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@obsmin-blog
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liar.
[ obsmin ]
hyerin watches, hand hovering beneath the bottle as minkwang drinks from it, as if heād drop it in his sleepy state. he doesnāt knowĀ - minkwangās in awful condition, but hyerin doesnāt know what that means for someone used to vampiric healing, whoās not used to being stuffed full of chemicals and antibiotics till those alone could make a grown man sick.Ā
ānot really.ā
itās a lie, heās been here every possible moment he could, the thought of minkwang alone in this hospital room, frail and vulnerable, plaguing his thoughts. just a little, at the back of his mind, heād wanted to be there when minkwang woke up, but he canāt quite put his finger on why. heās not ready to think about that yet.
āyouāve been out for three days.Ā āgot fucked up real bad.ā
hyerin doesnāt want to explain it, nor does he want to talk at all. his throat is too tight, eyes burning the longer he stares at his brother. he doesnāt know how to speak to him without revealing his own pain or saying that heās been worried sick, that he canāt eat, that the thought that minkwang might be screwed over by this for the rest of his life because of what hyerin made him do makes him want to die.
(the doctor says its nothing that serious, that minkwang will be fine, but it changes nothing. itās still hyerinās fault.)
thereās a knock at the door, and hyerin sits up, hand tightening around minkwangās.Ā a nurse comes in, note board in hand as she checks minkwangās vitals. hyerin falls silent, tuning out the conversation as he tries to collect himself, breathing deeply to calm his racing heart.Ā
feeling faint, like heās been watered down---this is an unusual feeling, and minkwang doesnāt like it at all. heās always been strong in body if nothing else, durable even before his body was altered to be moreso than a human should be; this moment exists as an an ugly contrast to that. waterās good for the throat but it doesnāt correct the lack of anything substantial in his body, nor the fuzzy-headed feeling of his magic prodding at him.
he just nods at hyerinās answer, doesnāt question it even if it seems flimsy, too---as long as sheās not bothered, he wonāt pry any further. three days is a long time; it explains a few things. an explanation doesnāt make him feel better, though.
minkwang grimaces, glancing at the floor again---why is it that he has to be so useless, worrying hyerin even though sheād been just as well spiting him before? fighting is the one thing heās supposed to be competent with; everything else has always been hard, he gave up on it so long ago that he doesnāt even remember doing it.
he perks up when the nurse comes in, checking him over; he assumes they know that heās not all human, because otherwise---otherwise, would he have ended up that much worse off? minkwang isnāt meant to think about things---not heavy things, not like this, not constantly. itās killing him.
he grunts his responses, lucid but feeling a bit faint---the nurse says thatās to be expected, and he believes it. heās lucky, something like that, that the damage wasnāt irreparable; he doesnāt really feel lucky.
the nurse leaves soon enough, and the heavy silence returns---and with it, the oppressively heavy thoughts within minkwangās skull. the dissonance is too strong---hyerin worrying, him falling apart. heās always been stoic and static---it clicks rather suddenly just how little he understands his own sister. he doesnāt understand why sheās worried now, when sheās been so spiteful with him since he came back---he doesnāt even know if he understands why sheās like that, now that the context is distant, too, and heās not good at solving puzzles.
āiāll be okay,ā he says as he looks at hyerin, genuinely meaning it even though he barely knows the meaning of okay at this point, āi can heal from a lot of things.ā thereās an experiential knowledge to the way he phrases it, but he doesnāt even realize that it shows.Ā āyou donāt have to worry.ā
worn and rusted.
@obsmin
jinhwanās wandering around the central district again today; he keeps finding himself in his old haunts a lot lately. itās a bit strange now of all times ā with all the unrest youād think heād be drawn away from the central most district but it somehow seems quieter around there than near home. maybe itās an overwhelming need to keep things normal there, or the shadow of dsem looming overhead; itās a peace nonetheless, even in the crowds and always busy streets.
the monotony of the crowd is broken up today by a splash of bold red. for some reason the color catches his eyes ā itās someone walking ahead, their hair dyed a near obnoxious shade of it. his lip curls; the color reminds him of someone he hasnāt thought about in a while. from this angle they almost even look like ā āwait, does he recognize them?Ā
isnāt that⦠minkwang hyung?!
heās with a few others; thereās something hardened about the guys around him and none of them are familiar, but heās more convinced the harder he looks.
jinhwanās then aware heās staring in that direction and redirects his gaze, meandering in the square with his eyes lowered and hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket. his heart is racing since⦠no one jinhwan knows has heard from minkwang or eunhyuk in a very long time. not since eunhyuk disappeared and minkwang followed soon after.
and when a hunter goes missing⦠well, you donāt really expect them to reappear. not that line of work. (witches, in his experience, for that matter too⦠but not always for the same reasons. itās not something jinhwan in particular likes to think about.)Ā
part of jinhwan wonders if thatās not really minkwang; maybe this is some kind of doppelganger in the crowd ā or someone that happens to look like him? but if not his bright hair and his stature, the bold scarring across his skin is unmistakable even at a glance. thereās a hundred questions in his mind, some of which are already bubbling at his tongue, as he knows itās likely the only person who can answer them is minkwang ā if that is indeed him. others itch at him he hardly dares even mentally voice.
now, stealth is not jinhwanās strong suit; heās a tall guy, after all, and wearing a hoodie when itās hot like now tends to draw eyes to you instead of away, and heās got no sort of training or natural ability in that regard anyway. heās no idea if heās actually been noticed as well but he keeps his distance to be safe and watches the red head of hair out of the corner of his eye. his vague wandering carries him in that direction for a few minutes while he pulls out his phone and taps at the screen idly, waiting for an opportunity that heās on his own.
he doesnāt wait long before the others head off ā in the direction of the nearby dsem building, no less, jinhwan notes curiously ā and jinhwan picks up the pace.
āminkwang hyung ā!ā he says when heās close enough to be heard without drawing attention to them both.
when the red haired man turns around he steps closer with much less caution, but keeps himself from getting right in the otherās space.
āit really is you, isnāt it? you⦠youāre alive..?ā
he almost says āokay,ā but he somehow suspects that might not be the case.
minkwang is a social creature, in one way---in that he thrives on company and prefers it, even if he is terrible at what most people would callĀ āsocializingā by most accounts. these days, heās not close to much of anyone, though; thereās a hole there, the obvious absence of one person in particular, and itās pushed a distance between minkwang and the rest of the world, it seems. between himself and the people he used to call comrades is a wall that he erected himself, though he dislikes it---his pride wonāt let him show his face to those people, not as he is, downtrodden and damaged as he is, he doesnāt want to worry them.
itās all excuses. itās inevitable that he canāt avoid his past forever.
these people feel like strangers, too, even if heās working alongside them, even if theyāre laughing a bit and trying to take a momentās lightness out of their rather gruesome and trying kind of work. even if he offers a smirk every now and again he canāt bring himself to speak; they should be comrades, too, and yet minkwang doesnāt feel like he belongs at all. that feelingās been eating away at him for months, and maybe it wonāt ever quite stop; he doesnāt know.
something feels strange, though---almost like someone is watching him. heās not an expert with detection---heās more the type to get thrown into the fray and do what he has to do, or just stand around and look intimidating---but somethingās weird. minkwang tries not to let it get to him; the central district is full of people, after all, and he gets stared at often enough that itād probably be more unusual if no one had their eyes on him. (if it bothered him, wouldnāt it be easier to just let his hair grow in natural, put on some sleeves to cover his wards?)
itās only after the other hunters with him begin to head off, leaving minkwang briefly lost in thought again, that the odd feeling comes to a head---he startles a bit at the voice calling to him, the way it calls out, as much so.
he turns his head first, then quickly rotates the rest of his body to match---because it seems so strange to see a familiar face now, here, ever, really. the shock his written all over his face and heās left jarred, eyes wide, for just a moment. minkwang shifts, rolling his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pockets---somethingās defensive about the tension in his form.
