Catch Me When You Can,

Thanks for keeping the last letter back 'till I got to work again. ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂

[anemvia]

―Bʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ Nᴇᴡs

[anemvia]

xtaem:

“Right now?”

He’s got nothing better to do. He could say that, but he’s only just met this Jinki guy. He’d rather hold onto whatever dignity he has left and let him think he’s got something going on besides being overworked and underpaid at one of dozens of dance studios scattered throughout Gangnam. He takes a moment to consider it (to look preoccupied and cast a glance off into the distance at nothing in particular) before turning back to the guy and giving his answer.

“Yeah, I’ve got some time.”

And it figures, that as soon as he’s agreed to go off with this overly-cheerful stranger to be prodded at like a lab rat, the skies would open up. He’d been prepared for the half-hour trek back home. Who knows where the reporter is taking him. He only hopes the place he has in mind is within easy walking distance – and that he’s allowed to loiter around until the storm lets up.

…Or he could call a cab. “That works.”

He hopes that Jinki does have a place in mind. The only ones he could volunteer either offer no privacy (the studio) or are simply too private to invite a curious stranger to (his apartment). Maybe Jinki has his own office. Maybe they’ll end up conducting the interview over dinner. If so, it better be someplace nice.

“Where to?”

Nature may be against him, but Taemin keeps acquiescing to his requests, so he decides to ignore the world’s signs to backpedal. He does kind of need the money.

He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and takes a few steps out into the rain, hand waving and at the ready. He’s not sure where exactly he wants to go, but he knows that if they don’t flag down a driver now, they won’t for a while. Probably not until the clouds stop leaking.

“Good question. Maybe you should be doing my job.” He smiles.

It should be somewhere public so that there are witnesses in case anything happens to either party. He doesn’t have access to any one publisher’s offices, or else he’d do it there. He tries to think of places relatively close and inexpensive. He knows he’s going to have to pay, but he doesn’t want to break the bank.

A cab pulls up as he makes his decision, and he opens the door to climb in.

“Cafe Slow.” He offers another, more polite smile to the driver, and motions for Taemin to follow him. “If that’s okay with you?”

[anemvia]

―Bʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ Nᴇᴡs

[anemvia]

xtaem:

God, he’s tired.

It’s early afternoon, but he’s just ending an eight-hour shift after a sleepless night, and he’s dead on his feet. He’s lounging against the wall outside the studio, contemplating the long walk home. A cigarette smolders between numb fingers, half-forgotten as he eyes the sky ahead of him. He should just start walking. The longer he waits, the more likely it is that he’ll end up trudging through the rain.

He could call for a ride, but he’s already sworn to stop wasting money on things he doesn’t need. No one could get him to admit it, but he’s never far from broke these days. He doesn’t have the heart to tell his mother the truth: that after all his hard work, he’s no better off than they’d been when he was a child.

He’s just ground the cigarette butt into the pavement with the heel of his sneaker and taken the first step toward home when a man who’d been passing by on the sidewalk stops at the sight of him. And just from the look on the guy’s face he knows he’s been recognized. As his back hits the wall again, he casts a look down the sidewalk to either side, but there’s no escaping this guy.

He’s persistent – Taemin’s gotta give him that.

His face must be showing exactly how enthused he is with this conversation as he listens to the man’s pitch. He stares down at the business card but makes no move to take it. By the time he raises his eyes to the guy’s face again there’s a flat refusal on the tip of his tongue.

But he hesitates.

True, the idea of an interviewer digging around where he shouldn’t and trying to force Taemin to open up sounds as close to hell on earth as he can imagine. But on the other hand, this man would probably be happy with anything he gives him – no matter how vague, how frustratingly unenlightening. Just the fact that he scored an interview with Taemin at all would likely do more to boost the guy’s career than anything else he’s done.

And that had to be beneficial for everyone involved.

He shrugs. “Yeah, all right.”

When an idol breaches contract and leaves the Industry, there’s a media blackout. Idols who are able to escape the clutches of their companies are barred from television, radio, etc. This could last months or, as in this case, years.

Jinki is about to be the first to publish anything on this guy since the split. He wonders who’s going to fork up the most cash for this kind of article. He could be paying rent for the next couple of months on it.

Taemin doesn’t seem quite as excited as he is, though. His expression makes it painfully obvious that the request is annoying and inconvenient. The reporter had known that much already.

