Blood cult au, part nine! (First, most recent)
Currently: While Celine has dragged Miyeong off for a walk in the garden—that’s going surprisingly well, odd comments about her height aside—Minji, Mira, and Zoey have helped Rumi down from her little PTSD moment, and started getting on the same page about all of the events that led up to the hospital fire.
Celine was pathetically grateful that Rumi had asked her question as she began drinking a large glass of water. It bought her time to decide what she felt about Rumi asking that question.
The answer was yes on multiple levels. Celine was aware that Rumi and her opinion on whose the house was differed. On one hand - Rumi herself being the one to say that you took such care of her home that she sees it as yours is something deserving of warmth. On the other - it was Rumi's house and Rumi just giving that authority to Celine (especially with that panic attack earlier) was not comforting. Rumi's home and if she wanted to open it to guests- it was open. And Celine was still left scrambling to figure out how much Rumi had figured out,and hadn't in regards to the current times. Because it could be incredibly scatter shot. On one hand, Rumi had figured out that Ryu Miyeong and Minji Park were a couple before Celine had. Which, it was slightly blatant in hindsight. The last boyfriend - and someone there in the emotionally charged aftermath. After all, you didn't just call anyone for help after finding a dead body. Also after the hospital fire became known the two had been much less careful about hiding it. Priorities - Ryu Miyeong admitting that the two had been staying together for the past two nights and Minji Park just finding comfort in her lover's presence. Considering the other foot however - maybe a certain quiet discussion later on current social standards and expectations. Zoey and Mira could cover a lot... but the area in the Ven Diagram where Mira being raised in a presumably extremely conservative cult and Zoey being raised with an American as well as Korean social lenses apparently was hit and miss. "Not noticing" the slip ups probably would have been the better call in this situation. On a second level - Celine was needing to figure out if she should feel ashamed at the idea that the great Rumi thought the answer could possibly be no. Ryu Miyeong had been entirely correct earlier that she and Park Minji needed information. Putting aside all the reasons to want the two around - Celine had an ethical responsibility at the moment towards the two. If someone was dealing with... poltergeist was the English word, that was violently injuring them and the individuals presented no danger to herself, Celine would argue that she was obligated to at least help them find a hotel room that was surreptitiously in areas where the poltergeist was highly unlikely to be able to follow to continue doing the harm until the matter was resolved. Park Minji had only escaped death by demon activity by luck. And depending on how the demons were operating - they might realize they didn't get all the people who were asking questions. Especially if Park-ssi was consistent with having opinions enough to call off work to help Ryu-ssi.
Who in turn had called the police, and was somehow being cut off. Ideally that was entirely supernatural in nature - because the situation became so much worse for everyone if the demons had infiltrated into the computer network of the Seoul Police to the point of eavesdropping on the dispatch channels. For some strange reason - it might be considered that these two women fall under the category of needing sanctuary. It's not like the two were bringing any trouble that wasn't heading their way anyways. Also on purely tactical grounds... Yes. Park Minji was very simple. They needed someone that could help with injuries/assess if they needed to be taken to a hospital because no one wanted a second hospital being burned by demons. Also she was a witness to the known demon hotspot (six demons roaming a specific building absolutely qualified) - and they absolutely needed to pick her brain for all the information she could give as to whether they were dealing with something grown quickly by Gwi-ma or something that already preexisted. Because how was the cult able to locate which hospital Mira was to kidnap her? A question for Park-ssi and her partner Ryu-ssi. And the journalist... well, they already knew that there was something blocking the police from finding out about Mira's brothers death. (Murder implied illegality - the man had been summoning Gwima - protection of self and others fully applied in Celine's opinion.) Someone who could help them trace the operations of the demons would be immensely beneficial. And - lastly on a personal level Celine wouldn't be upset at the two staying for a little bit. Now that she knew that the two were not threats to Rumi but two very frightened individuals who were grasping at smoke because something had gone very very wrong. It would be wonderful to have people her own age to talk to that knew about events. Celine wasn't entirely sure what had been some of the subtext going on in the conversation with Ryu-ssi but the woman had listened. And Celine wanted to see more of the rock steady personality of Minji. Celine didn't mind being distant from others homes and buildings in the area, people could be exhausting. But those two - they already had the feel of people who wouldn't drain her so quickly. Also because there were three young adults in the building, one of whom was centuries away from all she'd known, one had been raised in a cult, and the last having to sort out Americanisms and other aspects out. Knowing when you were over your head was a virtue.
