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A list of Harlow's Character Tropes
Peter Pan Syndrome
Unrequited Love Ownership Victim
Oldest Twin
"Local Woman Says the Answer to Poverty is to Kill Poor People."
Nepotism Baby
"Drug Crisis Not Really a Crisis 'You Big Baby' states Local Woman"
Spoiled Brat™
Not-Like-Other-Girls (she's much worse!)
Namebrand Family
"Woman Who Wanted a Specific Show to Watch Decides to Get Her Own TV Network"
"Woman who claims to 'own people' doesn't grasp negative connotation of slavery."
Party Girl™
Tomboy™
Mean Girl™
"Having Never Been Told 'No' Before, Woman Pulls Out Katana at McDonald's Employee"
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Atticus might be having a meltdown, but Harley's already too busy making the rounds around the room, attention-span like a toddler waddling through a candy shop. She's tipping out a book by its spine from the shelves by the time he talks, and it's just all a bunch of words! Just like the book in her hands before it slaps shut. She doesn't like it when people think she doesn't know things. She knows all things. Every single one of them!
"Say it again," she mimics, her head jostling back and forth before the book is shoved above the others, avoiding the gaping space where it once was. "You're getting so OLD! CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?!" she adds, cupping her hands around her mouth. Big grin. "You should give all the thanks to Asty, anyways. Not my fault you had to lose."
his fists clench where they’re clasped at the bar top, knuckles white with the effort of proximity. the pulitzers were never anything short of a plague on the events they were forced to all go to together. a row of promising children all clad in pressed clothes and polished shoes. look at them all now, some were never going to grow. it would be better to just ignore her and wait for her to pick a different victim, but there’s always one sore subject.
“you don’t understand how any of this works do you.” his drink is finished in one swallow. “say it again.”
#it's definitely not her fault that she's the queen of pettiness and had to take someone else's toys for it#atticuswinters
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Attipus! She sees him through that glass in the door, no escaping her, just like when they were little! Those functions were so funny whenever she got a hold of the silverware, tossing her little knives at the loser boys. As if they even hurt! Too bad she didn't bring her katana with her to do it all over again; he sure could use one to his face. There's only one person who could ever pull off the look, and it's not Attipus Lose-ters.
"Finders keepers! Losers weepers!" She walks in, hand forming an L on her forehead for him, all grins. "That's what happens when you don't call dibs on a contract! Blah!"
a glass filled with ice clashes together, the sound made louder by choice as the bourbon refuses to settle. there is nothing to be done. the days between bidding and casting are tedious. the chips falling in slow motion, they must remember their favorites. “the lead?”
#i......... hate her hkdh#had to use this gif because it's the most ic thing I've ever seen in my life#atticuswinters
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Ugh! She's SO annoying! She always has been! Thinking she knows everything about everything! "Ohemgee, yes! I wish I could have gone, but someone has to be the boss! So..." And that's her. Obviously. PBS has always been for her. She just chooses to share it with Bridget because. Daddy wouldn't have it any other way, anyways. But when has he ever said no to her? Never. She's the favorite and everyone knows it. Not one person would ever question it. Ever.
Like the spoiled child she is, Harlow's impulses aren't well refined; she rolls her eyes at Astrid's question before waving it away. "He wouldn't know inspiration if it bit him," she tells her. Who annoys her more? Nasty Asty or Onion? It's a hard call, but since Harlow's belief system has mirrored the old adage 'out of sight out of mind,' Astrid wins in the moment. "It makes super sense now why he called you!" A laugh follows. It's only a JOKE! "Ser-i-ous-ly! Why would he think you'd know anything about dirty old stuff? That is so random!"
“Oo! Seeing things? Crazy!” Harlow exclaims before plopping into the chair and onto Nasty Asty’s imaginary friend. The only kind of friend she has! Sad! And then to think she wouldn’t be seeing a real person so soon, and then on top of it being her. “No way! I did,” she replies back like a little girl being thrown a ball with a bat in her hands, feet on the ground at the closed off Yankee stadium for her 7th birthday. Home run! She remembers it, so it must be true.
“So, when did you become our intern? Bridge told me you were working with Ryan, so what’s that all about?”
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"Oo! Seeing things? Crazy!" Harlow exclaims before plopping into the chair and onto Nasty Asty's imaginary friend. The only kind of friend she has! Sad! And then to think she wouldn't be seeing a real person so soon, and then on top of it being her. "No way! I did," she replies back like a little girl being thrown a ball with a bat in her hands, feet on the ground at the closed off Yankee stadium for her 7th birthday. Home run! She remembers it, so it must be true.
