the lucky fool

"All this time we thought you were a brilliant strategist, but you're really just a lucky fool." Jang Dongwoo. Werewolf. 23.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Agent Double-Oh-Wolf

[obsdongwoo-blog]

jinhwanxobs:

This is, in fact, a very dangerous kind of desperate standing in front of Jinhwan now. It’s written in how the were trembles – it’s not even close to nighttime, and yet it’s like he’s having trouble staying whole regardless. Jinhwan sighs silently and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Clearly a risky situation that needs defusing, but he mostly just feels exasperated, and the werewolf’s rambling is not terribly helpful in that regard.

“I’m not – That’s stereotyping right there,” he protests but makes a mental note that perhaps he should work on an amphibian transformative just in case he needs to use it as leverage in the future. He does huff aloud at the werewolf’s declaration of bankruptcy, tilting his head and allowing himself crossed arms and a momentary hand across the eyes, shielding his vision from this nightmare of a customer experience.

“That is most certainly not what I meant by desperate,” Jinhwan says stiffly. He takes his hand off his eyes and stares down the would-be recipe thief. “Do you think a trade of mere sex means anything to someone in an industry like me?” 

Jinhwan probably shouldn’t ramble at a werewolf threatening to turn, but really, it’s nearly offensive. He’s got to pay his bills too, after all. “Your… offer is also not the first proposition I’ve gotten, nor will it be the last I turn down, I assume.” He rolls his eyes. “…Unfortunately…” he says, but it seems more like he’s addressing some nameless and offensive god with how he mutters upward than to the were in front of him.

“I’m not going to call the cops – gods no – will not take you up on anything related to sex, won’t turn you into a frog, but I am going to need you to give me that notepad, doll.”

He sticks a hand forward and beckons back toward himself with a clawed finger. “…Maybe then I might consider helping you.”

Dongwoo leans forward with a toothy, wolfish grin crammed with larger and much, much pointier teeth by the second. He wasn’t lying about his lack of bodily control. With such a rudimentary grasp on basic werewolf abilities, it’s no surprise that he’s desperate enough to steal from a witch. 

“We aren’t talking mere sex,” he says. “This is next level stuff that’ll blow your mind. People into erotic art will commission some wild stuff, yeah? If you saw my professional portfolio -- not the one with paintings of people’s pets, but my other professional portfolio -- then you might change your mind.”

He shudders, but miraculously holds onto a human shape. “But ah, I didn’t realize you’re probably getting offers up the wazoo,” he says, glancing at the witch’s claws. “I know what it’s like though, all these furry types come outta the woodwork...”

He shudders once more, the shaking strong enough to wipe the smile off his face. His mind feels cloudy, as though simple thoughts exhaust him and take extreme effort to navigate. He feels his throat tighten and he speaks, his voice thinning into nothingness. “Notepad...? Uh yeah, you can take it.”

Dongwoo holds out the notepad with two, trembling hands. It’s clear he’s doing everything he possibly can to avoid transforming in front of the witch, but his best effort isn’t enough. He lowers his head. “Sorry, I’m...mmmm...don’t feel good.”

The notepad slips between his fingers. 

He crouches down on the ground and hides his face against his kneecaps. There isn’t a muscle on him that’s not shaking, trembling with force and threatening to give way beneath the invisible weight pushing him down. “I don’t wanna break anything,” he says, voice muffled against his knees. “It just hurts so bad.” 

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Who Dat Dog

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obshimchan:

Dark irises fixate on the naked man in front of him. Who was this guy, anyways? He was another werewolf, yes, but beyond that. Although more than happy to meet another person like him, could he really trust him based on that fact alone? Maybe Himchan was stupid, but he was going to try to follow the man. They had frolicked around together as wolves, after all – how much worse could it be?

The bare man has a point. It would be a whole other horror story if a hiker or two decided to make the morning trek to the forest. “Have you come across hikers out here?” Himchan decides on easy talk, trying to get a firmer grasp on who the other was. “I mean, this is my first time actually spending my shift out here..” He shares a bit more personal information, eyes moving to the ground to watch where he was stepping.

Himchan nearly steps on a sharp rock, only just avoiding it. He jerks his body forward, grumbling about how the ground was much rougher on his feet than he had remembered. “Axe can also be smelled a mile away..” He adds. “Smart idea, dude.” Himchan realizes he has yet to know the stranger’s name. “Uh, instead of calling you dude, what’s your name?”

Contrary to the stranger’s habit of not checking where he was walking, Himchan was far too observant with the ground and all of its possible threats. So enraptured was he by this that he did not even notice the circles the werewolf was leading them in. Instead, he noticed the thistles, ants, rocks, and animal dung on the forest floor. On the bright side, he was not stepping on anything – however, he had no idea they were being led the complete wrong way.

Himchan figures this man knows what he is talking about. He must have been through this before to know these things. Who was he to question it? “Sort of.” Himchan admits, hoping the other is not new. It would still be cool if he was, but he wanted someone to teach him. Being thrown into the curse of lycanthropy was more than a little to bear, stacked on top of responsibilities that he already had. “You’re the first I have met, too.” Himchan turns his face up to eye him again. “What do you mean by unspoken wolf rules? Have you come across something like that?” He pauses, the idea of a pack having not crossed his mind before. It made sense, considering they were wolves and all. Werewolves forming a pack and thrusting rules unto others was not completely farfetched. “I promise I am not going to beat you up, again.” Himchan grins toothily, though he genuinely does feel bad for smacking him.

Out of all the creatures he could’ve been turned into, nothing suits him better than being a were -- specifically, a werewolf. His lively, go-with-the-flow personality meshes well with the natural intuitiveness and adaptability of wolves. If his heightened senses and shifting stop tripping him up, then he could settle into his new role more comfortably. 

“Hikers? Once or twice, but they’ll keep walking if you pretend to be a drunk,” he says. “Then you gotta haul ass to get out of here because they might call the cops.” His words carry a lively, bouncy quality to them that reflects his good mood. “Really?” he says. “How do you usually spend full moons? If I come up here, then it’s a little easier controlling myself for the rest of the month. I’ll get antsy if I don’t run loose once in awhile. But, I guess I’ve always been that way!” 

It’s true. Even as a child, his babysitters used to make him fun laps so he’d fall asleep at night. They didn’t even need to ask him; they’d just bring him to an open track and field, then he’d take off like a bullet. “The name’s Bond, James Bond,” he says. 

He grins.

“Just kidding!” he says. “I’m Dongwoo, professional nudist as of recently.” The young man laughs at his own joke and it’s a loud, unashamed sound that carries far through the forest. “I’m not really sure what the rules are and nobody’s got the sense to tell me, so I just keep breaking them,” he says. “I break them harder than you tried to break my jaw.” 