ājinhwan-ah,ā saying the name feels the same kind of strange, distant and familiar at the same time, but too bitter to be considered nostalgic.Ā he looks down first, shifting his weight to this other foot---then he laughs, though itās a bit dry.Ā āi guess i am,ā he says, tone reluctant and honestly unsure rather than a playful statement of the obvious.
minkwang looks up, head tilted slightly to the side and expression neutralized, though his brows remain high in interest. he glances over to the co-workers heād been with before, whoāre now looking his way inquisitively from several paces away, and lazily waves him off---heāll catch up later. (he notes silently that jinhwan is as... utterly recognizable as ever, if not perhaps moreso than before.)
āyou been well?ā
Ā« beneath the mask. Ā»
@obsmin !
With the recent turn of events, DSEM was the last place which Jeongguk frequented. Returning to the very place that took the lives of the three most important people in his life was out of the question for several days. He needed time to put his thoughts into order, to cope with the recent loss. Truth be told, he had barely taken the time to head out of his apartment, save for two or three outings. However, at the end of the day, all the time spent away amounted to nothing; denying the inevitable only made matters worse.
As much as Jeongguk denied it, there was still a reason for him to head back. It had nothing to do with being responsible towards duty or serving faithfully under the organization, rather it was a matter of moral duty. If nothing else, there was someone within DSEM that he cared for (that is something which would never be openly admitted, especially not to the person in question) and thatās what had him showing up at the headquarters.
This is a hunt of a different kind; a search, not only for a person but for a purpose.
The confidence which Jeongguk exudes is present, even if only as a facade to mask how vulnerable he feels. Stepping inside the building doesnāt spare him of a couple of questions, most which he dodges giving proper answers to; one more scolding to add to the others doesnāt matter, heās done with this place anyway. Once heās allowed to advance further into the building, he crossed through it with one destination in mind: the training rooms; the place in which he and Minkwang met for the very first time. Jeongguk had been a mess then, too - different from how he is now, or perhaps not.
Heās trying to tell himself itās different this time around, but it isnāt.
The door is pushed open with more force than intended, drawing unsolicited attention towards Jeongguk as he entered the training room. A few people were there, but his object of interest was nowhere in sight. Suffice to say, the lack of Minkwangās presence makes Jeonggukās heart sink; thereās no sense of longing present, but heās met with disappointment nonetheless. Without an apology offered, he exits the training room and heads back out into the hallway, continuing his search. It wouldnāt be long before it would pay of anyway, or so he hoped.
Something isnāt right about this all.
Minkwang is a person of intuition, even though his is blunt and unclear---ill-defined, but often accurate. So his intuition says that it doesnāt make any damn sense that DSEM put on such a show, with that fae; itās all wrong, nonsensical, if heās to be honest. DSEMās reasons are as blunt and simple as his; this wasnāt that. Misguided though he finds the organization as a whole, in the end, peace by way of blood is the mantra by which hunters survive---at least, any of them that arenāt just in it for flimsy revenge, or just needing some way to get the ugly rage out of their bodies.
Maybe Minkwang is a bit of that last thing, too---someone fighting for the sake of getting the ugliness out of his system, the aggressive physicality thatās so bred into his veins that heās not sure if it could ever truly be extracted. But even if thatās true, no way he thinks about it makes it make sense to make such a show out of killing a woman who never outright threatened humanity. Does he just not understand the finer points of psychological manipulation? Thatās true, yes, but is it necessary? It doesnāt add up.
Someone pushed forĀ it to happen---that conclusion makes way more sense. Itās not one Minkwang came to on his own, but one he overheard, and conspiratorial as it is, he has to agree.
Even if he agrees with that, though, and thinks in the end, DSEM isnāt the enemy---just too strict, full of people who wereĀ ārecruitedā on the fleeting flames of grief and vengeance, ugly, ugly things which heās been filled with (and is still fighting, even if the embers no longer glow and everything is cold and quiet inside him)---he doesnāt stay here because he agrees with them, either. He stays because he needs structure and control, though he wonāt admit the extent of that---he stays because heās afraid of whatāll happen if someone isnāt keeping him pulled on a tight leash to be sure he doesnāt spiral and fall into something far worse.
And for the people like him, the people who can bury their morality and do what theyāre told, itās fine. (Itās fine even if he ends up destroying himself through it; itās better than losing himself again.) Not everyone is like that. (Maybe he shouldnāt be, either.) Minkwang understands that intuitively, too.
So here he is, alone with his musings---it happens a lot, these days, and it wears him thin, because itās just not like him. The hallway is quiet during such an off hour and he rolls a glass bottle filled with red liquid in his palm, staring at it---too many emotions conflicting with each other in his expression and rendering it dull. He doesnāt want to be here and doesnāt want to go home---he doesnāt want to look anyone in the eye. That feeling, too, is wearing him thin.
Minkwangās gaze cuts upward at the sound of footsteps, but only after they seem near enough to be relevant---what he finds makes his eyebrows hike up a bit more, a level of actual alertness entering his expression. At the least, Jeongguk is someone he doesnāt mind seeing.
āWhatās the matter, kid?ā Minkwang wonders in something just off of monotone; something isnāt right, he knows that little, and so heās eloquent as ever with introductions.
ā reconfigure.
obsxeunae
she continues scrubbing him down for far longer than necessary.
thereās a thin line between necessary excessive, and sheās well aware of thatĀ ā it just remains unaddressed. getting someone thatās dripping wet dry enough so they can function normally is far easier than discussion. focusing on every small detail, every minor distraction that she possibly couldĀ ā is it wrong, knowing that each of her actions hold such a purpose, and yet she refuses to put it to an end, regardless? perhaps it is; perhaps itās more painful like this, not for one but both of themĀ ā perhaps, this way, sheās doing more harm than good.
her actions slow, hands still in circling in undefined patterns atop minkwangās head and the towel still in place. her focus is on nothing; her eyes may stare at the cotton makings of the cloth but her attention is far elsewhere, in some indistinct bubble of her own thoughtsĀ ā poorly translated to reflect upon her physical form. the break in silence isnāt what startles her nor is it what sends her into a moment of muddled uncertainty.Ā
she supposes that beingĀ ālostā is something like this; a fog that envelops each movement, obscures simple trails of thought, unable to connect one to the next. a dissonance between the reality of now and the reality of the past ā the uncertainty that brews over not knowing where to start. that feeling of knowing things that you shouldnāt, but not knowing what to do with that information.
āheās dead,ā isnāt what she means to say, she thinks; even those words seem too distant before she blinks slowly, shifts in place to bring herself out of her own complicated mental web.Ā
itās not what she means to say, but itās not itās not as though sheād never meant to say it. hiding something like thatĀ ā knowing that it was one of the only things that couldnāt be avoidedĀ ā could never work out for someone like her. she could count the number of times sheād mention eunhyukās passing on a single hand, having kept the confirmation to herself with no particular feelings towards sharing them with anotherĀ ā but if there were a single presence that deserved to know, then minkwang would almost certainly be one to surpass even that.
