aloha kākou, e komo mai !
but also this blog is for 4 very specific women and if you aren't part of those specific four, i suggest you leave. preserve your sanity.
i've been an avid lover of CELESTIAL since their debut & love their chaos even more with every passing day. if i am not in the trenches for my emoji of choice, i am in the pitlane of formula 1, apparently, because tell me why kpop idols brought me here. what's our next stop? obscure anime recs from sol? a new musical theatre song from nyxie's spotify wrapped? a new aesthetic to embody birthed from The It Girl Of Every Gen, cassie? a study live where i actually honest to god do my coursework because callisto is counting on me to work right along side her? say less, celestial, i will do more.
shout out to okalani, who officially made it cool to be kanaka in the 2000s and to speak 'о̄lelo. the fact that duolingo did a whole video series with her for hawaiian language month... you know you're an icon when duolingo wants your star power.
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⤑ about me ! (peep the okalani lore)
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lilo's mic: welcome to the second arc of otbka!!!!!!!! back by absolutely no one's demand, if you happen to stumble upon this know that while most of the supplemental material is not required reading, the extra (under the heading "how quickly they do sell their souls") titled "KAPU" most certainly is, if you want to understand any of okalani and mingi's growth this arc. also, bruno mars, if you are reading this, pls send me a dm and i will include you in every mafia story i ever create, hereonin. you're criminally underutilized in otbka, but i will never make the same mistake twice when given sufficient motivation.
— the night buzzed around them, dark and deep. below, whole lives clattered against the concrete, souls bruising before they bartered something precious to the grips of the unforgiving, whatever profit they gleaned proof to ᴇᴏᴘꜱɪɴ that their existence meant something: that when they gave themselves to ɪᴋᴜ, their time had been well spent.
— "...one inescapable maw to another."
— a sightless eye was drawn first from the black, unblinking, then the observing other: a woman still silent in her half-blind regard of peering contemplation.
— "shoot."
(and so the speaker would. the gun was in her mouth, already. in this very instant, her breath caught poised, caressing the hairbreadth trigger.)
— silence that wasn't a silence. a pause that couldn't bring itself to still. soft, an intake of breath. "do you ever have some screaming that never stops? like the violence never digested after swallowing, and the person just lays there, all this time later?"
— the torturist raised her brow. "i would have thought you as knowledgeable as me." and her words drew her forth, out of obscurity and into the glow of the rooftop light, a sinner alongside a demon with her ruling ring.
— "... but i suppose it depends... on what they're saying... where they were. who is screaming."
— ᴅɪᴀɴᴇ turned to look at her companion, to see her presumption that somehow lacked accusation, her could-be-knowledge, if the woman bared her teeth — but there was no longer an eyeline there. ᴏᴋᴀʟᴀɴɪ stared out at the land below her as though transfixed, ignorant to the foolish daring of self-disclosure beside her, the leverage that could be gained in such inklings of weakness.
diane swallowed a wail defiant and thick in that seclusion the mercenary granted her.
ʀᴀᴋᴇᴛᴜ hummed on, barely audible in the stillness; one more night of her thousand, the calm before the blood of dawn.
— diane appraised the woman beside her when the screams were only rotting in their encasement — for a moment, made dull. three years had passed since okalani bought her freedom and diane ascended, and in the interim, an unspoken respect and lucrative alliance had led them here: to evenings fashioned by the silence and discretion of ᴋᴏʏᴏ, to the precarious wicker net found in regard, revelation, and rapport.
friendship, maybe, if such a thing in hoku city could evolve.
warmth, if they could claw it from the frigid formality of transaction, from the familiarity of knowing one's way with violence and deceit.
— "for being in the business of secrets, you don't collect them well."
(and if her truth bared it's teeth, it would wrap around her carefully crystallized speech and whisper like this: 'you don't betray me. i want to know why.')
— okalani breathed impassive and full; a beat almost pensive, as though there existed some cloaked and lampshaded way to express her feelings, and if she could reach it, she'd take hold. "i've not been paid," she relented, "puppetmasters keep secrets in checkbooks to cash in. i steal on request... tonight, things here are just here." a smile, then, something reflected and dim. "and i know better than to collect from serpens - least of all, you."