"So, when did you become our intern? Bridge told me you were working with Ryan, so what's that all about?"
“this seat is taken” her gaze flicks up to the person who is now grabbing the other edge of the chair across from her. whether they contest the judgement or not is up to them. call it a test, call it a short lunch break. she doesn’t much care, she’s only curious. “i didn’t think i’d be seeing you so soon.”
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bridgetpulitzer:
“i haven’t gotten the chance!” as though someones been trying to take all the words from her mouth before she could say them. covering up her meaning, pushing her out of the way. has she not found anything newer, or has she just not shared— which would be the wrong wrong answer in her current state. both, and so she just thinks about the dinner that’s become their dinner. “i get this one night! it’s a welcome gift, you said so yourself!” words take twists and turns, develop through new style of twin speak. “i left this once! it won’t happen again.”
She's in a huff! She was in such a good mood, and now it's all gone! She barely knows why. She just feels it, and isn’t that enough?! Harlow's slippers are put on by force, slamming her heel down on the hardwood floor like those good old days. Her hair flips around when her head pops back up to look at her twin, throwing back the only defense that becomes her default. "No, I didn't!" She can't argue against that. It's literally impossible! And so for a moment, smugness creeps into her lips and into her shoulders as she stands up. "But no it won't happen again," she echoes back, "because you're going to swear to it." Arms go from briefly crossed to separated again, one hand held out with pinkie outstretched. "Repeat after me. I, Bridget Pulitzer, solemnly swear on the life of my dumb director that I won't leave again. Do it!"
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norascwyer:
she stares at her cousin, wondering if she should feign hurt or agreement, if any of it really mattered even in the slightest when the conversation seemed to ping back and forth between rationalities. if she searched far enough into the future she could see that there would never be any book at all, but the exercise is futile. it does little to answer her present questions. in the end there is no response given. seeing the twins interact, she knows that sometimes harlow prefers it this way. who would dare to challenge such assumed authority anyways.
her fortune is given, as incoherent as she expected it to be. word association done by a child will always have a result, but that does not mean it has a correct answer. “maybe.” although it doesn’t have the same ring as being justice, does it. strange how the imbalance works. “i want to introduce you two.” she can think of nothing she would like less than to try and be in a room where harlow pulitzer and clementine fehr are trying to carryout a conversation. “i just want to give her a good reason, so she’s extra excited.”
her next card flips, the jack of spades. must be her upcoming husband’s name. “writers can be…” she reverts her language, trying to match the chatter of the christmas parties and thanksgiving table. “kind of fussy. i want you guys to be friends, since it’s so because.”
Harlow is no psychic, though she pretends to know all, and she's no prophet, though she pretends her word is god. Nora's 'maybe' in anyone else's hands would be built up to the size of a temple, even on the foundation of teasing, but there's no temple less interesting than one that doesn't worship Harlow Pulitzer. It's in ruins before the ground is broken to construct it, overrun with Nora's weeds.
A hand of cards gets slammed down to her side, face-down. Still playing, but having her tantrum, too. Whoever said you couldn't just wasn't smart enough. "I'm a good reason!" Clementine Fehr would be LUCKY to meet her, and a cousin should know that! For all of Nora's hard word in kneeling down to the level of a child, she receives a heated huff. "THeY cAn be KiNd Of fussy," she mimics back, head swinging with every word before she blows out her tongue. "Why wouldn't she want to be my friend? We have stuff in common! My stuff!"
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norascwyer:
“think i could fill a whole chapter?” she knows the answer, the scathing laughter that must accompany a no. but it’s better that way, she’s found that the less her cousin, the less anyone, knows about her life the better. “wouldn’t want to take away from the philanthropy paragraphs.” there’s no reason to consider this a serious offer, the book will never manifest. she is just here to lose a card game and move on with her night.
the rules make sense in a playground fashion, those old school games where it only had to make enough sense for the small group of girls playing. but they’re adults now, and she’s settled into the rules of poker and blackjack, go fish a remnant of things long past. still, she nods as though she’s accepting these terms, “best hand wins.”
a five of diamonds is flipped down on the table, middle of the road as far as all things are concerned. “so, the author? you just want her opinion?”