(despite that thereās something in the way minkwangās colors have been all this timeĀ ā that dull hue that stands separate from the strange sharpness of his aura ā that says something. what that something is, however, is what she canāt put her finger on no matter how long she stares into the space around him.)Ā
when it comes to knowing what to classify asĀ āstrangeā---minkwang is not adept, in that. whatās a normal length for a silence, a normal extent to need to busy oneās hands, a normal level of how to dry someone off from the rain---it all rather goes over his head. he doesnāt know any differently; he knows that heās missing something, but that feeling is so constant that he never knows when itās worth addressing, and so he never does, not even at its most extreme point.
(he worries about her, but he doesnāt know how to express that either.)
the pause between his mumbling and her speaking hangs heavy, but he canāt grasp it long enough to resolve it into something meaningful---when she speaks he mentally stumbles, but with a thick tongue and lame tone he still answers:Ā āi know.ā
(he saw it with his own eyes, but that doesnāt need to be said.)
he pauses for a second, piecing words together from the wavering pool of his mind; he looks at his hands, disconnected.Ā āi know, i---tried, but instead---ā heās not capable of being anything but honest, vague only in the sense of missing words as he all but babbles; his hands fall to his sides and ball into fists, shoulders tightening.Ā ā---i was---i got---iām a ghoul,ā he finally says, the word seeming to grip his lungs more tightly than usual---he doesnāt always like talking about it, but he thinks she deserves to know.
āiām sorry,ā he says again, as if heās broken---he is, in a way, still not looking at eunae directly. āi didnāt---i shouldāve listened---i got ahead of myself, and this...ā he finally looks up at her, uneasy.
āiām glad youāre safe,ā thereās something foul about saying that---about this feeling he has toward eunae, which seems so much like the bond with another person he left behind in a far more intentional (though not significantly less stupid, probably) way, and it leaves a twisting feeling in minkwangās abdomen which he lacks the words to describe or address. there are too many emotions built up inside of him; heās never been good with these kinds of things.
need to know.
obsdongwoo
Heās talking with a hunter?
āI know plenty of stuff,ā he says.Ā āItās just not all about vampires and werewolves.ā Somehow, the tone he inflicts upon his words makes them sound like heās trying to boast. Ignorance ā especially ignorance bordering on sheer stupidity ā is nothing to be proud of. He doesnāt know why heās bragging, why heās standing straighter, or why he quickens his pace to be one step ahead of Minkwang.Ā
Perhaps, itās an unrefined attempt to protect himself or even a challenge to the otherās 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 isnāt aware that this can be considered aĀ āwerewolf thingā ā or even a thing at all. What he knows is that he hasnāt 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.Ā
It would do the werewolf well to find a seasoned leader thatāll give him a kick in the ass when necessary. But until that distant day, heāll be getting his supernatural crash course from a ghoul instead.Ā
Dongwoo skips introducing himself, but not out of forgetfulness. Why did he do that? Why is he acting this way? Whatās wrong with him? He was all smiles and easygoing mere seconds ago. Itās like the minute Minkwang claimed to be a hunter, a predator to the predators, that switch inside him flicked on.Ā āYouāre not going toā¦ā he says, trailing off.
Lead me into a trap? Cut my head clean off? Shoot me when Iām not looking?
None of those would help his paper-thin, fake bravado stay in tact. Itās 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 heāll make a run for it. His typically splintered attention span is solid, gaze sharpening like his escape plan if things are to turn sour.Ā
Maybe he isnāt 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 ā right into a truck speeding down the road.
Nah, heāll totally die on his own.
Minkwang doesnāt really intend to sound condescending---most people wouldnāt, especially not people like Minkwang who know good and well that theyāre not the sharpest tool in the box by any standard. But if thereās one thing Minkwang does know, itās how to stay alive under bad odds, and thatās something this werewolf kid probably needs to have, too.
Heās nonchalant about it, though, not much reacting to the way the otherās posture shifts, the way he seems to puff out his chest---maybe in fair part because Minkwang isnāt the most observant person in the world when it comes to other people, either. Thereās no sense registering the were as a threat unless heās being aggressive---though thereās definitely something different in the air now, which Minkwang couldāve predicted happening reasonably enough when he exposed his occupation.
But it just didnāt seem fair not to say it, either.
āNah,āĀ he says as a reply, even though the kid doesnāt finish his sentence;Ā āWhyād I tell you that if I plan on hunting you?āĀ And itās true; Minkwang simply doesnāt believe in hurting innocents, supernatural or not. He finally raises a quizzical brow, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the disaster that is his grammar, at the werewolf at about the same time that he suddenly gets distracted by who-knows-what. Minkwangās hearing isnāt exactly anything special, after all.
āDidnāt wanna lie to you, though,ā he mumbles stiffly as an explanation, glancing around the street for wandering eyes---gaze cutting through the dim yellow streetlight and into the darker corners that abound in this area, but he doesnāt really see anything. Habit.
More directly, this time, he asks;Ā āWhatās your name, though?ā
Chaotic Conflicts
obsxjiho:
Jiho stares for a moment, utterly confused. Not only have his eyes seemed to start bleeding from the inside, he now turns to Jiho and asks him for help. He couldāve sworn these guys were on the same side. What would someone so gritty and intimidating be doing walking the streets during this nonsensical uprising, other than be a part of it?
āPerhaps this is another part of their plan?ā he thinks to himself. āTo lure me into some sort of elaborate trap?ā It doesnāt really make sense to him. That shot looked like it was meant to be lethal. He quickly looks up in the direction it came from. A dark figure peeks over a nearby rooftop, holding what appears to be an old crossbow of some kind. They appear to be reloading. The time for thinking is running out. He glances around quickly to see four others closing in on them from every direction; the two of them are surrounded. Jiho doesnāt need to trust this guy to know what to do; even if this is a trap, heās confident he can deal with him later. That guy above them is the biggest threat right now, so heās the priority.
He pulls his jacket off and spreads his arms. His scuffle with the red guy apparently drew out a few feathers on his neck and forearms. He kicks off his shoes as his feet begin to shift into talons. His arms start to darken and expand as he grows more feathers on them, soon to be wings. He blinks a few times and brings the crossbow guy into focus. He can see every detail of him now. Heās covering his face with a bandana, and a ball cap of some kind. Heās almost done loading his crossbow, but he isnāt paying attention to the ground. He flaps his wings twice, creating a light breeze for a moment. Someone charges at him with a knife from his right. He notices just in time to effortlessly jump above the attack. Before he has a chance to return to the ground, he presses his feet against the manās face beneath him, and pushes downward, propelling himself into the air. The man falls on his back and stumbles to his feet, but Jiho is already well out of reach, and on his way to his target.
It all happens in a matter of seconds, but to Jiho, it feels considerably longer. The building isnāt too terribly tall, not more than two stories, so it only takes one full propulsion of his wings to give him more than enough speed to get there. He hasnāt taken his eyes off his prey for more than a second, who is now well aware of his situation. He doesnāt falter, nor seem to show any signs of fear. He aims the crossbow directly at Jiho. He has to wait until after itās fired before he can dodge the bolt, and the amount of time heāll have to react diminishes the closer he gets. Jiho swoops above the shooter as he reaches the top of the building, expecting him to shoot. He doesnāt. He only continues to aim.
