"Elegance is not the prerogative of those who have just escaped adolescence, but of those who have already taken possession of their future."
- Coco Chanel Ahn Hani. 21. Professional Thief. Fragrance Sales Associate. ♕ ♕ ♕ ♕
Uh huh… [/giving her a skeptical look, he raised a curious brow — not to doubt her ability to things last minute but purely out of curiousity as to how well that event might’ve turned out;] well, if you say so. Make it happen and hit up that contact of yours. Just let me know what I should do to help out.
{`as the taller male continues talking, she's already pulled her cell phone out and sent a handful of messages to different people, eyes staying fixed on the device when she speaks up} I've got catering done. You can.. get the cake. Can you do that? I might end up buying five different ones if I'm left with that. And no, you cannot put strippers inside the cake.
Kim Hyun Joong, barely thirty years old with two federal prison sentences under his belt. He’s not phased, the best lawyers the country has to offer are a phone call away and no one goes to jail for trying to make a few extra dollars on the side. Probably. If all else fails, he also happens to be really good at one kind of magic. The only one he bothered to learn before skipping out of that “wizarding school” his parents shipped him off to.
Memory is such a delicate thing. It’s curious how much trust people put in it.
semi-lit. alternative universe. about. disclaimer. reblog/follow.
— i don’t believe in miracles and i certainly do not believe in dreams ;
there’s a haunting in every soul. a terror thats built from youth to form a shackle within in their lives. some make magic out of what they find, others give in and destroy whats inside. a community of well deserved people is what i see; people who need a home just like me. the design of man is flawed but with it comes creativity, the outcome astonishing. strict leaders, dead dictators - we’ve seen it all. foundations are soft at first but become firm over time, lest we forget those horrible primes.
An echo of a paced footsteps, the sound of a bullet racing through the air. A gunshot; as deafening as thunder. It was simplicity, it is desire and it was his only need. His only want and only wish. His only command. Before the carcass had caved to the ground, he had left it behind, left it to be found by whomever wandered through dark allies alone at night. Whomever possessed such stupidity as to not watch their backs when wandering along his territory. He didn’t make up the rules for this game, they did. They just weren’t aware.
ᴏɴᴇ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ…
Leather boots decorated his feet, a common brand to hide his identity well, to make sure his anonymity would never come to harm. For years, not a single person had known the name his alias hid, and if he could decide, nobody would. Not without a bullet between their eyes.
His one and only name, would forever remain to be Luka
The male slowly and awkwardly approached the other with a burnt out cigarette in his mouth. He hesitated slightly but then spoke in a soft yet soothing tone. “Hey, do you happen to have a light? My lighter just ran out of fuel.” Along with his question, he began to rub at his nape.
*No activity for 2+ weeks. May be dropped after a month has passed. If you would like to drop or put our thread on hold, don't hesitate to send me a message or reply to this post. I will understand!
Plotting With:
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Always open!
If I missed you, please reply to this post or send me a message!
{/he had placed the phone into his pocket, not wanting to awkwardly bump shoulders with people from having his eyes glued to a small screen, a problem which seemed to affect nearly every other student in the most narrow hallways; fortunately, he didn’t have lab today but he knew he would be on campus a bit longer, exiting the science building as he walked towards the other side of the university where the massive library stood; he hoped none of the study rooms were taken, although he could make do with his headphones and seat at one of the tables, he just preferred to have his privacy when he was working; in spite of his carefree approach to things like cleaning or blowing his spare cash on a new game he didn’t really need, he took his studies very seriously;
{/once he enters the library, he takes the elevator up to the eighth floor, which he has learned through trial and error to be the least crowded floor for whatever reason, pleased to find it fairly empty, able to snag a study room for himself as he closes the door behind him; as he takes out his laptop, he sets his phone—no, Hani’s phone, he reminds himself—beside it out of habit, noticing a few missed texts, all from the person whose got his actual cell phone.
