will byers stan first human second
izzy's playlists!
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we're not kids anymore.
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ellievsbear
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Misplaced Lens Cap
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@interxstitial
» welcome to interxstitial, a fandomless rp blog feat. original character im jiwon. please read rules before following. mun and muse are over the age of 21. this blog explores a variety of themes, including but not limited to: slice of life, supernatural, crime, horror, addiction, recovery, loss, and discovery. 💛
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What an apt way to summarize this entire evening so far. Saved yet another soul from being cleaned to the bone, accumulated enough stress to stir up the already dismal weather ... only to have tea while the outside world rages on.
Ah indeed.
"Long enough," he sighs, putting on airs that he hasn't kept track. In reality, each day has been logged since his initial visit. From listless wandering along the murky shore to a water clogged rebirth to now — Lior keeps count, of course he does, but rarely speaks of it. "Oh, long enough to ask if you're sure." Because once someone warms up to an extended residence in this strange town, it hardly ever lets them go.
the answer is simultaneously, somehow, both vague and precise. long enough. more than anyone juniper has met so far, lior seems to be the most knowledgeable resident. it's only logical, then, to ask him about moving in to harborview on a permanent basis.
"i'm... pretty sure." juniper nods once, brows pinched and lips pursed. the thought has lingered in his head longer and longer each day. he's been here for so long; he might as well officially move in. his neighbours wouldn't be so terrible, and there are plenty of odd jobs to be done around town. and after all these years of dragging himself from city to city, it would be nice to just... stay somewhere. "i don't mind the weather, and everyone's been nice. even those ladies by the rocks..."
"Oh I love your hat!"
The words tumble from Rion's lips as soon as the door opens, before Jiwon can even get a word out to greet them. The introduction does get a wide smile though as the younger nods.
"Yes, that's me. It's so nice to meet you. Are you excited for the beach? I love the beach. Flynnie's no fun to look at the rock pools with."
"Why do you think that might be?" Flynn responds dryly, following Fred - on duty and alert today - as he nudges him backwards to make room for Jiwon to step outside. "Also, you don't need to apologise, Jiwon, we're a little early. Rion couldn't contain themself."
Not to mention, Flynn hates being late for the bus. Still, the four of them settle into an easy gait down the hall and out of the building.
"How has your week been?" Flynn asks, directing a smile Jiwon's way.
there are plenty of words being thrown jiwon's way but very little time to respond. though it's a bit overwhelming, he doesn't dislike rion's energy. in fact, jiwon finds his lips curving into a small smile as he observes the banter between siblings. after triple-checking that his door is locked, he follows flynn and rion (and fred) down the hall.
"i've been all right." it's a standard response, but for once it's true. jiwon is looking forward to relaxing on the beach and indulging in fresh air. he'd even be happy to poke around the rock pools with rion if they needed company. "i kind of can't wait to see fred on the beach. i brought extra towels just for him."
— a new adventure . . . with @absolutione! »
"okay, so you just— not like that. you have to look up first. no, that's too far up."
teaching is nothing new for jiwon. he instructs entire classrooms of children (and adults, on occasion) throughout the week, and he has yet to truly fail anyone. with enough time and patience, even the most novice student can achieve greatness. but something about jin-ho is.. different. maybe their brains tune in to different rhythms, or maybe they're each accustomed to distinct styles of learning. where jiwon thrives with open exploration and experimentation, jin-ho seems to seek out objectives and set timelines. but it's all going to be okay because pokopia combines the best of both worlds!
"look up just a little bit, then hold ZR and start smashing stuff. wait, no, not that stuff!"
