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Preacher ran. It didn't matter where., as long as it was away from the Eastern Alleyway, away from a past that would not let her forget. Her fingers clutched the package, sickly feeling the contents until she could not longer stand it and buried it deep inside of the bag slung across her chest. Which each slap of the bag bag against her hip, each thudding footstep she took: they all sounded out his name. The boy she'd forgotten. The boy she'd let rot there. So she ran until she could run no more, not caring where she went. Any street in Shiganshina was safer anyway. Finally, Preacher felt herself stumble, nearly fall, and caught herself on the side of a building, chest heaving. Sweat trickled down her face. It was not enough.

She hd no idea where she was. Looking up, Preacher saw the sign for an inn and started towards it. She could pay for a room and find her way back to the compound tomorrow. And just... not think about what nestled in her bag. Yes, that seemed if not the best, but the most sane route. Her head ached and she walked, eyes downcast, towards the inn. It was entirely her fault that she did not see Harper there as well. With a small noise of surprise,. her knocked knocked into the taller girl.

"What tha fu- Oh. Harper." She sighed, the ever-cheerful girl wasn't exactly the sort of company Preacher had wanted. Well, Preacher had wanted no company to be exact. But as she peered up at the girl, she realized Harper looked awful, not at all like her normal self. She frowned. Something was awfully wrong, and, Preacher realized almost guiltily, that Harper's distress could distract her from her own worries. She grabbed the other girl's ar,m and dragged her into the inn. "Are ya alrigh'? C'mon, I'm gettin' a room anyway n' yer comin' with. So ya kin spill."

Preacher's eyes widened in alarm. They had gotten up the stairs, to the room, and... Harper had started sobbing. Preacher quickly tossed her bad into a chair and dragged the pink-haired girl to the bed. She sat down gingerly and awkwardly patted her back. The bed squeaked weirdly, but at least the sheets looked clean. She sighed and looked at Harper. This was not the first time the woman had cried today. Preacher's first instinct was to pull her closely and rock her until she stopped crying, but Harper wasn't a little, and she wasn't sure how to comfort her. Instead, she patted her back and made murmuring noises.

"Harper, whatall happened? Ya get mugged or summat?" If she had been mugged, Preacher would find out what gangs ran this sector and take everything back. This was the middle-class section and the gangs here tended to be less violent. Preacher had zero doubt she could take one on, especially considering the bleak mood she'd been in all day.

"C'mon, Harper, tell me?"

Preacher's eyes widened in panic as Harper proceeded to fall apart completely. The pink-haired girl talked so quickly and mumbled so much that Preacher could only make out about half of what she said. Apparently, romantic troubles. Her mouth thinned. She could understand why she, the gutter-born brat, had problems, but Harper was a pretty, sweet girl from a respectable upbringing. She sighed. It was, at least, distracting. And Harper did not deserve to be hurt.

"C'mon, Harper, any man'd jump at tha chance ta be wit ya! Lookit you! You're pretty, right smart, n' sweet as, uh... cookies or some s**t." Preacher had a hard time coming up with comparisons off the top of her head. She stroked the taller girl's back and tucked an errant strands of hair behind one pale ear. "Now, who in tha ******** is sayin' ya ain't good enough? I'll ********' knee 'im so hard he ain't never be able to ******** any ol' girl again!" She looked expectantly at Harper. Expectantly, and a little bloodthiristily.

Something inside Preacher went very, very still, and then it twisted. Her hands still patted Harper's back, her mouth still murmured nonsensical syllables of comfort, but her mind whirled. Of course, she thought bitterly. The same man that was bothering her had rejected Harper: sweet, good girl Harper. Was he ******** stupid? Preacher felt completely muddled; she couldn't understand his thought processes. Did he want to slum it up with her? Not want to be tied down?

"Axel? Blond hair, blue, blue eyes, ******** sun-tanned skin n' muscles? That ********' Axel?" She remebered the way his muscles moved underneath that skin. Dragging a hand down her face, she hissed out a breath. Abruptly, she hopped off of the bed and began to pace. The wooden boards creaked beneath her feet, bleating out squawks of frustration. A centipede scuttled under her feet, narrowly missing a flat death, but Preacher did not notice. Her hands curled into fists, the short crescents of her nails digging into her flesh.

