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♡♦♡ MAYBE THINGS AREN'T SO MEANINGLESS AFTER ALL ♡♦♡
A slick red Lamborghini screams to a stop in front of Alice Cullen, and her jaw drops. Everyone beside her waiting on the airport sidewalk stares. She can't help, but know for a fact that Harleen is absolutely insane. If she didn't believe it before, she sure as hell believes it now.
"Get in, cupcake," Harley Quinn yells impatiently through the driver window. Alice moves towards the car, whilst she shoots out and rounds to the passenger seat. As soon as her seat belt is fastened, she is pressed to the seat as Alice shoots forward.
"Could you have picked a more conspicuous car," the black-haired girl complains, her voice high with worry.
The interior is a supple black leather, and the windows are tinted so it feels like nighttime. Even at the car's harrowing speed, it's safer inside than outside where human-eating vampires roam.
"The important question," Harleen corrects, putting a finger high up in the air. Her mood has lifted drastically since she solved her situation. Her gun is now resting on her hip. "Is if I could'a stolen a faster car, an' I don't think so. We got lucky, y'know. Italians love their fast cars."
"Rented," Alice corrects her, although she can't help herself from smiling. "You rented this car."
"Mhmm," she hums in dubious assent. "Call it what ya want, honey."
Alice gives her a heavy sigh, gripping the wheel with white knuckles as she weaves through the heavy airport traffic before tearing out onto the highway.
"So... what's th' plan here," Harleen asks after a few minutes, applying a thin coat of clear lipgloss onto her lips. On the outside, she seems strong and confident that this will all work out, but in the inside... she is a nervous wreck.
"There's some kind of festival today, the streets are full of people with red flags and red clothes. What's the date, today?"
"Hmm. Nineteenth, I think. I don't really keep up with th' days a' th' months."
Alice barks a short, humourless laugh. "Great. That's ironic. It's Saint Marcus Day."
"Wait, y'mean like the..."
"Yep," she pops the 'p,' neatly weaving around a group of cars who honk their ire at her. "The city holds a celebration every year. As the legend goes, a Christian missionary Father Marcus, exorcised all the vampires from the city of Volterra fifteen hundred years ago. The story claims he was martyred in Romania, still fighting to drive away the vampire scourge. Of course, it's all nonsense. He's never left the city. It morphed over the years into a celebration of the police force, as Volterra is one of the safest cities to live in, so they get all the credit." She gives a dark laugh.
