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Andulka
KIROKAZE
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

⁂

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@ctzxkai
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I'll be gone for another week because going to Japan ehehe soooo Kai and Sehun's replies come after that! <3
lip bite
Physics says: go to sleep. Of course you’re tired. Every atom in you has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes nonstop from mitosis to now. Quit tapping your feet. They’ll dance inside themselves without you. Go to sleep. Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch by inch America is giving itself to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch. You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep. Astronomy says: the sun will rise tomorrow, Zoology says: on rainbow-fish and lithe gazelle, Psychology says: but first it has to be night, so Biology says: the body-clocks are stopped all over town and History says: here are the blankets, layer on layer, down and down.
Albert Goldbarth, “The Sciences Sing a Lullaby” (via larmoyante)
— velocity ; kai & myungsoo
Myungsoo scoffed as he didn’t believe that Jongin didn’t treat this as a joke. Everything was to him, always. He knew that much. For as long as he’d known the younger, there were times like this particular one that he failed to grasp the other’s logic, and he had to admit that he was too impatient to do so, and it came off as exhausting to the older male. And so, he lets the younger do what he wanted, telling himself that he knew what he was doing — if not, there would be consequences.
What’s the worst that could happen?
With the younger’s dragging responses that did nothing but grate on his already high strung nerves, he’s had it — “Stupid little fucker,” Myungsoo muttered under his breath in his fluent second language, dismissing him completely before entering his vehicle; he didn’t want to play games. He was not in the mood for Jongin’s stupid games. If he could take physical and psychological stress so lightly, then so be it. Myungsoo had heard the other thank him, using that honorarium as if it would do him any difference, and found himself ignoring it.
Childishly, he was determined to give him the cold shoulder. As if he would really learn from his actions, he thought to himself with the small shake of the head. They had butted heads for years, and seeing that Jongin was still young, he was very stubborn. Like he ever listens, he found himself thinking, keeping his eyes on the road as he shoved the key to the ignition with more force than necessary, turning it and hearing his vehicle purr to life.
He kept his lips sealed, but the slap of reality that he was about to give the other was already on the tip of his tongue, and he was unable to restrain himself: “You might just regret this,” he said, not sparing him a glance. Myungsoo checked his side mirrors as he strapped his seatbelt on, his body moving without him giving much thought; checking the breaks and the gears. He swallowed thickly — he couldn’t remember being nervous during races, perhaps ever since the first time that he joined this type of hobby. It definitely had something to do with the boy beside him, his face obscured with the lack of light streaming from the windows.
The crowd had cleared from the road to let his car through, and his opponent followed suit, the speed kind of creeping — slow, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. The typical starting point was marked with white flags, and Myungsoo steered his car to the proper location, his heart pounding against his ribcage as cheers erupted. Myungsoo plastered a smile on his face when he saw his co-members and giving Jongin a fleeting glance, feeling his co-members assessing why he had another person in the car with him. Myungsoo ignored this, training his attention to the woman holding the red flag and tried to push the worry down. He will be fine. You will be fine, he internalized. For now, he had to focus on not getting the both of them killed.
The flag waved at the same time that a gunshot to the sky sounded, and Myungsoo pushed down on the accelerator.
The skepticism which persisted to drench Myungsoo’s facial features wasn’t surprising for Jongin, given that the older male had always reacted that way towards Jongin’s caprices. Some things simply never changed between them, and this very kind of interaction had been exchanged a multitude of times. Neither of them had the inclination to stop this either; it had been engraved into something akin to a habit, which existence had felt so normal for Jongin that he decided to brush off Myungsoo’s apparent vexation without further ado. He had known Myungsoo too well in handling his obstinance, and even when Myungsoo himself had sprung out with a similar background to Jongin’s (and therefore had been shaped with a similar fashion of a stubborn nature, as it was the typical case when it came to these kids coming from affluent families), he had always believed that Myungsoo wouldn’t argue his case too much for Jongin wasn’t easily budged once he had set his mind on something.
He’d thought that Myungsoo had succumbed to the plea entirely when he heard Myungsoo’s warning, and almost failed to curb the scoff which threatened to mar his expression with bitter accents. I know was the only answer which erupted in his mind instantly, since he did. He was aware of that more than anyone, and he’d started feeling the simmering laments at the pit of his stomach the moment the click of his seatbelt came into his ears. The reminder that this was real, that the imminent extreme velocity would engulf him in no time, and his determination to simply seek a form of trivial revenge for those years spent under his grandfather’s iron grip had left him with no choice but this. After all, any step which he’d taken in this would only leave him with regrets—it was only a matter of why.
