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Blood cult au part ten!!! (First, most recent)

Currently: while Mira, Rumi, and Zoey have wandered off to have gay breakdowns—er, put Rumi’s sword away, Minji, Miyeong, and Celine are working on lunch and continuing to plan how they’ll be getting rid of the wraiths. In Seoul, a grieving Bobby meets a nurse…

the-fallen-blue

The sesame oil has started sizzling, so Celine scrapes Minji-nim's pile of neatly (if... perhaps excessively finely) chopped vegetables into the pan and turns to the pantry. She pulls out a jar of kimchi and two eggs without thinking, then goes back for the rest of the carton. Six mouths to feed is nice, but it will take some adjustment.

She looks over at her designated sous chef, but Minji-nim has slumped over her arms on the table, eyes closed at last.

Celine is glad. It's meant to be part of her duties, in carrying on the great Rumi-nim's work, to give comfort to those who she helps; Rumi-nim healed hearts and spirits, as well as protecting bodies from harm. Celine has always been much better at the practical side of things. She can offer food, a safe place to go, she can repair torn stuffed animals and glue together broken heirlooms like they were never damaged, but she's never known what to say to people, when they hurt. In the face of what Minji-nim has lost, any mere words Celine could think to offer feel dismissive and trite. But a nap will do her good.

Celine turns to Miyeong-nim instead. "Can you be trusted to chop kimchi?"

"Let's find out." The reporter's eyes sparkle as she takes the jar. "You can come over here and supervise, if you're worried."

Miyeong-nim really is a flirt. Celine should probably roll her eyes, but she finds herself smiling, just a little, instead, as she turns back to the skillet. It's been a while since anyone cared to flatter her that way. And despite first impressions, she's beginning to think Miyeong-nim's good opinion is more discerning than she likes to act.

Certainly, she has decent taste in women. Celine glances over at the table again. "Will she be alright there?" she asks Miyeong-nim. "She needs sleep, but I doubt she needs back problems."

The reporter stops squinting suspiciously at the kimchi and takes a look of her own. "She'll be okay, I've caught her napping in much worse positions than that. You wouldn't think a human could bend the way a nurse can bend when the only available flat surface is the top of a mini-fridge."

Her face has gone soft and warm, and her voice is so fond that it makes the words sound like something earthshaking and precious, instead of the off-hand anecdote to a near-stranger that it is.

Well. Small talk. Celine starts pulling some fruit out of the fridge for Mira's smoothie, and asks over her shoulder, "Have you two been partners a long time, then?"

secondtolastrow

“I—wait—huh?” Miyeong barely manages to avoid spasming and starting to chop her own fingers instead of the kimchi. “Partners like—not that—Minji?”

Celine looks back at her, blushing slightly and says, voice stiff with embarrassment, “I hadn’t meant to presume. I apologize.”

“No, no, it’s just…” Miyeong stares at her, attempting to come up with something, anything beyond repeating, “…Minji? She’s so… and I’m…”

Why would someone like Minji, who is as selfless and competent and together as she could be, possibly get involved with Miyeong? (…Beyond getting dragged along with her in extenuating circumstances such as the ones they were under. Where it was the right thing to do.)

Celine frowns slightly. “You’re…?”

Miyeong’s face goes hot, feeling ridiculously adolescent at having Celine look at her as if she‘a more than just some worn out idiot who’d sold her soul for consistent employment years ago.

“I—I don’t even know if she—“ likes women. Miyeong takes a breath before she finishes that sentence in the stupidest way possible. “We’d known each other through work before now. Separate works. Wherein she did not like me very much.”

Celine just looks at her for another moment, still frowning, and nods. “…What sort of stories have you working at the hospital, then?”

Miyeong cringes at the thought of explaining about Yeonggi, though she knows Celine hadn’t meant it that way, and then it makes Celine wince and— “No, no! You didn’t—no, I was only—please, Celine-nim, forgive me, there’s just a bit of a story there, and one that involves me being a bit of an idiot.”

Matched with a smile, that, at least, finally has Celine loosening up instead of looking like she wants out of this conversation, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

So Miyeong deftly avoids the subject of how everything with Yeonggi ended, and gets into how it started—a tale involving missing IV bags, a caffeine allergy, and a source who exclusively spoke Spanish.

It makes Celine laugh, as she explains how she’d tried to bribe the handsome male nurse with coffee and he’d looked at her like he wanted to die.

She skips the part where he was so enthusiastic about helping her because the new operation was cutting in on his own illegal activities. Maybe once they’ve known each other more than a week… and she’s had a conversation with Celine where she doesn’t have to fight the urge to melt into the ground from embarrassment.

It’s funny, though. She’d never noticed that Minji was in the story so much too, exhaustedly trying to kick Miyeong out even then. “Since I still had the coffee, I tried the trick on the next nurse I saw.”

Celine, set up at her own cutting board next to Miyeong, follows her nod to Minji. “And I take it she refused?”

“Oh, no, she took it,” Miyeong says, feeling a fond smile tug at her lips. “It just meant that she smiled at me while directing me to the exit that day.”

Celine’s laughter feels distant, almost, as Miyeong puts down the knife.

Does she… have feelings for Minji?

What the hell?

the-fallen-blue

Part of Zoey — okay, most of Zoey — wants to stay and poke around the office a little more. Not only is she curious about what a modern mudang's day-to-day equipment might look like, there could be more ancient mystical weapons stashed around here and she cannot miss that.

But as soon as Rumi puts the sword away, she turns and all but marches out, a woman on a mission. Zoey turns to Mira, a silent question, but Mira just raises her eyebrows and shrugs a little, and then gestures broadly toward the door with a tiny little bow of her head, after you.

Fortunately, from behind, Mira won't be able to see the absurd blush that overtakes Zoey's entire face over such a completely normal gesture.

When they get to the kitchen, Minji is slumped asleep on the table, and the sweet smell of sauteed veggies fills the air. Celine and Miyeong are standing very close together at the counter; over the sizzling of oil, Zoey can just hear Celine walking Miyeong patiently through every step of holding her fingers curled, rocking the knife along its curve, letting the blade do the work. From her angle at the door, Zoey can just make out the edge of Miyeong's expression, serious and focused, and the tip of one ear, a brilliant red.

"Honorable shaman," says Rumi, keeping her voice low to not wake Minji and doing something really unfair to Zoey's guts as a bonus. Both women look up, Celine like a normal person and Miyeong with a little startled jump. "Can I assist in any way?"