And then he hears the magic word: yes. Well, “yeah, alright” isn’t as enthusiastic as he’d maybe hoped for once in a dream, but it’s a yeah. That’s good enough.

“Thank you! Ah, are you free right now? It’ll be quick, I promise. Fifteen minutes, tops.” He’s got all of the standard questions memorized, and it won’t be too hard to come up with a few subject-specific ones as they go. He’s already taking up enough of this poor guy’s time. It’s a very intrusive job, but someone’s gotta do it.

The rumbles overhead crescendo into a near-deafening crash and before he can even think the phrase “huh, awful weather lately”, raindrops start to darken the pavement around them. He sidesteps and attempts to huddle under the overhang of the building.

He laughs.

“Well, maybe we have to find somewhere else. I can call a cab if you’re interested?”

[anemvia]

―Bʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ Nᴇᴡs

It’s been too long since he’s actually had a project to look forward to. While the past couple of months have been relatively interesting when it’s been coming to politics and international relations, there hasn’t been a lot happening with things that he enjoys writing about. Music, movies, plays… there haven’t been a lot of exciting happenings. His articles have started to become sort of monotonous.

He finds himself thinking about this again as he’s wandering around the city off-assignment, looking for… something. Something to write about, someone to walk home.

The sky is gray, threatening rain, and in the distance he hears the beginnings of thunder. It’s dreary. He’s thinking about heading inside when he notices a man standing just in front of the glass doors up ahead. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about a stranger, but something about the guy’s face and the way he stands is familiar to him. He’s seen it all before. He’s seen a million pictures. And it clicks.

Lee Taemin, from SHINee. Or, at least formerly. As he recalls, the dancer split a couple of years back. The limelight has been sticking pretty far away, too. Nobody’s been able to figure out what happened to him.

This could be something interesting.

He veers to the right as he gets closer. Smile: on. Charm: turned up.

“Ah, excuse me! Hi! Would you have a moment to talk?” He starts fishing through the pockets of his messenger bag for a business card, and leans in a little closer, so that he’s not talking loudly enough for passers-by to hear him. “You’re Lee Taemin, right? From SHINee?”

His fingers brush against a sharp cardstock corner and he pulls it out.

“I don’t want to seem too forward, but my name’s Jinki and I write a lot for some popular magazines and newspapers, and I was wondering if you’d want to do an interview with me? I think it would be interesting to get to know what you’re doing now that you’re no longer with SM.”

He takes a breath, offers the card.

“I know that’s a lot to take in at once. Sorry! Normally I call ahead, but I just happened to be passing by and spotted you.”

[anemvia]

―Iɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ Wɪᴛʜ Tʜᴇ Aᴄᴛᴏʀ

[litvny-blog]

For those with supremely healthy personal habits such as Kibum, it goes like this: you begin the day drained, what little sleep you managed anything but restful, and add however much caffeine it takes to jolt your weary bones into motion. Throughout the day this fuel is burned off, slowly at first, and then hitting a rapid decline about the time a normal person’s work-day is winding down.

Kibum is no normal person. Stage productions begin, almost without fail, after the sun has gone down. And so it is a minor miracle every time he pulls off a long play such as tonight’s with no forgotten lines or stumbling over set pieces.

Just as his own days have a particular rhythm, so too does the living entity that is the theatre. As curtain time draws near, the buzz of energy backstage reaches a crescendo in time with the murmurs of an impatient crowd. The first act is always the most vibrant, with more effort put into maintaining that vitality for each subsequent one.

Hamlet has five acts, and a run time of three hours — on a good day. Kibum is lucky he’s still standing.

At the moment, all he wants out of life is to get out of his make-up, into his street clothes, and home to collapse into bed. So naturally, every co-star, stagehand, and extra in the place has to engage him in conversation he’s only slightly too polite to rebuff.

A stranger’s voice chimes in, and only upon turning does he realize he’s been roped into an interview. The guy looks friendly enough — though young for a journalist, at least compared to others he’s seen around here. Must really need the story. So Kibum accepts, though he fails his attempt to seem enthusiastic.

"Sure, why not. Got nothing better to do."

[anemvia]

He doesn't expect a yes right off the bat. The actor in front of him looks worn, as if the events of the night have washed away the layers of energy he had once been stored with. He expects a flat-out no, and he expects to have to beg. But it looks like there is a God and he is benevolent, for the man in font of him takes pity and tells him yes.

