with her. If they weren’t part of her family [though blood they may not be], or part of her social circle, they were all but forgotten — not that she entertained many situations where she would be meeting others, being the homebody that she was, but this moment provoked something different from her entirely. She wondered about him, cultivating an intense desire to know several things: his monkier, his whereabouts and, namely, why he had deigned to frighten her supper so! 

Then the man began his disenchanted advance, full up on his own reticence, and the cocoa-dusted girl began to doubt she would ever glean such an explanation. Every step he took forward was another step that the girl took backwards, almost as if it were a carefully choreographed dance and not something akin to hunter and hunted. Her molten gaze held his cool lilacs, daring him to come ever closer — but her reverse locomotion did not truly allow him to draw any nearer.  Harley’s rounded, velour ears pulled back, gathering and nestling against the nape of her skull. She was not frightened of him, if that’s what he was trying to get at here.     

the girl's ears had pulled back; she paced him in a dance that pleased mahler to his marrow; here was music. presently his steps grew less heavy; he too let his auds fall along the heavy line of his skull and lightened his tread, plume swaying unbidden at his hocks as the threat of a more pointed game ebbed from his muscles. as they moved, the musiker forward and he back, mahler noted the springtime honey of the songnote's clear unafraid stare.
mahler pursued her for only a handful of steps more; in time, he stood blinking in curiosity at her, the expression of a researcher puzzled by a discovery that held both appeal and things that must be questioned, but words had never been a strength for the man. "dancing," he mumbled finally, turning his hard lavender gaze down toward their forepaws.

Her tail made low, wide sweeps as her hips sashayed backward, one viscous, deliberate step at a time. Surprisingly, this type of interaction wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thing. Within seconds the man demeanor had shifted, however small and intangible that difference might be. It was more feeling than fact, as the ursine girl held his investigative gaze and anticipated his movements through instinct; putting forth real effort in order to read the man from more than his countenance alone.

Well, it would appear that he was having a good time, and she had nothing else to do, and they could probably both use a bit of entertainment. So why not?

She halted when he did. “More?” the girl questioned simply, involuntarily mirroring the stranger’s muted method of speaking — she wondered if he had anything more sophisticated up his mottled sleeve. Though not the most graceful or refined of creatures, Harley always entertained a bright willingness to learn and play; and at this point, she felt confident that the man would not do her harm. With a wry, sable smile painted upon her maw, the hoyden shed her guard and allowed herself to slip fully into the role of specimen upon his microfiche slide.         

mahler's gaze lifted when the note spoke, another tone; this one edged with smoke and honey. he straightened as her mien shifted and she grew pliable beneath his lilac glower, and let his own tension ebb away, at least in part. mahler was unused to company of his own kind, and less of women. his interludes with them had been lustful and brief, small fires in the otherwise grey landscape of his memories.
more, came her inquiry; the man gave a low chuff through his nostrils, looking rather bestial as he regarded her with the leap of some sudden misgiving in his eyes. yet it passed; mahler warmed to her sunflower nature once more. "yes."
he confirmed them with a small step to the right, then the left, forward; if she wished, she would follow, he knew, and he found in their closeness that his innate mistrust of other wolves had dulled, if only a little.

Once she had decided what she was doing, Harley fell back into her finely-tuned sense of focus. Her ears remained pin back in concentration, but her mien was bright and attuned and happy because of it. Hers was more of a fighting prowess, honed through friendly melees and not-so-friendly skirmishes, but the hoyden found that many of the same principles applied here, in a far more gentler of situations. Her body was awakened, senses testing the situation in more ways than one. Her weight was placed forward, standing almost on her ink-dipped toes in receptivity and willingness to be led in his dance. There was a certain buoyancy that she felt in her mind, as well as her muscles,  that she found hard to find outside of physical pursuits.

Harley did not often don the veneer of sycophantry, ever willing to please and follow instruction, so she did not allow it to overtake her completely; not yet. She mirrored his little jig, stepping to her right and her left, then pulled forward and flourished the final movement with a zesty flick of her muzzle to the left, and like dancer’s ribbon caught in flight, she sent her tail sailing to the right.

mahler was not a man to follow, let alone the whims of a woman, but here he did, enjoying the small flourishes of her sootblack feet. that she was beautiful registered only dimly on the hazy screen of his mind — mahler would place her in the trim pile labeled "aesthetically pleasant," and continue on his way. 
the woman finished with a little dégagé and a cut of her slim muzzle the opposite way, and the musiker stilled himself to regard her with a searching look that swam up through the debris of his cold features and touch it with a tangible curiosity.
"mahler," the dappled brute offered in the next moment, holding the syllables of his own name forth with only the barest hint of vanity.

I’m sorry for the wait while I was away! ♡

The stranger, Mahler, seemed to like these brief periods of activity, ever punctuated with long moments of silent inquiry and assessment, as if she were some curio to be evaluated and ascribed a value. While this may have bothered some girls, it did not upset Harley in the least and she took this almost as a playful challenge; from him to her, or maybe from her to herself. It was rather fun — what could she make him do next, and what could she do to please him, and what might make him not so sullen-looking and cold? The moments [when he approved of what she had done] fed the fire of her movements — though his appreciation was less apparent in his facade, and was more clear a feeling that stirred in the hoyden’s gut and an assumption from the fact that he was still here. He could have left by now. 