— the wind buffeted (and what did this pious call it — the wont of ᴍᴀꜱᴜ?); an aroma of street food — over salty, sizzling to a blistered sweet — wafted to their vantage place. below, the unmistakable laugh of ᴍɪɴɢɪ called out, high with too much breath, still spluttering into realization, pulling the attention of his sister the way a liar tugs at her own grin.
— diane no longer choked on regret such as this. still, it stuck between teeth and would have to be muzzled later.
('certainly the serpens knows how to collect from you.')
— "kill it." okalani's face was solemn, long hair ropes of black that someone once taught her to braid into nooses. diane was placid where love might have drawn concern. "you said you were a mouth devouring; serpents swallow their prey whole. kill it. smother it. then, at least, it can't scream anything new."
ᴠɪꜱᴄᴇʀᴀʟ, ʀᴇʟᴏᴀᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ๋࣭ 🂾 ₊♜⭑ ๋࣭⌯⁍ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.
— ʜᴏᴋᴜ ᴄɪᴛʏ could never want for kings.
— diamonds drawn on billboards advertising the latest miracle detergent, scepters painted on the side of weeping glass bottles, rapid transit tycoon ᴋɪᴍ ɴᴀᴍ-ᴊᴜɴɢ in a coronet alongside all of these, crown jewels spilling from his pockets, authority in one hand and an open palm the other, "ride in precious comfortability" —a different angle of the same poised grin— "there's no traffic beneath a bustling crowd." even wooden boxes stacked high on hoku-bound cargo vessels were filled with exports, stamped with the sigil of an eye that reigned with the omnipotence of king.
— to walk the streets of hoku was to be ruled; held in the cracked-palm of dry law, dipped in the seeping persistence of influence and advertisement, wrung out and kept by the vice that, here, only lived in shadow but still overindulged and engorged, always fed.
— apathy to the hypocrisy of a prohibition city housing the strongest illicit organization of this too-close and choking world was a quality sewn into the skin of every citizen, stitches disinfected by the very alcohol the city so vehemently disavowed.
— in shade, there was sin of every flavor and price tag. drink for the working class, powder for those clawing at relevance just above, and for the rich who could just as easily hire a boat to take them to the not so distant shores of ᴀᴋᴜᴀ — an island 80 kilometers away with laws as wet as a dip in the oceans surrounding them — hoku offered services and sin erring on the side of just slightly more tantalizing, a greed moreso addictive: blood and sweat drowned.
that, and, of course, the notoriety of having frequented and employed a power so illustrious and feared as the ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴꜱ.
— mostly, the wares courted by the notable and famous were just as cosmic as themselves: moonshine, powdered stars, canned heaven, bodies that pulsed with such presence and power it turned all blood in a ten-kilometer radius into stardrift — scintillating and carbonated, one sway away from a giggling state of death.
"moribund," ʏᴜɴʜᴏ called them, when their backs were turned and their money graced the sharpened edge of a serpens table. it was his role to face the more refined clientele, act as the middle man between them and the darker underbelly, them and the demon crown.
"moribunnies," ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴀʜ had quipped, a presence half there in the syndicate and always gone.
the name had stuck in a way her soul hadn't, and while she flitted too and fro — from ꜱᴋɪᴛ ᴄɪᴛʏ to hoku, the border where ʜᴀʟᴀ ʜᴀʟᴀ kissed the star god's urban sprawl and back — her words stayed, as much a laugh on serpens member's lips as a prayer of worship to the diamond encrusted wealth the pretty fools left in their wake.
— ᴀʜɴ ʜʏᴇ-ᴊɪɴ and ʟᴇᴇ ᴊɪᴇᴜɴ of old money riches, as wayward as their gossamer-thin skirts fluttering in a windward-side breeze, never generous with their gratuity but always the first to run a tab; ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊᴇᴏɴɢꜱᴏɴɢ with all his father's lofty ambitions and twice the riches in hand, though none of the artistic vision to see something through; ᴋɪᴍ ꜱᴇᴏᴋᴊɪɴ, complacent in his status of rail, road, and salted sea way heir; even political powers like the monomymous ᴋᴇᴀɴᴜ and his devil-may-care gambling partner in far too much debt to ever quite swim free, ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ɢᴇɴᴇ.