He grins, a smile that cracks his tired face, and he takes a few steps closer, sidesteps Ophelia, and comes to sit down on a metal folding chair in front of a makeup vanity. It's still packed in here but he knows it's better to get this over with quickly, when the play is still fresh in both of their minds - and to allow both of them to get home relatively soon.

"Thanks very much."

He pulls the pen from behind his ear and reaches back into his messenger bag for his notepad. His energy drink comes to rest on the desk next to him and he settles in, flipping the notepad open and to the next blank page. He titles it Hamlet Interview, and begins to jot down a few lines of what he remembers from the performance. He probably should've been taking notes while he was watching, but he reasons that he couldn't see in the dark theatre.

"Okay, so, first thing's first: what's your name?" He looks up at the man and taps his pen against the paper a couple of times, trying to figure out what else he should be asking. He has it pretty much down to a science, but he can't even remember his process right now. "How long have you been a part of the Players? How do you feel about Hamlet?"

[anemvia]

―Iɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ Wɪᴛʜ Tʜᴇ Aᴄᴛᴏʀ

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Performed by Seoul Players.

He doesn't often get to venture into the world of acting. His primary business has more to do with the ins and outs of the government - segments on President Park and Prime Minister Jung. He's gotten used to the monotony of it all.

But sometimes - sometimes he's allowed to play with the theatre junkies. The men and women who dedicate themselves to breathing life into the creations of others. Jinki can respect that.

Hamlet, though, is a terrible tragedy... to sit through. By the time Ophelia starts singing, his mind is already going numb. He has to break out a can of Volcano to focus before he heads backstage. It's still in his hand as he slides towards the back wall, where the stage director is quietly congratulating everyone that passes him by on a good performance. Something in the way the man smiles, worn-out looking and content, says that they've already been through a big hurrah.

After a question or two, he's redirected to the dressing rooms, where a small flock of people is buzzing, some tired, some excited, and others complaining. He makes a beeline for who he recognizes to be their Hamlet, just barely visible within the chaos.

"Excuse me! Would you mind sparing me a few minutes of your time?"

[anemvia]

He is okay.

He is perfectly fine.

He has come to know this to be the truth; no matter how many times he wants to say otherwise, he cannot argue the fact that he is absolutely, definitively, alright.

He repeats this to himself sometimes, late at night. When the sky is dark and his apartment is dark and the only light to be found is the glow from the television, screen frozen on one frame of an old movie that he doesn't remember.

He chants it, over and over, as his fingers slip past the layer of cloth keeping him separate from his intentions and pick gently at the skin beneath.

He breathes the phrase in and out as one hand breaks away to grab at the handle of his favorite tool. And he thinks it as the steel edge is forced just past soft skin, sliding from one end of a frail abdomen to the other.

I am okay. This is okay.

[anemvia]

LEGAL NAME: Lee Jinki

NICKNAME[S]: Nothing of note.

DATE OF BIRTH: December 14th, 1989.

GENDER | SPECIES: Male | Human.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Gyeonggi, South Korea.

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Still living in Seoul. One bedroom in Hannam-dong.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Fluent Korean and Mandarin. Understands conversational English, can't speak it.

EDUCATION: Made it through University.

OCCUPATION: Print journalist, focusing mostly on politics and sometimes venturing into other subjects.

CRIMINAL RECORD: Not convicted.

DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: Not often | No | No.

LIKE[S]: Books, movies, and articles that have to do with his interests. He also likes writing, playing the piano, singing (occasionally, mostly just to himself in the shower), running, and food.

DISLIKE[S]: Silence, disorder, being told he must do something in a way that does not conform to his preferred methods, dirt.

FEAR[S]: Being caught, isolation, and germs.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: Calculating, controlled, disassociative, fabricated | Friendly, understanding, accepting, supportive, if not a little strange.

{ P H Y S I C A L   I N F O R M A T I O N }

HAIR COLOR: Dark brown but dyed blond.

EYE COLOR: Also a dark brown.

HEIGHT:  177cm.

WEIGHT: 61kg.

TATTOOS: None yet. He's not inclined to get one, either.

{ F A M I L Y   I N F O R M A T I O N }

SIBLING[S]: Only child.

