Salutations! Pleased to meet you! My name is Von (36/Any/EST) and I am thrilled to bring Sparky to this exciting world of District X! Please, feel free to reach out if you are interested in writing with this eccentric, sad, reckless overnight cook at the Toast & Coffee Diner who just wants to feed people while he continues to search for meaning in his life. Very much open to random starters (just tag me!) and ask starters. DMs are always open for plotting!
★ Bio
★ Dossier
★ Powers
★ Tracker
★ Wanted Connections
★ Urbane #501
★ Starters
★ Headcanons
jaeyong thinks he has the landscape of toast & coffee figured out by now.
for example, weekends always have some degree of business no matter what time of day (or night) it is. late week nights tend to be more predictable, and a lot less busy. after six months of coming at least once a week, he's started to recognize some of the other patrons as staples of toast & coffee on that night of the week. sparky, of course, is also a staple. he's been working every late night jaeyong has been a customer for as long as he can remember.
he also knows that on monday night at midnight – tuesday morning, technically – nobody sits at the diner counter except for him.
thankfully, it wasn't "a rough day at the office" today, but he did have to spend time in the labs after his regular enhanced agent duties, and he also had band practice. so goes most mondays, and even when the schedule is different, he usually finds himself at toast & coffee at midnight anyway.
"so," jaeyong begins, resting both of his elbows on the counter and his chin on his hands. sparky is in the process of making jaeyong's requested two omelets – one for himself and one to take back home to his twin brother. "who was the weirdest patron you had today? and you can't say me. that's cheating."
After busy weekends with partying throughout the district, the following Monday nights were cross between blissfully and disturbingly quiet which thrilled him to no end. As much as he loved to cook, busy nights meant he was swamped with orders and didn't really have time to interact with customers.
This this time of night, however--morning? night? time was still a weird concept for him, even eight years later. For Sparky, for nearly two decades, there had simply been "daytime" and "night time"--nothing more, nothing less, and he often lost track of the passage. In fact, all he could rely on were the seasons and moon phases--much like the early ancestors, right? Calendars? Weeks? Not helpful unless he wanted to get to specifics. But apparently, those specifics were important to people--especially when it came to employment; it wasn't like he could just not abide by any set work calendar, so Sparky relied pretty heavily on setting alarms and reminders in his handy-dandy smart phone to make sure he actually showed up to the diner on time.
He was a work in progress.
But oh! Look at that! Quiet nights brought out the more delightful regulars, and he was more than happy to prepare two perfect omelets for him. The moment Jaeyong asked about his weirdest patron, Sparky immediately spun around, spatula in hand, ready to point it dramatically at the guy with "YOU!" as a proclamation ... before the stipulation was placed that his answer could NOT be Jaeyong, warranting his lips to be frozen mid-syllable before he could even get the world out. His expression morphed into a sarcastic pout. "Killjoy," he muttered with a tease, his face returning to a smile as she returned to the omelets.
"Hmmm ... weird patrons. I guess that would be this bird guy," he continued to speak as he cooked, voice carrying over the sizzling sounds of the skillet. "He spoke only in, like, bird calls. I had no idea what he was trying to order, and the server had no idea what he was trying to order, but he pointed to a picture of an omelet, so I started making an omelet, and he went berserk because I guess he didn't realize that omelets are made from eggs, and he started, like, squawking like a chicken and hopping all over the place, knocking things over. Kinda reminded me of a demented cucco from the Zelda games."
toast & coffee 24h diner
( 8 years ago )
with @sparkydx
a fresh bruise marred sae’s face—a reminder of yet another fight he’d gotten into. apparently, the kid was just familiarizing himself with his new routine of squabbling with the foolhardy customers ( and strangers ) somewhere in the neighborhood. the dark circles beneath his eyes, deep and prominent, only added to his image as the punk who always seemed to make the headlines for school violence. last night, he did not sleep well. he was bitten by the bugs.
ironically, no matter how much of a threat he posed, sae was still a child in his boss' eyes. hence, as a punishment for punching one of their customers in the face, the kid had to clean every corner of the restaurant in one week straight. leaving behind the thinnest layer of dust and his ass would be fired. and, of course, no more punches.
sae was mopping the kitchen floor with a long face when he saw the new cook walked in. they barely exchanged words since the standard introductions—name, age, job title. truthfully, sae couldn’t care less. in his mind, people took these jobs for one reason: money. there was no need to get friendly, no point in getting to know each other better.