Celine looks around thoughtfully. "There's not much else to do until it's time to fry the eggs. You three should get something to drink, though. Especially Rumi-nim. I'm sure you're dehydrated after that swordwork."

While Rumi is thanking Celine with more of that formal, archaic graciousness that should be goofy and awkward but is actually just really sweet and hot, Zoey starts digging in the fridge, Mira right behind her. "What do we think they drank to cool off in Rumi's day?" Mira murmurs, and from right over her shoulder that is also doing something really unfair to Zoey's guts, and this is the worst day. "Just water?"

There is bottled water in the fridge, but, "All that sweat," says Zoey, very cool and very calm and totally a medical professional about it, "we should give her something with some electrolytes."

They dig out a few choices for her, bokbunja and banana milk and a bottle of Bacchus that seems like an odd thing for Celine to keep on hand, considering her vibe. Zoey's usually pretty uncomfortable about sharing her drinks, but for some reason it feels totally normal when they sit down at the table, a respectful distance from the lump of unconscious nurse, and make Rumi try all three before deciding who gets what.

Her eyes go bright and she says, "An age of wonders," again, at the banana milk, and Zoey ends up with the energy drink. Probably for the best; her ADHD makes her functionally immune to caffeine, Mira should probably be avoiding it post-surgery, and Zoey's not sure she's ready for the Rumi On Red Bull experience.

"So not to in any way imply that we should be left here, because we are absolutely not doing that," says Zoey, once they're settled, "but, what's the plan for those of us without sacred weapons? I know we're looking for the wraiths, but what should Mira and I and our home invaders do when we find them?"

Miyeong just smiles shamelessly at the dig, and Celine looks over her shoulder at Mira. "Did you learn any rituals of control or banishment, from your family?"

Mira grimaces. "I tried to know as little about it as I could. Kinda wish I'd payed more attention, now."

"Well, I can teach you all a simple exorcism. Strong rituals take time we won't have to perform and even more to learn, but wraiths are only so powerful once their summoner is gone. The right words and a little mugwort can be enough to break their control on a person, particularly if any of you happen to be decent singers. And provided you can keep your own minds barred against the pain they feed on."

There's a moment of silence, as they all simultaneously exchange glances and process the ratio of emotionally level potential exorcists to recently-traumatized wrecks in the room, and Zoey says, "I'm really good at beer pong, maybe you have some sacred weapons I could learn to throw real quick instead?"

secondtolastrow

Minji gets shaken awake to find a plate of food being placed in front of her. It smells good enough that she doesn’t ask too many questions.

It takes a few minutes for the world to kick back into focus. She’d love to say that the vegetables suddenly taste like ash in her mouth, that everything turns blackened and sick, but… the world just keeps existing, same as it ever has. That’s the worst part.

The food tastes good. She just can’t let herself enjoy it.

They talk, and plan, and somehow it’s decided that they’ll be trying to make the last ferry out and staying the night in a hotel on the mainland, so they’ll have a whole day for Rumi and Celine-nim to take on the wraiths.

At least no one has much packing to do.

“Both of our cars only seat five,” Miyeong says, as if it wouldn’t be reasonable to at least pretend she hadn’t tracked them by car. “Do we want to split back according to how we came?”

“I should probably stick with you three,” Minji says, gesturing to younger group—or, wait, Rumi’s five hundred. Ugh. “No offense, but if anyone’s going to be needing medical attention, it’ll be one of you.”

Rumi looks mildly offended (as if the skin of her torso isn’t half-shredded), while Mira nods, conceding the point, and Zoey laughs a little, awkwardly.

“Yeah,” she says, “probably. But we shouldn’t have anyone riding solo, so do we want to have someone double-buckle, or…?”

“Celine-nim and I can ride together,” Miyeong volunteers.

A second later, she blushes vibrantly, turning to Celine-nim. “If—if you want, I mean! You don’t have to, I didn’t mean to speak for you—“

“I would be happy to,” Celine-nim says smoothly, which is nice. Miyeong deserves a win—getting to spend a few hours in a car with a beautiful woman before they all drive to their deaths is the least that could happen for her.

And then she gets another when Rumi volunteers to take Mira and Zoey out for knife practice.

“Go on,” Minji says, nodding after the not-actually-younger trio. “I know how much you like distance weaponry.”

“I’m offended by this,” Miyeong declares, but she marches after them to go find Celine-nim’s shinkal nonethless.

Minji smiles after her. She hopes Miyeong enjoys it—properly enjoys it, in the way that Minji wouldn’t be able to right now, even when she doesn’t think about Miyeong and Yeonggi soundly beating Seulgi at darts, the way she would always laugh about it.

“You don’t have to help with the dishes,” Celine says gently, but Minji shakes her head.

“It’s either do something or shut down, and I’d rather not fall asleep again.”

frozenwolftemplar

The fine day has clouded over somewhat by the time everyone minus Celine and Minji has assembled in the yard, sun only intermittently peeking out from rolls of cottony clouds, but Mira honestly thinks that's for the best.

She's fairly sure Zoey would melt otherwise.

secondtolastrow

Mira takes her first shot and lands about five feet short of the target. Her second goes careening off to the left. Her third, at least, nicks the wall next to the bag of dirt, but her fourth goes wild again.

She doesn’t get too upset about it.

“Never really been great at throwing things,” Mira admits, as the knives run out and they pause to go get them back.

“You cannot curse yourself to failure before you begin,” Rumi says, all warmth and good intentions. “You merely need a bit of practice.”

But Zoey sees the way Mira’s jaw tightens (and then quickly loosens again as she loses some color, clearly regretting that move) and she knows the feeling. When you really just know something’s fucking hard and always will be and someone oh-so-sweetly denies it, like you’re just being mean to yourself and not able to accurately assess the situation… it sucks.

So she bites her tongue against the “You got this!” that she wants to chirp out—especially when Miyeong says exactly that and Mira’s jaw does that thing again—and, instead, just watches how Mira throws.

…Which is ridiculously badly. Because she just throws with her arm.

“Um,” Zoey says, carefully, “are you okay with constructive criticism or do you just want me to stand over to the side and not say anything? Because I’m totally good with not saying anything! I promise!”

Mira huffs before she can get any further. “Advice is fine.”

“Well, uh, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but… you kinda gotta roll with it? Like, twist your hips and put all of you into it!” She offers her goofiest smile, exaggerating the shift of her body until it’s more of a joking bounce than an actual mock-throw as she mimes it for Mira—and then having to do it for real, however awkward that is.

But Mira’s smiling, nodding—though that might have something to do with Rumi coming over to try to help guide her through it with those calloused-but-still-so-gentle hands of hers. You know. If Zoey had to guess.