And Jongin chose to regret his bravery than his cowardice.
He spared Myungsoo a glance through his peripheral vision before fixating his gaze on the road before him—vast, illuminated dimly by the lampposts which seemed to emphasize his path towards his demise. The agitation on Myungsoo’s face was almost impossible to miss, but Jongin had no energy to place his concern on Myungsoo when his own apprehension had escalated, his hands resting on his thighs while his fingers dug into his palms, marking them painfully with crescent marks in hopes that the pain could help distract him from the sandstorm of fear while the insides of his stomach were already performing somersaults.
When Myungsoo floored the accelerator, the sudden gush of paranoia clawed on him, followed by the pinpricking pain coming from his palms. Perhaps he bled, but the lurching motion towards the finish line snatched his focus, inundating him in the surge of various what ifs.
His father, calmly stepping on the accelerator to bring the vehicle towards the apex of its performance, with him sitting behind the stirring wheel, on his father’s lap. His father, overwhelmed by his passion towards velocity,
velocity which burned Jongin at that moment.
His father, in flames.
Crushed metal; crushed metal was the only goal which would become the ending of this trip. Crushed metal and inferno. Death.
The invisible hands clawed into his throat and Jongin gasped, trying to breathe, trying to survive. His eyes were on the road, on the blurred view where everything was too rapid for his eyes to catch. You’re going to crash and die was reverberated in his mind like a chant.
And this—this felt like the closest thing to death as he couldn’t breathe, lungs charred black by the lingering thoughts, suffocating.
— tracker ; 11.03.14
in the process of synthesizing ;
chanyeol, daehyun, emily, jiho, kris, lucy, miyoung, yixing, yuuki.
tales yet to be continued ;
dara, eunji, jongdae, jongup, sooyeon.
reverberated sounds of the ticking clock ;
baekhyun, donghae, kyungsoo, min, myungsoo, pacific rim!au, reina, serine, sora, sulli, sumin, taemin.
epilogue, denouement ;
I think I might be forgetting some people. (`-д-;)ゞ If you’re supposed to be on the plotting list and I managed to forget you, please let me know and I’m sorry. Plotting with Kai is currently being closed since I’ve taken too many for him, and I need more for my other character so I’ll be focusing on him soon. (´・_・`)
staining red || kai & sumin
{ ` as she waits for the bartender to prepare her drink, her fingers brush over the smooth marble counter top. her interest is drawn by the sound of a voice that seems as though it’s been laced with velvet. her mind registers the question and she thinks that it’s directed towards her. when her brown eyes meet with those of the male’s, her assumptions are confirmed. the aura he emits matched with his relaxed and confident style tells her that places like this are his domain. she hesitates, mentally debating on whether or not she is to respond. if only she can count how many times she has been told not to talk to strange men in bars. nonetheless, the person sitting beside her doesn’t seem strange— not in her judgement, at least. and if he is, perhaps it’s for the better. on the news channel, the neighbors of people who have committed crimes are always interviewed. “i never suspected a thing,” they would say, “he seemed like such a normal guy.” perhaps normal is the worst of the two. after weighing her chances, she decides to reply. she doesn’t care, she thinks, not really. today is the day she’s supposed to let go, anyway. }
{ ` her tongue darts out to wet her chapped lips before she opens her mouth to speak. } I suppose you could say that. { ` her laughter is dry and she wonders how he could have known. did she look so obviously undone that even a stranger was able to tell that there was something completely off about her? or did he simply overhear her drink order? truth be told, there are two very mundane reasons as to why it was the beverage of her choice. one, she isn’t fond of the taste of alcohol and wants to be done with it as soon as possible. two, the more potent it is, the sooner she’ll fall out of sync with reality and into paradise. } How could you tell? Do I look that bad? { ` unconsciously or not, she brings a hand up to comb her fingers through her hair. }
