"So, what kind of ghost problem are we looking at?" Holtzmann asks, tightening and loosening the same bolt on one of her futuristic-looking gadgets, gaze unwaveringly trained on Harley.
"A problem that goes by the name of Gentleman Ghost." Harley finds herself transfixed, wits slow-moving as if jello-fied, eyes flickering between those restless fingers and a quirking mouth that's almost the same shade as her own.
"Mh, a gentleman." Holtzmann reaches for the slurpee on the edge of her worktable. Her lips curl around the straw.
"Nah, he's a thief, not a gentleman." Harley's throat is drying out. She clears it once, twice. "Just dresses and talks like one."
Holtzmann rests her elbows on the table and holds out the plastic cup, straw pointing towards Harley. "Not for much longer."
"Hope so." Steadying the cup with her own palm covering Holtzy's hand, Harley bends forward and snaps her teeth at the straw before closing her mouth around it. Her eyelids flutter a little when the cool slush hits her tongue. She loves strawberry.
Holtzy props her head up on her fist. Her cheeks dimple when she smiles, her yellow-tinted glasses evoke a biohazard sign, and her glow outshines that of napalm at night.
Before Harley forgets yet again why she's here, she grabs the front of Holtzy's overall. "When are we leaving?"
"You wanna leave already?" Warm and cold fingers envelop Harley's wrist. "I thought we'd take our time, assess the situation."
Harley tugs her closer. "Your place or mine?"