Just from the way Mira starts getting that really pretty blush, not any of her own thoughts on the matter, obviously.

At least she’s too distracted to be paying attention to Zoey as she throws again. Her lips tilt in a tiny smile as the knife clips the edge of the bag and she turns to high five Rumi.

And then she keeps turning and offers her hand to Zoey. To high five.

Right, because they should show Rumi, that was only invented in, like, the 1950s.

So Zoey grins and slaps her palm against Mira’s, and Mira—her voice is always kinda quiet, with the wires and all, but she tilts her head back and laughs and it’s so pretty and Zoey is so, so doomed.

And then! And then!!!!

She looks at Zoey and she smiles and she says, “Thanks. I always forget not to isolate everything when I’m not dancing.”

And she just turns to high five Rumi like Zoey isn’t exploding right next to her.

the-fallen-blue

They wash the dishes in a silence that feels more comfortable than Minji expects. She's still tired enough that it's easy to zone out, to not really think of anything but the movement of the towel and how to stack the plates on the counter once they're dry. The loss remains, of course, a constant ache at the back of her mind, but with a task at hand, she stops getting caught by its sharpest edges.

Or maybe it's Celine-nim, who has a warm steadiness to her presence, despite her silence. There's something in the way she holds herself, the way she seems so centered and in control, as though demon apocalypses are just another day. It makes the pressure seem a little lighter, just for her standing there.

She's also very hospitable, rewarding Minji for her assistance by leading them to the sitting room and producing a bottle of soju, then pouring out two shots. "I don't often have the occasion," she says, her smile small and wry, "but if there's ever been a situation that warrants a drink..."

Minji doesn't need to be told twice. She grabs a glass, says a dry, ironic "wihayeo," and throws it back without blinking. Celine-nim shows more restraint, and simply holds hers, maybe swirling it a little, contemplatively, while Minji pours herself another.

"The 'situation'," Minji repeats, as the second shot burns down her throat. "That's one word for it. We've got the impossible ancient hero. The murder of all my friends. The kid who got kidnapped for a sacrifice. The thing where we're setting a bunch of random civilians against fantasy monsters." She waves a hand, still wrapped around the glass, at Celine-nim. "You said you were part of an order, right? Aren't there other people who are, I don't know. Trained in this kind of stuff? How is this Miyeong's job, or those poor kids?"

The shaman takes her bitterness in stride, watching her calmly like she has every right to it, but makes no apologies.

"We've been spread very thin, over the years," she answers instead, matter-of-fact, "and we were never a large order to begin with. Anyone I called for help would have to travel too far to be timely, and would have to leave their own home defenseless."

Celine-nim finally takes her shot, the long column of her throat flexing elegantly as she swallows. Minji blinks and drops her eyes, pouring herself another.

"Still," she says, filling Celine's glass again too, once she puts it down, "you have Rumi, right? Shouldn't you two just... do your thing, and the rest of us just stay out of the way?"

For a moment, Celine-nim just watches Minji, a careful regard that seems to peel right into the heart of her. Minji has seen Miyeong strip informants of their layers with a look, leaving them cut open and exposed, but this feels different, somehow; like Minji's being understood, her deepest self handled with the care of a surgeon, everything closed up properly afterward and left healthier than she started.

"... when I first met Zoey," Celine-nim says, once her keen gaze has finished its search, "I knew she and I would someday do something important together. I understand why, now. She and Mira withstood the voice of no mere wraith, but of Gwi-Ma himself, for days, and remained steadfast enough despite it to bring Rumi-nim back up from the hells."

She drinks again, and this time Minji doesn't look away.

"This battle will be a spiritual one, far more than physical, and Rumi-nim will need their strength for that." Celine's eyes hold Minji's, serious and thoughtful. "And you... It may be that you and Miyeong-nim are here because I will need yours."

secondtolastrow

Minji-nim looks at the soju bottle, and her lips twist contemplatively. “…Does Zoey have a driver’s license?”

Celine smiles and shakes her head instead of answering, not knowing either way. She hopes so, at least, given how shortly post-surgery Mira had been when the two of them arrived at her office.

Minji-nim waits with that for a moment before she says, quietly, “One of the wraiths looked like a photographer Miyeong liked. We didn’t even know he was dead until…”

Until we explained what they were. Celine grimaces.

“And—fucking Yeonggi turned up, apparently—did—“ Minji-nim breathes, sharply. “Becoming a wraith. Does it mean something about you?”

She wishes she could say no. Wishes she had decent words, comforting hands, anything. She tells the truth. “Gwi-Ma can only take a person’s image to use as a wraith if they gave themself to him in life.”

Minji-nim covers her face with her hands for a long moment before making a sound, the kind that might be a sob and might be a laugh. “Miyeong always thought there was something about the way Yeonggi died. We all figured it was just—“

Celine thinks back to the way Miyeong-nim had been so startled by Celine’s mistake, earlier, hadn’t even thought to be offended as she looked down at Minji-nim as if she were somehow worth impossibly more. And she thinks she understands a little.

“He actually sold his soul to a demon?” Minji-nim asks, peering up at her. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she laughs again. “That son of a bitch, of course he did.”

“Many do,” Celine says. “Gwi-Ma is… clever. And it might not have been…”

Minji-nim shakes her head again. “I don’t need hope for Yeonggi’s memory.”

“But I need you to understand,” Celine replies, thinking, terribly, of Rumi-nim on the other side of that portal, bloody and resigned and smiling as she gave herself up. She thinks of— “I need you to understand that it is not a weakness of—he will not only take what is offered. Gwi-Ma is called the Devourer for a reason. He will take anything he can touch, freely given or otherwise.”

Her hand has found its way to Minji-nim’s shoulder, somehow, as she is very close to her face.

Celine jumps back against the arm of the couch.

Minji-nim’s mouth opens.

“We must hold onto each other,” Celine says, before she can hear some platitude. “We must.”

“…I won’t let you go,” Minji-nim says, and this is perhaps the most anyone has understood Celine in years.

the-fallen-blue

Miyeong hasn't had this much fun in ages. Not least because she's winning; Zoey's giving her a good fight, accurate with a great eye for distance, but Miyeong has mastered the forward spin faster than her, and is getting most of her knives in point-first while a good third of Zoey's are still bouncing blunt end off the sacks.

"Very good," is Rumi's assessment, as Zoey sinks one just a few centimeters off a bullseye and does a little whoop of glee. "You all show great promise. But in a true battle, your enemies will seldom remain still. I would like to advance to practice on moving targets, if you are amenable."