And Celine was very much not overlooking the ability to point Rumi towards the lesbians in a presumably extremely stable relationship with the "I discovered a dead body" and current stressful situations not noticeably straining dynamic. (It even helped make the rooming situation easier if they stayed in the Hanok versus in town.) "As long as they're willing to help chip in on groceries." Celine answered.
“And you have how many open wounds right now?” Minji asks, before even processing the shaman’s reply.
She finds herself tilting her head to give a properly dirty look as it filters through her ears.
(It’s almost like another day at work, even if usually they’re begging college students to subside less on alcohol and energy drinks and more on foods that might actually help prevent vitamin deficiencies, not trying to keep them from killing themselves through blood loss, sepsis, or choking on their own vomit—no, actually, choking on their own vomit brings her back to alcohol.)
(Almost.)
Celine winces slightly, acknowledging the misstep, while Rumi flushes and stiffens.
“That is unimportant,” she says, which means she doesn’t know. While trying to plan some kind of… battle against the demons of Seoul.
Jesus. Minji is going to start screaming and never stop as soon as she slows down, isn’t she?
Then call her halmeoni and apologize for every time she ever thought her beliefs were silly.
“Try the other one,” Mira says.
Rumi, valiantly, tries again. “…I was not planning to leave until we had appropriate provisions, and the travel would take several days besides, so I would be largely healed by then?”
Minji points to her chair.
Rumi sits, and Zoey and Mira promptly engage her in conversation about travel times. Minji tunes out somewhere around, “The cars go how fast?”
It’s… difficult. She’s lost people before, she knows this feeling. The poking in the back of her head like when her father passed, every little thing reminding her.
And she’s been through mass casualty events before—car wrecks piled up, construction site collapses. She knows that feeling, too, like she’ll never get the blood off of her hands.
Both at once is hell.
Mingyu liked cars. Gyeonghui could cook like no one else. Seulgi ran every work event like the navy.
She has to force each sentence into the past tense. They don’t belong there. They’re not supposed to be. They’re supposed to be present, waiting, when she arrives back at work.
They won’t be.
How many open wounds does she have right now?
Minji couldn’t tell you.
Miyeong sits down and offers her a tired half-smile. Minji makes no attempt to return it.
“She’s nice, actually,” Miyeong says. “Celine.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Minji sighs.
Miyeong wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulls her close. She smells like motel body wash and flowers. Minji wishes she smelled like blood, but she lets her friend hold her up nonetheless.
She doesn’t know what else to do.
Truly, Rumi decides, this is an era of wonders.
"So we can leave at once!" Rumi sits up straighter, the dull throb from her injuries the only thing that keeps her from launching to her feet and marching out the door. "If it will just take a matter of hours to travel to Seoul, then there is no need for provisions! We will be back here to sup come evening!"
Modern travel was miraculous. And highly convenient!
"Okay, pendulum kinda swung too hard the other way." Zoey shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We still need to, like, pack."
Rumi tilts her head confusedly. "...But you just said it is less than a day's journey. We can come back here just as fast. Packing should be unnecessary?"
Zoey makes a scrunched-up face, like she's trying to say 'yes' and 'no' at the same time. Mira is nursing along the last of her smoothie, not saying much; she had already admitted to not having much experience with travel ("evil cut family vacations aren't really a thing"), and Rumi suspects the- what was the word?- painkillers she took several hours past have worn off by now and her jaw is troubling her.
A horrible thought seizes her.
Did she ask a bad question?
"Here, perhaps this will help." Before she can apologize and take it back the honored shaman pushes off from the counter she's been leaning against and removes a folded piece of paper from the drawer (so much paper in this era...) and comes to the table.
Rumi's heart stutters as she watches her country unfurl amid the breakfast dishes. She knows...it has changed; what she learned during their car ride into town the day before (has it really only been a day?) still haunts the back of her mind like the scent of smoke that lingers long after a fire's been extinguished.
