Quebec, Canada [Private]

Harley wasn't used to returning to an area she'd been sent off to do business in. Usually she'd go, get what she was sent to get, and come back never to see the area again. Returning to Quebec was an alien action for her. She felt awkward and severly out of place, having a purpose to be there yet feeling that she had no business to return. Granted, the people of Quebec should have all been on their knees thanking her for aiding in the defeat of Glasgow. Not to mention that she certainly didn't look like she fit in. On that particular day Harley wore a long flowing dress, cream colored baroque prints cascading down the sides and a large floppy sun hat complete with equally large sunglasses.

The more of her hair she could hide the better. With the sunglasses someone could probably mistake her for a botox addicted older woman if they didn't inspect her face too closely. Harley turned to Lucas, who was behind her, and began to speak.

"So, you're sure he's in Glasgow's old place?" She asked, rounding a corner and gripping the brim of her hat as a large gust of wind brushed past. "Because, I'd rather not visit that ghastly looking place again if he isn't." Harley shuddered at the interior of the old house. It was a rather nasty mix of a torture chamber and a badly decorated porn set. Not to mention she knew Glasgow had been in the premises with children. The mere thought of it made Harley want to take a cold shower.

Continuing down the block Harley stopped and looked to her left, then to her right.

"The place is close, I think."

Lucas nodded, "Just down this street."

This part of Quebec had been dissceated by the battles between Legion and Essum. It hung open, abandoned and rotting. A few scroungers darted about, and you would occasionally pass a group doing something shady and dark.

Now they stood at the door to Glasgow's old abode, Lucas could fell Jack inside they madness and hate practically burned through the ground.

Lucas opened the door for Harley saying, "I can't go in. I can't see him like that again."

The blackness peered out from the door at them.

"Go on."

Harley turned to face Lucas in an expression that read 'are you kidding me'. The house looked anything but inviting. Then again, it didn't exactly look like a sunshine factory when she first visited either. However, entering a pitch black shack that was inhabited by a madman and looked like it had been hit by a dirty bomb wasn't high up on Harley's priority list. Looking at Lucas she couldn't help but wonder if it was a trap.

Still, she couldn't just refuse to enter. That would make her look like a coward. Not to mention that if it was a trap she'd risk getting clubbed over the head by Lucas. She wasn't too keen on the idea of possibly being captured by a powder puff like him. So, the only thing for her to do was to enter.

The house reeked of blood and dust. A few other things to, like mold decay and death. However, they were underlying scents. The type you really had to look for in order to spot. Harley cautiously walked into the hall, being greeted by the option of turning into the living room or drawing room. She choose neither and instead opted to climb the stair case that was laid out before her. The structure let out a load groan as she put her weight on it.

Up the stairs, down the hall, make a right. Harley remembered her journey to get to Glasgow's room. It was arguably one of the biggest rooms in the house, but due to their previous scuffle was lacking a door. It didn't matter though, no one was going to be using it. Harley wasn't sure why she'd choose to venture into the room, whose contents when held under a black light would probably glow brighter than the new york city skyline, but something told her she could find Jack there. Even in the event that he wasn't, all the commotion the floor boards made had most likely alerted her presence to anything inhabiting the house.

"Hello?" She called out, poking her head around the door frame. So help me God, if I get stabbed. . . She hissed mentally. The only light in the room came from the glass door which lead to the balcony, covered mostly by thick maroon curtains.

Jack ripped open the door to Glasgow's bedroom enraged. Then his eyes fell on Harley.

“Come in, come in! Warm yourself by the fire.”

Jack had begun burning up the old signs of Glasgow’s presence; a mattress, some dolls, stained carpets all flared up in a pile.

“There’s no place like Hell! Shush, I’ll ask her soon.”

Harley began to say something but Jack spoke over her, “You’ve never been to hell, though. Or maybe you have. Yes, you are standing in hell; a chaste thing that made a few mistakes. A nun, you are. A nun! This is your special hell. Except it also isn’t. I’ll try to find a soft place for you two to curl up and meet.”

His eyes were much the same; dead. His eyes roved in there sockets but didn't focus, the pupel invisible. He didn't blink or ever look away from her, though, which was new. But that was the way he always was, his posture and form didn’t change. It was like the man finally fit the body.