Zoey shoots a sly look at Miyeong, and then beams at Rumi, wide and innocent. "Sounds great, let's do it!"

Mira demurs, preferring to keep trying to consistently hit the stationary bags, but Miyeong rolls her shoulders competitively and agrees. Rumi has a little pile of squash that she's managed to collect from somewhere, green and round and overripe, and she lobs one slowly across the field of fire. Zoey whips a shinkal after it, a long clean release, and it sails just behind the vegetable, nearly clipping it.

Miyeong's lead might be in trouble.

One more round, and Miyeong's lead is definitely in trouble. She nicks a squash here and there, but mostly she goes wide in every direction, and Zoey, still hitting blunt-first a lot but still consistently hitting, is steadily closing the point gap. Rumi puts forward a valiant attempt to pretend she's impartial about it, but Mira makes no such pretense. She's entirely given up on her own practice to cheer Zoey on and trash-talk Miyeong, and Miyeong can't find it anything but charming. Watching the three of them fall all over each other in a fit of youthful hormones is almost more fun than the knife-throwing itself.

Though perhaps she shouldn't judge. At least they know what they're feeling. She lets her eyes flick over to the main building. Behind those walls is a woman who has somehow become the most stable presence in Miyeong's life for the better part of a decade, a reliable constant in all her rootless chaos, an irreplaceable comfort against her loneliness, and Miyeong never even noticed.

Honestly, she sort of wishes she still hadn't. It's not like there's anything to do with the information. Miyeong had her one shot, and it literally ended with a body count. Minji, who is in such terrible pain but still sent her out here to flex her projectile skills on undergrads for fun, deserves better from Miyeong than to hope to drag her down.

(Minji, who knows Miyeong is shameless enough to find that fun, is aware enough of who Miyeong is as a person that there would be no point in hope, regardless.)

secondtolastrow

The sun has not lowered greatly in the sky by the time that Minji-nim and the honored shaman come out to recall them and set them to preparations for their journey, but Rumi is proud to say that all of her pupils have improved a great deal.

Even Mira is more like to hit the target than not, and she showed much promise when they went over how to stab an attacker, despite being quite stiff during Rumi’s explanation.

“I am very proud of you,” she tells them all, the same as she tells everyone she teaches, whether they be five years old or sixty-five.

“You’re a really good teacher,” Miyeong-nim says, warmly, and Mira and Zoey agree, and Zoey comes up to loop an arm over Rumi’s shoulder and pull her close in thanks.

And all of this is good, like the sun and the grass and the feeling of an overripe squash in her hand. Rumi holds it tight, tries to burn it into herself, because she knows from experience that weak words would not stop Gwi-Ma.

They use the washroom to quickly wipe off the worst of the sweat and, going last, Rumi has opportunity to see that Mira has, indeed, changed her clothes, which is presumably simply what is done when one sweats in this time. The amount of washing must be ridiculous, and Rumi has a million questions about how they prevent things from falling apart, but—

For now, she just jerks her head away, flushing, because Mira has walked out wearing what cannot qualify as a full garment in this day and age.

It covers barely more than the undergarments. It doesn’t even reach her knees.

It doesn’t even reach halfway to her knees!

You’ve spent how much time in brothels? Rumi scolds herself, angry and embarrassed. Get a hold of yourself; her body is nothing to do with you.

(…It does make her feel a bit better when Zoey sees Mira and responds with a squeak of surprise.)

frozenwolftemplar

"So is this how we're doing this?" Miyeong looks between the two groups of people, Minji and the girls clustered around Miyeong's car, and her and Celine next to hers.

It's a logical division. Sensible. Minji's familiar enough with Miyeong's car to drive it without being distracted searching for the turn signal, and Celine's car is, well, Celine's. Plus if Rumi or Mira needs sudden medical aid, having Minji able to provide immediate guidance without needing to be flagged down from the other car is beneficial.

And Miyeong's not heartless; she has no intention to get in the way of young love and suggest Zoey ride with her and Celine.

So this is the most logical way to split up.

If the thought of being alone with Celine for a couple of hours ties a knot in her stomach, that's just...pre-wraith-hunting nerves. Yeah.

Celine nods, the motion more elegant than it has a right to be. "I'm fine with it."

Miyeong's heart jumps. The hot gorgeous TALL shaman's fine with it! She's fine with alone time with her! She is-

Lightheaded.

Maybe she should drive her own car with the girls. They have cellphones; Minji's only a call away-

But Minji's already holding her hand out for Miyeong's keys, and they're going to miss the ferry if they're not careful.

"I can drive!" Zoey's hand shoots up in the air. "Please? Rumi hasn't seen me drive yet and I'm really good! Mira! Tell them how good I am!"

"She didn't get us towed," Mira shrugs. "I think."

Miyeong blanches, thoughts of Celine momentarily suspended by thoughts of her car in the impound lot. Or worse.

Not that Zoey didn't seem responsible, but...she'd been that age once. She'd been that eager to drive to impress a crush once. She'd turned a car into an off-roader more than once.

But Minji- thank god for Minji- pockets the keys. "I'm giving you the aux."

"A role of great importance," Rumi nods seriously, perking Zoey up from the deflated slump she'd fallen into. "And you did exemplary with it yesterday.”

Miyeong mouths a ‘thank you’ to Minji as the girls pile in to the car, Mira and Zoey bouncing songs that Rumi just had to hear between them like juggling balls, and watches them crunch out of the gravel drive. She’d have a lot to worry about in the next few hours, but at least her car wasn’t one of them.

The sound of a car door opening pulls her attention back to her side.

“Ready?” Celine asks, one hand gripping the open door. There’s an inviting little smile on her lips, and her eyes catch the sun in such a way that they sparkle, igniting something in Miyeong’s chest.

Yes, a lot to worry about…

(she was going to say something stupid, she just knew it)

secondtolastrow

While Rumi did fine on yesterday’s supply run, Zoey is honestly expecting a bit more of a freak out from her today—maybe just because she gets motion sick so easily.

But: nope. They pile in (Minji driving, Rumi and Zoey in back, and Mira sitting shotgun to have some room for her legs) and get on the road and Rumi shows absolutely no signs of discomfort.

Zoey might be a bad person for being disappointed about that.

After a while, the conversation shifts back from music to demons. Minji missed Celine’s earlier advice about mugwort, after all.

“The first rule of wraith-hunting is,” Rumi says (and Zoey’s brain unhelpfully fills in to have fun and be yourself and we don’t talk about wraith-hunting), “that they are hollow. There is nothing in them, and any promises they make to you are false. Do not listen. Hold on to what is solid.”