But here is Seoul, where Gyeongbok Palace stood shining and proud (was it still there?); here is the Han, a hooked blue line curving its way to the coast; here is Jeju, her home.
True, the colors are too bright, the paper too crisp, and...she is not sure of some of the city names or what some of the lines mean. But if she looks at it hard enough, focuses on the places and geographical features she does know, she can almost see herself back in her study, standing over a table with the children of the hanok crowded around as she gives a geography lesson.
She wondered what happened to them...if they were alright after Jinu-
The thought is leaden, and she forces herself from under it back to the present.
Mira is smirking at Celine. "You know only old people use these, right?"
Rumi blinks. They do? Wait...does that make her old? But Mira looks like it's funny so maybe it's a joke?
She is not sure she understands modern humor...
Celine is unruffled by the maybe-jab. "Being able to navigate via map is a useful survival skill. Unlike your phone, the mind does not run out of battery when you need it most."
"I have a solar charger!" Zoey pipes up, face un-scrunched.
Celine's eye twitches.
Ryu Miyeong pipes up. "Well, suppose the day is overcast. Maps are useful then!"
"Not that you know how to read one," Park Minji rouses herself enough to add, giving her friend a little nudge.
"...Okay, but! I can still appreciate their usefulness."
(Ryu Miyeong seems oddly determined to please the shaman, Rumi notes; likely just grateful for agreeing to open her home to them)
"Anyway." Before Zoey and Mira can reveal how their phones stay functional on cloudy days Celine's finger is tracing an imaginary line from Jeju to Seoul. "I know travel is faster now than it was, but the distance is still the same, as is our need for food and water. Plus it would be wise to bring medical supplies and a change of clothes or two if we end up staying somewhere overnight."
That makes sense. Rumi nods. The world has changed, but it also has not. Or perhaps it is people that have remained constant, beneath the technology and strange clothes and customs and jokes she does not understand.
A groan from Ryu Miyeong interrupts her musings before they can veer too hard into philosophy. "Shoot..." she turns to Park Minji. "We don't have a change of clothes!"
Park Minji gives her a flat look. "We are wearing yesterday's clothes which we slept in and you're just realizing this now?"
Ryu Miyeong stammers and colors as Celine looks at her and Rumi gets the sense that she is not the only one who's travel-planning skills are somewhat...lacking.
Thankfully, with their trip the day before, neither Miyeong-ssi nor Minji-ssi are stuck drowning in Celine’s clothing, as the girls had been.
Perhaps she ought to take to keeping a small supply of clothing about in more average sizes—while she regularly donates to winter clothing drives and the like, it is always good to be able to give to those in present need, rather than asking them to wait or giving indirect aid.
On the other hand, recent events might not recur.
Celine waits until she’s trailing behind Mira and Zoey before she makes a quick note in her phone to keep track of the idea. Happy as she is that they’re comfortable enough to tease her, they don’t need any more ammunition.
“Mira and I just got a few outfits, since we actually had clothes that we, y’know, might have the chance to get back to, but it’s definitely still enough to share,” Zoey promises, as if either Minji-ssi or Miyeong-ssi had hesitated for a moment at the promise of clean clothing. “Mira, what do you think, is she closer to my size or Rumi’s?”
As Mira and Zoey whisk Minji-ssi off in a whirlwind of fashion, Celine catches Rumi-nim leaning over towards Miyeong-ssi—and, well, the reporter had certainly proven much less aggressive than her first impression, but it would still probably be smart of Celine to keep an ear out.
She lets herself linger outside the doorway of the guest room, watching them down the hall from the corner of her eye.
“I do not mean to embarrass you,” Rumi-nim starts softly, “so, please, do not take this as an insult towards your intelligence—“
And Miyeong-ssi’s eyebrows are already climbing, in spite of the quiet earnestness of Rumi-nim’s tone.
“—but rather a statement of my own ignorance, as I have no knowledge of how widespread these ‘showers’ have become in replacement of the baths used in my time. Are you familiar with their use?”
Miyeong-ssi blinks, and some small part of Celine braces itself, protective, though of course Rumi-nim does not need her for that.
But Miyeong-ssi smiles, and there is not a hint of mockery or condescension. “I am, thank you.”