"Of course, of ********' course," she muttered. She whirled towards the sobbing girl, hair swinging behind her, eyes flashing. Axel was stupid, stupid and ignorant. And it would be better this way - if Harper had him, if they got married, had little babies, lived a normal, middle-class life. It would be better. She swallowed thickly. A ball of confusion settled in her gut: a hundred unpleasant emotions swirling together. Preacher didn't know how she felt anymore. So she picked out one emotion, threaded it through her fingers, wound it so tightly around her heart that she forgot all the other emotions. Tried to forget.

"Harper. Ya jus' gotta convince tha damn man of how ********' much an idiot he is. And he is an idiot, a right stupid ********. Ain't no man alive what should refuse you. You're pretty, smart, sweet, n' he jus' too damn blind ta see it!" Preacher could definitely see it. Even crying, even snotty, Harper was a sweet, girl-next-door kind of pretty. And it made Preacher's anger burn hotter. She buried the jealously, the bewilderment, yes, even the strange self-satisfaction that Axel had rejected her. Instead, she only let herself feel anger, and a burning determination to beat some sense into the stupid blond man.

"We... we jus' gotta make him see it." Preacher swallowed the strange bile that rose in her throat.

"You kissed him?" Somehow, admist the tears, she had missed that little detail. Preacher's shoulders felt very, very tight. Oh, so he didn't want to date anyone. Fine. She understood. But, by walls, Axel would ******** see that Harper was better for him in every way if it killed her. And it might. He didn't want to date anyone, anyone at all. Which, unfortunately, included her. Preacher shied away from that thought and the yawning hole that seemed to open up in her gut. Instead, she sighed, and walked back towards the bed.

She loomed over Harper, hands on her hips. "Clearly, he were right delusional. Iffin he dun wanna date, ya jus' gotta convince him he does." Placing both hands on the girl's shoulders, she gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Dun ya worry, Harper. You're smart enough, right damn pretty enough for any damn fool. He was probably jus', I dunno, all nervous-like or summat. Ya kin be sad for a bit, ya ken? But then we gotta go on the offense. Gonna get him ta realize his b-blindness."

s**t, this was awkwardly hard to say.

She had kissed him; he had kissed her back. Preacher's knuckles cracked. It really was hard to think of encouraging things to say when all she wanted to do was go find the stupid man, slam him up against and wall and press up pepper him with questions. Axel made himself so easy to hate, but Preacher's distaste was... well, things were complicated and she hated that.

Straightening, she flopped down on the bed again. "It's a right pickle, Harper. But ya like him, doncha? So ya gotta keep tryin'. Ya weren't a fool fer kissin' him, ya wan't be a fool fer chasin' him. I'll help ya - drop a nice word in his ear for ya. Tell him how good n' sweet ya are." Her hands fisted in the coarse sheets. Preacher swallowed past the lump that rose in her throat. "N' he'll see. Axel will kiss ya again n' you'll forget that yer first one weren't like fairy tales. My first one weren't like that neither, Harper. It was... well, it was different. Buck up."

Preacher wriggled and kicked off her shoes as well. Harper had liked him longer than she'd even know him, probably. Everything considered, Harper was utterly perfect for him. Perfect. Pretty. Girly. She sighed. "Harper, ya deserve happy. N' if he'd make ya happy, I'd help ya in any which way, ya ken?" Even if it made Preacher significantly less happy. She'd live. Maybe.

Love. It was a strange foreign notion to Preacher anyway. It was soemthign designed for girls with stars in their eyes, blushing beauties and coy smiles. Not for girls in alleyways, in taverns, in heated breaths in dark corners. Harper had the chances she didn't. And while Preacher was convinced Axel was absolutely horrible to Preacher - that he looked at her and saw slum girl - Harper was good. She could have him in a normal way.

Yes, Axel smelled good. Yes, his lips felt good, too good, enough to stop Preacher's constant train of thought. But she didn't say this to Harper. "Y'know, iffin you're ever right confused if ya love him or not, should try kissin' someone else - y'know, see if ya heart speeds with others too. Like a test."