"hello." he greeted sparky in the most dull, monotone and emotionless tone of voice. "good evening, sir. i'm cleaning up your working space, almost done now."
With as much as Sparky loved to read -- especially upon discovering that he could have access to entire newspapers and journals instantly on his phone -- he liked to consider himself at last somewhat knowledgeable about the place he now called home. Given, he was still getting used to how the world worked; this transition was not the smoothest, but he was doing his best, learning as much as he could and just trying to fit in ... though not always doing thee best job at it. This adjustment was almost painful; with as much as he knew, just living normally was a challenge.
What he WAS good at, though, was cooking. Did he sometimes wish he could slap an unruly customer in the side of the head with a hot skillet? Yes. But that wouldn't be sanitary and apparently violence is frowned upon in this establishment. Fine. He'd do his best to be well-behaved in these scenarios.
What he wasn't expecting, though, was seeing a kid cleaning up his space; it was one of the reasons why Sparky got there early, having fully expected to clean it up himself and organize it efficiently. "... uh ... thanks ..." he muttered as he took his apron from its hook on the wall, starting to put it on and tie it around himself. "... that's nice of you ..." Completely unaware that this task was actually a punishment. Being new to the job, though, he was unaware if this was normal. "Is this gonna become a regular thing? Or--" he stopped, noticing the ripening bruise on his face, motioning to it with a general nod of his head.
seol is usually careful, more than he lets on. even when he drinks himself into the night, those thin blood red lines that only he himself can see in the world are enough to ground him. they would always be present to him all too clearly, even as his vision blurs over the years.
it’s strange to find himself slipping up like this. he doesn’t knows when, but he eventually realises there’s a weird taste in his beer, and it doesn’t takes long for it to act up. seol had to leave the bar as his entire body starts heating up, and then feeling like something is hammering his head relentlessly. so fucking annoying. who hated him this much, enough to spike his drink? were they watching his movements carefully? what did they want to do with him? seol keeps a hand in the pocket of his loose jacket, preparing to use his knife whenever.
he balances himself by leaning his back against a random wall. he’s walked down the street for about ten minutes now, and he’s having difficulty in sensing people. thinking about it, it would be really funny if he died just like this, from a stupid ass drink. seol heaves a heavy sigh, using his free hand to press against his forehead to allieviate the pain— but of course, it doesn’t works.
then seol realises: oh, there’s someone here. not too far away, yet getting closer to him. he holds his grip on his knife tighter, feeling his sweat on the handle of it. actually, sweat is also dripping down his temples. he wonders how he’s looking right now. looking like shit, probably.
now, who is the person about to approach him? how will he deal with them?
As much as Sparky would love to work at the diner every night, he was quoted (numerous times) things about labor laws. The owner -- friendly as the guy might be -- may be happy to have such a diligent worker who was so passionate about his job, but it was best not to make trouble with such a generous businessman when it came to those labor laws ... so now and then, Sparky actually had a night off. Now, he may not be one for drinking -- about the only time anyone even saw him in a bar was when he was accompanying a friend to play the "responsible party" -- but more often than not, he liked to partake in parkour off the rooftops and fire escapes. Not that he was a vigilante or anything (at least, not tonight), but he genuinely just like throwing himself from one ledge to another. It was as close to flying as he could get inside the city anyway.
Tonight, though, he was the former, playing "babysitter" to one of his coworkers who had decided to party just a little too hard. Nevertheless, after taking a taxi to drop the guy off at home, he had decided to walk the rest of the way back to his own apartment building, coincidentally taking him down a street he did not usually walk and ... well ... in the distance, he saw another stranger who looked ... well, he looked like he wasn't in a good way, honestly. He squinted as he got closer.