Jiho isnāt about to wait for this guy all day. He flies up and behind him, and grabs him on the shoulder with one of his talons before he gets the chance to turn around. He digs his talons deep into his shoulder, does a somersault in the air, and pulls the guy with him, slamming him into the pavement of the roof. Itās only when Jiho reorients himself, that the man decides to shoot. He wasnāt expecting that. He wasnāt expecting him to shoot after he pressed him into the roof. Jiho only had enough time to see it coming, and not nearly enough time to dodge. It generously grazes his left side, just beneath the wing. It hurts.
It hurts like hell.
Heās never felt anything like this before, never been so careless as to let himself get struck by silver in any fashion. This guy mustāve known it wouldāve been easier to hit him if he waited, even if it meant he had to take a hit himself. Jiho lands as his wings begin to fall apart. His vision is blurry for a moment as he starts to stumble backwards. From what he can make out, the crossbow guy doesnāt seem to be moving anymore. Thatās good, at least. Feathers fall off him like sweat. Heās on the cusp of blacking out as he starts to fall backwards off the edge of the roof. He realizes one last thing before he hits the ground.
He probably wonāt make it home in time to save his ice cream.
Being a hunter, Minkwangās seen some shit in his life. It doesnāt quite surprise him to see the guy heās with turning partway into some kind of bird, per say---it does have him staring for just a second, though, as he lets the pieces click together in his head. Heād already pretty well figured out that he was supernatural, based on that death grip, but some kind of were-bird or whatever wasnāt really the first thing Minkwang had guessed (if heād really guessed at all, there) despite the feathers that now make the conclusion seem pretty obvious.
He doesnāt have time to dwell on it and doesnāt care to anyway; Minkwang hunches down and springs at the closest enemy, movements practiced and quick enough that he gets the upper hand. Were they not expecting an aggressive response? Were they not expecting someone who hunts for a living? That instant of his opponent faltering is enough for Minkwang to shove this one to the ground, a sharp scream escaping her from where Minkwangās red aura burns through his fingers and into her face. Her head hits the concrete with an awful crack---the smell of blood clogs Minkwangās brain.
āIsnāt it too early to be running into vamps?ā a different voice from before hisses, and Minkwang catches sight of a silver blade in the shadows.Ā āCareful, heās got foreign magic all over him, too.ā
Minkwang snarls, but he reins himself in; thereās a line between being decisive and being hasty, though it can be fine. He glances up; bird guy is dealing with the crossbow guy, so heās free to focus on the thugs in front of him. Oneās shifty gestures betray his nervousness; if they think heās a vampire and are scared because of it, then so be it, he canāt bring himself to give a damn in this case. Another one comes up his flank and Minkwang whirls around, only to feel something that buzzes like magic grip around his chest, trying to restrain him---itās not physically there but he grabs at the sensation regardless, red glare fixated on the lunging assailant.
An unmistakable glow of crimson bursts up from Minkwangās scars and over his sleeves, colliding with his opponentās magic---burning through it, allowing Minkwang to grab hold of the attackerās arm and twist it as the wannabe witch (he just has a charm in hand, he probably doesnāt have any real magic) cries out from the burning sensation of the ghoulās aura. He has to move quickly, hearing the others behind him closing in, so he merely uses the opportunity to duck to the side---itās about that time that he hears a scream and sees feathers falling, forcing his gaze upward.
Bird guy has a problem---but at least it looks like the crossbow guy has a bigger problem, for the moment, and itās a saving grace that these amateurs are easily distracted by the scene overhead too. It gives Minkwang an opening to put a little more space between him and the others as he shrugs his jacket off, letting the translucent glow of his wards brighten and stop threatening to burn his own skin from their leather-clad prison.
liar.
[ obsmin ]
this used to be so normal for them, he thinks.
except back then hyerin was barely tall enough to look over the hospital bed. he never needed to, really, because he was always the one in it, too many needles stuck into his frail wrists, fat gloopy tears running down his face while he made awful faces, the kind a child makes when theyāre desperately trying not to cry but already are. more often than not minkwang was the one standing next to him when he woke up, brushing hyerinās hair to the side and asking the nurse to for the pink jello they couldnāt afford at him.Ā
hyerinās much better than he used to be, but the nostalgia for those moments makes it too hard to breathe. how awful he used to think his life was, like that would be the peak of his unhappiness.
the hand in his shifts, fingers brushing his own and hyerin snaps his head up, standing up so quickly the chair goes skidding back. he squeezes minkwangās hand between his, holding it up against his chest as he reaches out to touch his brotherās cheek.Ā āminkwang? look at me, focus. are you alright?āĀ
he reaches over to the bedside table to get a bottle of water, fingers hesitating before he presses the call nurseĀ button as well. he grabs the bottle, uncapping it as he brings it close to minkwangās face.Ā
ācāmon, sit up. you need to drink something.āĀ
heās working on auto pilot, too preoccupied with minkwang to think about how this is so uncharacteristic for him, that heād neverĀ look after someone like this usually, let alone the brother he supposedly hates. the nurse didnāt believe him when hyerin introduced himself as such, not till he forced them to pull up certificates saying so because heād changed his last name just to put some distance between them.Ā
thereās a dissonance here---even minkwang can feel it, in all his unobservant glory. itās been some time since his wounds were treated in such an incredibly āhumanā way; at the guild it was all weird salves concocted from herbs or skilled energy manipulators doing their work, witch-doctors in all their glory, not white rooms and sterile metals and electronics. even when he was in a place like this before---it was rarely with him on the cot, more often him sitting inhumanly still beside her, struggling through the process of comforting her. (he wonders if the effort had meaning, or if heās always been this emotionally ineffective.)
sleep clings to minkwang like a heavy blanket, and coma does the same; he blinks for a moment or two, not quite processing his surroundings. itās like his hardware is online but the software takes just that much longer to become usable---when it does, thereās a bottle near his face and he can feel hyerinās hand around his, warmer but not quite warm, still.
his eyes widen a fraction, lips parting slightly---his expressions are always honest.Ā āmm,ā he mutters as a sound of agreement, fingers wrapping around the offered water; he sits up, feels the pain and the weakness throughout his body---the airy feeling in his head that canāt be anything but blood loss of the less-human kind.
minkwang ignores it pointedly---heāll get to that once his body is in order again---for now, that big-brother instinct not to let hyerin worry over him too much is much more pressing.Ā āām alright,ā he confirms---thereās a strange feeling in his chest as minkwang takes a sip from the bottle, then looks down. nothingās interesting on the floor but itās enough to let his lips twitch into the slightest semblance of a smile, in spite of how heās sore down to his bones.
āyou been here long?ā he asks, tone lacking assumptions---his throatās dry, he realizes now, so he downs a bit more of the water instinctively.
ģ“민ķ [Lee Minhyuk (BTOB)] - Purple Rain (ft. Cheeze)
ā exchange.
--- @obshakyeon
When it comes to whether or not the benefits of staying a ghoul outweigh the trouble it causes---Minkwang wouldnāt be able to give you a straight answer.
Itās not just because Minkwang is so bad with words, either; itās because truthfully, he wants to just say he hates it, but if that were true, then he wouldnāt be trapped in this infinite loop of rationalizing and excusing himself---or rather, if he werenāt constantly rationalizing it to himself, perhaps itād be easier to just be honest about how he feels. Itās hard to tell which direction it goes, but he knows that it leaves his feelings conflicted and his thoughts scrambled about the matter---he knows most of all that itās too difficult and painful to stop, and heās too weak and pathetic to fight back against that.