— hoku was built atop them. the serpens siphoned their secrets and capital from a desperation to live so voraciously you'd shame gluttony. the world spun as was its wont, and the few dreamers and scant still-idealists that ran themselves ragged through streets that did not love them wrote poetry in notebooks that would decompose in her alleys.
hoku city could never want for kings, and there were always enough subjects to fill tax-paid infrastructure — plenty rats to engorge themselves on the abundance of a port city, the copiousness of success.
and where there are rats, there is always a viper to curb their proliferation; where there are targets, there are always serpents to profit on their death.
— and here, in the seedy underbelly of ᴄʏᴘʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀꜱɪɴᴏ ᴄʟᴜʙ, a serpent was everstill and coiling, about to strike a meal it could swallow whole.
"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS, I WOULD NEVER COUNT CARDS!"
a man in a custom-fitted evening jacket was floundering into realness, rim-red eyes from liquor fermented too deep, a defensive stance that only told any half-interested onlooker that the allegation he so vehemently denied had truth enough to cut more than just skin.
some men, in desperation, believe the strength of their speech is a mirror to the power of their nature and repute. "HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN A PATRON, AND TO BE ACCUSED LIKE THIS?"
a custom .45 automatic kissed the wrinkled flesh of a too-warm temple before he could finish his appealing set. still half to standing, the man's mouth opened and closed like an ill-timed marionette. mingi didn't so much as raise his gaze to see above the rim of his shades as he threatened with perfect aim.
stuttering, then, a heartbeat lost in syncopation, the gentleman was all joints, jumping and over-animated, hands skittering over his own alarm before recalling the firearm of his own in his coat pocket. he reached, a bid to grasp for what lay so close at hand, a way to bolster against all he was losing and crawl out of what he was slipping down the esophagus and into—
— "i wouldn't do that if i were you." a loaded click, the cocking of another gun. this one dug into the perfect comb of the back of his head.
— some men cease to squirm when they realize they're caught in a hunting snare.
"hey, naekko."
(hey, baby. hey, lover. hey, mine.)
a too casual rolling of the sharpest of eyes. "be careful. this one looks excited."
the gentleman choked on his own terror-drawn bile.
when ᴅᴇᴏᴋʜᴇᴇ spoke again, it was a venom-sweet drawl that curled around the shell of his undeserving ear. half-amused, like this was a skit she'd payed front row tickets too, half steeped in threat. "we don't let just anyone stiff an establishment of the serpens."
"t-to even know i was cheating the house, he would've had to—"
— blood splattered on the poker chips, a fresh coat of paint that would be left glinting as a way to remind.
— the music had never truly ceased, and so there was nothing to filter back into stagnant air. gunpowder settled. flesh crumpled. deokhee leaned forward to blow the smoke off her lovers gun. patrons of passing interest paid cursory glances: listless, dim curiosity of what the police force would chalk it up to in vague newspaper headlines come the morrow. a skim of the lapel and it's pin. ah. not a politician. alas. not someone from whom they were getting paid.
— the croupier finished the rest of the liquor in the gentleman's glass, composure that earned him employment at such an establishment, his cold regard turning from mingi to the body with blood pouring fresh.
— mingi pushed his sunglasses up into the dark of his hair with a belated sigh.
"diane still has you cleaning up small time messes?" deokhee's usual biting assessment was laced with causal preoccupation, already shooting a conspiratorial grin to the croupier as he passed her a cigarette. "and here i thought you were planning a date for us, not quickening a funeral."
something rumbled deep in mingi's chest, and when their passionless companion left them to get a vest freshly pressed, off to man another round table of debt and dread, deokhee walked up to her dutiful lover, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone before innocently kissing his pouting lips. "glasses are new."
"you like 'em?"
when he bent down to pick up the body, she pulled them off his head.
"remind me a bit of san's."
"they are," and his voice carried that near-constant amiability, "compensation for picking off this one"—mingi jostled the man slung over his shoulder—"and the expensive drinks. cypher is ridiculous..."
"and you have a few more added to your tab, jagi. puppetmaster's picking up."
mingi groaned, and the scattered popping of deokhee's laughter was all chagrin and firearm ammunition.