She looks at Zoey while she says it, because Zoey’s the only one looking at her, and so Zoey is left with the intensity of Rumi’s gaze, the impossible, out-of-time person that she is, and the softness of her smile.

“You,” she says. “Music. The sun on the grass. Anything you have.”

And Zoey’s brain plays it again: You. You. You. She has you.

But before she can say something stupid—something like I have you—Minji says, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “Celine mentioned—she mentioned that Gwi-Ma would… take people, earlier. Like… like they didn’t have to make a deal with him or anything?”

Rumi’s expression twists with a horrible kind of hope, and she doesn’t answer for a long moment before, finally, her voice thick with something Zoey can’t interpret, she says, “The knowledge that I have is different, but it has been many years.”

(Zoey thinks of the way she talked about her dad. Wonders if maybe…)

(But maybe not. They haven’t even known each other a week, after all.)

“No, she—she wasn’t clear,” Minji says. “I might have misunderstood.”

Rumi bites her lip. Hesitates, before adding, in a way that’s clearly meant to be reassuring, “You must fail for him to take you. But it does not mean you cannot be brought back. Fear is his hand. Do not play it.”

It would’ve worked better if she didn’t sound like she was about to cry.

the-fallen-blue

Celine keeps the music low enough to talk over, but unexpectedly, Miyeong-nim spends the first half hour or so of the drive fidgeting quietly.

Perhaps the danger is finally hitting her, now that there aren't any distractions. Miyeong-nim strikes Celine as someone with disconcertingly little fear of risk, but her whole worldview has also just been upended. In Celine's experience, both the most brave and the most foolhardy come to that attitude largely through experience, and demons are well outside the experience of most.

But when Miyeong-nim finally speaks, it's to say, "So," drawing it out, and glancing toward the back of the car. "Do you happen to have permits? For the ancient magic sword, and pile of deadly sacred knives? More specifically, do you have permits on hand, in the car with us right now?"

She does, for the sword, actually, although she certainly doesn't keep it in the car. And the shinkal are another matter entirely.

Still, "I've never found the ferry staff particularly concerned with the contents of people's trunks during crossing."

Her reassurance is met only with a skeptical little hum. "If they do check it out, for whatever reason, go ahead and let me do the talking. I've got some ideas already, I'll loop you in when I decide on one."

Apparently Miyeong-nim is not, in fact, nervous about getting caught with weapons. Celine glances over, bemused, and finds a gleam in the reporter's eyes, even brighter than the anticipation in her voice.

"Fighting wraiths isn't enough excitement for you, you have to be maneuvering around the law, too?"

"I try to always be getting away with something. Keeps my skills sharp."

Celine can't help her smile. "And what skills are those?"

For some reason that makes Miyeong-nim start stumbling again, stuttering out an awkward, "Well, ah—I—you know—reporter things. …Talking. Persuasion, and such."

Celine considers that. She will admit that Miyeong-nim is actually quite a skilled storyteller, when she's not tripping over her tongue, but it was not her clumsy charm offensive at their first meeting that brought her into this adventure. It was so obviously a mask, and Celine hadn't liked that she couldn't see what was underneath. But Miyeong-nim's dogged persistence, her willingness to try anything other than turning away, had gotten them past it; had brought her all the way here, to the passenger seat of Celine's car.

Which is a recurring theme in the stories she's told so far, as well. Miyeong-nim simply does not give up on a story, no matter the expense to her time or dignity. It's an admirable trait, albeit a vexing one to be on the wrong side of. More admirable than mere persuasive charm, in Celine's opinion. Stubbornness has saved many souls from Gwi-Ma, and Miyeong-nim's may yet save more.

Which is why it's meant to be a compliment when she says, "Persistence seems to be a more reliable tool, for you."

But Miyeong folds her arms in Celine's peripheral vision and plays at being affronted. "I'll have you know," she huffs, "I am in fact incredibly charismatic, and regularly talk my way out of situations that would bewilder and terrify a lesser woman."

It's still a distraction, and Celine finds she still wants to know what's underneath it.

But she'd rather take the softer path to get there, now.

So she just says, dry, "And how often did you talk yourself into these situations, in the first place?"

"Half of them at most," sniffs Miyeong-nim. There's a beat, and she tries to sound grudging, but the laughter's clear in her voice. "… maybe three-quarters."

frozenwolftemplar

Mira keeps her eyes doggedly out the window, focusing on the mountain landscape blurring by and not on the rearview mirror, where Zoey, cheeks flushed from hearing how she was one of the things that kept Rumi anchored, had just reached over to squeeze Rumi's hand and got the most beautiful smile in return.

She refuses to focus on how much she wishes to be a part of what's blossoming behind her, how much she wanted to see Rumi or Zoey (preferably 'and') look at her that way and say that Mira was worth holding onto.

Not that she begrudges them for it! She's genuinely glad they found each other to smile at like that and hold hands and blush over changing bandages. They deserve it. It's just...

Her life, or well what's left of it- an empty mansion populated by her brother's decaying body she never wants to go back to, a cave somewhere in the wilderness where her parents rot over the sigils they bickered over while carving them in the floor- is so bleak and empty by comparison.

Not that it was any different when her family was alive, they objectively sucked, but they were still alive. Which, to be honest, had its own set of problems but now they're dead and-

Ugh! She stopped herself just before making the mistake of clenching her jaw because Appa had officially beaten her for the last time and she still couldn't figure out how to feel about that. Why couldn't she have had a normal family? Or simpler feelings about her abnormal one?

Minji-nim glanced over at Mira, then the rearview mirror, then back at Mira.

Mira stared harder at the scenic view, carefully keeping her face turned towards alternating trees and fields. Like hell was she going to tip her emotional hand.

Minji, clearly a professional, didn't pry, just drummed her fingers on the wheel. "So. Is there a second rule about wraith hunting we should be aware of? Do they, like, fight back or anything?"

On impulse Mira flicks her eyes to the mirror; Rumi's face is puckered in a little thinking pout. It is, frankly, adorable, but before Mira can properly appreciate it her face darkens. The hand Zoey's not holding drifts to her side, to the bandages hidden under her shirt.

"Words are their first choice of weapon, but...when they fail, or sometimes to help ensure they fail, they will resort to...other measures."

Mira turns around and her eyes instantly find Zoey's; they were waiting for her, like she was about to lean forward to locate Mira, wanting to consult her.