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Agent Double-Oh-Wolf

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obsdongwoo:

jinhwanxobs:

Jinhwan’s used to customers with unusual needs. He’s used to customers that come into his shop completely lost, those who have trouble expressing exactly what it is they need taken care of, embarrassed or too shy or afraid to say it aloud. And then there’s customers he’s never seen who aren’t at all phased by his merchandise. The ones of those whose attire doesn’t already scream “witch” are a bit more rare. His interest is piqued, just a bit.

“Well, certainly we’ll have something like that in our anti-transformatives section,” Jinhwan smiles genially, pointing to the smaller wall section of potions relevant. The customer seems a bit out of it, so Jinhwan walks with him to the section and more closely gestures to the ones he will most likely want for sensory reduction. A little harder to make these more generalist potions, but Jinhwan’s certainly gotten them working quite well, using them himself at times when animal senses linger too long (though there are ones, of course, more specifically engineered for this young man’s needs).

“Ah, allergies, huh? I’m… not sure that…” Jinhwan starts, but trails off, unsure of how to address the fact he’s not sure allergies ever come up in alchemy… he supposes negative reactions per species might count – but it seems the customer wants to peruse on his own, waiting for Jinhwan to leave. No matter – he supposes the ingredients on the side might be useful for that as well as their intended use of warning the imbiber what not to mix with them. Jinhwan moves back to help another customer who had been browsing a while, and is promptly distracted by a custom order for a moment or two.

As he’s waving the customer out the door, self-satisfied, Jinhwan feels a pair of eyes on him. It’s the (presumably) were who asked about the potions, still hovering over that section. Why are his eyes so shifty?

He looks down and fiddles with his phone, glancing up out of the corner of his eye curiously. Whatever is he hunched over like that for? Jinhwan doesn’t like to suspect customers of anything but… at the very least he should go over and check on the were. He’s been hovering over there an awful while.

Apron pulled straight, hands held behind his back, Jinhwan approaches the shelving with a smile, but his expression quickly furrows into something more confused – and then exasperated. It has to be one of those fools again – he’s copying down the labeling from the side, isn’t he? Why does Jinhwan always get these types in his shop? He walks closer, and his presence doesn’t seem to be noted from how the were (or is he) is still furtively scribbling.

“Dear, I really hope you’re not taking that as a full list of ingredients. I cannot be held liable if you plan on poisoning yourself.” It’s always a bit insulting that someone might take a list like that as a recipe…. but he also figures with types like these, it’s almost certainly a sign of desperation. He pauses.

“…Exactly… how desperate are you now?”

It’s dangerous for a novice like himself to get all his information from Youtube’s hoard of DIY alchemists, but he doesn’t have much choice. He’s even subscribed to a handful of mommy vloggers who claim having their werewolf children swallow a tablespoon of coconut oil in the morning helps them concentrate better in school. 

None of it has helped him so far.

He flinches when he’s called out, looking all too much like a puppy caught chewing furniture. His gaze casts downwards, his eyes blink rapidly in guilt, and he shoves the notepad into his hoodie pocket. It’s obvious that it’s in there; it’s leaving a bulky, rectangular outline against his clothing. 

As his nerves get a hold of him, he finds it more and more difficult to hold a single form. It’s feels as though all the bones and muscle in his body are liquefying, as though the sinew that holds him together are weakening and snapping off. “Please don’t turn me into a toad!” he blurts out. “I’d rather just get arrested and locked up.”

He shuts his eyes. 

“Sir, I’ll do anything you want me to...except come up with enough money to pay,” he says. “I’m an artist actually -- an erotic painter, to be perfectly honest! I could paint your greatest fantasies for free! Or if you wanted me to partake in those fantasies with you, Sir...” 

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Who Dat Dog

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obshimchan:

With no immediate response from the man, Himchan can only watch on in horror, wondering if he had applied too much force into the slap. He swears it was not that hard, but the reaction from the bare man suggested otherwise. Damn. If only he had his fanny pack. The least he could do was offer the man some ibuprofen to dull the pain. It was his fault, after all.

“I’m sorry, dude.” He repeats the apology once again. There was not much else he can do at the moment. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip in worry, Himchan is considering to offer the man a gift card to some high-end restaurant as an apology gift. That thought, however, is short-lived. He is not sure he wants to anymore when the man finally speaks.

Himchan gawks; his face, no doubt, is beginning to turn red. He can feel even his ears burning! “Yeah, well, I am sorry?” He is unsure of what else to say. Himchan is usually very vocal, but now he is considering treading very lightly. If this man was into rough play, Himchan did not want to turn him on and send the wrong message. He makes a very quick mental note to himself to never hit the other werewolf again if he can help it. Weird guy or not, Himchan wants to at least attempt to keep in contact with him. A strange werewolf to lean on was better than none.

The barks are unexpected, and Himchan begins to laugh. “You’re messed up, aren’t you?” Some days after a full moon, his tail would hang around for a few hours, or even his ears, but it had never affected his voice. It was amusing. Although he knows the struggle of being a werewolf, it was nice to know someone else was experiencing similar issues. It made him feel like he was not alone. It made him feel like maybe he belonged, somewhere.

A pleased grin is still on his face when he is yanked up. That grin is quickly gone. He grunts, having not expected to be tugged at. He wants to whine and complain, so he does.

“You couldn’t have been more gentle? If you wanted me to get up you could have barked at me some more.. I would have gotten the message, eventually.” He huffs. Although he would never admit it himself, Himchan is very dramatic. He does not even register the hypocrisy in the situation, or the fact that the stranger had not whined even once when he was smacked in the head.

“What do you want?” Himchan is quick to follow closely beside the man. He does not want to be pulled on again.

Goosebumps raise along his arms and the thin, wiry hair on the back of his neck stands on end. A shiver shooting through his spine makes his whole body tremble, as though every ounce of him were fighting to stay in a human form. He doesn’t know why shifting is so difficult for him. He assumes it’s just one of those things that happen without explanation like the true function of the appendix or why some people only breathe through one nostril. Odd, but hardly concerning when he has greater things to worry about.

It takes some fighting for control, but he squeezes in a few words between puppy-like yapping. “We don’t have time for eventually!” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want an early bird hiker to see an unexpected full moon on the trail.”

It’s a valid concern. The two of them are very, very naked. 

“I marked some trees around here -- uh, not with piss or anything like that,” he says. “We might be wolves, but we don’t have to stoop to that kinda level. I used some Axe body spray because that stuff lasts forever, yeah?”