“A good while after, I am. I think it’s time I departed. Oh, alright I’ll ask her, mind you; she’ll just be repeating herself. No too long ago on the train ride here you told me that when you pull some one from a burning building that means they’re NOT dead. You told me that. I should have taken a photograph to prove to him that you did.

“I also should have killed him when I was done with him, but I didn’t. Now look at me: all gooey and dead. Killed my son he did; now he’s going to do it all over again. On the train ride here you told me people are pulled out from fires so they live; confirm or deny. If you answer wrong I’ll introduce you to a friend of mine I keep in a Scary Little Box. I call him Screamy. You can call him ‘Oh God’. Because everybody does when they talk to him; ‘Oh God; It’s horrible, make it go away’, ‘Oh God; I wish I was dead’ like that. I imagine it’s very therapeutic. I have a gift for you, though, must remember that. A gift: the best gift! Don’t let Them have it: it’s for killing your new friend. Hurry up and answer, though. My old friend is getting antsy,” then Jack added, in a whisper, “He might just pull out your eyes.”

Normally Harley would have commented on the saftey issue of lighting a huge fire in an unsteady house. However, there was a time and a place to address safety issues and right then and there wasn't the time nor the place. Jack's incessant ramblings lead her to believe that he really had completely gone nutters. It was unsettling. Under normal circumstances, or at least the circumstances Harley could consider familiar, Jack was charmingly mad. Now, well now he seemed to have delved into a world of aggressive dementia.

She wasn't even sure if he was talking to her half the time. He didn't look away, but at times he seemed to be speaking with someone different entirely. Perhaps himself, she wouldn't doubt that. He spoke of her being chaste, which was laughable and of her meeting someone else. Harley simply stood near the fire, arms crossed and hoping her dress didn't flare up. When he finally stopped speaking Harley leaned from across the fire and whispered back to him.

"Someone's already done that before." She whispered this with a small smile as she poked her eye. A blue ripple, much like the kind one would find in water, branched out from the gelatinous surface.

She then pondered on the question regarding fires that he'd proposed to her. Harley had many conversations after Jack. While she did hold the time they'd spent together in high esteem due to the large amount of knowledge regarding the world of the Seekers she'd obtained from Jack on the train ride she certainly couldn't remember it word for word. A part of her wondered if the subject of fires ever came up. Whatever the matter, the idea of getting bludgeoned to death by a mad man because she didn't answer correctly was unappealing. She hadn't even drank her kidneys into failure yet, the last thing she wanted was a new body.

The sane part of Harley was beginning to wish she hadn't agreed to come. The sadomasochist in her was thoroughly amused.

Harley took off her hat and tossed it aside before reaching inside her purse and taking out a pack of cigarettes. They were a gift from Fortunato during a brief assignment in New York City. Harley knelt by the fire and inhaled, causing her cancer stick to light before standing up. There, that was better. Now she could think.

"Who killed your son Mr. Gray?" Harley asked, half out of concern and half out of trying to avoid the fire question. Jack seemed to be ping pong-ing from idea to idea so she hoped he would be easily distracted.

Jack looked at her for sometime before answering.

"Sons. And a daughter. It was me. It was the Black King with his merry sword as he went a hacking down heads. It was Him, not me. Don't listen to that liar, I'd never harm a hair on their heads. As you hack'em down remember; they got wives and families that they're fighting for."

He walked around the fire in a saunter that might be seen on a drunkard.

"Why's the city, burning? I'll pull them out of the building. 'Daddy, hurray!' I heard them say. But in an old language. But that's not how my son died. My son got killed because we were away dragon slaying and my son is dieing because I didn't break the regicidal bastard over my knee when I had the chance.

"Now they're the best of friends! Is that ironic? I think so."

He paused, again, looking at the fire.

"I think Chael did it. No. No no no no NO! It hurt's less when it's the Black King's fault. I was never a good man but I was once a righteous man. They're different. Do you know that, right now, I'm sitting with Hitler's great grandson discussing the wonderful job that was done? Because I was a righteous man, not a good one. King Richard was a righteous man. Very pious. Aren't crusades fun! Only when your enemy can't crusade you, my friend, only when they can't crusade you."

Suddenly Jack perked up, as though he had heard something, "That's right! You didn't answer my question; pull them from a burning building and they live. True or no? Please?"

Jack spoke, or rather rambled on. Harley could collect some of what he meant, though she could bet that Lafayette could probably have a better understanding of what he was telling her. Even in his madness Jack made a point, though it was muddled in a cloud of illusory images that he painted verbally. He mentioned a son, and a daughter, and Chael. Harley had sworn the name Chael rung a bell somewhere up in that brain of hers.