There's a particular laugh that accompanies little girls that have outgrown their innocence but don't know why yet. Some keep it as a souvenir of youth. Harlow is five again, toothy grin following her bubbling laugh, a squeeze from the lungs, like wringing out a dirty sponge. "Nah..." is her answer, that same tone that's plastered on wrinkled noses and squinting eyes, the voice of a girl who knows nothing about what caused the shattered Ming vase with a pair of nunchucks dangling from her hand. "But it's not like it'd be a chapter people would read!" As if that solves that. A problem that didn't exist until she created it. Made all better thanks to her. She's welcome.
"Borrrrrrrrring." She looks down at her card, lip raised up to display a canine of disdain. "Only you would get something like that." But there's a smile. Aged 6. Maturity is blossoming as she puts a finger on it, ignoring the topic of the author in favor of the game. For now. "You're awakening your senses because there's five of them. Duh. Red is passion. Diamonds means commitment... Ooo, maybe you'll get married, Nori!" As if! "My turn!" She flips down her first before correcting it from being upside down. "Justice," she says proudly, as if she's won her make-believe game already. "It means I'll get what I want." Self-satisfied smile before the side of her head lands on her shoulder. Speaking of getting what she wants.... back to the author. "I want her because! Isn't that good enough? You're so nosy."
#i'm doing some research here because the cards do have actual meaning but harlow just isn't reading them right.#justice upside down means unrealistic romantic expectations and if that isn't correct let me tell ya#norascwyer
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bridgetpulitzer:
they’ve never owed each other anything, the charge for dinner will be lost to the wind alongside everything else that has ever cost another human being money. she smiles back all the same at the jinx, slipping back into the familiarity of it all. someone who knew all her answers, who really didn’t need to ask the questions. and in the end harlow gives in, lets her have the car that she’s missed so dearly.
the second part, not so much. not that she’s drank the rehab koolaid. but there were certain rules to going home, little adjustments that meant that she couldn’t just do absolutely anything she wanted— just yet. the word her counselor had volleyed at her singed the air: RELAPSE. she can’t escape the watchful eye just yet. “i don’t want to take that old stuff.” jammed between the seat cushions, waiting and rotting like a real time bomb. “it’s my dinner.”
Old stuff. If there's anything that can turn off a Pulitzer it's to call anything outdated, popping it into a category that is beneath them, that belongs to all those who aren't them. The last thing that is ever acceptable is to call her stuff old. Harlow's face pinches up, lips borrowed from her childhood-self, an annoyed pout that usually acts like a geiger counter to an oncoming tantrum. "And what? You have something newer?" And she didn't share! Didn't SAY! The needle is shaking closer to the right. "It's my dinner," she parrots back, dual-serving purpose to mock and rectify while she shoves on her slippers. "You leave and come back and now it's all yours, huh!"
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norascwyer:
“what’s going to be in your memoir?” she’s learned that while her cousins are wildly more privileged than she could have imagined when her mothers tried to reason it out for her. and they have the funding to make any problem go away in the snap of their fingers. but they aren’t as bright as they thought they were, in fact, they had some glaring blindspots. but she wasn’t in the business of psychology, she was just a business woman.
and it was good business to keep them happy. “i’ll play.” she has no idea what the game is or how the cards are supposed to be thrown down. if it’s a tarot reading it won’t be accurate, if it’s anything else there will be no reason for it. she doesn’t win games against harlow and bridget, but she is such a great sport. “what are your rules.”
"What's NOT going to be in there?" That's the better question. Somewhere there's an answer laying around here, probably a push away from the descending slide that spirals down to talking with a ghost writer. "Star. Genius. Philanthropist," she counts them out on her fingers with her katana limply held in the other hand before her head whips back up at her cousin. "You could have your own chapter if you win." That's prize enough, isn't it? Then again, that's if she wins, a notion that would hold any weight had there been a legitimate game involved.
"It's so easy." The cards are scooped up with the edge of the blade. In her own head, she's the greatest dealer at the card table, able to shuffle them in one hand if she wanted to. She doesn't. But if she did, she would be the best at it. "I get five cards. You get five cards. Whoever has the best hand wins. It l i t e r a l l y couldn't be any easier. You might have a shot that way!" she teases before her tongue sticks out, one wink to accompany it, the most kawaii girl in the room. "You start. Show me your first card, and you better make it a good one!"