Dongwoo dances around pine cones and thistles with a quick, surefooted ease. He never once looks at the ground to see where he’s headed but instead, keeps his nose pointed in the air. It’s intuition that puts his body on autopilot, freeing up his focus on more important matters. Namely, trying to find a bunch of trees coated in two canisters of the most obnoxious body spray known to mankind.

Suddenly, he snaps his fingers and turns in a circle. He walks back in the exact direction -- thistles, thorns, and all -- that they’d just come from. “Aha, it’ll probably be easier to find if we’re walking upwind,” he says. “Anyway, are you new or something? You’re actually the first werewolf I’ve met! Well, the first that’s not beating me up for breaking some kinda unspoken wolf rules.”

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Agent Double-Oh-Wolf

@jinhwanxobs

He thinks he’s clever. No, he thinks he’s James Bond.

Dongwoo browses the collection of potion bottles and stoppers to avoid suspicion, so dedicated to his mission that he even asks the shopkeeper for help. “Do you have anything for calming a werewolf’s senses? But without making them drool and gnaw on stuff like werenip does, yeah?”

He hardly acknowledges the shopkeeper’s words because he’s too focused on mentally rehearsing his backstory. Not only did he craft a false identity, but numerous allergies to make scrutinizing ingredients lists seem less suspicious. He mentions the false allergies in passing and when left alone to a collection of potions, hurries to work. 

The werewolf slips a pencil, sharpened down to a mere three inches and riddled with bite marks, down his hoodie sleeve. Then with his free hand, he fishes a crumpled piece of scrap paper out of his pocket. He not-too-subtly glances over his shoulder to check on the shopkeeper and when the man looks away, he scribbles down the ingredients listed on the potion bottles. 

His dedication would be admirable if his mission weren’t so unnecessarily complicated. He would’ve had better luck snapping a photograph with his cellphone -- hell, uploading it to snapchat for an extra measure -- and booking it out of the building. 

But, this is Dongwoo. And he wants his James Bond moment.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Who Dat Dog

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obshimchan:

Ever since he was young, Himchan had been a fairly deep sleeper. Small noises such as creaks and snaps did little to phase him. The sun, however, was a different story.

As more and more sunlight spilled in between thick leaves, Himchan felt himself slowly being pulled from the grasp of sleep. The brightness was growing to be too much for him to ignore. He groaned in protest, wanting to sleep for much longer than he had been allotted. Even five more minutes would have been welcomed with gracious arms. However, there was a disturbance.

He should have been grateful for the sudden departure of the brightness of the sun and gone back to sleep. Instead, the darkness that blocked the light from behind his closed eyelids made the process of him waking up much quicker.

Himchan’s eyes fluttered opened, and without thinking twice, his hand came to slap the side of the figure’s – the man’s – head. The proximity had frightened him. It was unnerving to wake up from a sufficient night’s rest only to be face-to-face with another man, in the forest of all places, as soon as he opened his eyes. To him, Himchan thought the reaction was more than warranted, but he still felt the tendrils of guilt poking at him, especially as his mind began to piece together the fragments of last night.

He remembered that he had made the decision to spend a full moon in the forest instead of his condo. He remembered catching drift of another wolf. He remembered the growling and sniffing.

Oh god.

Was this the werewolf he had met last night? Did he just assault the first werewolf he had ever met – someone who could actually relate to him?

“I am so so sorry. You just scared me.” Himchan pushed himself up to a seated position. His gaze was focused on the stranger, and he could not help the concerned expression from creeping onto his features. “Are you okay? I really didn’t mean to.”

The thought of losing the only other werewolf he had met to terrible first impressions plagued his mind so that he did not even notice the barking from the man at first. He was too worried with the fact that he had smacked the man across the head.

In a brief moment of disorientation, he could’ve sworn his head whisplashed a full 360°. Bright white dots – like little amoebas, he thinks – swim in the corners of his vision, darting away whenever he tries focusing on them. He’s never been slapped with another werewolf’s strength before. Rad. 

The slap must’ve snapped his vocal chords back to normal because he found himself able to talk again, as short lived as it may be. The young werewolf is learning not to expect too much of himself. His body does whatever the hell it feels like whether in the safety of the city’s nightlife or in all the exposure of broad daylight. If it wants to wolf out on him, then there’s nothing to do but cover up. 

Dongwoo grins in that toothy, cheeky way of his that drives all his companions mad. “The first werewolf I meet is into playing it rough and sniffing ass,” he says. “Nice.”

Apparently, smelling someone’s ass is the canine version of a Facebook friend request. Dongwoo hates his life. 

He’s kinda over the shedding, the flea-borne diseases, the barking, and the full-frontal nudity of being a werewolf. He’d be embarrassed a few weeks ago. But now? All the weirdness he’s exposed to in his new supernatural life results in a very meh, fuck it attitude. He’s jaded. Well, at least when it comes to the downsides. The cool parts about being a werewolf haven’t gotten old yet; the exhilaration that comes with a hunter’s game of cat and mouse is still as exciting as it was on day one.

He can’t wait to share his experience with someone like him. Maybe his werewolf companion was more experienced and could show him the ropes. If he was also a newbie, then they could stumble their way through the supernatural world together. It’d be great, he thinks. It’d be like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, except with two dudes and a lot of fur. 

Dongwoo tries to speak again, but he feels a tightening in his throat that means his vocal chords are moving around again. All that comes out are a stream of barks -- indignant barks, to his credit -- and an annoyed growl. Well, shit. How is he supposed to tell his naked friend that he’s got spare clothes buried nearby? 

He tilts his head to the side, the angle having the sunlight streaming through the treetops bounce off yellow irises. He takes a moment to study the other werewolf as he would drafts for his painting. This man would make great subject matter, whether he’s naked, clothed, or caked in dirt from the forest floor. He yanks on Himchan’s wrist as if to get him to follow. 

He doesn’t care if he yanks too hard and it hurts. After all, he just got slapped upside the head.

[odminsung]

nosy.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obshyerin:

[ obsdongwoo ]

cw violence, blood

his ward fires off, raging hot against his skin now that the danger was right next to him, rolling around the ground in agony. his blood is boiling under his skin, vision gone red at the sudden anger flooding through him. it’s been a fucking awful day, and this stinking were has the audacity to come right to him, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong just so he can get on hyerin’s nerves.

the real reason is probably much more idiotic, like he’d thought that a human laced to hell and back with wards was somehow a smart choice for tonight’s dinner, or something equally stupid.

hyerin isn’t thinking straight, but he doesn’t care. 

the animosity is dripping off of him like acid, burning and potent, his wards stinging terribly at the imbalance inside. he walks up to the man, looks down at him and tilts his head. 