The matter of fact is, though, that being a rouge ghoul is hard---he never had to feel that overwhelming craving before, the need that manifests into a buzzing pain in his nerves and makes him feel like heāll fall apart physically before he does mentally, anywhere within his spotty memories of thralldom. Being a thrall was easy, disgustingly so; shamefully sneaking a fix after hunting a vampire is the opposite of that, and even though Minkwang is sure his pride is all but ground to dust by now, asking is somehow even worse. Maybe itās just the memories, the trained habits, making him think that.
Itās why heās on edge going to visit Hakyeon, even if their agreement seems amicable---the recent troubles in the city are part of it, too, but Minkwang was anxious with this before all this chaos business started. Heās careful, making sure he gives advance notice that heās coming and stays on his toes even though Hakyeonās never been anything but warm about the whole matter---Minkwang doesnāt trust himself not to trust too blindly.
He arrives at Aspect Ratio when the moon is high in the sky but there are still people on the streets, if not so many as there would be during the day; itās a good time for creatures of the night. Minkwangās steps are quiet and he must look incredibly out of place among the artsy interior of the gallery---he always does---with his simple, lazy clothing and his faded red hair, tattoos and scars showing slightly beyond the trims of his black leather jacket.Ā
āHello?ā he calls in a low voice, not seeing anyone nearby; honestly, he doesnāt even know if the place is properly open, or if Hakyeon left the door open for him. Minkwang is not exactly an fine art gallery kind of person---he could be more likened to lazy graffiti, if anything.
ā reconfigure.
obsxeunae:
thereās truly too much in such few words to process simplyĀ ā in that way, she doesnāt believe that itās a fault of her own. things take time, she knows; this situation isnāt a simple one, but could anyone handle it on the spot if they were in her shoes?Ā
(maybe he could haveĀ ā but he was the catalyst that caused all this unsettling air to begin with. were eunhyuk still around, she thinks that maybe heād have been able to solve something like this without problem; he seemed oddly good at it, in her eyes.
but sheās not like eunhyuk, his methods and personality still having been a strange thing to grasp after those years despite how comfortable it was then and the nostalgia of it now. imitating him in that way is no option for her ā not that it would have been one from the start to begin with ā but it still, somehow, continues to be the only thing that her thoughts keep returning to.)
and yet despite that, the rain provides the only sound that remains in the space between the two of them.Ā
because of that, she hears him ā barely, but she doesnāt stop walking. she doesnāt turn to take a glance over her shoulder nor does she respond to it directly; no, the only way she answers that broken-sounding apology isnāt so much an answer at all, but instead a slightly tightened grip on his sleeve that could be mistaken instead for coincidence.Ā if nothing else, she prefers it that way; silence is a failsafe in the moment, and there are things that sheās certain that she, too, should provide apologies for despite the way that apologizing for fateās design leaves a strange and uncomfortable feeling behind.
the familiar path to her apartment provides a comfort that eunae hadnāt been sure that sheād been longing for; approaching it has her tugging him along with a slight more insistence, the desire to get them both out of the rain providing the perfect temporary escape route ā or a detour, at least, away from the conversation that they inevitably must face.Ā
but first, thereās the promise of shelter that exists when she opens the door and pulls him insideĀ ā and finally, she lets go of his sleeve in the interest of roaming around to the back with little explanation or word given other thanĀ āstay,ā. not that sheād say anything concerning the state of her home in the first place; the pile of blankets that take over the couch itself, the stray pillows lined along it with some stragglers settled instead on the floorĀ ā the pile of snacks that hold center stage of the coffee table. all the same furniture kept in ways that could hardly be considered any different from how theyād often be before responsibility in the form of her guardian would straighten the area out in the place theyād lived beforeĀ ā itās a mirror image and yet still so different than what it used to be.
sheās not blind enough to not find it strange, too; but she isĀ more adamant in dismissing such a feeling when she returns with towel in hand, not having to reach up too far in order to throw it over his head, treating him in the same manner as she wouldāve had she been drying one of the cafe dogs off instead.Ā
it seems apt that one would drown in water but minkwang can breathe just fine while drenched in rain---its the liquid guilt in his lungs that makes him feel like dying, leaves that light swimming-feeling in his head despite how heās sinking like a stone. eunae is something like a lifesaver ring thrown from the past to keep his head above water, but thinking that leaves a guilty feeling behind, too; eunae is not her cousin, if anything sheās more like minkwang himself in some ways, and nostalgia is a bittersweet thing that would just as soon rip minkwang apart as heal any of his gaping wounds.
it isnāt a coincidence and he knows it---nonverbal phrases are the only ones that he understands easily, his body aware where his mind is blunt---but thereās nothing to say beyond that. he feels broken, used-up---half-dead in that way that shouldnāt be ironic. itās like he hasnāt been able to fill whatever batteries run a human life over the point where they should flash yellow in warning; heās a collection of faulty parts that canāt be replaced, and he isnāt savvy enough with hearts to know how to go about repairing them.
minkwangās shaken from his spiral again by the contrast of dry air on wet skin---it doesnāt feel particularly pleasant but he doesnāt shiver or grimace, just narrows his eyes as he pauses in the entryway of eunaeās apartment, suddenly conscious of just how much water is dripping from his form. he stays without any particular need for a command and glances around, clamoring for a grip on his surroundings; itās a mess, in simple terms, but under that, itās familiar.
it strikes him, suddenly, how much eunae is still the same---still a kid. sheās grown a bit and sheās living on her own, but the symptoms of whatās missing show with her home just the way they do with his own, and in some odd way, perhaps thatās a comfort. if heās lost, then he isnāt lost alone; the world hasnāt completely passed him by.
she comes back about the time heās finished peeling his jacket from his body; itās soaked through and his skin is wet underneath, but he feels better without the addition of heavy fabric. he doesnāt flinch, but still rolls slightly with the towel on his head, inclining his neck enough that eunae can easily reach all of his head---he lets her towel him off, less prone to wiggling than the wet dog he most resembles.
āeunae...ā he starts after a moment, voice unsure---he feels like itās his place to say something, but heās lost for what to say.Ā āi... i donāt know... i should...ā he mumbles, but the words evade him entirely---itās too much to ask of himself, he guesses, when there are so many thoughts in his head trying to make themselves heard.
liar.
@obsmin
he wrings his hands, foot tapping against the linoleum floor impatiently. thereās little to do besides wait, but hyerinās not good at that. his heart is racing in his chest, pounding against his ribcage though he hasnāt moved at all from his plastic chair. itās been hours and the only company heās had is the rotating reception staff and the occasional janitor passing through.Ā
hyerin doesnāt like hospitals. they smell more like death to him than any corpse could.