Most wolves did, anyways.

She would not divulge her own name as quickly as she supposed most females might give in to him, lest she lose her playmate, and one had proved so very fun thus far. If Mahler wanted it, he would get another chance to engage. If he did not, well… Harley would continue about her goings-on alone. As a pack wolf, it was not her preferred lifestyle, but she had managed to come to terms with it [a feat in and of itself]. Harley’s black mask bobbed as she regarded the statement of his own moniker, showing that she heard him — then there was a flash of a knowing, beguiling grin and a surge of her middling form forward, to brush past him but not to touch him. Only the cocoa-dusted tips of her fur intermingle with his salt-and-pepper own as she passed, and it happened so quickly that it might have left an audience wondering if it had even happened at all, as if done by sleight of hand. One moment she was before him and the next she was rounding ‘bout his flank, turning in on herself and pulling up alongside him with a laugh dancing upon the tip of her tongue. If he wanted her name, he'd probably have to pull it from her — and she wondered what he'd make of her little show.

no problem! <3

much swifter than mahler, more ribbonlike to his cement-sluggish river of reaction, the sylph darted around him, pressing her pelt against his own in so gentle a touch that the man scarcely believed it had happened. and here she was now, at his side, her features alit with some gentle teasing, a soft challenge. 
his ears swept back against his broad head, but shame was not the cause, nor irritation — mahler had merely never been in the presence of one so outwardly delighted by his very company. schüchternheit dug her painful little claws into his shoulder, but mahler sunk his head between his shoulders, his expression shifting from his usual half-dour quietude to one of an apprehensive pleasure.
he wished to enjoy whatever it was presently occurring, enjoy the gleam of her eye and the way her smile radiated warmth across her pleasant features like rising sunlight. however, mahler had not the words nor the bearing for such frisking antics — or perhaps he had not tried, and did not wish to stir himself to try. but she received a brightening of his countenance as the moments passed, mahler slowly budding into something like a more visible delight.

He did not react outwardly, save for the minute and muted approval that washed over his silvered visage. There was something about his detachment, the way he did not engage her but seemed to appreciate her nonetheless, that reminded Harley of Raiden and appealed to her own restless and bellicose nature very much. Very rarely did she find this sort of outlet, one that did not result in blood and bruised egos, so this was a relished departure from the norm and Harley was thankful for the stalwart audience which allowed her to explore such things.

“Can’t do nothing to bring back your love…” she whispered to herself in a hushed and sing-song tone, bringing to voice a singular lyric from a song she learned from the congress of her peers, hoping to glean further muse from any-and-all sources. The hoyden grit her teeth to prevent the rest of the ditty from spilling out and channeled such expression into her limbs and paws. For just a moment, she established a sullen demeanor, with ears pressed back and golden eyes drawing wide — she crouched close to the ground, shifted her bodyweight into her firm hindquarters, and sprang as high into the air as she did when he had so unceremoniously stumbled upon her failed hunt — only, there was no avian prey to inspire her actions this time, just the simple need for expression and movement. She only hoped she did not tumble into him upon her descent!

so sorry for the wait!

her whisper in musical tones he had not yet heard brought intrigue soaring for a naked moment onto the planes of mahler's face. so starved he was for the timbre of his soul's desire that for the she-wolf his guard was dropped. yet, slowly the openness ebbed; the line of his mouth again grew somber as his stony lavender eyes watched her trajectory.
perhaps mesmerized, the dappled musiker did not side-step the woman as down she fell like some biddable rain; her slender limbs struck his shoulder and flank, knocking him in a stumble to one side. and yet the awkwardness of the moment did not perturb mahler — his tongue lolled in an ephemeral show of goodwill.

Mahler had only been knocked to the side — but Harley was not so lucky. She fell to the earth in nothing more than an inelegant, laughing heap. Yes! That was certainly more fun than fancy footwork! The perpetual, boorish grin never left her lips even as her body thudded to the ground and the impact shook her bones and musculature. Perhaps it hurt, but maybe it didn’t. It probably did, but Harley had never really felt pain the ways others did, she had come to realize.

So, little did the man know, but this was far closer to the real Harley than was the dancing creature at which she had played. “Ha! Sorry,” the hoyden said, unable to bite her tongue. The girl climbed atop eerily steady limbs and shook the earth’s dust from her pelt. Finally “Harley,” came her introduction, as he had finally curried enough favor to learn of her name. Harley's eyes flashed, locked onto his, and left the next move for him to fill in. She wondered what he would do — what he might say. Though the man was quickly becoming more familiar, he was still so foreign to her.  

she fell to the earth all asprawl in a heap of limbs and mahler's gaze flickered over her lithe frame, her laughing eyes. the slyph reclaimed her feet and the musiker watched her, having fallen silent. the musicality of her untangling limbs, the peal of her breathy laughter, the dark amber of her eyes latching to the stony amethyst of his own.
harley — a two-toned, playful sound. mahler blinked once from the charcoal mask, granting "mahler" in a single clipped offering. she had unnerved him with her disarming nature; the man was wary once more, but not fully closing to the sunflower glow over the girl.