Yes Sir, Thank You Sir

Now to Lexy's credit, Harley Scott had been at one point a nasty, demanding little monster that just loved "Daddy's plastic," the summertime regimen didn't exactly advertise the hard treks through the frigid cold or subtracting the "rich" out of rich kid.

*************************

Harley'd heard that moldy old joke one too many times.

The Cinder-Saster of the prestigious, reputable Winmeinster Day Prep.

It had not always been that way.

Harley-Ella's abuse hadn't come from a stepmother. Strict, curt, and just the slightest bit prissy Lexy Forcett turned out to be quite the reliable Mother. Sharp teeth too, when not for herself, but for her young step-daughter had she stood tall before a gallery theater of jackals.

Juvenile corrections. Miliary themed.

In the winter the wind was too strong, much too loud.

Harley loathed the excesses of socialite life. Had gone dizzy to the arcade games that fateful party he'd spirited her away.

As Jared had done now, by the agreement of both their families, had they been spirited away to the darling snow white winter of a ensconced woodside chalet.

"Harley, you're shivering," he spoke softly, taking special care of how she looked, to be whimpering in her thick blanket.

"I'zz fine. I'm fine. I'm grateful."

"Look, I got hot chocolate, come on we'll turn on the heater and then..." Jared gently touched her exposed hand, icy to the touch and nails edged blue. "We can talk. Please."

She shook her head. "It's Thursday."

"It's winter break. In the Rockies," he opposed. "Be nice to yourself, indulge a bit." Jared delayed, before saying it. "You're already beautiful."

"I-- I look nice, sure," she agreed.

"There, see."

"But it's Thursday, sweets for weekends not before."

Harley began to hum, no not hum...

She was harmonizing the words. A mantra.

"Sweets and phones and clothes and silk, spoil ilk."

"Sweets and phones and clothes and silk. Soft excuses, expensive filth."

"Sweets and phones and clothes and silk. Such spoiled-- spoiled rot," Harley couldn't finish, just let out a gasp and grit her teeth.

Eyes ferocious and defiant as he'd grown used to in school.

Yet the jut of her lip and strength of her scowl was a small ember. Nothing to dissuade even the vapid chic girls, much less-- whatever awful creature drilled propaganda through her skull.

She did make quite the grade in gym class.

For such a pampered, once sheltered daughter of a car mogul a la modern convenience.

"Harley, you know, a soft bed is just a nice thing to feel and... would you tell Celia or even Fred they'd be wrong to have something sweet every now and again?"

"Hardly," she harrumphed, "it's not my place at all."

"Then I'd hazard a guess it isn't some gross, evil geezer's place to tell you the same."

"I'm fine," Harley insisted.

But she took the mug.

"It's plenty warm."

"Hm okay, do you want your pink hat or the Harpy bronze 2009?"

"The 2009."

"As you say, my princess."