the pale horse

yoon bora, twenty one years and kickin'! feel free to call me death, because it's what i embody. can't give a damn, won't give a damn--neutral is what i mean to say, i'm neutral--but make a wish and maybe mama skull will lend a hand.

[shining-gems]

[boraxfc]

✂— hell's bells

hmm?  haesun-ah, i'm sorry; i've been getting so many damn texts that i can't pay attention.  can i just take a second to call this bugger back?  { -- : laughs } no no no, no boyfriend-- { -- : aiiee, just fucking let me go.  idle chatter is made for a few minutes more before bora finally gains the freedom to leave; making the gesture of calling someone, the woman leaves and presses the phone to her cheek. } ahh, crater face. { -- : "crater face?" } did i fuckin' stutter? { -- : snickers as she rounds the corner }  what were you dancing for? { -- : "dancing?" } yah, hag--you're dead now, you can't be hard of hearing.  now what was it? { -- : the old woman's ghost excitedly tells her of a strange woman who had been visiting the hospital for a while now, doing "weird, mutant-y things." } hmm-- { -- : walking through the parts of the hospital with less traffic now, making her way to the where the spectre said the woman was now. } -- and you waited this long to tell me?  this better be good, or else.  { -- : swallows a cackle at the expression the spirit makes, waving her hand as an indication for her to go away the moment she finds the woman.  now it was time to play with the living }  excuse me?  can i help you? 

[boraxfc]

✂— blood on my name

[gmxravi-blog-blog]

☠

[boraxfc]

the corners of her mouth twitch at the sight the male's eyes--the unnatural hues were a mark of something more than human; he was a mutant--a panicked one at that--just like her.  it would probably be in her best interests to keep that similarity hidden she decides.  death could easily vie for his trust in more humane methods, draw upon words that would assure him of her goodwill and human standing.  

"i won't call anyone," an uttered promise, one that she would surely keep true.  surely, if others were to be involved, it would be more fun to sick the man on them--if possible.  there were a myriad of possibilities, ones that would surely open and close as she got to understand the situation at hand better.  "look, sir, i'm a nurse--" the woman fishes for her nursing identification card, tucked on the inside of a blouse (one, that as always, remained unbuttoned near the top).  what she does pull out is her own card in earnest, and she holds it in front of his face long enough for him to be sure of the truths she was feeding him.  

"we took an oath--" she takes a second to remember the name of the damned thing, only able to conjure that it had to do something with 'night.'  such were the flaws of playing pretend; bora decides to opt the detail in lieu of continuing. "--and that oath, sworn to the Lord himself, states that we help anybody and everybody.  no matter what.  so please.  let me help you." 

[boraxfc]

✂— blood on my name

having called in sick the day before--the woman had wanted to slink through the city that called to her senses with such fervour, to discover the very colour of the turmoil which existed in its very baby steps--it was easy to slink out sometime after 6 p.m., spewing apologies.  the act had been a very believable one--one that death had forced out a bit of lifeforce for--and the words she received in return were very genuine; it had been hard to swallow the raucous laughter that bubbled up.  dumbasses.  

heading home, smiling to herself as she recounts the last words she had heard before she had left the hospital--"keep your eyes open for trouble!"--she does just that.  trouble was fun.  trouble was good.  trouble was a constant that kept her fed, healthy (for the most part) and company, and when she sees the bent body leaning against a wall ahead of her, she thanks all the spirits below.   this was just perfect.  

concern, it's always concern that she has to fake and so she does; concerned, quick steps, concerned, knitted brows and a concerned, frowning mouth are what she greets the man with, kneeling down and placing a light hand on his shoulder.   leaning over to examine his face, she murmurs, voice soft, shaking and of course, concerned, she asks, "are you alright?"

[fcxgrey]

“a word for the lost—” ♕

☠

[boraxfc]

today was a big day.  

busan now lay in the grasp of what had attracted the woman to the city in the first place; in what death liked to call humanity's raw, atramentous core--fear, corruption and death.   she didn't even have to pop a head out of her window to breathe in the storm that had just kicked itself off the ground, for the woman already felt it in her bones, and lord, did it feel electric.  she prepares for the day with an extra kick in her step, grinning whilst she lines her eyes black; already, her skin was escaping the pallor that no matter how much she tanned--in the sun or from the bottle--lay underneath her skin.  

the knock at her door is a pleasant surprise and she cackles--there was no way war or sin would ever knock on her door with such consideration, so most definitely it was a stranger.  how wonderful!--without her leaving her apartment, someone had already come to play.  well let the games begin.   

stepping to her door, she reveals a sight that almost makes her feel sorry--pretty things weren't meant to be stained, and pretty was a word that could be used to describe the man before her, along with the typical threesome--tall, dark and handsome.  a sanguine pout and seemingly empathetic upturned brows are what she gives to the man before replying, "i'm sorry, i don't think i have."  

death doesn't know why she answers with that first, though the flicker of disappointment in the male's eyes provides a partial answer; there was something oddly delectable about the negative side of the spectrum that was called human emotion.  the woman chews on her bottom lip, feigning thought, and then, a gasp.  "wait!  i think... now that i really think about it, i think i might've?"  it's hard to swallow a grin at the attention her words garner.  raising a languid hand at around her height--she figured if she was wrong, then that would be fate telling her to strike now--continuing to say, "just the other night.  about yay high?"