“There was some… disarray… after my first attempt,” Rumi-nim adds, her voice so low Celine had to strain to hear it. “If your knowledge is only theoretical…”
The humility and kindness with which she conducts herself makes Celine wish that she had understood half so much from the stories. After the awkwardness of teaching the great Rumi herself how to properly use a shower curtain, it echoes on like this: gently averting a problem before it could arise, even at cost of her own pride.
“Showers are very common,” Miyeong-ssi explains gently. “They have them in bathhouses now, even.”
It is, Celine thinks, a very good thing that Miyeong-ssi had not responded poorly. Minji-ssi’s taste is not altogether incomprehensible.
It's almost a shame she's committed to keeping this story off the record, Miyeong thinks as she heads towards the bathroom, arms laden with clothes generously provided by the 'violent hate-filled demon, Rumi of Jeju.'
She hates libel as a rule, but especially when it's aimed at someone like Rumi, such a kind-hearted and giving person (and yes, she would use 'person,' considering she was a better one than most of the ones Miyeong's met). The thought that someone could harbor such animosity towards her, enough to spread lies that all but buried the truth, made her want to hunt down every author of the niche dissertations and esoteric website and- do something.
But Minji's entire shift- so many of her friends- was gone because of actual demons and, like her friend, she didn't want anyone else to get hurt.
Kang Mira and Choi Zoey were safe, Rumi was far from a danger to the world, and there was a very nice mudang involved who seemed to be enjoying her company. That was enough. This would stay the best story she never wrote and she was fine with that. Still, she could fantasize about what she would do if, one day, she happened to find one of Rumi's detractors.
Punching someone in the nose would probably be a bad idea, considering she'd broken her hand when she tried out her ex's punching bag. But maybe she could still manage a roundhouse kick? Her teenage years weren't that long ago, right? And she'd almost gotten a blackbelt; that had to count for something...
"OOF!"
Musings on the merits of being an almost-blackbelt came to a screeching halt as Miyeong stumbled backward, rubbing her forehead where it'd knocked into the chin of the person she'd just walked into. Hard.
"Sorry about that," she groaned, blinking the stars from her eyes and gave a little self-deprecating chuckle. "Not really used to having to look out for-"
Celine was standing in front of her, a fresh pile of towels in her arms.
MIyeong was suddenly beset by stars of a different variety.
"-You."
Instantly, Miyeong wanted to kick herself. That was the lamest possible way to finish that sentence and, more importantly, not what she meant to say!
Why did she keep doing that she never did that she was always completely in control of her mouth why-
Celine lifted a brow, looking distinctly amused. "Well, since we just met this morning, I would expect not."
Miyeong blinked, brain crashing to a 404 error screen.
Was Celine...making a joke? About something she said? The hot hot gorgeous TALL shaman thought she was funny?!?
And she was smiling at her again.
Yes, she thought as she took the towels Celine offered her, she was very fine with how her investigation was playing out.
Minji wasn’t ashamed to admit that she sat down and cried in the shower.
The moment she was alone, herself and no one else, no one needing her to help them, it crashed over her, sending her to the ground.
It hurt.
She didn’t have better words than that. It hurt.
So she cried until the water ran cold, and then she cried some more.
She was a wreck when she finally turned the water off, from the tangled mess of her hair all the down to her slightly numb toes. But she didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.
Rumi’s stolen shirt was soft in the way that only brand new clothes had, easy to pull on, but the jeans she’d borrowed from Zoey had her nearly crying for no fucking reason.
Minji squeezed her sore eyes shut, jeans halfway around her thighs, and hiccuped at the sheer misery of it. All her friends were dead, and she had to put on pants?
Her head hurt and she was cold and all of her friends were dead and never, never coming back.
She fumbled at the jeans until she finally got them on, pausing against to wallow in the awfulness of having succeeded at that when nothing was supposed to be right, this petty little victory when there where demons lighting her fucking hospital on fire, and then breathed deep and slow until she trusted herself to open the door.
Rumi—strange, young-old, maybe-demon Rumi—found her first, expression soft with the kind of non-judgement Minji usually only saw in professionals. But that made sense, from the Joseon equivalent of a domestic violence advocate.
How pathetic, that she needed to be taken care of. This was her job.
(And everyone she worked with was—)
“I made tea,” Rumi said. “That is, green tea. If you would like some.”