— a little surprise for @scrrface! »
four texts, one photo, and thirteen minutes is all it takes to summon tony alexander.
or, at the very least, that's all julien needs. that doesn't mean, however, that he enjoys it. a pout sits pillowed on rosy pink lips for the entire wait. with every passing minute, the weight of embarrassment grows at an unprecedented rate. it is a truth universally acknowledged that julien im-beauchamp should never be forced to wait for anything. accompanied by a tower of boxes to the side, he logs each second like names on a hit list. horrendous, repulsive, every last one of them. thirteen whole minutes tony makes him wait! front page worthy scandal, DEFCON 1 emergency, full-scale tragedies on all fronts.
just before julien meets the icy blade of this torture, tony finally arrives. his knight in obsidian armour, darker than shadows, more vast than the night sky. platinum blonde waves flutter around flushed cheeks as julien strolls through the now open door. hardly a noise arises from feather-light footsteps, then unequivocal silence once prada boots are tucked neatly away. coat and bag of equal luxury lay abandoned on the sofa, worth next to nothing in comparison to the precious ball of fur cradled in julien's hands.
"merry christmas!" he practically chirps, never mind the fact that they sit on the cusp of summer. two seas of blue-green stare back at tony, observant, assessing. not but a handful of inches away, the very end of a sleek tail flicks with mild interest. "no take-backs!"
which specific character archetype are you?
THE PROPHET-MARTYR. — someone representing something divine. eyes fixed above everyone else's, on something too great for words. a person with a heart aflame, and a distant sort of kindness to everyone, a person who'd trade everything simply to understand.
tagged by: @scrrface (hehe thank you!!) tagging: @miidnighters @thelonelymvse @adorajpg @quiroptofobia @moonsveiled @fairytaletold @fateguardian
it is a dance of embers. floating against the heated, static air that swirled around julien's stratosphere. what deemed itself difficult to be tamed by the common soul, turned itself into fuel within tony's system. at ease ! it is almost an exercise, to a man who found his hidden joy within proving the world wrong about its limitations. tony reads the words never spoken, gently steers them away from any ill temper, possibly to befall both. it demanded less effort than one would imagine and yet --- did the crime lord rarely bask in his very own ability of creating marvels.
in between julien's unimpressed glances, well guarded and groomed alike a maintained garden --- the phone would glide in and out of tony's hands. one call, perhaps. two at most ! as expected, in such exact manner did their entertainment for the night continue --- until seoul had dragged them through a full circle --- and delivered them both to one of the crime lord's rented apartments. in the midst of a beast's gaping jaw, she awakens, this cursed city --- below their gazes. glisteningly terrifying ironically, what benevolence, to grant the crime lord such ' playground ' to roam --- and leave every whim satisfied. one could deem it the most sacred of obligations and yet --- in this awfully modern, secondary residence of his, the dark, gloomy and polished interior --- suddenly reminded tony of a cold and foreign sentiment claiming him at once.
the slight drop of his shoulders. his blood, running cold -- in the very moment, he feels another's touch to waltz upon his skin. unchanged, the crime lord's countenance darkens. stood at the edge of the apartment's floor to ceiling windows --- motionless, as if in deep contemplation. truly, what could possibly be left to be desired, if naught was unattainable ? ah, but there is one thing of course ! something warm melts against own, cooled skin --- the approach of a long announced and suppressed shiver, to leave him hollow in his bones.
braced against the edge of his glass desk, monsieur beauchamp had decided to step into his periphery, blur along the edges of neon illuminations pooling upon the reflective surface. announcing himself with the same coquettish manner, he had been blessed with the entire night. a signature fragrance bleeds into his senses. saccharine enough, to freeze the crime lord into momentary recalibration. the smell of amber and crushed rose absolue --- sickly sweet, to spin his head. under this meticulous flowerbed, something else must have been buried. equally left unattained. like tony's sole desire. doomed from his humble beginning, was it not ! of such, he had convinced himself, after all. julien's taken liberty is one of tolerated allowance to the crime lord --- until their hand settles above his chest. each inch, more disturbing than the other. as if their nail drew blood, like a polished edge or --- a sharpened thorn. his body tenses. mouth, filled with the taste of a thousand crushed petals at the height of their bloom. left agape, a larger inhale taken through his mouth to raise his chest under the burning palm of julien. pair of hues to tip their glance downwards, capturing the object of orbit. fingers slip between the gaps of his. softer, so much softer. almost ripping him out of his unidentified somberness, the moment of lament, before its reason reveals itself to the mind. own pulse has picked up --- pressing against his veins. had he not decided to speak, his eyes would have betrayed his emotion at an instant. pained by an internal discomfort, traces of a stoic frown ghost along his brows. unmoving stature, " wishing to stain your hands, too ? " large palm closes around the other's hand --- in an intensity of a force used to hold someone captive in his grip, " you're really fucking greedy. " a low snarl, a conclusion, with no ill intent and yet --- delivered in a manner, hardly opposing such sentiment.
