CIDER
seoul – a fat, mutated spider of a city with far too many street for legs running down its sides. dear, sweet seoul – jinsil’s hometown and the one place she wished she could crush between her fingertips for the daily betrayal of seeing faces she’d rather forget. faces she blurs at the edges with a brush dipped in an palliative soaked palette.
today’s shift starts with the one she pulled out the dark ambers for: good ol’ avery jin. bambi danbi. the one bitch that managed to make her feel bad from time to time, an emotion she’d snap her jaws around whenever it fluttered in her chest.
( hey, she’d eat your heart out but that didn’t mean she was heartless )
now the sentiment doesn’t even reach her tongue, rather resting in the curve of her wrist as she wipes down some glasses. she rolls it, staring the girl down until she mirrors her, tilting her head slightly.
“did he?” a click of the tongue as her expression clouds with annoyance. "he knows we just got a new shipment of liquor in – he just doesn’t want to do any heavy lifting–“ a huff as she places her glass and cloth down. "well, come on. let’s get this over with.”
pathetic. even avery knows, though a little less than she did before, that she PALES in comparison to won jinsil. she’ll admit it, she’s envious, always had been; wild demeanor, pretty face, stone cold heart, avery barely even scraped the bottom of the barrel of that sort of calibre even at her current state.
of course, she’s never been good at being completely cold.
( especially in the face of old wounds threatening to tear open. )
even now, the perfectly poised indifference has her in a state of unease. discomfort settling in a sour heart, rising in the back of her tongue in a taste most bitter -- as if she’s never tasted a defeat as crushing as being treated a complete stranger by someone she held near to the tender organ she so poorly took care of.
ah, she supposes she’s already failed in not letting jinsil get to her again.
“well if he wanted to do the heavy lifting then there’d be moot point in hiring anyone else.” she’s not particularly good ( against rightfully applied pressure ), but avery tries, nonchalance laced in her words as she shifts to follow, purposely ignoring aching pangs at the memory of following ( she’s been trailing behind since their first year, a meek bud desperate to bloom under jinsil’s laugh, seulgi’s smile, leaning into their warmth, their glory, like a flower opening up its petals to the sun. ).
again, truly pathetic.
“anything new coming in?”