“Thank you,” Minji said, wanting not at all to sit through a tea ceremony. She could hold it together. She could meet them where they were.
Rumi nodded. “It is on the back porch, if you would like. Or in the kitchen, with everyone else.”
Professional.
Minji laughed, the sound tired and broken. “Thank you. I—“
Words gave out. Pathetic.
“…I will take you to the back porch,” Rumi said gently. “I will stay until you are ready, or until you want me to leave.”
Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately?) this is a familiar routine for Rumi. Taking Minji by the elbow, she shepherds her to the back porch, choosing a route that circumvents the kitchen; even though the eyes there would be full of concern- had been when Rumi left to check on Minji- they are doubtless not something Minji-ssi wishes to face just yet.
She'd already set the table on the porch, tea and cups and linens (or, well, paper linens) and a box of the strange tissues that were applied to tears with religious regularity in this century (also made of paper; was there no end to what it was used for now?). Minji sinks gratefully into the chair Rumi pulled out and watches numbly as she pours two steaming cups.
She mumbles a tired 'thank you' as she takes it and sighs her way through a long sip, watching the flowers bob in the breeze. Not talking, but that is fine. Kyung-ja hadn't either, when she first came to the hanok, shaken speechless in more ways than one by her- well, by the time she sat down for tea on the porch, former husband.
Not like Jung-soon, who'd found relief and comfort in letting her thoughts flow unrestrained from mind to tongue. She told good stories. Kyung-ja, too, once she recovered.
And both of their children had been so sweet and bright and full of laughter...she can almost- almost hear them now, beneath the breeze and chimes hanging from the roof, and part of her almost expects to see them come around the corner any second.
But they won't, the memory slams into her like a stick beating a rug, the calm that had settled over her shuddering off and into the air. They're gone.
There's a burning feeling in the back of her eyes. She knew that. She knew that. It's just...
It only felt like last week they were all sitting on this porch together, laughing over the ducklings the children had tried to sneak into the house.
But it wasn't.
Her hand clenches on the cup.
She knows, she knows, she knows, she-
She just saw them last week.
"You're a regular pro at this."
Rumi jolts back to the porch and the present. Minji is smiling wearily across the table. She nods politely. "Thank you. I...am not very experienced with the finer points of cooking, but have much practice with tea."
"I don't mean that." Minji glances at the cup. "But the tea is good." She tips her head, as if indicating the porch as a whole, the table, the two of them. "This. Helping people."
Rumi glances away, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. She...never did get used to such compliments. "I very much enjoy it. It gives me purpose."
Minji nods, understanding. "You'd have made a good nurse." Then, before Rumi can respond to that (how does one respond to that?) Minji sighs and sits back. "Sorry if I'm kind of...out of it right now. Swear, I'm not usually this-"
"No!" Rumi reaches across the table to lay a hand atop one of Minji's. "It is alright. You have helped us a great deal today; it is an honor to return the kindness. And there is nothing wrong with accepting help from friends."
How many times had she sat on this porch, steam curling from cups of tea, and said those same words to another?
Minji sighs deeply. "Thanks. Again."
"If you want to talk," Rumi says, treading lightly. "If you think it will help, I can listen."
Minji doesn't say anything for a long moment, then leans back in her chair, face tipped towards the rafters and squeezes her eyes shut. "I can't believe they're all gone..." she whispers, the sentence hanging heavy in the air.
It wraps around the posts supporting the roof, twines through the rafters, and brushes away the wafting tendrils of steam, settling like mist around them.
Rumi squeezes her hand, hearing laughter and voices haunting the air.
She knows the feeling...
“Jaeho probably summoned the first wraiths to help get me out of the hospital,” Mira explains. “He was always insecure about mindf—about mind altering magic.”
Miyeong snorts at her self-censorship. Celine doesn’t react.
Mira wonders what it says about her that she feels more at nearly swearing in front of real adults than she does at talking like this about her recently dead brother. “The maximum that kind of spell can do is forty. I’d say Jaeho could probably get ten on a good day.”
(Not that their mother would have ever let him, of course. She never had the Kang taste for summonings, always wary of how they could go wrong, get out of control.
From her current perspective, Mira can’t help but agree.)