julien is no stranger to testing limits. since the day he could walk, he's been running for the lines drawn around him. eventually, too, he learned to dance around the boundaries, teasing with quick tendus and ronds de jambe. sometimes julien comes away with a slap on the wrist; other times, bone-deep bruises and burns. but even the worst wounds have yet to stop julien from clawing his way back up. the only way to keep him down is to shred him to the marrow, siphon out every last drop of blood, and incinerate everything that remains until he is indistinguishable from air. julien has been fighting almost all his life—why should he stop now?
keen eyes flicker over the self-proclaimed sovereign of the night, up and down then up again. he feels the tension under his touch, drumming pulse and just the phantom of a frown. how does tony alexander wear discomfort? like robes of silk, foreign on his skin? or does it drape over him more as furs stripped straight from the hunt, cleaned and tanned with bloodied hands? staring unabashedly into tony's eyes, julien watches a storm usurp the glittering reflection of seoul below them. blinking street lights and blinding neon dim behind the solid swathes of an incoming tempest. smoke curls in the air, dancing on the tongue and kissing the roof of his mouth. lightning has struck in the distance, and flames criss-cross through the forest.
what julien isn't expecting is to find himself immediately bound in white-hot fire, already burnt to the bone where tony crushes his wrist. flesh melted, blood vaporised in seconds. the pain doesn't hit until an agonising fraction of moments later, and it ruins him. when all skin and sinew have been cleaved away, what remains are ghosts. fucking greedy. stain your hands. exhaustion and microscopic fuses; spur-of-the-moment snaps that persist a lifetime. birthdays, alone. christmas, alone. dance recitals, alone. in the exceedingly rare instances of company, still, alone. why couldn't julien ever be satisfied? spoilt rotten, fed with platinum spoons, laid under diamond roofs. multi-million-dollar cars, private jet rides one call away, summers in any country of his choice. why couldn't he ever just leave them alone?
pitch black smoke saturates every crevice of julien's lungs. bitter, caustic. every pathetic attempt to breathe ends in blisters down his throat. no amount of sweet, dewdrop tears can soothe the burns, even as they flow in desperate rivulets. his weight shifts, as if the world slanted by a half-degree, and the trapped hand tugs weakly. the movement is more of a twitch than anything, a reflex in response to the fire still razing over and through him. overshadowed by storms, the silver moon retreats and the stars lose their shine. the whole sky dims, swallowed up by irate hands and an incensed gaze. julien should have left him alone.
Tate clasps his hands around Jiwon’s, which are around the phone, in a touching tribute to every teen drama movie on Earth. It’s not that he doesn’t feel it - it’s just that he’s recognised how they’re being and is playing into it a little more.
“First of all, making a family in the Sims 4 is not relaxing. It’s stressful and there’s a lot of critical elements to consider.”
Who knew he had such strong feelings about that particular game.
“Second of all, we should absolutely do that. We’ll make you and your boy in there and speedrun you guys getting married and having babies and all that jazz.”
Because Tate absolutely knows that’s going to happen one day.
“I can be the fun uncle neighbour. Do you have the werewolves expansion? Art can imitate life.”
suddenly jiwon sees the world in technicolour—bright, bold, beautiful. tate joining him in their silly fantasy buoys jiwon's confidence to the clouds, to the stars, to galaxies yet to be discovered. having a friend like tate means the world to jiwon. where flynn keeps him grounded and comforts jiwon when his expectations toe the line of unrealistic, tate lets jiwon's silly side run wild.