{/Taecyeon lets out a groan at the first text; it seemed lately more and more people, typically women, were poking at a questionable relationship between him and his roommate; it was as if they had never heard of two college guys living together before; for a moment he wondered if that was less common in South Korea than the United States but he dismissed the possibility, convinced that the girls here just wanted to make him the butt of every joke}
[txt → Hani-bee]: Don’t get any weird ideas, we just live together
{/he opens up a paper he has been working on, plugging his headphones into his computer, tucking the ear buds securely in place before responding to her follow up texts}
[txt → Hani-bee]: you stumbled almost the entire way to your place. by the way, catching yourself before falling completely still counts as tripping in my book
{/he immediately furrowed his brows; he did listen to K-pop but he would never consider it for a career choice, ever; even if he did, he wouldn’t use something like Tic Taec as a stage name; maybe something short and catchy, like TY, or something to that effect}
[txt → Hani-bee]: No thanks. How about you go instead and enter as a rapper named Hani-B?
{`once she's inside the hotel room, she sets her purse, files, and (Taecyeon's) cell phone down on the small table by the door and slips off her heels before her stooping down to open her luggage and procure a rather large bag, one devoted entirely to her makeup. after calling the front desk to have them bring up a dress she'd scheduled for dry cleaning, she heads to the bathroom with her makeup to organise the necessary materials, placing each item on the spacious counter, and it's right as she's turning back into the foyer of her room when the cell phone starts buzzing, a handful of text messages popping up on the screen. she reads each one while pulling a curling iron out of her luggage, eyes glued to the screen while her feet easily guide her back to the bathroom, where she plugs in the iron and lets it reach the necessary heat}
[ SMS » Tic Taec ] Hey, I wouldn't say almost the entire way back. I'd say.. maybe only half the time. ( ˘v˘•)
[ SMS » Tic Taec ] We clearly have different definitions of 'tripping.'
[ SMS » Tic Taec ] You know, that's actually not a bad name for an underground rapper. Maybe I'd rap as fast as a bee beats its wings. (￣︶￣)
[ SMS » Tic Taec ] Admit it, that's pretty cool.
{`with a roll of her eyes and the softest of laughs, she sets the cell phone down on the counter, far away from the sink and any of her makeup, knowing all too well that Taecyeon might be irked to find lipstick or concealer stains on the device. while waiting for the other's reply, she quickly gets to work on her makeup, pinning her bangs away from her face to work for an uninterrupted period of about fifteen minutes, and makes sure to put each item back in place once she's finished, zipping the cosmetics bag before pinning up the shorter layers of her hair. it's tedious, really, this process of looking her absolute best for people who are really no more than strangers, but she can't say she hates it--it's actually entertaining. some few minutes later, a knock at the front door warrants her attention, and she quickly goes to answer it and pick up her dress, thanking the attendant and tipping him generously before shutting the door and hanging the dress up high to put on after she's finished curling her hair}
Muse A is sipping tea by the window, watching the rain come down from the comfort of his/her warm, dry home. He/She peers out toward the quiet street just as Muse B rides his/her bike by the house and runs into a huge pothole. It’s a funny sight to behold, the poor soul drenched in muddy water, the front wheel of his/her bike slightly mangled, but ultimately Muse A feels badly for the soaked stranger and decides to intervene. Muse A pulls on a jacket and hurries outside to offer help. It isn’t until Muse B looks up in Muse A’s direction that the two realize they’ve met before..
Not when it comes with a flu worse than death, Hani would answer. If all she had to deal with was a swollen ankle, right where she'd been bitten, she would have been fine. A swollen ankle is nothing in comparison to periods of inexplicable cold sweats and incapacitating migraines; she would have much more readily walked for miles with a swollen, possibly infected ankle than endure the sickness she's facing now. Just ten minutes ago, Hani just barely survived the trip back to her condo from the client's office, having stopped by only to drop off the oddly-coloured arachnid and take her payment. Somehow, she manages to maneouvre her motorcycle through traffic and avoids crashing into another vehicle, even if only by a narrow margin. She really shouldn't be able to stay upright with her vision blurring and breath fading, let alone drive the near four-hundred pound Ducati through the streets of Seoul, but through sheer will power, she lives.
