BOUNTIFUL.
neosaeyiâ:
she knows full well what jaeinâs doing here, and itâs not for the party. itâs a strange combination of fate and affinity that keeps them in each otherâs gravity, their idea of âworkingâ at the afterlife very different and yet somehow compatible. âwell. roaches come out when itâs dark,â she points out, and tilts her head towards jaein. âwhoâs caught your eye, huh?â jaeinâs jobs are out of the norm for saeyi but always fun, so when her fruity drink comes she leans in and offers, âwant a favour for the vodka?â
jaein grins at the presence beside her, the sheen of her hair and the slope of her features, examines her profile with appreciation. jaein can respect a pretty thing when she sees one. beauty is a weapon, sure, and one she uses well herself, but saeyi is no stranger to that, wields that power in her own right on plenty of occasions. perhaps, one might think, like tonight. âon me, â she agrees, laughing quick, airy as she brings a hand up to toy idly with the otherâs hair, removing it once more to grip her own drink. Â
âmore than i ought too, thatâs for sure. is anyone ever going to open up a club to take this place down? itâs a bit stale frequenting the same old hunting grounds,â she points out, a dimple to her cheek and a sparkle in her eyes. if anyone would understand the stagnation she experiences it would be saeyi. though, jaein would be the first to insist on the relative morality and goodness of her own actions in comparison to the otherâs self serving purposes. but selfish or not this is elysium and all goodness is painted in sin, all gold tarnished and worn, all wings broken.Â
the way saeyi lilts over the comment sends a shiver down jaeinâs spine, that anticipation and thrill that come with the mayhem she makes, the power she wields in a place like this, in a dress like this, with the wild fire she has in her. saeyi is a kindred spirit in many ways, but she wonders if perhaps, she herself has gone a step too far these days. taken in past a place where she can still earn her own salvation, in the midst of all her best laid plans. what is that archaic saying after all? the road to hell is paid with good intentions?Â
but then, so what if she isnât meant for heaven. whoâs to say itâs even a place, right? someone has to do the dirty work, the things no one else will touch, clean up this rotten city in one way or another. and what is a better cleansing than blood? âonly you, for now, darling.â she laughs out, leaning against the bar to regard the other with a spark of interest, the lifting of her her brow in an arch over dark eyes. âi wouldnât ever say no to a favor,â she admits easily enough, âwhatâd you have in mind?âÂ