{ —his voice somehow still manages to overcome the clamor which inundates the atmosphere that surrounds them even when he maintains the deep timbre to accent his voice; a product of accrued habits in masking his actual mental age after those years of being exposed to meetings filled with people in lavish suits and opulent dresses. it's something ingrained, and he's subconsciously let it slip into this type of interaction, donning the veil of faux maturity since he's been told that maturity is sexy. older women, according to his experience, wouldn't show their blatant curiosity in regards to a nineteen year old, especially when they're much older. they choose to furtively watch, to admire without touching, and so he's learned to play the game in the better way since being admired from afar is never as fun as having them exhibit their admiration through the ghosts of touch lingering on his skin. and it seems that even with the slightest smidgen of vacillation which laces her expression, this tactic of his has successfully captured her interests, although he could be wrong--Jongin, after all, is better at pretending that he's good at deciphering people's demeanor than actually doing it, but her response to him indicates that he's right about it this time. }
{ --a corner of his lips is tugged into a smirk, but it isn't the typical indolent smirk which he usually flashes to irritate certain people. it isn't one which contains a superfluous amount of impudence. if anything, it attempts to be alleviating in a way, conveying that he understands completely what she's going through since he has his rough days too sometimes and just wishes to drink the weight of his problems away. he finds her fingers raking through the cascading dark locks almost too endearing, as though unintentionally delivering her insecurity. } It was a lucky guess. { --he says, attempting to console her. } You don't look bad at all, don't worry. { --he licks the seam of his lower lip before curling another amiable smile. } My name is Kai, by the way. May I ask what yours is?
Since the HQ is done and rolling, I'll be back to maintaining Sehun and Kai's activity. Sorry for the delay! _(┐「ε:)_
CHRYSOPOETICS I. the world ends softly— systole, then the sudden absence of answer. II. the sky burns in pieces—Beijing first, then Bangkok. The news is full of men and women in surgical masks, suitcoats rimed ash-white.Children are being kept inside, it informs, but you catch round faces at the edge of camera frames, small noses pressed against windows. (how to explain Armageddon to those little grigori, wide-eyed and guiltless?) your town gets hit between Nashville and Kansas City, a few chill-sharp hours before dawn. you stand in the gathering white, death dusting your eyelashes. it’s getting harder to breathe. III. the cities flicker, fall dark. The nights become silvercold bright; the milky way a Jacob’s Ladder—ascending, ascending, and impassible. Sometimes you see dark shapes pass across the constellations, slipping from empty to emptiness. Their wings blot out the stars. IV. you forget how to sing. you forget what it was for. V. you count your ribs one morning—trace the crescive struts of them with your ever-lengthening nails. There is blood in your teeth you did not put there; war rides a burned-out red mustang, and his mouth tastes like the wrong end of a bullet. The pale rider sits on the end of your bed at night, carving and sealing shem into your skull, whispering,the harvest is past. Under the bloated sun, you tear down the last gods. It is not enough, this slow monstering— you have remembered the apple still lodged in your throat and you are not saved. VI. the angels come too late, feathers crawling with mites and eyes flat as snakes’. The smell of ozone lingers in their skin, and glory glory glory sounds like a punchline. They promise altars and arks; the hollow earth, the ascending light.You will be gold, and gold again. You are not surprised when their throats are torn open, revealed to be hollow. VII. it is cold here at the end of all ages.
by notbecauseofvictories (via haffalump)
-- ❝ talk that ❞
offering a smile towards an employee that shuffles by her — that stares a minute too long, a second past comfortably — and she drops it immediately once he’s out of sight. throwing a glance over her shoulder, she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she avert her attention away.
— and it’s a voice that diverts her attention back, and she grumbles. but it’s her name, one that’s calling it hesitant in a way. it makes her brow furrow, and she twists her head, raising her brows at the male that’s in range. pushing her form to stand straighter, she turns to face him, and blinks; assessing, analyzing. i haven’t been called noona in a long time…
it’s after a minute of thought that it clicks — her eyes widen, mouth parting as she gazes at the male that is all too familiar. her cheeks flush at her mistake, and she hurriedly waves a hand in the air, dismissing his flustered reaction for something along the lines of the temperature.
"…jongin-ah?" her tone is of that of incredulity and surprise. the last place she had expected to see such a memory was here — and of all the memories, kim jongin hadn’t been one she exactly wanted to see.