— the usher that, face scrunched in disgust at the body and perhaps his own rotting luck at being tasked with seeing them out, led the two out the back entrance of cypher, reluctantly gave deokhee a light when she gestured for one. the door unceremoniously shut, and the lights of the casino' signage cast her cool arrogance in a hypnotic glow.
somewhere, a dog was barking and street vendors were heckling, but in the closeness of the alley, here, for a hairbreadth a moment, there was just the blur of burning, the blaze of her bold.
mingi made a comment about dry cleaning.
her laughter was smoke.
— "next time san asks a job beneath you, tell him he's the dog on diane's leash, not you."
and silence was something twisted when he bore it: uncertain and mutilated, too-stiff and dull.
— when ᴋɪᴍ ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ stepped beneath the slanted awning of cypher's back alley, deokhee's cigarette was smouldering, and the rapid-fire of her ramblings were painting the alley warm. mingi wrapped every other syllable around the curve of his lips and when he tugged them to grinning, pulled her in for an absent minded kiss.
the corpse lay before them like an afterthought, ashes flicked in belated intervals.
— hongjoong's usual coat was gone, and he rolled up his sleeves before squatting before the carcass, running gloved fingers over would be seams.
if they listened, flesh squished beneath the knife.
— "i hear you played two whole games against him."
kim hongjoong only spoke when he had the taunting reason to, twisting the knife in movements almost-precise, like carving could be a trade of his, if there was ever a reason for wont.
— mingi's voice was thick when he spoke, reverberating somewhere in the belly, entrails of the man before him. "wanted to be sure it was the right target before i shot him"— and that earned a mindless "generous" murmured in the flesh of hongjoong's shoulder as he severed a head; a stuttered explanation following —"they all look the same in there. a dress code or something."
and hongjoong smiled because clawing into relevance always had unspoken attire, and in his way — with the flicker of memory in an eyeline that snagged on deokhee — mingi revealed something else, perhaps more true.
— "so how was he?" a sharp jerk of hongjoong's head, now cocked to one side as he traced long, lithe lines down the inside of a left arm. he split a man down the crease of his suit jacket, flaying fabric and skin. a deepening of his glee. "in poker, i mean."
— "slow," and somehow, a reflection of the current speaker, despite his usual tone and overflow. perhaps this reticence was a cautious deference, so like the blood of his sister, perhaps it was drowning in something more. "but decent."
— deokhee grew tired of listening to the stilted way the two men would speak. "wouldn't have been a match at all, for me."
if he heard the quiet challenge in the depths of her speech, hongjoong made no acknowledgement. "half of that gambling hall wouldn't be, if your twin is to be believed." then, with more bite in his grin, "i still have reservations, though."
"bold, when your face is at my boot."
"calculated." he didn't miss a beat. "which is only half true of this one." hongjoong pulled at a cut of him with a bone-riddled crunch, blood running free.
— a half moment later, he stood. more crimson, now, staining his dark shirt to match that of mingi's. hongjoong pulled a slaughter-red handkerchief out of his breast pocket to wipe his hands, and with a half look and no words, commanded mingi to bag the pieces he scavenged.
— "anything to report about ᴇᴅᴇɴ?" his question was directed at deokhee, now, with the air of casualty that teased he knew all along she'd end up here at just the preicse time to reply, and she stared back at him, only half interested.
"other than confirming names of recruits with a penchant for the pool hall across the street, no. you'll need more invested dogs if you want to catch anything." deokhee kicked her heel before a pool of blood.
— the two serpent seniors shared apathetic conversation about what all would come of the night's main event ("do i want to know why he's split like rare cuts of beef?" "repaying jackson wang for an old deed." "he's gonna sell him back to the family piecemeal, isn't he?" "..." "there's a reason why i don't bet against the luminary."), and the tension building in the gun still diligently bending beneath them built to a snapping.