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bridgetpulitzer:
who’s allergic to edamame translates to opal was always stupid, always annoying, always trying to fit fit fit where she didn’t belong— didn’t she know better. no one who is supposed to eat these things ends up allergic to them. the world ejecting you like some malformed thing. the world did not eject the pulitzer girls who had their pick of food and cars, and never had to think about whether they could or couldn’t, just if they wanted to.
“rolls.” the answer is out of her mouth a split second after the question is asked, almost too quickly. harlow knows the answer, it is always a rolls royce and if it is vintage it is all the better. but she asks the question anyways. she wonders if her twin has started to be polite in the short time she’s been gone, or if the welcome back is just a painful jab that she’s pretending didn’t stick. “it’s a rolls royce and it’s going to nobu.” she doesn’t sound as confident as she feels. as though she’s waiting for the rug to be pulled out of her again at any moment, but it’s not going to be. why would it be? “and then maybe mcdonalds for dessert.”
"Rolls," she says at the same time as her twin, self-satisfied, feet swinging back and forth in the air above her back. "Jinx, you owe me dinner!" she beams before her voice changes for the new sound in her ear, the first and only ring that gets replaced by Dave or Matt or Steve or whoever. "We're going out to McDonalds on Wilshire Boulevard. Pull around the..."--she eyes Bridget, teasing that she might say the opposite, but she's in a good mood, a welcoming mood--"we'll go with the Rolls since Bridge hasn't been in one in forever."
She doesn't need to say good-bye or anything else that indicates the two ends of a phone conversation are meant to be equals. The screen brightens with the call ending before dark again with one click. "Oo! I wonder if that molly tab is still stuck in between the seats..." she wonders aloud with a tilting head before swinging herself upright. "You know what goes great with that?" A hand slips beneath the settee, tossing out the pair of slippers she had on earlier. "Not Nobu."
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norascwyer:
@harlowpulitzer
she did not get her first job because of her cousins’ last name. she knew that in the abstract their last name had funded some part of her lifestyle and education, but she did not go so far as to take advantage of such a connection. but there had never been any harm in doing a favor when asked. “why did you want the author so much anyways?” casual discussion, both parties were winning. she had new talent, though she wasn’t sure why. that would have been up to the elder of the twins to illuminate. “she’s nice, but i didn’t think you cared about literature.”
"I read all the time, so check yourself," she huffs with a set of rolling eyes that land upwards to Nora. Harley has more important things than to give her the full effect, and she goes right back to her tarot cards she's sitting on the floor with, dealing them out like she's playing poker with imaginary friends.
"What if I wanted to get my memoirs done, huh?" The Star card is flipped over on her side of the messy piles, making her grin like a child who has been pleasantly surprised with a B instead of a D on last week's report. She is a star. They're right as always. "People want to know what it's like as a Pulitzer all the time!" And then she flips over the one across from her with the edge of her fingernail. The Lovers. The smile is gone. Impulse is inbound. The katana that's used as a toy smacks into it with enough force to crimp it, devoid of expertise to cut.
"Mine," she speaks as she uses the sword to scoop it over to her pile, almost as explanation if she had any self-awareness. "Wanna play, Nori? Bet I can beat you."
#come on nora play with the crazy lady#she's family#norascwyer#my hc is that she kinda digged cora and she was like oh snap this stuff is kinda cool let me not learn it at all
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Basics
Full Name: Harlow Henley Pulitzer
Birthday: Aug. 5th
Age: 33
Zodiac Sign: Leo
Religion: Self-proclaimed Taoist (low-key thinks she might be an immortal, guys)
–Religious Level (1-10): 7
Birthplace: Newport, Rhode Island
Current Residence: Los Angeles, California
Height: 5′ 7″
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blueish/Greenish/Grayish
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Love/Romantic Preference: Heteroromantic
Relationship Status: Proud owner of Cal Remington
Languages Known: English, she KNOWS Japanese (trust her), she also knows all British slang (which is a language by itself so), Italian? Ciao???? She’s seen Lake Como, she’s learning French (but the stupid owl is saying she’s wrong??? unrealistic.)