— not that jongin was a bad person. in fact, sooyeon liked him quite a bit. but jongin is apart of that life, when she had been the poster child of the jung family. that life — in which sooyeon has done her hardest to shove to the farthest corner of her mind. she wets her lips as she regains her thought pattern, blinking as she tilts her head at him. her face shifts into a look of a smile, because she’s still in her place of employment, after all — and truth be told, she’s always liked it when he’s called her noona.
"well, this is unexpected." her tone has mirth and amusement dangling on its edges.
And it was truly her; not a wrong path which his mind had misguided him to, not a faulty memory which sometimes was shoved at the far back of the crevices. It was something real, and the gush of nostalgia didn’t curb itself anymore, deluging him in the bout of remembrance as he perused her guise. She’d changed, not a lot but he still could vaguely recall how her jaw and cheekbones didn’t use to look that mature, chiseled by the years of separation between them that it was enough to etch a sense of surprise within him. A pleasant one, if he might say. Sooyeon had been someone whom he’d been fond being around, and he hadn’t exactly found a plethora of friends within the confines of the society defined by their covert decadence and blatant hypocrisy. So to see her again, to see her growth, infused nothing but positive feelings.
He found the smile perching on her lips alleviating, and he mirrored back with nearly no lapse in time. He closed the gap between them, coming to a halt less than five feet away for he didn’t really feel the need to create a chasm between them—not when they had known each other so well once upon a time. “Yeah, it clearly is,” he nodded, smirking. “How have you been doing?” The standard inquiry tailed soon after.
It took him a little too long to notice the uniform that she was donning—one which was slightly familiar after a multitude of visits to this place. Jongin blinked, bewilderment marring his features, not too flagrantly but it was still visible regardless. It was a mild surprise, an additional effect added although this one fell into the brackets of neutrality instead of something delightful like that of their meeting. It wasn’t that having a job in a casino was anything to be frowned upon, but it was just... atypical and fairly uncharacteristic for the Jung family to let Sooyeon have this kind of job. However, he wasn’t the right person to pass any judgment pertaining to how the family would act and react, for he’d never really known her parents past a mere acquaintanceship. “Do you... work here?” he eventually decided to indulge his curiosity, the question laced with vacillation albeit the answer was as clear as day.
— velocity ; kai & myungsoo
"Passed?" He repeated dubiously, hearing the lapse in the younger’s words, his right eyebrow arched at the absurdity of it all. But then, it wasn’t impossible — some people grow out of their fear of the dark when they get older, and sometimes, they didn’t. They live with the fear until they inhaled their last breath; it was instilled, to stay forever. Not unless the certain person did something to numb the fear enough for it to disappear. But then, watering down something that terrifies you isn’t an easy task, except if you were… Myungsoo had cut off his own train of thought, and internally, the puzzle had clicked into place and he wanted to tell Jongin that he was stupid for even trying to do this without proper help —
— Myungsoo, at any case, was not proper help.
"Do you think everything is a joke?” Myungsoo retorted, the plan of the other slowly coming to him, comprehension finally sinking in, the younger’s words sending a mild flare of irritation into his system. The Kim Jongin he knew had already emerged from the surface of the dithering mess that had asked him for help mere minutes ago, and it made his eyes narrow into a glare. While Jongin’s words were true, racing was more than just about the danger. It was about the sense of achievement, the pride that he got when he wins a race; it was for the prestige, the call of his name throughout the sidelines when the flag finally waves the end of the game; and it was for his makeshift family, Anathema’s benefit, but all of these, he kept bottled in, as while Jongin knew about his underground activities, he was not aware of Myungsoo’s other purposes.
Liability? Did he really think that it was about that?
Myungsoo was appalled at the notion that Jongin had really thought this plan out, up to the extent where he had already written his will at nineteen years old and called it a suicide. Stupid little fucker, he wanted to blurt, but he bit his tongue, the annoyance building up into light anger at Jongin taking his life so lightly. ”I’m thinking that I’ve underestimated your level of idiocy,” he deadpanned, not fazed by the usage of the honorarium with his blood coming into a boil under his skin, his expression humorless as the other smiled at him lazily.
His concern wasn’t about his ability to keep them both alive, as he would make sure that he would, with every part of his being, but rather, it was about the younger male’s desire to face something that he couldn’t for the past few years. He had no idea of what could happen to Jongin later on, when he pushes the gas pedal to its limit a few moments from now.
He didn’t know how to handle that.