— "where's okal?" mingi's countenance was too-earnest when he turned to the puppetmaster before him, teeth gnawing the inside of his cheek. his eyes were wide behind his shades — the white glass of them seen in the slit gap of vulnerability only granted from a vantage place above — and when he caught the man already staring, he turned his head.
as though being seen was admitting to already going to the luminary earlier that evening; admitting to walking through the side doors that had once been a home stretch; admitting to stopping before he turned down the too-familiar aisles that would lead to the rooms always haunted by mercenaries, because truly going there would mean allowing the depths of him to be placed on a butchers floor, again, to be hooked up to electrical wires that still sparked in distant corners of his mind; admitting to almost setting things right.
and that he couldn't do. not for three years, yet.
— "your guess... and your aim is better than mine."
(deokhee couldn't contain herself. a need to diffuse the pressure cooker of regretting dread. "lovers spat?" "privacy." a nasal-leaning scoff.)
— "you heading to the luminary?" hongjoong's shadows flickered as though affirming, and in the hairbreadth before the faltering of his pride, there was almost, within mingi, a burgeoning resolve. "when you see her, will you tell me?"
— "you could always come."
— and mingi sighed, twisting his wrists in a half motion — like he meant to obscure them in his pockets but found them too bloodstained to be worth hiding, now. "ah, no... she won't be working tonight. it's a... anniversary, of sorts."
— hongjoong passed mingi a cloth to wipe the gore. first blood to keep him busy, then plausibility to wash his hands. if anyone knew how to drown in excess, it was mingi, and still, his feelings were transparent to a place of reckless.
"i'm sure the luminary's seen her." distant sound came from the front entrance; a bacchanal was starting. soon, they'd be wanting the vulnerability of hearts. "wang sees everything there, and your sister's nothing if not routine."
ᴠɪꜱᴄᴇʀᴀʟ, ʀᴇʟᴏᴀᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ๋࣭ 🂾 ₊♜⭑ ๋࣭⌯⁍ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.
— "i wouldn't be so skeptical if i were you, san. keep eyeing her like that and when you go to have a sip, boom." wooyoung tapped a rhythm fast on the counter of the bar and san rolled his eyes, a too-fond smile already threatening to break through his keen-eyed composure. mayari laughed, twisting a cap off another bottle stamped with hoku's seal.
— "that's not how that would work."
— a conspiratorial leaning in: "so then you do know how." the glass bottles were winking, and mayari's grin-in-response only goaded wooyoung to be more over the top, his high spirits all sparks threatening to light any solitary drinker with a fire infectious and bright. the luminary wasn't a place for disconsolate imbibing to begin, but with wooyoung present, the threat of any slight frown was annihilated. san breathed, content.
— "if you give her any more reason to, wooyo, she'll detonate yours, first."
— mayari laughed and wooyoung's eyes went comically large before shoving the taller man beside him, chastising him for his supposed rude behavior. mayari finished off their drinks before passing the bottle back to her sister and true bartender beside, a complicated handshake offered in thanks for letting her behind the bar to entertain her two companions serendipitously met.
— wooyoung offered a wink to her sister and mayari groaned. san tipped back the liquor.
"hmm?" wooyoung's attention turned back to the relevant party, gauging san's response. when the twin-shooter saw his friend slip into the luminary's stardrift glow, he claimed he knew the best person to beg a drink off of, a new, innovative high.
"hmm," san agreed, taking another long drink. he nodded at mayari as praise. "you definitely have a future in mixology, if you ever retire the explosives."
"mixology, he says," was wooyoung, with a teasing lilt. "best bartender, to me."
"there is a difference." was mayari's reply.
— the two broke into amiable disagreement as san lapsed into something still scintillant but sharp, surveying the emporium before him: the patrons, the exits, the tickets in everyone's pockets that held their weapons in lock-up reserve. the luminary held a reputation of privilege, pleasure, and peace that few places on mainland soil could claim. it was safe, by the standards of so many mercenary elites and powerplay rivals, but still, it was a hot bed for brawlers and upshots who knew no knuckles of defeat, and san was nothing if not a vigilant: an open-eyed and ever-wary sentinel. a wakeman. a horkos-kept dog. he kept a pulse on every creature writhing within the luminary, and in return, only the neon lights gazed back at him. here, in his minds eye, there was only efficiency crafted in caution.
a weapon never stops guarding his charge.
— "san." but puppetmasters bleed into shadows when others are blinded by lights. "where's your keeper?"