“really? your mom’s going to kill you? let me make it better huh?” 

hyerin lifts his boot and brings it down over the man’s face. he’s still covering his nose with his hand but hyerin hears something crack, and the sound only riles him up more. before the man can get up he brings his foot down again, over the man’s neck. 

“does it feel better? no?”

hyerin kicks him in the rib, snarling. “a real cocky fucking mutt aren’t you? trying to sneak up on a hunter like that? should i just kill you instead?”

He’s just a kid in way, way over his head.

The young werewolf feels the cold, electrifying waves of shock coursing through his system and locking him up on the spot. He doesn’t know how to react to this -- if he even could react to this. But, he knows that he’s fucked up.

He’s fucked up big time.

The hunter’s foot his his ribs and he can feel them crack. It’s like wires being snapped inside a machine, only it burns and aches and makes it hard to breathe. “I wasn’t sneaking!” he yelps. “I just...”

His hands clamp around the hunters ankle and he tries pulling the boot off his neck. Some nails extend into sharp, yellowing claws without his meaning to. And what does he do? Lift those fingers into the air -- pinkies up like it’s a tea party -- to not dig into the hunter’s skin. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it, he swears. 

“I wouldn’t sneak! I wouldn’t do that, I swear!” he says. “I have hunter friends!”

Now, that’s an original line. Dongwoo wonders how many times the hunter has head that one before. He struggles at first, far too panicked and disoriented to put his strengths to use. Werewolves have strength, speed, stamina -- hell, he could even shift forms to wiggle free. But if it weren’t already evident at the wild, frantic look in his eyes, the fact he doesn’t use any of his abilities to help him escape goes to show he’s only recently bitten. 

If only he could call someone for help. Minkwang could get him out of a situation like this, right? Haechul would have his back (if he doesn’t run away first). Eunae and Jieun could vouch for him being a nice guy. Duri could maybe smash his attacker over the head with a canvas or something. Or Himchan--

Himchan has good hearing, he thinks. Maybe if he called for help loud enough, the only other werewolf in he knows could come to his aid. Dongwoo tries to shout for help, but it comes out more like a howl.

Exactly like a howl. An I’m-Here-Please-Save-Me howl.

It’s a sharp sound piercing through the city’s nightlife and echos farther than he’d ever expect it could. Great, every werewolf in the neighborhood will know he’s getting his ass kicked.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

ooc; HELLO! My life got more wild than a werewolf being given bacon bits, but I’m ready to make a return. I think it’s probably best if I start with a clean slate for Dongwoo, save for maybe one or two threads. I’m really sorry to be dropping most of my threads ahhh, but hopefully we can come up with new and super cool threads! 

[obsxduri-blog]

The Sanctity of Paint

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obsxduri:

From the moment the young man enters, space strains around him, the atmosphere fit to cleanly burst rather than try to contain him; he moves more like a natural disaster than a human, a storm gusting through the typical cafe that somehow brings its eye to her table. It’s a good cover, if anything: she would attribute the underlying current of something being off to his boisterous way of carrying himself were it not for the glint of a smile that he covers up.

Duri stares for several moments as she tries to piece together the line of discussion, as he has already made a habit of barreling through a conversation. He at least seems content to let her catch up after he’s said all he intends, and she grasps the moment, wrestles it down into her hands and molds it into something she can keep up with.

There is enough of a cultivated tenderness in her heart for her to offer a smile, though all that shines in her mouth is flat teeth the same brittle color as bleached bone. She gently pushes away the half-drained mocha from her immediate space, though the pair of fingers now laden with condensation angle to push the untouched drink towards her artist. “I wasn’t sure what you liked here, but I thought you might be thirsty.” —Particularly because he seemed to have run all the way, something she assumed based more on his character than any hitch in his breath.

Even with the time allotted to allow her to wade through the multitude of statements and questions flung her way, Duri chooses carefully which to react to: the reporters are a cause for concern, but his mention seems more rhetorical than anything. Similarly, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to linger on the mention of whatever his “medical” situation is, considering how he moves past it in the line of conversation fairly quickly. Her day, then. The portfolio, too, though it would be incredibly hard to ignore it, given that he seems to be trading it to fill the empty space where once had sat her gift of frozen drink.

The order of how she intended to speak fell away from her mind as she spread the prints about the top of the table, her eyes instantly taken with the strokes that she had grown so terribly infatuated with all those months ago. She sifts through the babies and felines that he had warned her of, something in her chest tight as she traces the tips of her too-blunt fingers over the pieces that appear to be more original work than commission.

The creak of her chair brought her back into the moment, and Duri flushes briefly, embarrassed to have gone so long without saying anything. “Sorry, your work is—it’s just as lovely as I remembered.” It helped, a little, to think of the fact that this easy-mannered artist might have as many nerves as her: it was probably a little terrible that it was easier to have confidence when someone else didn’t. Unsettled by the notion, Duri curled one arm back towards her torso and began rolling the vial about in her fingers that she had been examining earlier. 

“I was thinking for the pieces to have…’chiaroscuro?’” Though she had practiced saying the word, Duri still makes a brief face at the way it fit into her mouth. While she can fluently speak both English and Korean, Italian was a language that eluded her. “The contrast, I mean. When the shadows are so dark you can barely make anything out.” Art was not her realm of influence: the most she had done in terms of “creative expression” was choose how to arrange her crystals.

It strikes her all too suddenly that she doesn’t even know his name. She jitters, glass in her hand, drink close enough to threaten toppling at an errant move, and she mentally flicks through how to inform him of this without appearing much more of a fool. She settles for a nod, maintaining a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Hae Duri.” 

“Good thing you explained it,” he laughs. “I would’ve thought that was a Starbucks drink.” He takes a minute to scribble the meaning onto his notepad, and his chicken-scratch handwriting isn’t the most reassuring. Then, he drops the pen and let’s it clatter against the table without a care in the world. Dongwoo forgets about covering his mouth in the excitement of officially greeting his client. He smiles – no, he grins so wide that at least half his face is all teeth. Big, wolfy teeth made to gobble up all the little miss red riding hoods of this world.

“Jang Dongwoo,” he says. “And thanks! I kinda wanna move away from babies and cats into something more my style, yeah? What you were describing last time is right up my alley.” He leans back in his chair, holds out a hand, and starts ticking things off with his fingers. “Dark themes. Ambiguous subject matter. Sensual. Erotic.”

He talks so freely and without a shred of embarrassment that the commission is, well, borderline supernatural porn. One could only imagine what the reporters outside would think, were they to see his first drafts. Dongwoo laughs and rifles through his things for the thumbnails he’d made weeks ago, before his life took a supernatural twist. “This is way more fun than baby portraits, that’s for sure!” he says. “Now these are just some thumbnails for the composition, then I have a few I did over in watercolors so you could get a sense of the color. But, the final thing would definitely be done in oil.”