"you're right. i'm sorry. that's not relaxing at all." then in the very next moment: "who do you take me for? of course i have the werewolf expansion. and if you think i'm not making the perfect boo for you, too, we're gonna have to seriously re-evaluate our friendship."
seriously, jiwon says, as if their conversation has even broached the very concept. with a giggle (or more of a squeal), he urges tate to grab the snacks for their very, very important mission of the night.
“Oh.”
Chase’s mouth turns down while he thinks. For a second, he wonders if maybe Charlie would know what to do. Her ability sees the past - maybe she could touch the walls and know what started all this (and then, how to end it). At the same time though, Chase knows that he could never put his sister through anything like what he just saw.
Instead, he falls back on something reliable - his ability to (usually) make people feel at ease. HIs face brightens, smile wide.
“That’s okay. We can figure it out tomorrow, maybe. TV is good. Next time you should come to my place.” Less haunted, is what he thinks of saying, before deciding the better of it. “What kind of things do you like to watch?”
maybe. it's a nice thing to think about—hope for tomorrow. rarely can juniper afford to linger on the mere concept, too preoccupied with surviving the now, but it is.. nice. one day, maybe, he'll be able to sleep without shadows hunting him like game. eventually, with nothing left to re-adjust for a third time, juniper sits in the middle of the living room. he made sure to bring over all his blankets and pillows, hoping to provide chase with something comfortable to sleep on. if he had the strength, he would have pulled the bed out here, too.
"um—" juniper hesitates, struggling to put together an answer. he doesn't watch TV that often these days, which makes him feel a bit embarrassed for making the suggestion in the first place. pinching his lips together, juniper thinks for a few more short moments. he doesn't want to take too long, lest he scare chase off. "you know those... shows where they explain how things are made? i know it's kind of weird, but it's relaxing."
[ FOREST ] for the sender and receiver to go on a walk in the forest.
sunlight glimmers around them like a kaleidoscope, filtered through the thick canopy of leaves and branches overhead. they have a few hours 'til evening still, but jiwon is certain they'll need every minute the day can spare. readjusting the bag over his shoulder, jiwon keeps his eyes glued to the trail. a stray root might appear out of nowhere and trip them up. the last thing they need is to get injured while stranded in the woods.
"thanks for agreeing to do this with me. i feel like most people would just call me crazy."
shippy autumn prompts: ACCEPTING!
Flynn lets out another low noise as Jiwon rolls his hips again, and leans down to press teasing kisses at the corners of his mouth. Greedy, Flynn tilts his head for a proper kiss, but before he gets one Jiwon is speaking again.
"Fuck. Yes. That's all right with me. I want that."
Is it possible to get any harder? Jiwon straightens, and Flynn shifts underneath him.
"I can keep up, I promise." Stamina has never been Flynn's problem, but at the same time he's up against a dancer. His stamina has nothing on Jiwon's.
He shifts again.
"Touch me, baby, please?"
jiwon has no doubt they could keep this up all night, if flynn were in charge. with things switched, though, it's on jiwon now to control the pace. steadying himself with a deep breath, he anchors both hands on flynn's hips and uses the leverage to lift himself ever so slightly.
"i am touching you," jiwon teases with a coy tilt of his head and a sugar-sweet smile. his own hips hover above flynn's, barely half an inch of distance. one moment, jiwon gazes down at flynn; the next, he's peering over his shoulder at the mirror flynn so kindly put in their room. moaning softly, jiwon locks eyes with flynn in the reflection and tilts his head back to show off the arch of his spine. "you have to be more specific, baby. tell me where you want me to touch you."
Logically, Billie knows nothing is going to happen. The noise that terrified her has been over for a while now, and her supernatural hearing hasn't picked anything else up - but she can't help but worry for Jiwon when he slips out of the shared space.