[boraxfc]

✂— hey ho!

{ -- : as always, bora had to deal with the teasing of the dead.  today's subject?  her uniform.  the pristine, white nursing uniform that had handed to her on her first day couldn't suit her any less; the fact that they were hers was a fucking joke. and while a good majority of the spirits that spent their time hanging around the woman had learned to shut the fuck up about the uniform, there was one that had yet to learn.  and frankly, bora doubted she ever would.  

yoo shinhye, a wee girl of nine years, had a smart mouth and a cheery demeanour, despite her recent death.  the mutant didn't know why she bothered to keep her around. she supposed it was because the girl wasn't boring, and it was convenient to have someone put the likes of reginald in their place when she didn't want to.  the thing had seemed to have grown a tad attached to the woman as well, and so a distant memory kept her from sending her off.  with the span of eternity in front of her, the little girl could wait.  a distant memory that actually stirred the lump of coal in her chest--bora could puke.  her feelings towards shinhye were most likely a mix of 'like' and 'hatred'  with a tad of 'pity;' it was an interesting discovery, finding she had some of the latter left in her existence to give.  shinhye makes a comment too many and death practically growls-- }  i swear to god shinhye, i will send you off today if you don't fuckin' shut it.

 { -- : a chiding reply, one that makes her eyes roll but draws a dry laugh out of her as well }  just you wait later, fuckin' brat--i will smack you into the afterlife and bring you back just to do it all again.  { -- : huffs } 

[boraxfc]

fcxmyungsoo replied to your post: this is ur homegirl death just say...

goodbye

*hello <:

fcxyuzuru replied to your post:this is ur homegirl death just saying that if you...

lmao tbh i was gonna holla but u lame #bye

mm girl u sure

u sure

[boraxfc]

this is ur homegirl death just saying that if you wanna plot you should like this and i'll hit u up? yeyeyeye 

[hyoris]

[gmxjaebum]

“a day in memory—” ♕

☠

[boraxfc]

fingers adjust the bluetooth lodged in her ear, giving her the appearance of someone with a sense of purpose.  the device is merely an excuse to talk with her favourite of spectres, the noisiest of the lot--reginald harring.  with a light brush of freckles across his nose and cheeks, enigmantic green eyes and a curved, smart mouth, he floated about her, chatting away.  "bora," he starts,  "are you really sure this part of town is safe?"

"reggie, we went to syria and came out in one piece and you're asking me that?"  she snickers.  dark eyes wander around the street, placing themselves on the face of strangers. she wondered what she sounded like to them--some people heard english when she spoke, others korean.  the language of the dead sounded different to all, the only characteristic it shared upon varying ears being that it drew an eerie compulsion--people tended to stare, compelled by the chill that brushed down their spines.  it only encouraged death to stand taller, to smile in a way that could only be regarded as predatory, though she wanted to throw her head back and laugh instead.  idly tuning back into reginald's chit chatter, she engaged him in debate, the question on the floor being whether they should visit the red light district or not.  

"there's no value in it for you, you can't fuck anyone reg.  get it together or else i'm gonna send you to the in-between."  that causes the ghost to go on long, vulgar, comedic spiel that has bora cackling, "look.  maybe some other time but i'm dying for a snack--literally.  now do me a favour and find me something, punk.  somebody from the refugee camp or close, since no one will miss half of them."  the ginger obliges, coming back minutes later with news.  

"miss yoon, there's a male, yay high--" the being raises a hand a good ten centimetres above her hand, "--seemingly in his late teens and of good health, coming around the corner in approximately five minutes."  

death whistles through her teeth.  "you've done good soldier."  reggie gives her a genuine grin and salute, dissipating; he knew his place wasn't here anymore.  pulling the black feather coat around her shoulders, she headed off, meaning to meet the fellow halfway.    seeing an oncoming figure, she calls out,

"excuse me?"

[eevanbbuckley]

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Drive your son like a railroad spike (Into the water, let it pull him under) Don’t you lift him, let him drown alive (The good Lord speaks like a rolling thunder)