His hands wave while he talks, making wild movements to match that twinge of wildness that accompanies himself. And…he knocks over his drink before he can ever taste it. Brushing knuckles against the cup shouldn’t have made it fly off the table, but werewolf strength can be a beast to tame. The mug shatters against the ground and everyone in the cafe turns to look, eyes glued onto a main too boisterous for his own good. “Shit, I’ll clean that right up,” he says. It’ll be too embarrassing to have a cafe employee do it right there at his feet. It just wouldn’t feel right to him. He’d leave with bright, red ears for sure if he allows that to happen. “You can just, uh, look through those and see if anything sticks out at you. What you like, what you don’t like, yeah?” 

And in another whirlwind of movement, as though he’s learned nothing from sending his drink flying, he yanks a handful of napkins from the dispenser at their table. He hits the ground in one, swift movement. He’s a natural wolf: light on his feet, each movement balanced between strength and fluidity, limbs cutting through the air like a swipe of a knife. Even the way he hits the ground, crouching low with legs spread a little too wide, has an element of something wild. It’s a shame those wolf genes have such a clumsy, foolish human host.

[odminsung]

nosy.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obshyerin:

@obsdongwoo

hyerin pushes the woman into the back of the car, rough handling her when she struggles. an officer steps between them, helping hyerin slam the door behind her. the fae shrieks, but it’s muffled behind metal and he sighs, dusting off his hands. “i’ll fill out the report when i get back to the station.”

the other officer offers a ride out of politeness, but hyerin shakes his head - he’s too riled up, got steam to work off before he heads back to civilized society. 

the streets are emptying, people heading home for the night and hyerin lets out a breath, curling his fingers in and out to keep his hands busy. he should be heading home too, but the thought alone is depressing so -  he scowls, glances to his side. his ward prickles, but there’s no one there. perhaps a fluke? there might be supernaturals that live nearby. 

or at least, that’s what he think till he hears that too-close, obnoxious, graciously long sniff right behind him, and hyerin acts on instinct - elbowing the man in the face before he can even turn around to look at him. 

He’s not familiar with the scent and that intrigues him. It’s reminiscent of his roommate, although he could argue that Haechul smells more like buttered croissants and breakfast sandwiches than of Fair Folk. Nevertheless, it’s that unfamiliarity that gives the werewolf all the curiosity of a pup exploring the world for the first time.

And just like a pup, sticks his nose right into danger. Or rather, sticks it right into the path of someone’s elbow.

His nose crunches inward -- misaligned septum, stuffy breathing, and enough blood that he thinks he’ll bleed out. He falls backward and a hard, unforgiving slab of concrete smacks against his hips. It’s a sharp pain resonating through the core of his bones, and he can’t help his canine-like yelp. There’s blood dripping over his lips and smearing across his teeth which, for the time being at least, were perfectly human. The scent elicits a listlessness and excitement from him; it’s a feeling he simply describes as hunting mode. But for now, he tries to keep himself restrained.

Dongwoo looks up.

“Whaddya do that for?” he whines. “My mom is going to kill me if I show up to dinner with my nose all busted.” 

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Meet the Woofs

@obshaechul

In times of crisis and mass surveillance, they need to play it cool.  Nothing says we’re not worried the city setting itself on fire like dinner with the ‘rents.  Hopefully, Dongwoo and Haechul won’t get questioned too much at the dinner table.

Dongwoo carefully adjusts his hold on the tiered serving platter, fingers grazing over an orange price sticker he forgot to remove. The platter is stocked with three levels of store-bought pastries he’ll spend the night insisting he baked himself. “So if my mom asks, we spent all night baking these,” he says. “It’s more believable if we say it’s some kinda Betty Crocker mix, yeah?”   

He originally planned on baking something special: cheesy, mashed potatoes with bacon bits. Only, the dried meat didn’t survive the supermarket check-out line. The cashier had scanned an empty bag with sharp holes, punctured open by equally sharp incisors, dotted along the top. Too ashamed to even look at his grocery bags when he got home, Dongwoo rushed across the street to the bakery and bought an assortment of pastries. He’d only offered his roommate a very vague explanation of what happened during the car ride over. But, you can’t deny that bacon 

“Most of my sisters are going to be here,” he says. “We’re all a little weird, but hey! If you live with me, that’s probably not such a big deal for you!” Dongwoo laughs at this thought and rings the doorbell. “Doyeon is in med school and will probably fall asleep before we make it to dessert. Hyebin and Hyerin are twins; they’re both in this christian rock band, but Hyebin just plays the tambourine. Hayoon will probably need to get yelled at to come down for dinner -- always locking herself in her bedroom with the computer, probably hacking into the government. Taeha is...she’s a little sensitive, especially since that one idol got exposed as a faerie. So, don’t feel bad if she bursts into tears and you don’t know why. And the youngest is--”

The front door opens, courtesy of a kindergartner in a polka dot romper and pigtails. 

“Danbi! That better not be a bug in your mouth...”

He turns to Haechul.

“She eats bugs.”

[obscris]

brawl.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obsdongwoo:

obscris:

@obsdongwoo

Not soon after the public execution, a white lion ran wild within the streets. Members of his pride contained him into the back alley ways of the districts, but it wouldn’t be long until innocent blood was shed. He only saw red. He only desired red. And he needed someone to put him out of everything that he was feeling. It was a madness that couldn’t be contained by words or reason, but rather violence. Someone needed to force him down.

At the end of the city only a few miles from the forest, a white werelion thrashed another were against the wall in an attempt to escape the narrow space. They had surrounded him but were unable to land the hits necessary to bring him down. At this point, the other werelions were just fucking annoying. Too weak for the Prince of the Yu Pride.

After rounding a few corners, Cris had escaped them for now. But it wouldn’t be long until they caught onto his scent again. None of that mattered though. Cris knew the only one that could take him out of this was holed up in the manor. That was where he needed to go. And he wouldn’t let anyone keep him from that. No matter who or what they were. Innocent blood would be shed today.

Sunseong is crumbling inwards as its societal foundation is broken down brick-by-brick. There’s nowhere to hide within a city that’s falling apart, but there’s plenty of room to run. His feet stamp against the asphalt out of panic and anger, and each burst of emotion propels him a little further. 

“Why do you have to be missing when everything goes to hell?” he says. His words are broken by heavy breaths and punctuated with a growl. “What am I supposed to do?!” he gasps, rounding a corner. “Who’s gonna help me now, huh? Where am I supposed to find a werewolf willing to show me the ropes? You’re the only one who could’ve helped me, Big Sis. You’re! The! Only! One!”