She's on tenterhooks waiting for him to come back - the sound of his soft footfalls approaching the only thing that stops her from jumping when he pokes his head back in.
"Thankyou, baby."
Gently, Billie unfolds herself from the floor - shucking off her tall hoes and letting her bare feet hit the cool floor. Slowly, she makes her way out to the kitchen - not quite her usual, vivacious self.
seeing billie so downcast puts an ache in jiwon's heart. he tries not to let it show, though, determined to be a reliable pillar for his friend. jiwon stays close, but not so much as to come across as overbearing, as they make their way to the kitchen. atop the counter sit two bags, one for snacks and the other housing a change of clothes. part of jiwon is tempted to dump everything out of the first bag like a child ready to take inventory of their halloween haul. he's just so excited to spend the night with billie, but maybe he shouldn't make too much noise so soon. thoughtfully, he retrieves the snacks one at a time and lays them out in neatly organised groups.
"what are you feeling first? sweet? salty? sour? knock your socks off spicy?"
Flynn's grin beams to match. "Absolutely. I don't think Rion has any classes on Friday, and I can definitely be free. This is gonna be so much fun."
He's already making plans to get the younger to help him make up some sort of goodie basket or something so that they have something to snack on while they're there.
Blushing red, he stifles a yawn. It's still late, even if he has no intention of going to sleep and leaving Jiwon alone. "Sorry," He apologises. "Are you going to be okay at work tomorrow, being up late like this?"
"...yeah— it'll be fun." in spite of the delay, jiwon is looking forward to friday. if he fortifies the barricade in front of his door and adds another lock in the bathroom, the sleepwalking should stay under control. maybe he can stock up on bottled americanos, too. whatever it takes to ensure he survives the rest of the week. taking notice of flynn's yawn, jiwon feels a guilty grimace pull at his lips and indulges in one last pet for fred.
"i'll be okay. i-i should head back, actually. sorry, i forgot it was the middle of the night." slowly, so as not to disturb either of his neighbours too much, jiwon rises to his feet. he'll be exhausted in the morning, but that's par for the course. "thanks again for letting me stay a little bit. i'll.. i'll try not to wake you up so late again."
𝗪𝗛𝗬 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝗢𝗙 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄? 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅.
( SUNG MIN-KYU ) — original character intertwined with the world and lore of @blessedrulers, explored by wynter. 25+, she / her. due to the topics of this character, I don’t want minors to interact and please be beware of 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗗𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗘𝗔𝗧 content. unaffiliated with the k/rpc! 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗗.
Unfortunately for Jiwon, Flynn is used to keeping his ears peeled for out of the ordinary noises - which means he catches that pained little noise almost immediately.
"Shit, are you okay?"
Flynn pauses, turning towards where he'd last heard Jiwon's voice. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"
Well. Clearly he did, but hopefully it wasn't too bad.
He decides to play it off a little, filling the kettle and setting it to boil.
"Help yourself to whatever. I can always get Rion more."
"i..." jiwon hesitates, biting his lip as he keeps his gaze locked on the selection of teas, but he eventually decides on staying honest. "i just, um, stood up a little too fast and stubbed my toe against the table—but i'm okay."
his cheeks flood with colour, roses in bloom, and part of him is guiltily relieved that flynn can't see it. steadying himself with one hand on the counter, he leans down to rub his toe. he even blows on it like his mother used to do when he was little. somehow, it helps. armed with relief, jiwon plucks one of the teas from the tin and joins flynn near the kettle. "do... you like tea? or are you a coffee person?"
seoul glimmers in her acquainted terror. modern, urban beauty believed, rumored whispered to be under the calloused digits of a singular man. her harsh early spring whispered to him only to receive no reply --- as no shiver would roll from his shoulders. it had been true ! even without his shrugged coat, the cold sinking into the crevices of his bones --- neither nerves nor features upon his countenance spoke on it.
no, no, no. tony alexander was, even by himself, betrayed by notorious trivialities.