Myungsoo studied the other’s face, wanting to tell him that he will definitely regret getting in this race with him, but then, who was he to control what Jongin wanted to do? Jongin had obviously worked too much in order to face this, and he was the only obstacle keeping him from doing it. The younger seemed determined to get the ordeal over it, but for what purpose was the whole thing for, he still did not understand — and he hates, hates not knowing. He averted his gaze from the younger, wordlessly opening the door and getting in his car, finally conceding to the request, slamming it shut as he swallowed down his anger at the other’s impulsivity.
You won’t let him die, he chanted in his head, the irrational thoughts invading him and he can’t, can’t bear to lose someone so close to him — and he blamed Jongin again for letting him think as such, as he will not crash his car with Jongin in it. Stupid, stupid. Myungsoo had even gone through the countdown from one to ten to calm his nerves. No one will get hurt. He’ll be fine. Trust him.
He hoped that Jongin was right — that it had passed.
If he wasn’t too occupied with nursing his apprehension which kept gurgling beneath the carapace of his newfound artificial confidence, he would’ve found Myungsoo’s incredulity half-hilarious. But he was far too busy schooling his expressions so that the turmoil simmering within him wouldn’t bleed across his features, his fingers on the verge of quivering but he tried keeping the tremors imperceptible, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets to curb the symptoms of fear. Still, the remnants of his smirk sat across his lips, as indolent as ever, as audacious as intended. It didn’t even fade along with the growing anticipation, the preemptive thoughts inflicting more force on his heart, pounding pounding pounding. Maybe his obstinance had grown to the point past his weaknesses as a human being, sometimes—and he had the old man to thank for this.
“Not everything,” he replied, composure almost uncanny for someone who knew that he was going to be scared out of his wits to the level of puking his guts out. “This isn’t a joke, Myungsoo. It clearly isn’t.” His words were slightly drawled, sluggish, as though his tongue was far too lethargic to argue his case since Myungsoo wouldn’t seem to keep up with his pace and comprehend the matter at hand. He was slightly torn between limiting his inane offense given that he was the one in need of assistance, and staying true to his normal nature, stirring annoyance within Myungsoo since that was what he was good at—the way Myungsoo was good at grating on Jongin’s nerves, too. Both of the choices had its own set of risks, and neither of them was safe enough to ensure the succession of his plan. Myungsoo was still an intricate mind which Jongin couldn’t read for the majority of the times, struggling to find a filament of parameters yet he still couldn’t, thus the absence of the benchmark to base his decisions on.
He opted for the latter upon hearing Myungsoo’s statement in regards to his level of idiocy, shrugging with levity brazenly put forth in the gesture. The astonishment in Myungsoo’s tone was almost flattering, as if disclosing the fact that Jongin had never ceased to amaze him even after these years, still crammed with surprises that Myungsoo didn’t know how to anticipate. “And here I thought nothing about me would come off as a surprise for you anymore,” he spoke, still with the same dragged tone. “But if this thing, a small thing like this, still manages to surprise you—worry not, I still have heaps in store.” His tongue was more loosened than what he’d fathomed—it was no longer tethered by the imminent doom anymore, and it was, according to his partially hazed mind, a positive kind of the unexpected.
It might be a figment of his imagination, but Myungsoo’s taut defense seemed to have been frayed at its end, perhaps by Jongin’s tenacity. But the lowered fortress of objection and refusal, albeit subtle, was enough to let Jongin take it as a form of permission, so he grinned and thanked Myungsoo with hyung still added on the back of his sentence, lined with the saccharine which he’d typically reserved for sarcasm. He slid into the passenger seat and closed the door with a resolute sound, putting his seatbelt on and waiting for Myungsoo to follow suit since it seemed that the race was about to start. At least under the diminutive flood of luminosity offered by the lampposts, he didn’t have to be too wary of having Myungsoo spot his demeanor under the pressures from the exposure.