She forces herself to not think too hard on that. Or the way the sun catches on Zoey's lashes.

It's clear they're both thinking the same thing.

They both saw the gashes on Rumi's side, long and jagged and- and claw-like. Mira had assumed they were from some weird underworld animal; clearly Zoey had done the same.

Now, though...

The last time she saw Jaeho's wraiths, they were pitiable things; deformed limbs and twisted forms that could hardly have won a fight against a dishrag (with the dishrag having the more favorable odds). But that was several years ago by now. She'd never given much thought to what they could do if conjured properly.

And clearly, judging by the hospital fire, he'd done things properly this time.

Rumi reaches forward to lay a hand on Zoey's shoulder, and fixes her gaze on Mira, intense and beautiful and determined.

"Stay as far out of striking range as you can."

secondtolastrow

“Other measures?” Minji-nim echoes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to poke at anything, but—“

“No,” Rumi hurries to reply, guilt immediately overtaking irritation. “I ought to have been more—“ (What’s the stupid word?) “—descriptive. Primarily, they will retain the forms they have, though their teeth may grow, and they will have claws. These are their weapons. One need not fear any venom or poison, but they are quite sharp. And wraiths very quick.”

“Oh,” Minji-nim says. “Lovely.”

Rumi and Jinu used to pause here to cheerfully tell any of the youths who wished to join them about all of the horrible injuries they had seen from wraiths until they went pale and nervous (or else their mothers decided that, no, they were not of an age to hunt wraiths).

Used to.

Without him, Rumi is adrift.

Her companions know what wraiths are, how to resist them, and how to kill them. They need to know…

Where to find them, Rumi, Jinu teases her. What, are you just going to give them a dog and a lantern and hope their souls don’t get eaten?

“The most difficult issue has always been the discernment of wraith from person,” Rumi explains. “A wraith has… patterns. Parts of the soul that are etched into it. For many, it would seem as if their loved one had miraculously returned to them.”

(She’d always been… distantly sad for such people. A part of her had, admittedly, thought some foolish.

Now, the very idea seems to wrench her heart out of her chest.

She would fall. She would fall so, so easily.)

“So we can’t hesitate?” Zoey asks.

“No!” Rumi yelps. (Hypocrite.) “No, you must always hesitate!”

Didn’t you remind me of that? she asks, silent, desperate, staring at Zoey in quiet horror as she wonders if she is influencing such a wonderful soul for the worse. Had you not, would we not have both lost the opportunity to know Mira?

frozenwolftemplar

"So." Miyeong taps the car door in lively time with the song playing on the radio. "Have you done this before?"

Celine's hands clamp tighter on the wheel as she subtly sucks in a breath, hoping Miyeong-nim didn't notice but knowing that was likely a vain hope.

Fortunately her mentors had taught her many things, including the art of deflection.

She cleared her throat and looked sidelong at her traveling companion, watching her with an assessing eye. "What, drive down the mountain with someone who thinks it's normal to go knocking on strangers' doors before breakfast?"

Miyeong's fingers stumble over the bridge as she chokes on nothing and flushes crimson. "There were extenuating circumstances!" She sputters.

Celine felt a grin wriggle its way across her lips. "Do you mean impulsivity?"

"I am not-"

"Or a lack of regard for norms and etiquette?"

Miyeong opened her mouth to respond, then sat back, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest with a little 'hmph!' that tickled Celine's ears.

She chuckled. This was easily some of the most fun she'd had in a while. Plus she was spared from having to admit-

"I meant the whole wraith-slaying business," Miyeong clarified as the radio switched to a new song. "Have you ever done that?"

She spoke too soon.

"Not...exactly," she said slowly, focusing hard on the road unfurling before them.

Miyeong raised a brow, silently prodding her to continue.

Celine swallowed. "There's...not exactly much call for expunging wraiths. While I have a strong theoretical base, it's...not something I have much hands-on experience with."

“‘Much?’” Miyeong prodded.

“Well there was one time. When I was still in training. But I…really mostly just watched. From a very safe distance.”

She winced as she finished. Perhaps she shouldn't have admitted to that, and just given some roundabout half-truth focused on her expertise. But...it was surprisingly hard to do that with Miyeong's eyes on her, quiet and curious and looking at her like she wanted to know Celine, really know her.

Probably a reporter thing.

Miyeong was quiet a moment longer, letting the radio and hum of the engine fill the space; Celine fought the urge to squirm.

"Wow."

Celine looked over, expecting sarcasm or some hint of irony, and Miyeong was smiling. She reached a hand over the console, lighting it on Celine's knee, and-

-And she didn't catch what Miyeong said next, too focused on not veering into the other lane and trying to force her pulse back to something sensible.

Reporters certainly had a strange effect on her.

the-fallen-blue

Celine-nim is suddenly silent, her leg tense under Miyeong's hand, and Miyeong tries to slide the offending limb back into her lap, casually, hiding her wince at her presumption. A few smiles are not permission to touch, and she shouldn't assume that just because she feels so incredibly comfortable in Celine-nim's presence that the other woman feels at all the same about her.

There's a lock loose from Celine-nim's ponytail, black streaked with silver. It's slipped in front of her face, and she tucks it back behind the ear nearest Miyeong with long fingers.

Miyeong swallows against her heartbeat. Maybe comfortable isn't exactly the right word.

Desperately, she tries to drag the conversation forward, away from her faux pas and flushed cheeks.

"So what do you usually do, then, as a mudang?"

Celine-nim visibly relaxes, and Miyeong tamps down her disproportionate sense of pride. "Honestly, most of it is very mundane. People who come to me with spiritual problems usually just have normal emotional ones. I reassure grieving widows that their husbands' souls are well, convince blustering teenagers that they still have their whole lives ahead of them, that sort of thing. Sometimes someone comes in who's in real danger, and usually I connect them with the perfectly normal modern resources that will help get them out of it."

Carrying on Rumi-nim's legacy, she'd said. Miyeong thinks of the way she'd guarded the younger women against Miyeong and Minji's intrusion, how patient and clear she was walking Miyeong through chopping up kimchi. Somehow she suspects Celine-nim usually gets a little more involved than handing over a phone number or pamphlet.

"You talked about rituals, at lunch?"

"Yes." Celine-nim's eyes flick sideways, like Miyeong just said something noteworthy, though she can't guess what. "I've done cleansings, when necessary, and there are seasonal meetings, upkeep of sacred spaces, that sort of thing. Mostly, if I'm doing anything... supernatural, it's to commune with spirits. There are fewer around than I'm led to believe there were in Rumi-nim's day, but they require no less mediation and reassurance than they ever have."