least of them, in the language of words. if one was to pay close attention, the creases between furrowed brows etched themselves deeper, not to soften --- at minor irritation and distaste alike. balled fists resting loosely in pockets, longer and deeper inhales of cigarette smoke to leave his insides alit. no, his virtued patience cost him gravely each time. in holy silence and restraint borrowed --- and paid for in later solitudes.
juli glides with less of his grace as the crime lord had become accustomed to. stiffer, in his lack of conviction and approval --- his face painting a grand picture of inconvenience. silent revolt ! he can tell, by plush lips curling downwards --- shivering hands hastily tucked away --- for any ill pleasure that sunk and withered in the other's throat, a greater peril bore.
he can see swallowed complaints, can see each torturous sentiment upon their flushed features. juli's creativity knew little boundaries. he could find the smallest gaps, to make up for what had been lost in joy and satisfaction of his own soul. he could sprawl across tony's mahogany desks, littered with papers and tug at his necktie, wrapping the fabric around his palm -- merely to 'compliment the shine of silk' or its particularly jeweled colour. innocent disguises, to scatter tony's attention and to julien's own amusement ! and how wonderous, how curious, his large coat of deepest zenith's ink transformed itself on them, as if made for monsieur beauchamp ! ivory shirt underneath it and their skin to gently glimmer, the marble of venus eloped under a starless night's protection --- between seoul's absurd and alien modernity, to neither's joy, best believed !
they brush against him, lace their words in usual commands, their intrigue drawing the crime lord's glance onto them anew. what secrets could withstand such curiosity ? the ones tony yearned to strip himself of off --- and the ones that against his own stubborn will, would always slip from his calloused palms. words muttered too softly. gestures, carried out too gently, by hands that loathed their own violent nature. before julien's restlessness, he could not resist but bend his jagged edges every single time. his shoulders softened. his jaw unclenched --- without his notice. tony made room, carved out spaces, he did not take for himself --- remaining an unwavering presence alongside julien instead. " you're impatient today, huh ? " ah ! is that amusement, crawling through his husk mutter ?
his extended arm hovers behind the other's back, open hand brushing against the thick wool to indicate their turn --- into an unnamed building's descending open stairs. a mere fluorescent light flickers above their heads --- coming to an halt in front of a worn steel door. his body angles towards julien, glance resting upon unassuming features --- as own anticipation gradually bleeds into tony. warm, like an afternoon sun peeking through the clouds --- faintest traces of a controlled smirk, as the back of his hand knocks upon the door. once, twice. pausing, for the final third. a blink of a moment to pass --- before it creeks open by a mere slit. out of the shadow, a glance to capture the male as it is opened enough for both of them to slip in. narrow pair of stairs, stale air --- the figure having eyed them seconds before shutting the door behind them. distant cheers pave their path towards brighter illumination until large underground reveals itself fully. rows of chairs --- in their middle, an elevated stage, occupied by masked men, wrestling with each other. the loud crowd drowning tony's voice, as he leans towards the other's ear, " does this still need a hint ? " his satisfaction settling upon wider, curling lips. the hall filled to the brim, he nods them to descend, pass all rows until halting at the utmost front. whoever glimpsed upon the criminal lord, looming in front of them to scurry, offer both of them seats with widened, dooming gaze and apologetic bowing. abandoned places to be taken, he settles first before open palm offers juli the place next to him. hands laying themselves on the knees of own spread legs in claimed comfort. head turns, capturing the other male. his shoulder bumping against julien's --- he doesn't move it away, " the man in the blue mask is a friend of mine, " what surprise ! " and he owes me some good entertainment, to wipe that look off your face. " in other words. for you ! they will jump at each other's necks for you ! romance is not dead, it seemed. " i don't like seeing you like that. " it's less pronounced, almost muttered --- as if said to himself, gaze directed towards the match. a small, silent note --- a reminder, that any particularly dark mood spoiling julien's usual spirits, was as much his enemy, as any real man with his weapon pointed. and today, the other's face spoke in bold, uneven tones. an ill-tuned instrument. half an octave off.