He keeps arguing with himself as he sprints past dark alleyways and over murky puddles. The harsh streetlights don’t do his face, now slicked with sweat from his mad dash from one side of the city to the next, any justice. “And you ditched me -- you fucking ditched me! Are you planning on...on...” 

He’s running out of steam; his legs wobble and he feels his rage simmering down to a hollow hole in his stomach. Slowly, he grinds down to a pathetic jog back and forth across an alleyway. “on...on only showing up when I’m next? Like...like that girl on TV! They had no problem stringing someone up like it’s the seventh century, yeah? So are you just waiting to come back until they make an example out of wolves, huh? I haven’t even done anything, but I could! I could do something accidentally! And it’ll be because you didn’t stick around...around twenty-four hours to show me the ropes.”   

It only took him several miles of nonstop running and talking to himself, but he finally feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders. He’d been so concerned about his sisters whereabouts and guilty over her sacrifice that he never had time to be angry. No, he never allowed himself to be angry. But the execution, terrifying as it was to watch, made his anger feel justified. His sister threw him into a world of danger -- albeit, it’s taken him witnessing murder sprees and a public execution to gauge how perilous life as a supernatural can be -- and vanished.

“Whoo, I feel better!”

Dongwoo puts his hands on his hips and stops to catch his breath.

And without his own loud, obnoxious voice ringing around the block...he realizes there’s a second set of breathing coming from a creature much, much larger than him. His blood runs cold and his tongue feels like ice, just as numb and slippery too. Dongwoo doesn’t look into the alleyway to check, but tries making a bolt across the street. “This is fine,” he thinks. “Everything is fine! I’ll get inside a building and lock the doors because...because big animals don’t have thumbs! Yeah! So how’s it gonna open the doorknob, right? And I can slip out a back window and run to--”

He stumbles and his sneaker gets wedged inside a grate. Dongwoo feels his hands go numb next, as if paralyzed with electricity and made clumsy under oven mitts. He tries yanking his foot out, but he’s stuck in such a way it won’t be possible without snapping off his toes. 

Everything is not fine. Everything is definitely not fine.

[obsxduri-blog]

The Sanctity of Paint

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obsxduri:

@obsdongwoo

There are still witches who worship gods: Duri learned of a whole coven while she was in America, all through a member that happened to be a friend. Though curiosity was innate in her as the blood in her veins, it had been largely by accident that she had learned of their affiliations. Their altar had been a proud thing, decorated with paints and bits of gold and little clippings of quotes; when Duri had asked about it, they had giggled and explained it, fingers curled over their mouth like they were embarrassed.

They had asked her after if she felt anything similar—if her work with ghosts had inspired some thought as to what happened after, or if she had any insight, and all Duri could offer was that there was nothing in the world that she could deem sacred.

It’s a strange memory to bring up now of all times, with ice scraping her tongue as she sips at a frozen mocha, but she’s used to such sudden visitations. Her eyes wander to the time again, and she takes a moment to update her blog (I hope if I die from waiting I become a ghost to haunt every late person) while she fiddles with one of her vials. The stopper had become loose recently, and she worries for the soil within—it may be a sign for her to pay a visit back to the grave from which she bottled the contents.

Here is the truth of it, as much as she has seen: ghosts have endings. Whatever happens or fails to after that is not her concern.

And yet this—this—this feels like its own kind of devotion, to command the hand of an artist to deliver her own intent. And in light of all else, it feels strange, too, to want such a physical manifestation of her place in the world. As fearful as she has been as of late, today, with this symbol-to-be of vulnerability, she merely feels fatigued: confused, too, for so many of her interactions lately have been anything but…normal. It’s not routine, but it’s closer than what people have been offering her for awhile.

After so many months, Duri actually hadn’t expected to be contacted by her artist of choice again: she had assumed with his silence had come an implicit refusal to work on her proposed commission, and Duri had quietly accepted that as destiny. Being contacted about it had been shocking, to say the least, but she had agreed to an in-person meeting before she really read the words. As the account she had reached him from was a throwaway, she hadn’t seen reason to terminate the meeting after it was set; she sorely needed to interact with living people that weren’t showing up in places they weren’t supposed to be.

Now, it seems, the artist will be late again: she would wonder if he was merely unprofessional were it not for the state of the city. Had Duri not left a half hour early herself, her own arrival would have been impacted. Even as she looks outside, she can see another gaggle of reporters setting up, to which she wrinkles her nose and focuses on the matching drink before her, purchased for her companion-to-be.

Duri had provided the color of her hair as descriptor, and that was enough to serve as useful identification in such a sleepy café. The door has opened a few times to welcome new patrons and release old ones, but she doesn’t pay attention ‘til someone is sliding into the seat in front of her. After a brief glance, she turns her phone over to address him politely, offering up a hesitant smile as she realizes she’s forgotten his screen name. “Are you…?”

How does one explain that their client’s commissions will be late...because of a werewolf bite? Dongwoo doesn’t have an answer to that question; he’s simply fallen off the face of the earth as far as his customers are concerned. Only recently, after his first few full moons, has he been diligent about picking up a paint brush. 

The werewolf walks into the café with nose tilted upwards, a slight twitch about him, and a drifting gaze. It’s simple to see that he’s newly turned and still overpowered by a flood of instincts and sensory information. Being this far into his so called supernatural life and still struggling with the basics is concerning. But, it’s not as concerning to him as how he’ll pay for bacon bits if he doesn’t sell a steady flow of paintings. 

He needs to build himself -- build a reputation, a network, a brand. With a commission of this scale, he may be one step closer to focusing on his art full time (rather than icing bruised knuckles too sore to hold a paint brush).  The young man clutches the portfolio case, a sleek and professional one, with both hands as he looks around. 

“They’ve got ginger tea and gingerbread, but where’s my ginger?” he mumbles. 

That’s when he spots her: the client with bright, red hair. Dongwoo bounds over with all the excitement of a rowdy, frolicking little puppy. He almost sweeps someone’s coffee mug clear off their table with his portfolio case in the process, but he slides into his seat like a baseball player sliding onto home plate.

“Sorry for the delay,” he says, throwing the portfolio bag on the table with a flick of the wrists. “I uh, had a medical situation to take care of.” He considers randomly transforming into the wolf-man in broad daylight to be a medical condition. There’s something about his eyes, the glint of dull amber that flickers now and then, that continues to suggest why he’d been so difficult to contact. 

Then I had to wade through such a huge gang of reporters! The city’s been crazy lately, yeah? I hope they don’t bother us.”  

He gives her the ol’ finger guns combo. 