She says it like they're misbehaving dogs or unruly children, frustrated and fond.

"... should we, I don't know, ask them for help?" Miyeong says. She thinks she can remember something about that, magpies who give wisdom or tigers who protect the dead, or possibly the living.

Celine-nim looks at her strangely.

"Or is that a stupid idea," Miyeong corrects, hastily.

"No," says Celine-nim, kind, "not at all. Actually I intended to try to propitiate the local spirits as soon as we settled in the hotel. It's very unlikely there will be anything willing to directly oppose Gwi-Ma, but we may be able to get help in tracking down the wraiths, at least.

"No, it's just that most people aren't usually so eager to invite the supernatural into their lives."

Miyeong looks over, sly. "Aren't you sort of supernatural, technically?" She bats her eyelashes outrageously. "I'm quite happy to have invited you into my life, so far."

Celine-nim rolls her eyes, but she's smiling, and Miyeong counts it a win.

secondtolastrow

They stop for gas in Jeju City, just before heading to the ferry station. Zoey appoints herself chief snack-getter, which Minji suspects is more to stretch her legs—that’s absolutely why Mira follows, and if they’re getting up, then so is Rumi.

So she stays outside with the car, and with Miyeong.

Celine’s card, after all, was needed inside. Minji trusts her, at least, to actually return with coffee.

Miyeong gives her a look, hesitant, as they stand between the cars. The one that says she thought about asking how Minji was doing and then remembered the situation.

But, Miyeong being Miyeong, she steels herself a moment later and barrels straight in: “It’s a nice drive, isn’t it? Makes me wish we were out here to appreciate the scenery.”

Minji almost laughs. She’s sure Miyeong is really enjoying the scenery, yeah. But she’ll be nice. “Maybe we’ll come back some other time. Visit them and all.”

She’s surprised by how much she realizes that she wants it. To keep knowing the young women who’ve been talking and laughing and giving each other ridiculously intense looks all around her, to have more time with Celine, to… to do with Miyeong.

To hold onto each other, she supposes.

The ache hits her a moment later, threatens to overwhelm her with everyone who has just been ripped away. How could she even think of rebuilding after this?

“Hey, where are you going?” Miyeong asks.

Minji shrugs, and scrambles for something to say that won’t leave her breaking down in the parking lot. “…Do you think I’ll have a job after this?”

Miyeong wraps an arm over her shoulder, stupidly touchy the way she’s always been, and politely pretends to believe her. “If you’re fired, so am I.”

Which is something, at least.

“You should call your boss,” she says.

Miyeong shrugs. “Last time I did, he told me to go fuck myself for telling him about a murder, so… not feeling super charitable at the moment.”

Minji does laugh, finally, and Miyeong looks like it’s the best thing she’s heard all week.

the-fallen-blue

Rumi hadn't been able to see Mira while they traveled, her view barred by the chair between them. She hadn't exactly forgotten what the other woman was wearing, but apparently it had passed far enough from the front of her mind that seeing her again, when Zoey and Mira clamber out of the car and barrel excitedly toward the building, makes her pull back and snap her eyes away exactly as it did the first time.

Her redirected gaze ends up pointing at the honored shaman, who returns it with a look that Rumi cannot entirely interpret. Fondness? Amusement? Indulgence? Something far too kind for the shameful thought that provoked it, certainly. And she is merciful enough to avoid the subject entirely, when she speaks.

"Rumi-nim." She says it with such respect, as they walk together into the building. "How are you finding the trip so far?"

She leads them past rows of hundreds of bright packages Rumi can't hope to recognize or make sense of, to some kind of device along the back wall, square and rich-smelling, covered in images of mugs full of liquid.

"Fascinating," Rumi says, honestly. "To cross the countryside with such speed is a marvel. And I am unsure I will ever grow accustomed to having such a variety of music available, at the briefest whim." The honored shaman has been manipulating the device, which Rumi now recognizes as a variation of the one from this morning, a source of the coffee that the honored shaman and her peers seem to favor. "It is a great gift, to be able to do something once, and then share it with so many others later, just as it was, at times and places one has never been and will never be."

The honored shaman presents Rumi with a full cup of coffee and immediately begins to fill a new one; Rumi almost refuses, before realizing she's not being offered a drink, but conscripted as a beast of burden. It's delightfully out of character, considering how the honored shaman has been treating Rumi thus far, and Rumi suspects she didn't realize she was doing it.

"Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it? We all rather take it for granted, I'm afraid." The honored shaman smiles down at Rumi, warm and genuine. "I imagine you feel rather out of place among all this technology, but it gives you a valuable perspective. That is its own gift, to the rest of us, and I thank you for it."

It's a kind way to reframe Rumi's ignorance, and she seems to actually mean it, which… doesn't make Rumi feel less out of place, exactly. But it does feel like something worth thinking about.

"If you find my words valuable, you are very welcome for them."

"They're the one thing we've never had enough of, in my order," says the honored shaman. "I'll take as many as I can get."

Rumi thinks about the lessons she used to teach, her own voice, captured in lightning like music and carried through time, like Zoey's 'playlist.' It's an odd thought.

And then she's being handed a second cup of coffee, like her greatest purpose right now is to stand here and hold things, and she lets the thought go, and just tries not to smile so obviously that it alerts the honored shaman to what she's doing, instead.

frozenwolftemplar

Hands full of coffee, Rumi goes off to find Mira and Zoey. The cup Celine's fixing for herself is just about finished when she hears a crisis building behind her.

"Look, it's fine." Mira's voice, stiff and stilted from the wires, is just audible over the usual ambient sounds of the convenience store. "I'm not even that hungry."

Celine looks away from the coffee maker at the sound of a miserable whine. Zoey's standing in the middle of an aisle, flanked by bags and boxes covered in eye-catching colors and photos of snack foods "enlarged to show texture."

Foods, Celine deduced in an instant, that Mira could not eat.

Celine winced, mentally kicking herself.

Why didn't she just take five minutes to pull together a thermos of something before leaving?

And while providing nourishment for her traveling party was hardly a set-in-stone mudang responsibility, it already felt like she was failing. Like she was letting everyone down before they!d even left the island.

"But what about later?" Zoey wrings a bag of shrimp chips as she dithers in the aisle, and Celine feels like it may as well be her heart in her hands. "I mean, you didn't even have as much lunch as the rest of us. You have to get something!

Mira huffs and turns, scanning the shelves, then pulls off a package. "Here. This works."

'This,' Celine could tell from her vantage, was a bag of jelly; grape, judging by the color of the packaging.