impatient today, tomorrow, yesteryear, the rest of the week. julien detests the slow burn, loathes the lazy glow of embers in a quiet hearth. his hands itch to stoke flames back to life and soak every last inch of space in gasoline. from the depths of his bones he desires wildfires, radiant and razing. phantom flames simply won't suffice when julien craves an all-consuming white heat and billowing smoke as far as the eye can see. it's why he turns his nose up at the perfume tendrils waltzing over from the end of tony's cigarette. far too pale, too wispy. not enough.
for all his stubbornness, though, there does arise just the very hint of a spark when the surprise is revealed. while julien's spirits may not be lifted to the stars, he does preen ever so faintly under the watchful, almost reverent gazes cast their way. without so much as lifting a finger, let alone uttering a single syllable, tony compels oceans to part for them. he hardly even has to shift his glance, and glaciers vaporise to cool the air he breathes. if only julien weren't so well-versed in the art of persuasion, he might be impressed. still, he would be no smarter than the men exchanging blows and concussions in the ring were he to turn down such attention. tony alexander's attention, no less.
indulgence begins with an offhand comment on the lights, so appallingly bright that they could induce migraines. then the blinding beams dim just so, soothing every would-be ache and discomfort. then, again with one impeccably timed pout, julien is rewarded with a cup of his favourite cherry and dark chocolate gelato. never mind that the very store it comes from almost certainly closed half an hour ago. on and on and on it goes, an infinite merry-go-round of spoiling in only the sweetest ways. for every one of julien's complaints and inconveniences, tony presents solution after solution with boundless patience. feasts from fish and loaves.
hours later, the spoiling has yet to wane. julien glows bright and full, illuminated in silver and white gold. seoul shimmers below them, as magnificent as she is vast, but all of her lustrous jewels dim under a pair of appraising gazes. no amount of flouncing or preening could impress them—one so entrenched in opulence and the other unfazed by it. instead seoul is relegated to the backdrop of a never-ending game of i spy, at julien's behest.the truth lies one layer deeper, buried beneath silken grass and pitch black soil rivaling full-bodied espresso. i spy with my little eye something red. a treasure dazzling and precious, impossible to ignore and ostensibly out of reach for anyone who isn't julien.
all he has to do is extend a hand, barely lifting a finger, and the very notion of distance is erased. dust to wind; sand to tide. the first touch is only a tease, a test. a fingertip skims where lines of life and fate meet, up and up, 'til meticulously manicured nails glide right over the heart. one moment, a fleeting fraction of a second later, and julien laces fingers with tony. one pair interlinked, stitched together, a flawless portrait of the platinum moon and her coat of obsidian sky.
Oh yeah, something was definitely going on. Or ... getting there. Why's the kid moving like molasses? Actually, slower than that. He can visibility track where and what the guy's aiming to do. Last he remembers ( which isn't much to begin with ), there was some sort of pep in his step. Right?
So what gives?
A quiet clop sounds as Aurelios shifts his weight from one side to the other. Moved in officially? Likes it here? Shit — maybe he's concussed. Which should be good news for him, but he smells off. Not human. There's more brine than he remembers. Something like the algae he often trots through when making it back to shore —
"Well, I'll be damned!" Again with the shouting. Again with the shock — though it's quick to dissipate into disappointment this time. "You're one of 'em, ain't ya?" He tries not to sneer, but ends up failing miserably. If it's true, then that means he got cheated out of yet another potential meal.
juniper stands there and waits...and waits...and waits... with a newfound infinite patience, he's content to give aurelios the time he needs to process all the thoughts bouncing in his head. it's not as if juniper has anywhere to be anyway. he's got plenty of time now. with a couple more slow blinks, juniper tilts his helmet-head to the side and somehow manages to stay upright even with the added weight.
"um... i'm a resident now, if.. that's what you mean." (he blinks again, thoughts connecting at a glacial pace.) "if you're hungry... order anything from the diner, and... i'll deliver it to you. my scooter is... pretty fast."