— scintilla ; kai & kyungsoo
{`— bitterly, kyungsoo realizes that remembering jongin comes with a terrible flood of loneliness. it’s the only thing he feels nowadays, if he even feels at all—but just like everything else he might feel, it’s become so constant that he’s grown used to it. what are you? he asks himself, five? you haven’t been five for thirteen years, kyungsoo. he watches jongin move and regrets saying anything, but regret won’t quell his sudden, acute awareness of the immense emptiness that occupies the world he lives in. no one really knows him, like they might have when he was younger. nostalgia is for idiots; nostalgia is for the unsuccessful. he stifles a sigh in the back of his throat with another swig of alcohol, tearing it away into ashes. they cling to his windpipe. the stool beside him is occupied, now. he probably wouldn’t be able to say anything if he tried. pressing the glass to his lips, he swallows the ashes down with more fire. say something, say something. it’s been a while. how have you been? lonely. as usual. he fights to stop himself from laughing. he can’t even be real around jongin anymore, can he? he’s not five anymore. he learned to deceive at six. it’s been twelve years—there’s no turning back time. he turns back to his glass, only to realize that it’s empty, and pushes it away, propping his cheek on one hand and turning his head toward jongin. ´} i’ve been… just as well as anyone else, i guess. {`— he chuckles briefly, waving the barista over with one hand and tapping on his glass, dipping his head in silent thanks. ´} and you?
{ --it doesn't really take a long time for him to realize that maybe approaching this person of his past isn't the wisest idea that he could muster during the expanse of the night, the blatant discomfiture creeping into his the moment the lapse in the conversation settles in. the person seems aloof, possibly mirroring that of Jongin's own countenance whenever he's disinterested by his impromptu company, opting to take another swig of his drink rather than truly indulging in the interaction exchanged between them. but at least it buys him time to try and dig into the crevices of his mind, travelling past the dollops of time defined by grandfather, grandfather, grandfather, brothers, mother, father. it's a consequential motion, backwards. his past is never the most bitter, marred by both abandonment and expectation commonly found in a household laced with nothing but a bountiful of wealth--but it's not exactly something which he wishes to reminisce about as often. his grandfather's stern grip around his wrist is never the highlight of his life, yet it has claimed the preponderance of it that he can never revisit the days passed without walking across the graveyard of his adolescent days. but this boy, doe-eyed with a pair of heart shaped lips and fair skin, doesn't seem to spring out of that period of time. it's way past that--way past the pain muffled into the customary feelings that his grandfather has lodged into him after all those years. this boy came from the far, far years; his childhood. tea parties and tall, pretty glasses between the fingers of men in pressed suits and women in satin dresses. Soo... something along that line. Soo, something Soo. something which vaguely reminds him of another person, and maybe that's how this person's name is blurred--it's being overshadowed by the most current happenings in his life, by the constant nuisance which occupies the forefront of his mind on a continual basis. }
{ --the other male's answer snaps him out of his train of thoughts, and he almost appears confounded by the sudden resume of the conversation. the answer causes Jongin's mind to race again, for there's no such thing as being as well as anyone else. "well" is a relative parameter, without a solid and standardized definition to answer Jongin's question, but he doesn't push further. } Likewise. { --he says curtly, before taking another sip. } Soo, is it? { --he vacillates, displaying his uncertainty. it's been long years, after all, and he feels justified for not recalling the other male's full name. }
— airborne ; kai & donghae
(/customers comes and goes every day but there were some who frequented his bar more often than others, and it was only right of him as a bar owner to remember their face and their usual drink, sometimes also their names if they seemed nice enough to share it with him (some people didn’t like sharing their personal information but that was just them). what was his name again? something short along the lines of… kai, perhaps? might be) … (/donghae takes out a glass and prepares his drink, a margarita as usual. taking the finished drink in his hand, he walks over to the customer by the corner of the bar, which seemed to be his usual spot as well, and places the drink on the table in front of him) here ya go (/a gentle smile appears on his lips as he stands back a little, crossing his arms in front of his chest) i haven’t seen you in a while. how are you doing? (/it was the usual questions, a little chitchat between customer and waiter, a few exchanges of words, and it would seem as if donghae only asked him because he felt obliged to, as a part of service and everything, but donghae asked because he was genuinely curious of how the younger male had been doing in his time gone. it wasn’t like donghae could call or text him either – they weren’t at that stage of friendship yet – so whenever he got the chance to talk to the other male, he’d take it)
{ --he observes as the older male prepares the beverage for him; the nimble flicks and twirls of the wrist have never ceased to amaze him even when all those tricks seem simple. there's an art in the way bartenders do their job, concocting performance out of an otherwise mundane job. Jongin surely isn't the only one who is captivated by the art, although not everyone shows blatant interests, and he himself has never shown a considerable amount of intrigued expressions even when he's attracted by something since appearing callous and unwary sometimes has its own perks. his fingers naturally curl around the glass after it's served before him, and he thanks Donghae. the man doesn't leave him to attend to the next customer as expected, and instead he lingers around to initiate a conversation with Jongin. his lips stretch into the usual amiable smile, nodding. } Yeah, it's been a while since the last time I came here. I'm all right, just a little swamped with... life. College. { --he decides to go with the basic, the superficial, shrugging lightly to emphasize the inanity of his life. } Yourself? { --he asks in return, taking a sip of his drink. the warmth proffered by the alcohol trails down his esophagus, the mixture of dulcet and sour of the aftertaste ricocheting in his mouth. }
— tracker ; 04.03.14
in the process of synthesizing ;
chanyeol, daehyun, emily, eunji, jiho, jiyeon, jonghyun, kris, lucy, miyoung, pyo, sora, sulli, yuuki.