She grimaces. Technically a snack, but one that, she knew from experience, only appealed to a particular type of consumer; her mentor was one, and something told her Mira was not. Plus, comparing the package to the chips and choco-pies Zoey's arms were overflowing with it was like looking at a breadcrust next to a banquet.

Zoey clearly feels the same way. She looks at the package like it is an affront to snacking. "Mira. That is the single most pathetic snack in the store. It is breaking every law of snacking."

Rumi tilts her head to a side, ogling the package with what Celine had come to recognize as her 'age of wonders' look. "It does not look like contraband..." (honestly, she wouldn't mind trying it; it was a very enticing color).

"It's not," Mira says flatly. "It's fine."

It was not fine, judging by the way she was looking at the jelly bag.

"I'm a bad chief snack-getter!" Zoey wails, dropping her head into her hands, the chips crunching as she does so. "Mira's gonna starve and it'll be my fault!"

Correction: it'll be Celine's, but before she can go over and say that, Rumi-nim, of course, steps in.

"No, she will not," Rumi-nim says gravely, as if this was the final outpost before a desert journey, not one of many food-selling establishments along their path. "We will not let her."

Rumi-nim's kindness should not surprise Celine by now, but she still feels awed by her refusal to let someone be in need.

Mira sighs, glaring hard enough at a bag of turtle chips that a guilty look crosses face of the cartoon mascot. “Look, I really don’t want this to be a thing, so-“

"Perhaps the shopkeeper can help?" Rumi-nim glances over at the checkout counter and the acne-faced cashier, an exemplar of apathy as he thumbed through his phone. She nods, as if making up her mind. "I shall ask him for assistance procuring liquid sustenance."

"NO!" Mira and Zoey lunged and each grabbed one of Rumi's arms as she turned to march over to the counter.

It's a miracle the coffee cups don't splash to the floor.

Celine relaxes muscles she hadn't realized went taught. The cashier was likely harmless, but...there was a time and place for marching up to counters in search of liquid sustenance and bringing a taste of the 16th century to the modern day, and this was neither.

All three girls' brains seem to stall at the contact, matching flushes creeping up their necks. Present problems aside Celine can't help chuckling to herself as they snap back to earth and simultaneously jerked their hands and arms back to themselves.

Flowers still blossom during a storm.

grundpfeiler

For a little longer the grief, the guilt of not being there when the flames and demons came, retreated and Minji could breathe. And reoriented herself to a new goal - she had to keep racing, keep beating the tide until everything was done with. (And after - after she could crumble.)

Miyeong's head tilted. "There's something in your hair," the other woman reported, "May I?" She asked, one hand pointing to - whatever. Minji nodded- and Miyeong delicately puled a long loose thread of twine from Minji's curls. "We never did get that hair brush," Miyeong commented as she tucked a strand of loose hair behind Minji's ear. "I do have a comb on me if you'd like me to try and combat this." Miyeong offered. This being the aftermath of everything since two wraiths had stepped into her hospital wearing scrubs as described by hair. Minji nodded, and Miyeong moved behind Minji, out of sight and in her space simultaneously. Which was fine, Minji noted with a smile to herself. Miyeong was trusted in her space. The only place that Miyeong wasn't trusted, especially out of sight was - oh damn it. Minji closed her watering eyes and pushed forward with the current mission. "And how goes the courtship?" she asked as Miyeong delicately combed at a not yet knot. Miyeong stilled. "Is now really the best time to ask?" Miyeong asked - and Minji could hear the blush creeping up Miyeong's neck as the comb resumed attacking the entrenched chaos of her hair. "Would you rather I ask when she's here?" Minji teased. Miyeong grumbled but didn't argue. Minji let the silence stretch - happy to use the technique that she'd stopped Miyeong demonstrating on new hires way too often. "I know what you're doing." Miyeong accused. "Is it working?" Minji responded in turn.

"...Yes." Miyeong sighed. "I'm out of my league. Again - don't move. I still have a knot here." Minji stilled reluctantly at Miyeong's last statement. "What exactly do you mean - out of your league?" She'd interrogate Miyeong on the half muttered again later. Yeonngi unfortunately was closer to Miyeong's standard when it came to significant others and the woman was not subtle when it came to her flirtations. Or maybe Miyeong had found someone else to crush on and Minji hadn't noticed. Pigs could fly this week - she'd willingly called Miyeong to the hospital because the reporter wasn't in the vicinity to overhear stuff. Yeonngi being "out of" Miyeong's league if Miyeong actually thought that was a crisis. One that hopefully could wait. "Celine is wonderful." Minji said instead. "And so are you."

Miyeong huffed. "I am the exact type to be sold the tourist scams to ward off evil spirits." Gullible - why am I so gullible. A conversation from long ago crept into Minji's mind. Yeonngi had cared about Miyeong - but the woman wasn't an idiot and had realized that the information he gave her about his competition had multiple motivations. And Miyeong apparently had taken the fact she believed him to heart. "No you aren't." Minji countered. "That would stop you from seeing said evil spirits - and given what we know about Celine - I don't think your willingness to believe given evidence is a negative here." Celine snorted before combing out Minji's final section of tangled hair and resting her head on Minji's shoulder - muffling the rest of her words. "Just a mudang from a legacy of protectors and me writing for a dishrag of a paper." "Stop insulting dishrags." Minji retorted, reaching for Miyeong's hand blindly. "Now your writing - it should be somewhere else." "You've never read any of it." Miyeong retorted. Minji cast a scathing look at her friend - unseen because Miyeong was still pressing her head into Minji's shoulder. "Of course I have." "I bet you can't tell me of articles I've written. Name and subject." Now Miyeong raised her head up to meet Minji's eyes. "If I can you have to at least try to sell your stories to someplace else." Especially because Halmeoni would insist on Minji dragging Miyeong to dinner after Miyeong was able to tell her Minji was alive, and the woman would ask about Miyeong's work. And this would lead to a sequence of events that would have Halmeoni buy the most recent edition, bring it with her to her multiple times a week board game sessions - and that was how a group of retirees with way too much time on their hands would declare war on the dishrag newspaper. Minji smiled at Miyeong as her mind ran through consequences, ramifications, liking the end result of this avenue - knowing that she could name many, many articles. She'd win the bet. She'd also need to name some of the best around Celine because Miyeong apparently wasn't. Let it not be said that Minji couldn't wingwoman for her friend. "So what would you win if I'm not able to?" Minji asked - as patient as a hunter setting a snare.

secondtolastrow

Part eleven

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