(She wonders what Jaeho sacrificed, where he did it. There weren’t any signs of a previous summoning in the living room when he brought her back, and he wouldn’t have wasted any time cleaning up after himself.)
“So we have a minimum of six enemies, and a maximum of ten?” Zoey asks, scribbling away. “How do we find them?”
She’s appointed herself their note-taker. So Rumi and Minji can catch up when they get back. It’s considerate of her.
“I can make talismans for that,” Celine says. “Hopefully, they’ll be clustered together. The scrolls all say that wraiths tend to stick to what’s familiar, though that might mean… Rumi-nim will be able to tell us for certain.”
Miyeong closes her eyes for a moment, leaning back from the table. Something about that idea—wraiths returning to the routines of their living counterparts—scares her. She doesn’t share, though.
“What about the banishment?” Mira asks. “Do you have cursed wine lying around?”
“I have shinkal,” Celine replies, which… makes sense for a mudang. Of course she would do things the right way, instead of feeding the wraiths hellwine.
(Mira’s only seen it a few times. It’s not pretty.)
“And,” Celine adds, after a moment, something like excitement flickering behind her eyes, “I have Rumi-nim’s sword.”
Minji shakes her head. The very idea makes her want to be ill. How could she remember so many people?
But—
Who else is left to remember but Rumi?
“Who was the first person you brought here?” she asks, impulsively.
Rumi casts her a startled look, but swallows it behind her practiced calm only a moment later. It’s an odd way she has, a noblewoman straight out of a period drama in her diction and bearing meeting a punk college kid with her hair and tattoos. She doesn’t quite fit.
Minji doesn’t clarify her question—the point isn’t to get an answer, it’s to get Rumi to answer. A more specific question that might feel more possible to cope with than the one she’d offered Minji, sneaking the emotional processing in underneath.
“I was fifteen,” Rumi says, at last. “Chaeyoung was my maid. My father wanted me to have someone close to my age to interact with. She—I grew worried.
“She is—she was—I have never known anyone braver or more loyal. Nor anyone else willing to put the lady of the house to work on the linens, regardless of whether I asked.
I wouldn’t… I don’t know how to exist without her.”
It’s more an image painted in silences than in words, but Minji grasps enough. She nods, offers out her hand across the gap between them.
Rumi takes it. “I am sorry, I was meant—I intended to allow you to speak freely, not to make such a moment about myself.”
“That would be me,” Minji corrects. “Mostly because I’m so lost that knowing anyone is down here with me is enough kindness.”
Rumi laughs. “You deserve far more, Minji-ssi.”
“It helps to know I’m not alone in being without them,” Minji points out. “Besides, it’s important that your family be remembered.”
Rumi stares at her a long while and, paradoxically, her face looks far younger as it softens under their weight of grief—less some immortal memory and far more just another young woman.
“Then I will endeavor not to be alone with you,” she says, and Minji’s tired heart breaks a little more.
“Same, kid,” she says, and she squeezes Rumi’s hand.
"YOU HAVE A SWORD?!?"
Zoey's shout from the kitchen catches on Rumi's ear and pulls her attention towards the door, setting aside for the moment her thoughts about last week the distant past.
She had left Zoey and Mira and the honorable shaman and Miyeong-ssi discussing plans for returning to Seoul and addressing the wraiths Jaeho had left behind. Weaponry was to be an expected part of the conversation and not something that merited eavesdropping (never mind Zoey's volume demanded effort to not overhear). But...hearing mention of a sword...in the house that used to be her own...
It caused something in her, a small hopeful something, to stir.
Was it possible...?
Part of her wanted to leap up and run to the kitchen, ask if the sword in question was what she dared not hope, but she remained seated, hand tight in Minji-ssi's; she was hostess, Minji-ssi her guest, and more importantly she'd promised to stay.
But...perhaps she was out of practice at masking her desires, because Minji-ssi glances towards the kitchen, then at Rumi. "How about we see what all that's about?" She asks, tipping her head towards the kitchen as she stands. "Not sure how much I trust Miyeong's judgment if swords are involved..."
She'll have to work on that, Rumi thinks to herself even as she nods and accompanies Minji-ssi inside. Lest she let on just how much she wants and show everyone what a selfish, horrible creature she is.