āpark hyerin?ā a nurse steps into the waiting room, not bothering to look up as he scribbles something down. hyerin is already up and walking towards him, so close that when the nurse looks up he jumps back in shock at how quickly hyerin had come.Ā
ācan i see him?āĀ
he shouldnāt have pushed minkwang like that. he shouldnāt have forced him to go in alone, without back up, thrown his own brother to his death without a second thought. his selfishness has kept him alive for so long, but thereās the inevitable limit he never thought heād come across, that one day heād lose something worth more in trying to save himself.Ā
the heart monitor beeps steadily, the metronome drowning out the sound of his pride till he canāt remember why he ever listened to it at all.Ā
his hands donāt stop shaking until theyāre tight around minkwangās, nails digging into the flesh of his brotherās palm. the doctor tells him that heās recovering just fine, that heāll wake up soon enough. hopefully. if all goes well. if he can pull through.
hyerin once didnāt speak to his brother for three years, but it weighs nothing compared to the silence of these three days.Ā
with a sigh, he leans down, resting his head next to his brotherās stomach, tightening his grip around the otherās hand.Ā āwake up hyung.āĀ his heart aches, the weight of loneliness upon it. how long has it been since heās had a family? since heās had anyone? he lost minkwang a long time before he thought he did, before he watched his brother being rushed into the ambulance. hyerin hasnāt had a sibling in years. he closes his eyes. he wonāt cry.Ā
āplease wake up.ā
it takes a lot to make him go too far---minkwang knows his limits, he knows whatāsĀ āfar enoughā and that he can push just a little harder than that as long as his headās empty and heāll be fine, he always comes out of it fine.
and if his headās full of something?---of stubbornness, of anxiety, of anger? itās all nonsense just the same, really---well, if that happens, it always ends up like this, with minkwang ten kinds of fucked up and the point of the whole damn stupid thing lost to the void.
but god, god he feels like thereās something he has to prove---prove, or atone for, or make good on even though the āpromiseā has been forgotten somewhere along the way---when hyerin hisses orders at him like heās worse than a dog (and well, maybe he is; obedient and loyal to the point of idiocy), sneers at him like heās some kind of disgusting bug (heās not quite human anymore, is that it?), itās hard to think straight like that. it makes him reckless where heās usually cautious enough---jittery where heās usually calm and collected, head empty, body ready.
so itās no wonder that minkwang, an idiot with a head full of nonsense and veins full of blood, ended up on the weaker end of half-dead when things got rough.
( he doesnāt blame her. thereās a kind of guilt he canāt define thatās been eating him alive since he got his head back---it crawls up from the pit of his gut and it rips him apart, telling him heās to blame, that he let all this happen and the least he can fucking do at this point is regret it.Ā
so he doesnāt blame hyerin. he couldnāt possibly blame her when heās too busy blaming himself to such an extent that heās blind to the things heās truthfully done. )
the first thing heās remotely aware of is the faint, high-pitched beeping of a monitor---itās just shrill enough that it blinks into his black haze of unconsciousness every so often, like itās underwater, but itās there anyway. the next is simply his own body---heavy, sore, distant in that way that it always seems to be lately---truthfully, everything feels strange.
he barely thinks he heard someoneās voice, but his headās filled with white noise and words donāt filter through right---but his fingers twitch slightly as if to clasp around the hand in his own.
itās the realization of that that finds his eyes opening sluggishly, finding that the world is all too harsh of a white around him---the smell of antiseptics and a faint undertone of blood hits him hard and minkwang squints, fumbling for an awareness of the throbbing in his head and more importantly, for the person beside him.
ā...hyerin?ā his voice doesnāt even properly leave him, breaking into a hoarse whisper in the process---his throat is too dry, it almost hurts, but everythingās too fuzzy for minkwang to mind.
Chaotic Conflicts
obsxjiho:
Jiho hardly had any time to react before he found himself completely at this guyās mercy. He was no stranger to a fight, but he didnāt expect this guy to get the upper hand so quickly. Expectedly, the stranger didnāt respond well to being struck in the face, and returned the favor with a swift knee to the stomach. It was enough to knock Jiho off-balance; he wasnāt ready for that much force to come from someone this size. It was enough to make him wince, and that gave his opponent an opening to get behind him and grab him in a choke hold. He had dealt with his fair share of hunters and similar forces in the past, but this guy was something else. He was no joke, and very clearly knew what he was doing.
His raspy suggestion to ānot be stupidā stung Jihoās ear, and he was certain the same ear received a slight spray of blood from his mouth as a result. Gross, but Jiho had bigger things to worry about. Obviously this was a ploy to get him to āmake it easier for the both of them.ā The sooner he stopped resisting, the sooner he would never have to worry about getting groceries again. Such a threat meant little to him, as if he was āstupidā enough to give up without putting up a fight. He wasnāt about to be another piece of supernatural modern art like those other bodies from the news. As he struggled, he started to get riled up. āIām not about to get turned into a corpse!ā He thought to himself as he tried to break free, āI MAKE corpses! I LIVE OFF corpses!ā
He found it harder to break free than he expected, but his aggressor made the mistake of loosening his grip. Jiho wasnāt sure why, but he wasnāt one to pass up a chance like this. He took this opportunity to grab this guy and throw him off of his back, slamming him into the ground in front of him.
āGet OFF of me!ā he grunts amidst his retaliation.
In the scuffle, Jiho had no choice but to let go of his other bag; it had fallen in front of him when he was kneeād in the gut. Unfortunately, he unintentionally threw this guy right on top of it, presumably cushioning the blow. He was too invested in staying alive to care at this point. His sunglasses had fallen off at some point, and his hood was now down as a result of the struggle.
Jiho jumps a few feet back, if only to get some distance. He might have considered running if his predatory instincts hadnāt kicked in. He refuses to break his gaze from this guy, even if he is lying on the ground. Jiho isnāt about to give this Chaos grunt another chance to restrain him. He has a moment to come to his senses, and in this moment he takes a whiff of the air. Thereās death on the wind, and itās close. Really close. He can make out several distinct scents, and he glances around as much as he can without moving his head and losing the guy in front of him. Jiho doesnāt see anyone, but he knows theyāre getting closer; the red-haired guyās reinforcements have arrived.
The moment when his attention is divided is enough for the other guy to break out of his grip, not giving Minkwang time to full process whatās happening before heās on the ground. It hurts but he doesnāt let it show more in more than a wet hiss from bloody lips; he wastes no time attempting to scramble to his feet, eyes as red as his hair by now as a basal instinct swells up through his form. Heās sure heāll have some bruises and he can feel some scrapes on his arms and legs but fuck it, those things wonāt even matter much in the long term.
Minkwang rights himself with a fangy scowl, his hands still on the ground to support him, the smell of his own blood making his head spin---he canāt lose control now, he has to stay focused. The guyās still looking at him---but now Minkwang can see his face in the weak illumination from the streetlights, his blue eyes. Not that Minkwang had had any doubts about him being a supernatural by now, not with how strong he is, but itās a confirmation anyway; those kinds of eyes donāt just show up on Korean people.
Heās about to bite out another threatening bit of advice when he hears something again, and smells blood that isnāt just his own---this feathery asshole seems to have noticed it too, even though he doesnāt take his eyes off Minkwang. The ghoul stands up fully, glancing around---he trusts his eyes more than his other senses, still too human in these ways---and finally catches sight of another body, his own tensing up impossibly at the sight.
āI know youāre there,ā he rumbles, keeping an eye on the feathery guy through his peripherals. Minkwang finally reaches for the dagger at his waist, fingers tensing around the handle that juts from its leather casing; this might really get bad.Ā āShow yourselves.ā
They make themselves known with a silver crossbow bolt that Minkwang dodges, fangs gritted; this is going to be more like fighting hunters than fighting rouge supernaturals, isnāt it? Heās done that a few times, though itās not usually this serious---not life-threatening in nature. He very nearly forgets that he was just fighting with someone else for a moment, focus caught up on the newcomers which pose a greater threat.
