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The Harlow apartment was just on the cusp of Crime Alley, a street dubbed so darkly for the tragedies that took place in what was once a glorious part of Downtown Gotham.
The year was 2007– February 15th to be specific– and it was the night after Yue Harlow's thirteenth birthday. Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers, a rerun of the newest episode of One Tree Hill, was playing on the television. There was a low thrum to drown out Kisumi's belated and horrible off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. She sat on the wooden-panel floor, curled up in a ragged red blanket to block the freezing chill of a Gotham winter.
Or, at least, that's how that night should've played out.
Instead, with Kisumi working another graveyard shift at the diner downtown, her father decided it was the perfect time to kick-start her training.
Yue can barely feel her cold hands as Victor Harlow knocks her to the ground for the nth time, a heavy sigh of disappointment falling from his chapped lips as he drops her bo staff on the ground beside her. "Again," he orders. Snow falls around them, painting the alley behind their apartment building with a white flurry that threatens to overpower the coldness of her father's icy blue gaze. "Get up, Yue."
Collecting her weapon from beside her, she shakily pushes herself back up onto her feet. She had forgotten how strict he could be. He was never usually like this. Sure, he was barely in town; but when he was, he would take her for ice cream after school or cook dinner for her mother to lessen the burden.
But when it came to training – when it came to securing Yue's so-called "rightful place" among whoever his nameless partners were – he was as cold as winter.
Yue exhales into the cold, her breath appearing in a puff as she shuffles one of her feet backwards and moves into the correct stance that she had been taught. "Good." Her father's compliment sounds rather unconvincing, but she has no time to question his tone as he charges at her.
She blocks one of his attacks with her bo-staff, and yet it's still not enough. His leg swipes at her feet, knocking the child back onto the ground once again. His lips part to let out another order, but he stops himself as the shrill message tone of his phone distracts himself.
From the ground, she watches her father pluck his phone out of his pocket, but it wasn't the one he typically used. No. She recognised what this one meant. He had only been home with them for a week, and now he was already being called back by his employer. A week.
A frown forms on her face as she stands back up, listening as her father huffs out another sigh into the chilly night. "That's enough for today," he decides as he slides his phone back into the pocket of his armoured suit after reading over the message he had been sent. "Your mother won't be home 'till late but don't bother waiting for her. You have school tomorrow. We both know how pissed your mom'll be."
