Re: [Night time: Shiloh & Harlow]
He would gladly give her his mother, if it wasn't for the fact that she was bones in the earth. But for all that his mother had done wrong, it was his father who was the true villain of the story. His mother had been a bitch, but he'd been wrong about her motives, and now here they all were. Here he was, at a church and with spray paint in his hand, in this odd town where no one seemed to care about the normal things, and where everyone cared about nonsense.
"I'm not truly accustomed to harsh winters. We'll do well in the underworld. You can wear diamonds and so can I," he told her, his grin a cheeky and smug thing. "Can't you just imagine us now? Bashing around the Devil's parties? We'd be all the rage."
And then the time for art came, and he had never been particularly talented. Not exerting himself had always been Shiloh's way, and he wasn't terribly careful now. He looked at her offering, following her painted fingers to read her words, and he laughed loudly in defiance of the still night. "Cute, am I?" he asked her, and then he moved aside and motioned to his epitaph for her: I yearned to learn all her secrets.