“And yeah, I’m your guy!” 

Dongwoo unzips the portfolio case and pulls out a small notepad slipped into the pockets so he can take notes for later, and also pulls out a blue pen. He clicks it. He’s ready to get started. “How are you doing today?” he asks. The question is followed by a wide, alarmingly toothy grin as he feels a tingling sensation in his gums. Dongwoo props his elbow on the table and covers his mouth with the palm of his hands to compensate. 

“We’re here to work out the details before I start your commission, yeah?” he says. “I’ve brought prints of some of my latest commissions to see if you like the style -- and what other stuff you might like! Uh, but I gotta say: there are a lot of cats and babies. And while you look through those, why don’t you tell me what you’d wanna see in the finished pieces?” 

His words come in a whirlwind with hardly a second to waste, but it’s his passion speaking rather than a rush to finish their meeting early. The plan is to enjoy the fun part of commissioning, the shared vision and relationship between artist and client, first. He’d ask the technical questions later. It’s typical for him to put off the more important, crucial matters until the last minute. 

[obsdongwoo-blog]

Who Dat Dog

@obshimchan

He awakens naked atop an itchy, lumpy bed of peat moss and broken twigs. A spiderweb, ghostly threads holding strings of dewy pearls, dips between two low-hanging branches. If it weren’t for a spider slowly inching her way downwards, he wouldn’t have moved; this is the most refreshed and rested he’s ever felt in his life. The young werewolf doesn’t stifle his squeaky yawn, the satisfied grunt when he stretches, or sound of snapping twigs as he rolls out of the way. Where’s the need to quiet down when he’s the only one there? 

The young werewolf freezes in place. 

Is he really the only one there? He remembers running into another person -- no, another wolf -- the night before. Memories of the previous night are hazy, leaving him only with vague impressions and feelings. But even though his thought process is always scrambled the morning after a full moon, he pieces together enough information to know the other wolf couldn’t be very far. Dongwoo hopes that the other wolf hasn’t already run off because with all the cameras and reporters filling the city, it would be nice to head back with a fellow supernatural.

He faces downwind and tilts his head back, prepared to catch onto another were’s scent the next time the wind blows. But fortunately, he doesn’t need to put in too much work. Dongwoo catches glimpse of an elbow moving out of the corner of his eye and he spins around to see another naked man laying on the gross. Ah, this must be the one. 

He carefully moves over, crouching all the while, and sticks his face in the other’s field of vision. 

“Bork? BORK?! BORK?!???” 

Uh oh.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

property damage

@obsxjiho

Isn’t the life of a painter supposed to be romantic? It should involve coffee house conversations about the usage of color palettes, museums with swooping glass ceilings, and night showings at art galleries packed to the brim with smartly dressed people. This is the life people envision when he tells them he’s a painter -- that he went to school not for graphic design or CGI training, but fine arts. But, these people are wrong.

The amount of groceries he can afford is dependent on how painting commissions he can pump out in a week. He’s not doing any Sistine Chapel level murals either. No, what pays rent is painting portraits of grandchildren and pet cats. He’s got about four Maine Coon cats he promised would be completed by Sunday, one weird looking Peterbald he hasn’t started yet, and someone’s preemie baby. 

Babies are easiest to paint. They all look the same. 

And to boost his income for the inevitable slow weeks, he works as a bouncer for a few locations, laughing at fake IDs and defusing fights before the first punch is ever thrown. He’s not the biggest guy in the room, but he keeps property damage to a minimum for being so easygoing. All of this doesn’t leave him much time working on his own projects. But hey, at least he can paint a cat with his eyes closed.

So every once in awhile, he goes out to capture interesting images on film to reference in his paintings later. Tonight, he’s prowling around a construction site to memorize the skeletal structure of a building. He doesn’t have a camera powerful enough for good night photography, so just meandering around metal beams and steel rods will do. 

Dongwoo walks along the property, the signs of construction work and demolition notices posted for people to see, for awhile. But, he soon smells something odd.  

No, something gross. Something dead.

The werewolf sniffs the air. He turns in a circle, tilting his head at different angles and trying to trace where the rotting order hails from. “Why am I surprised?” he mutters. “What’s a creepy building without dead bodies, yeah? If this shit is haunted...”

He hears footsteps and looks over his shoulder. A person? A living person that smells like they’ve been dead for a week? Dongwoo just can’t help but bound over, almost tripping over his sneakers like an excitable puppy, and sniff away. His nose wriggles and his nostrils flare, but his body stays completely human. There’s nothing overtly canine about him, yet.

“Woah, you’ve got some zombie undertones,” he says. “Not that I’ve ever smelled a zombie before, but -- hey, are you a zombie?”

[obsjieun-deactivated20171018]

part-time bespectacled beauty | dongwoo

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obsjieun:

Jieun was surprised to see the man sniffing the air as he walked in the store, yes. But as she was more than used to odder things happening in the store, since it was frequented by all sorts of supernaturals. She pretended she didn’t noticed and smiled warmly at him, trying and mostly failing to keep her mystical composure. She knew she looked ridiculous doing it, and was the only one who couldn’t pull it off. But she was better at potion making than all of her co-workers, so the owner simply turned a blind eye to her atrocious acting skills as long as she used the name Odessa.

His bright tone instantly made her feel brighter too, causing her to smile without even realizing it. She wondered idly if he came to this store often and she somehow had never seen him. Perhaps he always came during the day, since Jieun did end up with the late night shifts most often. She nodded, gesturing towards her table.

She herself glided towards, taking deliberate steps in her long, plum gown so that she didn’t trip. Her long hair was coiffed into some elaborate style with strands hanging down in a rather irritating manner. They really tickled her neck.

She settled herself into her chair across from him, crystal ball between them. Large space on either side of the ball on the table was where Jieun usually used her tarot cards and tea leaves for customers who preferred such methods. But, many liked the crystal ball, since it seemed more mystical and witchy. Jieun thought tea leaves were a touch more accurate though.

Its only when she’s looking into the crystal ball and sees his reflection that she notices it. A large bruise stretched under his eye and she wonders how she didn’t notice before. Her head snaps up to look at it directly. She stretches a hand out unconsciously and gently pressed her fingertips against his cheek to turn his head slightly so she could get a better look.

“Oh my,” she whispered, concern dripping from her voice before she realizes herself and where she is and who she is supposed to be. She coughed. “Well, let’s see if you are supposed to be getting anymore of those this week,”

She stared blankly into the crystal ball in front of her as she shuffled her tarot cards mindlessly. Plopping the shuffled stack onto the table she sighed.