Zoey is sinking back into her chair as they enter, visibly abashed by her exuberant outburst, but the honorable shaman is nodding pleasantly, clearly unbothered by what Zoey seems to think is a grave transgression. "Well, technically it's Rumi-nim's sword; I've just been safekeeping it. But-"
"It's here?" The words fly from Rumi's mouth before she can stop them, and now all four heads at the table are turned towards the doorway. Rumi knew she should bow and apologize for bursting in like that but…
Celine-ssi had her sword.
Far from being irked at Rumi's lamentable lack of manners, Celine-ssi actually looks pleased. Glows, like-
Like her father did the day he presented it to her.
"It's in my office. Would you like to see?"
Rumi's nodding before she even finishes.
Because the women and children of the hanok were lost to her, but she could at least reclaim some small part of her old life.
And while she did not doubt the honorable shaman's veracity, it wouldn't be true, it wouldn't be real, until the sword- her sword- was resting in her hands.
The tea is left to grow cold while Celine leads a small procession to her office, Zoey bouncing along since "there's no way I'm missing this!" and Mira keeping pace with a more sedate but no less eager enthusiasm. Miyeong-ssi and Minji-ssi bring up the rear.
Part of Rumi feels disgusting and selfish for doing this, causing them to break up their planning session to indulge her, but then-
Then they're in the room Rumi noticed her first night in the hanok, the one with the desk and strange large rectangle of black glass that looked like Mira's phone but larger.
Then Celine-ssi goes to a section of wood paneled wall and tugs, revealing a sort of closet.
Then Zoey whistles, eyes running over the contents before fixing on a set of golden-tasseled shin kal, and Mira's hand grips her wrist before she can reach out and touch.
Then Celine-ssi pulls down a long, flat box of polished wood, a tiger with sinewy muscles rolling beneath its coat leaping proudly across the lid, and holds it out to Rumi with a bow. "It is my honor, Rumi-nim, to return what is rightfully yours."
A dangerous concept for a demon, 'rightfully yours;' it signifies owning and wanting, satisfying all those most wicked impulses. But just this once she lets the thought go uncorrected.
Heart is fluttering in her fingertips as she reaches out with trembling hand to undo the latch.
Mira watches as Rumi undoes the latch on the ornate box. The eagerness, the want etched into her frame gives way to something much softer as she pulls out her sword.
Zoey is vibrating so much that she might as well be still. Mira isn’t sure that Celine is breathing. Rumi’s sword is so different from the gaudy ceremonial daggers and gem studded ritual knives her family favours favoured—and clearly, it has been lovingly cared for. The pommel’s gold inlay shines under the office light. Painted constellations and warding charms cover the freshly lacquered sheath.
It radiates a quiet, regal authority. It reminds Mira of Rumi herself.
Rumi runs a hand along the engraved crossguard. Then she traces her fingers across the sheath. Equal parts pain and wonder flicker across her face.
She blinks, turns to Celine, and bows low. “Thank you, Mudang-nim. You have taken such wonderful care.”
Celine finally seems to exhale. “As I said, it is my honour.”
“ARE YOU GOING TO DRAW IT?!” Mira jumps at the explosion of sound. Zoey, mortified, slaps her free hand over her mouth. Mira squeezes her hand in reassurance. Rumi smiles at them—sword in hand, she looks hot lighter than she has since Mira met her. Rumi’s fingers twitch along her sword’s leather grip and she swallows, hesitant, and flicks her gaze between them.
Mira nods in encouragement. Sue her, she wants to see the cool sword as much as Zoey.
She nudges Zoey and jerks her head at Rumi’s sword. “Well? Don’t keep us waiting!”
Rumi smiles again, still careful but… hopefully buoyed by them and not pressured, before looking to Celine.
“Please.” Celine gestures.
Rumi leads them all out into the yard in front of the tree. There is a newfound confidence to Rumi that was not there before, like she has reclaimed a missing piece of herself. Mira tramps down on the butterflies in her stomach.
Rumi turns to Celine, “Mudang-nim, will you sing for me?”
Celine wipes the surprise off her face and nods resolutely.
With a whisper of sanctified steel, Rumi unsheathes her sword. The Saingeom sings with power as Rumi begins to move to the rhythm of Celine’s voice.