Details
Car: Austin-Healey Sprite Mark 1 in powder blue (top speed is 80mph)
Phone: iphone 13 pro in sierra blue 1TB (3rd replacement) no case, no screen protector, sticker on the back given by Leo Thorn at a charity thing (who cares) [x] it means Live in the Moment, guys (no, it doesn’t)
Music Genres: ODESZA, Arctic Monkeys, Diplo, Tame Impala
Wardrobe: Band graphic tees (Queen, Nirvana, Bob Dylan), cargo pants [x], distressed jeans [x], dagger waterproof boots in army green [x]
Estimated Net Worth: 5 billion
Ransom Value: Mom and dad would pay ANYTHING to get her back. She’s their favorite
Bloodlines + Connections
Bridget Pulitzer | Twin
Cal Remington | Favorite Contract!
Chandler Pulitzer III | Dad
Florence Pulitzer | Mom
Nora Sawyer | Cousin
Orion Mitchell | Katana victim
Levels
Drinking (1-10): 7
Swearing: 6.5
Smoking status: 3 / Cigarettes? Nah, but sure does like watching it by some people. She’ll do a hookah, though.
Drugs: 4. Who would even think of going to a Tame Impala concert and NOT bring molly
Cooking proficiency: N/A. Literally has never tried.
Intelligence: 4
Emotional/Social Intelligence: 3
Creativity: 6
Temper: 8. Give her what she wants and give it to her now. Otherwise, she’s super chill!
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bridgetpulitzer:
she counts along with harlow’s order as though she is a dutiful maid and not someone hearing it over and over again. there’s a novelty to going through the drive through of a mcdonalds, the driver making small talk with whoever is on the other side of the little metal speaker. the delivery of hot apple pies and thick milkshakes that can’t possibly contain all the ingredients it said they did. there’s a novelty to it, but no more than being able to finally go to a familiar restaurant where people recognized her face and she didn’t have to say anything except put it on the tab.
“no no no. i want blue fin toro, unagi, edamame, and gyoza. i want it all to be fresh. mcdonald’s doesn’t even have the right soda.” it wasn’t a question of being able to create her own meal out of what was available on the menu, but that she would have to do it at all, that she simply wasn’t going to receive what she’d asked for. “why don’t you want to go out?”
Her mouth opens wide, and a finger sticks in it, mockingly gagging. Sushi sounds so much less appetizing when her twin wants it and there's something else on her mind. It's funny how that works. "Ed-a-mam-e!" she stresses out the word into a four part sentence as she rolls herself upright, hair flipping around and feet finally landing on the floor. The wavelengths have been sent out, the memory recalled as if on shared projector screen. "Ugh, why did Opal ruin my sixth with that stupid allergy thing!" She goes back to lying down, this time on her side, then her stomach, hand stretching out to the side table to feel for what she wants. "Who's allergic to edamame? Weirdo."
Whatever point was trying to be made is lost. Harley's hand finally slaps on top of her iPhone, fingers curling around it while her chin props itself up on the arm of the settee to see the lit screen. "Uh, McDonald's is out. So," she corrected, throwing a look before returning to the speed dial. "Bentley or Rolls? I'll let you pick as a welcome back gift."
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bridgetpulitzer:
@harlowpulitzer
twins were made up of small gestures. she could read harley from across a room, there was no need for small talk. a glance as a paragraph, the tap of a finger as shining beacon. there were no hi hellos kisses on the cheek, there is no i missed am missing will miss you. she could feel both, and she didn’t need to articulate it. instead she is in her house, so is her sister. she likes it best this way, the feeling of wholeness. she shuns the thoughts of unhealthy dependence that her therapist tried to force her to agree too. she looks at her sister, and finally says “let’s get sushi. i’m starved.”
Bob Dylan is printed on her shirt. Play her some of his best hits; she won't know who’s singing. It's all wrinkled from the way she's sprawled out on a piece of furniture that can't be embarrassed by calling it a couch so it goes by settee. Harlow's ankles are crossed at the top of its back; her head is hanging off with hair streaming down to the floor. She hears sushi a half-second before it's voiced, like an echo of her twin's consciousness, just like how her tongue blowing out between her lips comes faster to Bridget than the air that separates them.
"I want McDonald's." Her eyes finally open, peering over at her half from the other side of the room, painted toes wiggling. "Big Mac, extra sauce"--the list is counted on the tips of her fingers--"extra lettuce, NO onions. Disgusting. Fresh fries. And an M&M Frosty. You can tell them you want sushi. They have that fish thing. I don't see why they can't just make it out of that."
#yeah bridge don't you want mcdonalds filet o fish sushi fhdkjhf#she really be thinking it's real fish but you know what that's just 1 issue here#bridgetpulitzer
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juliana. you don’t have to face anything alone.
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