āWhat a pain,ā a voice grumbles from somewhere close by,Ā āI was hoping theyāre wear each other out, but I guess weāve been spotted.ā
Thereāre five of them, Minkwang concludes quickly; they all look human, but he doesnāt let that fool him. He doesnāt have any real way of detecting if theyāre armed with wards or magic or what, right now. He braces himself into a ready stance and glances over at the feathery guy, eyes even redder than his (slightly faded, to be fair) hair. He sucks his split lip into his mouth, words clanking around uselessly in his thoughts.
āThereāre five I can see,ā he says in a biting tone,Ā āonly oneās got range. Lend me a hand---donāt wanna drag this out.ā Minkwang turns, brazenly showing his back to the jumpy blue-eyed guy, and faces the thugs in the shadows. He draws his dagger now, letting the faint yellow street light glint off its silver surface, and waits, scars practically radiating heat beneath the sleeves of his jacket.
need to know.
obsdongwoo:
Dongwoo doesnāt know whatās wrong with his concentration: either being bitten slashed his attention span into ribbons or the turpentine for his paintings is finally messing with his head. For the first time in his life, heās genuinely interested in learning about the supernatural world. But, he canāt control himself long enough to hear more than snippets of information. Heās not clever enough to quilt the words together into something that makes sense.
His curious gaze is laser-sharp, then itās spacey. His expression is serious, then his nose tries wiggling off his face. His body is still, then he turns towards slamming doors two streets away.
Even if his life depended on it, thereās no chance that he could repeat anything Minkwang says. Itās only through a stroke of luck that he catches the end of the ghoulās response.Ā
āI guess itās similar enough that Iād make a mistake,ā he agrees.Ā āKinda like when you bring juice to your room, but you forget you brought the juice until two weeks later. And thereās a funky smell on your desk, but itās still a little fruity? So youāre like hey, maybe itās still good! But, thereās these weird speckles in it that tell you itās bad even if it smells kinda okay. And yeah, I get you.āĀ
This kid is gonna die while slurping a molding lemonade.Ā
Itās not like him to go on a wordy tangent, but heās acting faster than heās thinking. One sentence links to another and thereās no filter to catch them; by the time he reflects on one word, heās already blurted five more. If those cramped, over-sized wolf teeth werenāt slowing down his speech, heād probably talk faster. Heās always been of the impulsive sort, but never of this intensity. Yet, itās only mildly concerning to him ā earns a slight, paper thin line between his brow and nothing more. Whatās the big deal? Itās not like having the attention span of a golden retriever could hurt somebody.Ā
āOh, well I guess Iām half furry and half fleshy,ā he says. āHow do you end up only half-vampire anyway? Is it likeāOh, ow!ā His canine teeth bore into his lower lip. The sharp ends shear the plump, pink flesh like taking scissors to a feather pillow. It stings; hot, prickly, and eliciting a pitchy whine. His first instinct is to lick it ā no, itās to wipe it with his sleeve. The werewolfās tongue darts out and pokes the torn flesh, pushing around a small flap of skin. He licks away the small spurt of blood and his pupils dilate. All of the sudden, heās extra twitchy and ready to chase down the next object to cross his vision.Ā
If it excitement has a taste, he think it probably tastes like a split lip.Ā
His teeth finally shrink down to a humanās size and heās back to normal: a naive kid in a neon hoodie, scratching a perpetually itchy nose and bordering on the twitchy side.Ā
āA were of what?ā
This kidās metaphors are on some other level, Minkwangās decided. Heās pretty sure heās never smelled anything quite like what heās describing, rotten fruit juice or not-quite-bad juice or whatever heās saying---itās 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; whatās a hunter to do when confronted with someone like this? Heās so bold and confused and innocent---itās probably some kind of community service to try to help him out, somehow.
At leastĀ āhalf furry and half fleshyā sounds like a rough confirmation of his theory---though itās 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; itās not as stark and overwhelming as vampiric blood, thankfully, but itās enough to make his fangs itch in his mouth. He doesnāt normally worry about them showing up, since they donāt 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 hasnāt been feeding entirely properly.
āA were,ā he says, emphasizing the words more heavily as he removes his hand from his face.Ā āGeez, kid, you really donāt know shit?ā Minkwang rolls his shoulder, expression somewhere between exasperation and concern.Ā āSayinā youāre a werewolf would be assumptuous---bad of me. āS bad to assume.ā And thatās 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 kidās going to get himself killed at this rate.
āLook---letās walk and talk.ā Minkwang offers, shifting and taking a step in some other direction as his hand finds its way back into his pocket.Ā āStanding around looks weird. Someone might hear.ā The ghoul sighs, rolling his neck slightly. This kidās lucky that Minkwang isnāt a much worse kind of hunter---otherwise that naivete would put him in some serious danger.
āAnd letās start from the top: nameās Minkwang. Iām a hunter.ā
Chaotic Conflicts
obsxjiho:
Upon contact with the stranger, he froze. How could he have been so careless as to let someone brush up against him?! The potential danger of his situation was immediately apparent. He wanted nothing more than to keep walking, but that wishful thinking was crushed when he spoke. He managed to turn his head in time to hear part of the manās question. His voice was so coarse; just the sound of him made Jiho feel uneasy. Time began to slow to a crawl as he analyzed the stranger. He could faintly smell death on this guy, but that wasnāt what worried him. Out of the corner of his eye, outside his sunglasses, he caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes stared right through Jiho; it felt as if this guyās question was directed to someone else, yet he was looking right at him. His comment seemed like it might have been considerate had it been delivered in a less intimidating tone, but it was more easily interpreted as a sarcastic threat. āOf course itās a bad time to be out,ā he thought to himself. āSuspicious people walking the streets, looking for prey.ā He wasnāt even close to bringing himself to make such a remark out loud. He was too distracted with his own questions. Is this what those chaos minions look like? Is this what they do to their victims before they kill them? Perhaps the manās question was a test to make sure Jiho was a supernatural; if he gave the wrong answer, ten hidden guys would jump out of the shadows and strike from all sides. He looked too suspicious to just be out wandering the streets without a purpose. This man was here for a reason, and he stopped Jiho for a reason.
He wasnāt about to let himself get caught and ruin his groceries in the process. He couldnāt waste any more time than his ice cream would allow, so he decided to skip the formalities.
Calmly, doing a good job to not look jumpy or nervous, he turns around fully. He slightly shakes his arms to beckon to his grocery bags, and politely responds,
āWhat am I doing? Why, isnāt it obvious? Iām simply returning from the store.ā
He glances down to his bags in hopes the stranger will follow suit to observe the contents, if only for a moment. A mere second is all he needs. Through his sunglasses, he catches what he hoped for. The dark eyes have broken their gaze, and he can move again.
In an instant, without a second thought or a better plan, Jiho drops the bag on his left, the one he is sure doesnāt have the eggs in it.
And he throws a punch.
Suspicious. Minkwangās eyes narrow -- he doesnāt draw conclusions just yet, but he knows that this guy is suspicious. It could just as easily be true that this stranger really is just innocent, though likely not normal, as it could be that heās dangerous; the tension in the air elevates to such a level that it roots itself through his every muscle and sinew, making Minkwang feel like a rubber band pulled out to its limits. And yet his body language barely changes, contained and level, even as the other person turns to face him.
His first mistake turns out to be letting his gaze shift from the strangerās face to the bags in his hands -- because within a split second, thereās a fist connecting with his cheek and Minkwang falters, rolling with the blow as the scent of his own blood hits his nose.Ā
His instincts flare and he reacts fast, hand lashing out to grab onto the otherās forearm and leg shooting upward to knee him in the gut -- as hard as this guy hits Minkwang can feel that heās untrained, so he wraps an arm around the taller manās neck in an attempt to use his position to his advantage. A ghoulās strength is nothing to sneeze at and Minkwang works out but this guy is strong in that way that only supernaturals can be -- but Minkwang doesnāt go for a weapon yet, his wards growing hot under his sleeves.