— "on the roof talking with yours." and kim hongjoong liked when dogs were nipping. it made for better play. "so..." san took another drink from his glass. wooyoung had followed his spirits to somewhere more lively. mayari was talking with her sister in another tongue. hongjoong looked over the glass. "how's mingi?"
— "alive." (a dry scoff; as if there was ever doubt) "busy, but not enough."
— san played with the empty of his glass, rolling the curved edge on the counter, lips pursed. hongjoong never bid for one for himself. not likely restraint — he probably drowned something at cypher. "asking about okalani?"
hongjoong didn't need words to give credence to something given.
"at some point he has to stop avoiding her."
"they met four months ago on the hala hala job."
"a drink while passing hostages don't count, kim."
"they hugged." a raised brow. "so says kyung-ah."
"impersonal. mingi'd hug a corpse."
— hongjoong swept his hands against the bar. "and i have one for the keeper. he somewhere around?"
— and of course, there'd be no one better to lead the equerry of demons to the illustrious jackson wang than a soldier posing as a mountain, a holy knight play acting the stoic. san led hongjoong deeper into a greed they were all too familiar, then down into levels more secured. one look at them both, and other sentinels parted, unseen, men who could neither want, nor bleed.
"you don't have to worry about your mercenary, by the way. the demon is just here to talk; no deals, this time. today is... a memory for mingi. diane guessed it was for her, as well."
silence was kim hongjoong's game, but never was impassivity. the indifference to the opaqueness of revelation caught san's attentive eye. he looked deep at the man beside him.
"you knew that already, didn't you?"
"from channels you would respect, this time. i'm hoping for this thing called a long game." and hongjoong's gaze lingered on the neckline of san's tight clothes. beneath fabric, something metallic and finely-crafted heated up, and like a brand, burned. "so are you."
san pointed to one of the many nondescript doors in a snaking long hallway. he shifted in his skin before he could look away. it wasn't as though no one had ever teased it. but something about the assessment of a liar made it feel true.
san turned to go back the way he came.
— "don't give me any more reason to."
ᴠɪꜱᴄᴇʀᴀʟ, ʀᴇʟᴏᴀᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ๋࣭ 🂾 ₊♜⭑ ๋࣭⌯⁍ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.
— somewhere on the long and winding roads that connect all mainland cities like a liberators highway, on the near far-side of skit city and the true home-ground of openness, where everything lived and nothing went to die, park kyung-ah pushed herself back on her bike, so ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ could swing a leg over, in front of her, and settle in the seat to grin.
"you staying for a while yet?" and his face was so close his words were spiral promises caressing her skin. his nose brushed against hers, and she hummed, pretend consideration to prolong the sweetness of sunset.
"nowhere else has called."
"well, i'll call for again." and he kissed her. "and again." yet another. "every day until you choose to just stay."
kyung-ah kissed jungkook with a tenderness deep. "but will you follow, if i do the calling?"
jungkook leaned back, hands on his thighs with eyes twinkling.
"where are you planning on going?"
— and kyung-ah grinned, tilting her head to the right just enough to make the loose strands of her pink locks sway, as though bidden by some breeze. there was a challenge in her look, or perhaps just a restlessness, because the man before her took the silent cue and dismounted to go the motorcycle of his own. kyung-ah blew him a kiss before hiding beneath her helmet, and with a kick of energy, was off. jungkook was lightning in his pursuit of her, and whipping on the signboard behind them, relevant even here, a poster.
ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ: ꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀ ᴏꜰꜰɪᴄᴇʀ ʙᴀɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴ
⌯⁍ ๋࣭ ⭑♜₊ 🂾 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭ 🂾 ₊♜⭑ ๋࣭⌯⁍
pt. vi | | series masterlist
ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :
1 - three years have passed since diane ascended the serpens throne. since then, mingi has become a serpens prospect while okalani has remained a mercenary-for-hire, separating the siblings and drawing lines of tenion.
2 - mingi gets assigned odd jobs from others, and on this night, san has him take out someone who is in debt to jackson wang, owner of the luminary. the job is seemingly busy work, something his lover, deokhee, does not appreciate
3 - kim hongjoong is looking for information on a group named eden, enlisting the help of deokhee, but finding nothing of note.
