[ Days blur into weeks, and Harry manages to avoid contact with John Marcone after the travesty and embarrassment that was their last meeting. Whatever he had been thinking, he was quick to put it from his mind in the days following their parting, and had only just been able to break himself of the habit he’d developed – the one where he’d haul his duster’s collar up around his neck to hide the fading bruises made by a mouth he just did not want to remember. Harry is, if anything, a master of denial. The last place he wants to be is anywhere near anything even remotely related to Marcone, but as they both occupy their beloved Chicago, that’s a laugh track and a half. In fact, he winds up in Winnetka, winded and clawed up and lost in the woods lovely dark and deep in pursuit of his latest task.
A string of disappearances, and Harry a stickler to the ideals of responsibility and duty, result in his presence in the woods. Winnetka is outside of Chicago, and the idea of running onto John Marcone’s estate grounds is both daunting and looking like it’s inevitable. In hot pursuit of the dryad he’s uprooted (heh, good one) as the culprit of the disappearances, she’d taken a quick right and vanished into the trees. It left Harry, achy and annoyed and apprehensive, to resist every urge to commit himself to a scorched earth policy and slog through the treeline with her hair wrapped in a tracking spell that went haphazard the minute before the dryad clipped him in the face with her branch and left him to stagger back to his feet – cussing and utilizing wind over fire as he ran deeper into the woods, trying to cut her off before she reached her target.
Fucking Baron and the shiny new target painted on his chest, thanks a lot Accords, oh you’re welcome Harry. Regardless, there's a lot more scuffling through the woods after her, and a moment where she ends up stuffing him into a tree. Upside-down, with a branch wrapped about his knee, and he's left to mangle the thing in the hopes that maybe he can still find her. She has to be hiding nearby. ]
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A string of disappearances, and Harry a stickler to the ideals of responsibility and duty, result in his presence in the woods. Winnetka is outside of Chicago, and the idea of running onto John Marcone’s estate grounds is both daunting and looking like it’s inevitable. In hot pursuit of the dryad he’s uprooted (heh, good one) as the culprit of the disappearances, she’d taken a quick right and vanished into the trees. It left Harry, achy and annoyed and apprehensive, to resist every urge to commit himself to a scorched earth policy and slog through the treeline with her hair wrapped in a tracking spell that went haphazard the minute before the dryad clipped him in the face with her branch and left him to stagger back to his feet – cussing and utilizing wind over fire as he ran deeper into the woods, trying to cut her off before she reached her target.
Fucking Baron and the shiny new target painted on his chest, thanks a lot Accords, oh you’re welcome Harry. Regardless, there's a lot more scuffling through the woods after her, and a moment where she ends up stuffing him into a tree. Upside-down, with a branch wrapped about his knee, and he's left to mangle the thing in the hopes that maybe he can still find her. She has to be hiding nearby. ]