Uh oh. This fellow had a familiar look on his face -- one he saw far too often at the labs -- bad drug reaction.
Now, Sparky did not know what power this stranger had or if he might have a weapon, but in Sparky's experience, that rarely mattered. Sparky would just recover like he always did. Right now, the guy looked like he needed help.
"Hey man," he started, lifting up his hands in a nonthreatening manner to show his empty palms. "Not gonna hurt you, but -- and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but ... you look like shit. Need some help?"
Ever cursed to frequently fall into Youtube rabbit holes, Sparky landed on videos of a new (and seemingly very popular) kitchen gadget called the "Stuffler" -- a waffle maker that allowed one to fill their waffles with all sorts of ingredients. Like a kid, he got just a tad overly excited to try it for himself and procured one of his own. From the moment it arrived, he was transfixed, filling waffles with all sorts of things.
There was, of course, the basics: bacon, egg, and cheese being one, strips of fried chicken in another. He experimented more with fruits such as apples and cinnamon, bananas and peanut butter (he didn't like that one as much, but it was decent), strawberries (okay, that one was pretty fucking good), raspberries and blueberries (not bad at all!) -- but before he knew it, Sparky had nearly a dozen stuffed waffles and, even as ambitious as he was, there was just no way even HE could eat it all on his own, so glancing at the time, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to a neighbor he knew was always up for free food.
Text sent to Jiha 403:
Captain's Log, Stardate 24.08.2024, The Presto envoy has provided the ship's cook with new technology known colloquially as 'The Stuffler', which is heralded as producing an interesting dish called a 'stuffed waffle sandwich'. Culinary Officer Sparky has performed many experiments with varying results and due to the excess, proceeds to distribute the successful results with the rest of the crew in his quarters.
jiha was a man who loved eating, and he would eat all the time if he had the money for it. being a bartender doesn’t exactly make him rich, and he has to pay for both himself and his grandmother. he often prioritizes her getting proper food than himself, making sure she gets different kind of foods which taste and smell good. jiha himself though often lives on cheap stuff from the convenience store, it doesn’t bother him too much, but he does hope he doesn’t have to live like this for forever.
so he’s definitely a fan of free food, so when a friend who lives close by has the habit of sometimes making too much food or needing a taste tester, jiha is happy to help. it doesn’t take him long to show up at the other’s door, he puts on shoes and then teleports. he could teleport straight into the other’s apartment, but that seems a bit rude, so he’s outside the door, a big smile on his face as he knocks on the door.
Despite his living accommodations and occupation, Sparky actually did have the money to eat all the time. Organ harvesting was quite profitable; it was just a matter of figuring what he should spend his wealth on -- and usually, that ended up funding the health and happiness of other people. It was the only way he felt he could honor the memory of his parents, by improving the lives of others. So in this case, with the combination of that compassionate nature and his child-like curiosity blended with his talent for cooking, he could at the very least start with feeding his neighbors -- some of whom could not afford to live in another location (be it financially or for the sake of safety).
In this case, he'd barely had time to set his phone down before he hears the knock on the door. Quick and sufficient! Smirking, he muttered to himself in English, "Beam me up, Scotty." So thoughtful of his downstairs neighbor to arrive just outside. Thus, crossing to the entrance, he crossed to the entrance to open the door to his apartment, swinging it wide with a smile. "Hi! Come on in," he continued in Korean, gesturing to the table nearby. On top of it was a few plates of different experiments. Each plate had a stuffed waffle of a different flavor. "Help yourself. What to drink? Tea? Water? Soda? Soju?" he asked, returning to the kitchen.
from the beginning, she had been hesitant to let someone into her personal space. it was a huge step for her, but with him, she didn’t need to worry. she knew he was someone she could trust—dissolving her reservations like white sugar in warm, black tea. “you’re always welcome here!” she reassured him, “please make yourself at home!”