āYouāre tough,ā he hisses past his split lip, not minding what a monstrous look he must have with fangs peeking out of his snarl and red seeping into his irises,Ā āSo donāt be fucking stupid.ā
His grip grows lax when he hears a sound -- someoneās there, and that canāt mean anything good for either of them.
KNOCK KNOCK; Itās vodka.
obsluhan:
Thereās a lopsided smile on his face- fangs barely showing as he looks Minkwang over several times. The bottle is taken from his hands and Lu just sort of watches as his friend takes a drink. Really, heās not letting on as much as he could how worried he was. Minkwang was a good friend. Sure, they had their differences and all, but Lu has always liked the guy. Thinking he was dead actually did upset the wendigo a good bit, but he just doesnāt want it to sound that way. Itās better that he joke around- keep the mood light.
The answer throws him off though- turns his smile into a concerned frown. He blinks a few times- eyes a bit wider than they probably should be. Lu just watches for a moment- watches as Minkwang drinks and the silence settles in. Is he serious, though? Did he really die? Lu has never been great at figuring this sort of stuff out. Heās never been great at reading people or not just assuming whatever they say is true. Sometimes sarcasm misses him too. Minkwang isnāt any of that, though. Heās just really hard to read and thatās probably just a part of what makes him Minkwang. Itās still a bit difficult to deal with though⦠Not to the point it annoys Lu, just to the point itās leaving him as confused as always.
He pulls the second bottle from his bag- opening it with an illogical ease. He takes a swig himself- unfazed by the burn. Itās only expected with how much heās already had that it wouldnāt matter to him. Heās just used to it- drinks to much for it to really matter. He blinks a few times at the question. Heās not dead, thatās true. No more dead than Minkwang, at least. No more dead than usual. He taps the bottle with one of his fingers- sighing just a little. How has he been?
āThe usual.ā He yawns at the words. āTo be honest, not a lotās changed in the past year for me. Still stripping at the same damn club⦠The guyās there are still picking on me about not fitting in and I havenāt done much aside drink, work, sleep too little, and feel tired. So I guess I havenāt changed much.ā He shakes his head. Itās true. Heās fallen into this same pattern over the last few years. Thereās this sickening feeling that he should be trying harder- that things should change, but he never really does. Heās still stuck slaughtering- hunting. Itās⦠rough.
He puts the bottle against his head for a moment- staring into the distance. He wishes he was more drunk- as always. The bottle isnāt as cool as he would like, so he removes it from his head as he starts up talking again.
āStill drinking a lot, I guess? Sorry, Iām just a boring old man, hunā~ā He laughs at that.Ā āHow about you, though? Whatās going on in the fascinating life of a dead manā¦?ā
It doesnāt really bother him that he might be confusing Lu -- Minkwang is pretty used to being regarded asĀ āconfusingā simply because heās so emotionally blunt that people donāt usually know what to do with him. He just doesnāt express the way they do -- doesnāt care to force it, either -- so heās confusing instead. Might as well go for being confusing and drunk, now that the opportunity has so graciously presented itself.
Itās strange hearing that nothing has changed when it feels like so much has changed -- maybe itās only true to people whoād had their fingers on the pulse of the underworld to begin with, like hunters and people with other vested interests in the matter. Lu is simple -- just living his life the same way, even if so much is changing. In a way, that makes sense.
āMm,ā he acknowledges simply, pulling the bottle back toward his body since Lu apparently had an entire additional one in his bag. It seems to fit with Luās character as he knows it, as much as it makes Minkwang cock a brow to see.Ā āSometimes thatās good, though. Same old same old and all.ā Heās not convinced, but it doesnāt show in his tone any more than... any other emotion really does, to be fair. As a hunter, he lives for danger -- but maybe thatās why he has an appreciation for routine.
He takes a few steps inside, plopping down unceremoniously on his couch -- the place is almost distressingly bare, just the simplest of what appears to be military-surplus furniture and not a hint of decoration or life to be found. He knocks back another drink before setting his gaze on his friend again, then glancing off to the side as he mumbles.Ā āHow to say that in a short version...ā Itās going to take a bit more alcohol before heāll tell the long version.
āShit happened,ā he settles on, not especially wanting to elaborate. He waves his hand very slightly, having a hard time finding appropriate words that arenāt too telling -- even if Lu is supernatural, or maybe especially because he is, there are things Minkwang doesnāt want to say. Itās unnecessarily difficult. āA lot of shit. Kinda died and all. Iām back at my old job, and itās pretty shit too.ā He takes another drink, then smirks a bit in Luās direction. To some extent, it seems like they may be in the same boat -- which isnāt such a bad feeling.
curbstomp.
obsjeongguk
Itās a matter of seconds until everything comes tumbling down - literally.
The moment contact is directly initiated between them, when the fingers of the others curl around his skin and press against it, Jeongguk remembers exactly how much he dislikes to be touched. There is something that rises up within him, an emotion so strong that is makes him struggle underneath the hold of the other. Teeth grit and even if heās placed in this unfavorable position, he doesnāt seem willing to throw in the towel just yet; fire still courses through his veins and thereās still strength left in him to fight, so it makes no sense for things to be over so quick.
The remark made only hits the nail head-on and it causes a low, guttural noise to sound up from Jeongguk - itās akin to a growl and it comes accompanied by another attempt to liberate himself. Without any desired result, his body stills under the grasp that the other holds onto him; it remains tense.Ā āNo shit,ā he eventually retorts, all the while fighting the urge to writhe.
Thereās no need for that, as the other loosens his hold but heās not free just yet. This game of humiliation that the red-haired bastardās playing at doesnāt end until a point is made and, frankly, Jeonggukās having none of it.Ā
Even in his rebellious state, heās not a fool - the only way out of this situation is to behave and comply. That seems to be what the otherās trying to teach him, so Jeongguk might as well refrain from making matters worse; for himself, that is. With a clear trace of reluctance, he withholds from exhaling a breath of air in annoyance and offers up the long-awaited response,Ā āJeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk - whatās it to you?ā
One canāt say he didnāt try, at least.
One thing that can be said for sure is that this kid has fire to him. Itās been true from the beginning and a little taste of defeat isnāt enough to knock it out of him -- Minkwang thinks thatās a good thing. That kind of determination is something he used to have, to be sure -- a stubbornness that may run in the family, really, and maybe this boy reminds Minkwang more of Hyerin than he admits -- and it, if the anger is tempered, is the kind of thing that keeps people alive against the worst of odds.
So Minkwang just huffs a bit as the boy struggles, growls even, beneath him -- he doesnāt let up until he gets the slight sign of submission heād been going for, that little hint of proof that heās accomplished something, too. With a little bit of finesse and experience and control, this kid really does have potential -- but he needs to learn to pick his battles, as well.
He gives the slightest of lopsided smiles upon finally learning the boyās name -- Jeongguk. Minkwang moves completely aside, giving the boy room to right himself despite his state, and sits down on the gym floor cross-legged, completely casual. Heās hardly even winded from their sparring -- but thatās because he isnāt human, so itās nothing to be proud of.
āSong Minkwang,ā he says plainly, eyeing Jeongguk,Ā āNice to meet you.ā