PARENT[S]: Unknown to him; raised by his aunt and uncle. They were moderately well-off, they afforded him most of what he needed to get through his schooling, and then some; still reside in Gyeonggi.

CHILDREN: None. He does not seek to have them.

PETS[S]: None, but he is debating on whether or not he should get a cat.

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P   I N F O R M A T I O N }

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: None to speak of.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single, not looking.

SINCE WHEN: Since always.

[hanarichinspiration-blog]

[all] quirks my muse habitually has.

Writers, bold all of your character’s regular truths.

1. Smoking: the action or habit of inhaling and exhaling the smoke of tobacco or a drug. 2. Binge drinking: the consumption of an excessive amount of alcohol in a short period of time. 3. Drug abuse: the habitual taking of illegal drugs. 4. Nail biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 5. Lip biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 6. Night Owl: a person who is habitually active or wakeful at night. 7. Early bird: a person who rises, arrives, or acts before the usual or expected time. 8. Negative attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with criticism and pessimism. 9. Positive attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with optimism and confidence. 10. Swearing: the use of offensive language. 11. Superstitious: an irrational belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a course of events influences its outcome. 12. Inspecting fingernails: a common body language sign of boredom. 13. Scratching your neck: a common body language sign of uncertainty. 14. Foot and finger tapping: a common body language sign of stress/impatience. 15. Nose touch: a subtle body language sign of deceit. 16. Flipping hair: a common body language sign of craving attention. 17. Twirling hair: a common body language sign of flirtation. 18. Cracking knuckles: a common body language sign of readiness. 19. Hands behind back: a common body language sign of confidence. 20. Finger pointing: a common body language sign of authority. 21. Hands on hips: a common body language sign of readiness. 22: Hands in pockets: a common body language sign of mistrust/reluctance. 23. Frequent touch: a common body language sign of warmth/familiarity. 24. Throat-clearing: a common body language sign of rejection/doubt. 25: Jaw-clenching: a common body language sign of hostility. 26: Eye-rolling: a common body language sign of irritation. 27: Head-tilt: a common body language sign of interest. 28. Whistling: to emit high-pitched sound by forcing breath through a small hole between one’s lips or teeth; usually to a tune. 29. Humming: make a low, steady continuous sound like that of a bee; usually to a tune. 30. Perfectionism: refusal to accept any standard short of perfection. 31. Photographic memory: the ability to remember information or visual images in great detail. 32. Paranoia: a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organized system. 33. Exaggeration: a statement that represents something as better or worse than it really is. 34: Intuitive: using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive. 35: Quick-witted: showing or characterized by an ability to think or respond quickly and effectively. 36: Interrupting: breaking the continuity of a conversation with one’s own statements. 37: Doodling: to scribble or make rough drawings, absent-mindedly. 38: Irritable: having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed. 39: Gambling: to play games of chance for money; bet. 40: Travel-sick: suffering from nausea caused by the motion of a moving vehicle, boat, or aircraft. 41: Sensitive: having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of others’ feelings. 42: Melancholy: a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause. 43: Chewing gum: the exercise of chewing flavoured gum which is not intended for swallowing. 44: Fidgeting: to make small movements, especially of the hands and feet, through nervousness or impatience. 45: Sceptical: not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations. 46: Neat-freak: compulsively obsessed with cleanliness. 47: Gossiping: divulging personal information about others. 48: Prim: feeling or showing disapproval of anything regarded as improper; stiffly correct. 49: Abbreviating: Giving others nicknames/shortening names/giving pet names. 50: Having a catchphrase: having a sentence or phrase typically associated with a specific person.

[grigiabot]

“I never wish to be easily defined. I’d rather float over other people’s minds as something strictly fluid and non-perceivable, more like a transparent, paradoxically, iridescent creature rather than an actual person.”

- Franz Kafka

[the-library-and-step-on-it]

LITERATURE MEME:

Ten Prose: House of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski (5/10).

To get a better idea try this: focus on these words, and whatever you do don’t let your eyes wander past the perimeter of this page. Now imagine just beyond your peripheral vision, maybe behind you, maybe to the side of you, maybe even in front of you, but right where you can’t see it, something is quietly closing in on you, so quiet in fact you can only hear it as silence. Find those pockets of sound. That’s where it is. Right at this moment. But don’t look.