“Pardon me a minute,” she said apologetically. Jieun was struggling to see anything in the smoke shapes, and not because of lack of ability. She slipped quietly into the backroom and grabbed her glasses. They were a round pair, with wire rims that she thought looked cute on her, just not with this costume. She took the chance in the back, however, to pour him a cup of the tea she had grown specifically for readings. Carefully carrying it back out and placing it in front of him, she grinned at him.

“Okay, let’s see what the future is planning,”

He doesn’t flinch when her fingertips push against his cheek. “Is this part of the experience?” he asks, playfully. Dongwoo doesn’t mind physical contact, having grown up in an environment where he couldn’t walk across the hall without bumping shoulders or being tackled by someone. His family is the kind that twists and contorts until everybody is squeezed onto the sofa like a Tetris puzzle. He’s used to touch and ever since becoming a werewolf, now craves contact beyond what’s considered normal. It’s ironic; becoming a bloodthirsty predator simultaneously turned him into the world’s biggest fan of cuddling. 

His mind wanders while Jieun leaves the room. He wonders where she learned fortune telling. He wonders if one day, he could dabble in the art himself. He’s not exactly psychic, but his intuition usually has him take action before he knows why. The werewolf will get a gut feeling that he should go down a different road, take a few steps back before crossing the street, or duck before an opponent pulls their arm back for the swing. Dongwoo thinks it’s what being Spider Man must feel like. Jieun coming back into the room and settling down saves him from getting lost in daydreams about radioactive spiders.

The werewolf thinks Jieun is pretty, someone whose looks made it a shame to be shrouded by smoke. His toothy smile shows as he hums to himself, musing about how she’d be nice to paint a portrait of. “Her hair looks nice piled up that way,” he thinks. “It’s easier to see her jawline -- ah, it’s so small! Prints of innocent faces always sell like hotcakes at galleries. Her nose is even the perfect shape! If only that nose could be used to its full potential...”

And then, it happened. 

Glasses.

Dongwoo leaps to his feet and accidentally knocking over his tea. He slams his hands against the table with such passion, his face an expression struck between pain and awe.

“PLEASE, YOU HAVE TO LET ME PAINT YOUR PORTRAIT!” 

Dongwoo talks about glasses with the intensity sports fanatics talk about fantasy leagues. He presses a hand to his chest -- those glasses have touched his heart to the very core. “Someone who looks as good in glasses as you deserves a mural,” he says. Then, he holds out his hands to frame and measure her from across the table. “It’s the perfect composition!”

With an intake of breath, he flops back into his seat and sighs in wonder. 

“I’ve never seen the perfect face for glasses. It’s myth. It’s legend. It can’t even be accomplished with CGI. But I’ve seen it now,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll ever see it again. Just one portrait! Please, I’ll even pay you!” 

[obsmin-blog]

need to know.

[obsdongwoo-blog]

obsdongwoo:

obsmin:

This kid’s metaphors are on some other level, Minkwang’s decided. He’s pretty sure he’s never smelled anything quite like what he’s describing, rotten fruit juice or not-quite-bad juice or whatever he’s saying—it’s all pretty much nonsense. So he just listens, blinking a few times, brows eventually lifting up again and lips pressing ever-so-slightly to the side; what’s a hunter to do when confronted with someone like this? He’s so bold and confused and innocent—it’s probably some kind of community service to try to help him out, somehow.

At least “half furry and half fleshy” sounds like a rough confirmation of his theory—though it’s hard to dwell on that when the smell of blood catches him off guard. Minkwang flinches, hand shooting up to cover his mouth and nose in part; it’s not as stark and overwhelming as vampiric blood, thankfully, but it’s enough to make his fangs itch in his mouth. He doesn’t normally worry about them showing up, since they don’t mean much of anything, but regardless he takes a moment to shakes his head to right his mind before it goes down any strange paths. This is probably a sign that he hasn’t been feeding entirely properly.

“A were,” he says, emphasizing the words more heavily as he removes his hand from his face. “Geez, kid, you really don’t know shit?” Minkwang rolls his shoulder, expression somewhere between exasperation and concern. “Sayin’ you’re a werewolf would be assumptuous—bad of me. ‘S bad to assume.” And that’s what he gets for trying to use big words, especially when his head got briefly thrown through a wonky loop.

But that aside, seriously, this kid’s going to get himself killed at this rate.

“Look—let’s walk and talk.” Minkwang offers, shifting and taking a step in some other direction as his hand finds its way back into his pocket. “Standing around looks weird. Someone might hear.” The ghoul sighs, rolling his neck slightly. This kid’s lucky that Minkwang isn’t a much worse kind of hunter—otherwise that naivete would put him in some serious danger.

“And let’s start from the top: name’s Minkwang. I’m a hunter.”

He’s talking with a hunter?

“I know plenty of stuff,” he says. “It’s just not all about vampires and werewolves.” Somehow, the tone he inflicts upon his words makes them sound like he’s trying to boast. Ignorance -- especially ignorance bordering on sheer stupidity -- is nothing to be proud of. He doesn’t know why he’s bragging, why he’s standing straighter, or why he quickens his pace to be one step ahead of Minkwang. 

Perhaps, it’s an unrefined attempt to protect himself or even a challenge to the other’s clear authority. Wolves are known to both make themselves appear larger when threatened and assert their dominance to determine the alpha. Which one is he trying to do? Dongwoo isn’t aware that this can be considered a “werewolf thing” -- or even a thing at all. What he knows is that he hasn’t feigned this much bravado since he was a kindergartner trying to impress his big sister. He shoots a curious, albeit tentative glance to Minkwang for a reaction. 

It would do the werewolf well to find a seasoned leader that’ll give him a kick in the ass when necessary. But until that distant day, he’ll be getting his supernatural crash course from a ghoul instead. 

Dongwoo skips introducing himself, but not out of forgetfulness. Why did he do that? Why is he acting this way? What’s wrong with him? He was all smiles and easygoing mere seconds ago. It’s like the minute Minkwang claimed to be a hunter, a predator to the predators, that switch inside him flicked on. “You’re not going to...” he says, trailing off.

Lead me into a trap? Cut my head clean off? Shoot me when I’m not looking?

None of those would help his paper-thin, fake bravado stay in tact. It’s not like a hunter would give him a warning before reaching for the silver bullets. Dongwoo decides that if he gets those tingling feelings in his gut, a brand of intuition closer to passive precognition, that he’ll make a run for it. His typically splintered attention span is solid, gaze sharpening like his escape plan if things are to turn sour. 

Maybe he isn’t totally helpless after all.

But then, the sound of a raccoon rustling through garbage shatters his attention span into a thousand pieces. He makes a face and tries really, really hard not to run after it -- right into a truck speeding down the road.

Nah, he’ll totally die on his own.