tales yet to be continued ;
dara, jongup.
reverberated sounds of the ticking clock ;
baekhyun, donghae, jongdae, kyungsoo, min, myungsoo, pacific rim!au, reina, serine, sooyeon, sumin, taemin.
epilogue, denouement ;
I think I might be forgetting some people. (`-д-;)ゞ If you’re supposed to be on the plotting list and I managed to forget you, please let me know and I’m sorry. Plotting with Kai is currently being closed since I’ve taken too many for him, and I need more for my other character so I’ll be focusing on him soon. (´・_・`)
staining red || kai & sumin
{ ` the door slams shut with a thunderous sound that would normally cause her to wince, but at the moment, she can’t hear it over her heart pounding in her ears. moments ago, she received a text from her brother. the brother who she no longer considered a part of her family, the one who was dead to her. how he had obtained her number, she didn’t know. all she knew was that the memories she had repressed for so long were resurfacing and her pent up emotions were about to burst like a dam. she buries her face into a pillow and screams until her throat is parched, but despite doing so, she decides that she can’t handle it. }
{ ` she stumbles out, calling for a taxi and climbing in once one stops for her. she tells the driver the address of her destination— a bar a long way across town. there was always the option of visiting the arcanum casino for a drink and it would no doubt be less costly, but that would mean risking the chance of someone recognizing her. she valued her composed persona and didn’t want anyone she knew to see her during the moments she was anything other. when she arrives and the bartender stops to ask what she’d like, she orders for the strongest beverage. tonight, she didn’t want to be the cool, calm, and collected sumin. tonight, she wanted to drown herself in alcohol and not have a care in the world. }
{ —the sounds of the clinking glassware resemble something akin to metaphorical tintinnabulations which welcome him to the night, reminding him that it's still early and he has a plethora of time to squander beneath the crepuscular incandescence. it's not a place where he religiously frequents, and he garners attention upon his arrival; a fresh face with a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket and impudence worn like a second layer of skin. he ambles towards a corner of the bar to ensure that he has enough space to enjoy himself, yet it's a space which he wouldn't mind being interfered as long as it's for the better. for the more fun. he settles himself on the stool and orders the usual margarita as an entree, fingers secured around the frail neck of the container as he leisurely takes a sip after another. }
{ —halfway through his drink, a woman (or a girl?) occupies the seat next to him and he doesn't exactly have any objections. she probably is as old as him if not just slightly older (and in his defense, him frequenting these kinds of places would only increase the chance of meeting older partners, given that he's relatively really young, just a little past the benchmark) and indubitably attractive with those wide eyes and sensuous lips. he doesn't spare her more than a glance to ensure that he remains clandestine with it--to show an exuberant amount of interests at the first sight would be way too off-putting--but he quirks his eyebrows upon hearing what she orders as the opening. she doesn't build up the pace, escalating straight to an apex which will certainly shove her to a free downfall just as soon as she starts regardless of how high her alcohol tolerance is. that definitely piques his interest; it's either her custom to do so, or she's simply meandering out of her habits to lose herself in the maelstrom of faux liberation, escaping the grip of reality as rapidly as granules seeping past the interstices between one's fingers. his bet is on the latter, although it's difficult to judge without perusing her for a considerable period. when his lips part and his tongue commences to form the words, he doesn't refrain himself from it--from spilling his blatant curiosity. } Been having a rough day? { --he inquires, before imbibing the rest of his drink and sending her a glance, proffering a polite smile which oozes a trained sense of sympathy. }