How the girl finally makes it home is next to irrelevant, because the entirety of her concern is now dedicated to reaching the kitchen. She may not be a trained doctor, but she knows how and when to treat wounds. And when she can hardly take one step without running into a wall or slumping against the counters, Hani knows that this bite isn't to be taken lightly. Hardly a minute passes before up is left and down is backwards, and the girl's feet refuse to cooperate as she fights just to remain conscious, the heat which rampages through her vessels burning like ice on the surface of her skin. The pain is more inexplicable than it is unbearable, and that's what frustrates Hani. No matter how many times she goes through it in her head, she can't come up with an acceptable reason for why a simple bite from a spider--a non-poisonous one, at that--would cause her to lose vision and coordination. Even when her body collapses to the floor with a graceless thud, she gathers just enough energy to curse whatever this ailment is that courses through her body, and she passes out in the next second.
With just about every noise imaginable rampaging in her ears, Hani steadily pushes herself to a sitting position and examines her ankle. Luckily, the bite doesn't appear to be infected, but it's far from pleasant. A ginger press of her fingertips against the wound elicits a sharp intake of air, and an exhausted sigh follows as the girl pulls her hand away from her ankle--but something strange occurs. When she lifts her hand, Hani finds several thin, silvery threads bridging the gap between her injured ankle and the tips of her fingers, and even as she raises her hand further, the shimmering threads continue to stick to her skin. In a moment of panic, the girl takes hold of the threads with her free hand and tugs firmly, only to find that the strings are much stronger than they appear. And when she lets go, glimmering threads are springing from the fingertips of her other hand as well and latch onto the first few strings. Out of nothing but shock, Hani gives a less-than-dignified shriek and falls onto her back, shaking her limbs about in an attempt to rid herself of the foreign material. Flailing, however, only causes more of the silvery strings to shoot out of her fingertips and catch onto whatever is nearest, and she ends up pulling a very expensive blender off the counter and upsetting one of the dining table chairs.
It's not long at all--perhaps a mere twenty seconds--before half the kitchen is covered in a mess of shining threads. Sitting still now, with her eyes wide and chest rising and falling with every startled breath, Hani stares at the ruined kitchen, then glances down to her shaking hands, paper-thin strings still attached to the tips. And all she can ask is: "What the hell..?"
IT’S IN FOUR DAYS, HANI. FOUR. [/he holds up 4 fingers for emphasis;] Since he’s been doing his own thing — being a student and all — I haven’t been able to hang out with him as much as I would’ve liked to after I came back from my trip overseas. So me talking “too much” is the least of our worries since the 24th is right around the corner. The bigger question now is just what exactly are we going to do? I’d offer my place to hold it, but it’s far messier than it was the last time you came over—
{`lifting a hand, she waves dismissively, then returns to crossing her arms with a short shake of the head} Don't worry about the time. I've set up parties in as short as four hours, so save yourself a few grey hairs and relax a bit, detective. I'd offer my place as well, but I don't want you inviting strippers over without telling me. {`she shoots him a short glare before relaxing, gaze lifting thoughtfully} But I know of a fifty-second story studio that opens up to a rooftop. I know a guy who knows a guy; he'd be happy to rent it out for a night.
Tsk… Shouldn’t we just ask the birthday boy what he wants? I’m certain he’s already figured out we’re up to something for his birthday by now… so we might as well cater to his fancy and make it a special day. After all, he only turns 21 for the 5th time, once.
If we ask what he wants, it won't be much of surprise party, don't you think? And you're the one who talks too much. By the time his birthday comes around, it won't be as fun anymore. {`she rolls her eyes lightly at the last comment, head shaking faintly} Then since he's turning twenty-one for the fifth time, he can be a big boy and have fun at a stripper-free party.
{`stays silent for just a split-second to refrain from rolling her eyes, then crosses her arms} First, stop using those words. It’s gross. And second, he lives every day. I think he’ll be just fine with a stripper-free party.
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