However, after going off on his tangent he presented her with the question once more. Harley frowned and crossed her left arm over her abdomen so that it gripped her right hip as she took a drag of her cigarette. She looked at the fire, exhaled a large cloud of acrid smoke, and then pondered the question.

"Well, no." She began. "You pull them out hoping they live. That doesn't mean they will live." Harley felt her heart race slightly, unsure of the correctness of her answer and the severity of her punishment. She'd taken a very slight step back, leg not evening passing the cover of her dress before realizing that certainly wasn't her best bet on survival. White eyes stared past Jack and at the window. If she couldn't reach her gun she'd impale herself on the fence outside. Perhaps it was an extreme resolve but the world of the Seekers was infamous for "fates worse that death".

Jack looked at Harley, through Harley, as his grin dwindled.

“Told you so,” he breathed. His face took on a disgusted pose; a look that seemed to show that he owned the place, owned Harley, but it had all fallen into disarray.

“Now,” his voice quiet, like a threat, “I believe I introduced myself as ‘Screamy’. I’m The Black King; the warlord. I’m a much levelled man, you see. What can I do to help you?”

He carried himself differently, too. While Jack had been something between a business man and politician he now held himself like a general. His hand seemed incomplete with out a sword.

Harley had answered wrong.

Oh fuck my life.

Reviewing her week as Jack grinned down at her Harley had reason to believe she'd hit a streak of bad luck.

In a matter of three days Harley had gotten thrown off the Sacramento bridge and into freezing disgusting water, involved in a shooting, and then flew all the way to Quebec to most likely be tortured. Not to mention if she died there she'd have to deal with Lafayette sooner than she'd have liked to. Chances were that he'd still be royaly miffed about the large hole she'd put in his wallet. Nothing he wouldn't fix in a few weeks, but still a problem.

On that note, she'd have missed the outfit she was wearing. Especially the necklace. She quite liked the necklace. Snapping back into reality Harley was reminded that when facing imminent danger she probably shouldn't be thinking about necklaces.

In her defense it was a damn nice accessory.

"I answered wrong didn't I?" Harley asked, and then went out of her way to answer her own question. "I did. Beautiful." She stared past Jack for a moment, looked toward the door, and then back at the man. "I'll relieve you the trouble of killing me right here and now if you don't mind." Despite her situation Harley was still smiling, a small giggle bubbled up from her stomach. One could have confused it for a nervous laugh, though it's nature was much different.

"Hmmm?" Said the Black King, "Yes, you answered wrong. Not that it matters to me. You'll be staying."

A contented sneer crossed his face, "It feels god to just want to kill everything, don't you agree? No pesky wants beyond that for now. I really must thank you."

The Black King walked over to Harley. He did not smile.

"You have questions. Sit. Jack answered some not to long ago and now I will.

"Of course, you must be wondering what Jack wanted to give you. Or perhaps you didn't quite catch that, eh?"

"Then, we'll make the world righteous again."

"Oh, wonderful." The statement should have sounded sarcastic, for usually when someone says 'oh wonderful' what they really meant was 'I'm mocking you' but in that case Harley was being genuine. The whole not I'm-going-to-die feeling had subsided into a slightly more tame I-may-get-mortally-wounded feeling.

That didn't change the fact that Jack was no longer smiling unsettled her. Contrarily it also made her a tad bit more calm. Which was utterly confusing seeing as Harley liked things to either induced un-settlement or a feeling of being clam, not both. Though, she decided to side with unsettling seeing as how Mr. Gray had introduced himself as the Black King. Who, fortunately, seemed a bit more sane than Mr. Gray had been.

"Questions, yeah." Harley muttered, lowering herself into a wooden chair that hadn't been tossed into the fire. Her state of bewilderment hadn't given her a chance to consider what insidious acts had taken place on the chair. "I think I'll ask my questions first. Something tells me that I'll want to get that out of the way because God only knows what you--What Jack--wants to give me." She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

"Since when have you and Jack been the same person? Why meet here? What do you mean by make the world righteous again? Why meet with me, this can't be any business that has to do with Lafayette or he would have called him." Harley paused, looked up at the ceiling as if another torrent of questions would be listed on it's distressed surface, and sighed. "Those are all I can think of for now.