her laughter, soft and melodic like the chime of distant bells, filled the room as she noticed his expression light up at maomao’s affectionate greeting. “looks like you’ve made a new friend,” she remarked, joy threading through her voice as she saw her usually aloof maomao approach him with such ease. the gentle expression on her face mirrored the warmth in her words. “that’s maomao. she seems to like you a lot.” there was a fondness in her tone that matched the twinkle in her eyes. “she has a way of judging who gets to have her affection! she’s not the type to go out of her way… usually~”
she moved towards the kitchen, her hands gracefully attending to the items he had requested, searching for them in the drawer close by the stove: a rice cooker, a wok, and a spatula. “sounds like you had quite the day,” she giggled playfully as she set the items down on the counter. “can’t that count as some sort of progress? i’d say you’re on the right track!”
her brow furrowed slightly as she thought back to her own day. “nothing too exciting, just work, dealing with the kids, then hitting the gym. i’m kind of boring!” she smiled shyly before admitting, “but now my day is going to be exciting~” his presence had transformed her day from ordinary to something more exquisite and special.
company was always nice but rarely did she have it.
the soothing sounds of maomao’s purring, the soft clicks of utensils, and the simmering promise of a meal filled the space, nourishing more than just their physical forms; the weight of the past seemed to lift, replaced by the blossoming realization that she wasn’t alone. “so, what are we making today?” she grinned curiously, raising both of her eyebrows.
"maomao, give him some space!" she commanded her kitty but the little grey feline pouted stubbornly and kept close to the male.
There was something about being told that he would always be welcome somewhere -- particularly in his friend's home -- that made something within the cook's heart just … feel lighter. It was a warm feeling, effervescent and almost tickling within his chest like feathers dancing inside his rib cage. For just a moment, his expression seemede softer, something of a cross between dreaming and happy and sad at once, but the moment passed just as quickly with the distraction of the cat. Now THAT became true joy.
He paused for a few seconds to sniff his sleeve, just making sure that the fact that this cat liked him was legit and not because he still smelled like bacon and steak from the diner -- no, wait, he had showered and was wearing completely different clothes since his last shift! Nope, Maomao actually LIKED him! Oh hell yeah, that was a win in his book. "It's an honor to officially meet you, Maomao," he greeted, using his free hand to spoil the feline with scritches to the head and neck and chin. So she didn't usually go out of her way with visitors? Well that certainly made Sparky feel special … to the point that he had a mild existential crisis. Did that mean he was a good person and not the monster or shadow he had been led to believe he was? Or was he just that good at fooling cats? Or maybe that cat just knew he had braised pork in his bag and wanted to butter him up for scraps?
Whatever the case, he was glad the cat liked him, because he certainly liked her! Okay, enough distractions with Maomao -- he was here to cook for his "little sister"! A taste of home, for certain. Standing upright again, he ventured to her kitchen and set the bag on the counter, instinctively moving to the sink to wash his hands after petting the cat (not that he wouldn't have washed his hands before handling the food anyway); trade habit.
"I don't think that sounds boring at all. Dealing with kids especially. Some can get really wild," he explained as he rinsed his hands, drying them on a nearby towel. He returned the counter, removing the contents from the bag and arranging them on the surface -- except for his favorite apron, which he promptly slipped over his head and tied at his back as he had done hundreds of times.
"Today, my friend, we make some good ol' soul food," he began, starting with scanning the kitchen, noting space, outlets, casually opening and closing drawers and cabinets to make note of the location of dishes/utensils/spices/etc. before proceeding with washing the rice, adding and water to the rice cooker, getting that going before anything else. "Some simple braised pork and rice, sauteed bamboo shoots, scallion pancakes, and -- one of my personal favorites -- san bei ji," he explained as he continued prepping the ingredients. "Mom would make that every Saturday night," he said of the last dish, "it's the first thing I ever learned how to make."
He paused, looking to the young feline keeping close to his feet. "Ooo, yeah, you should listen to your human, Maomao. I might step on you and that would be very uncomfortable." He smirked and reached for a small to-go container, offering it to his friend. "Here you go. Kitty distraction," he said with a wink. Inside, she would find sushi-grade tuna carefully diced into small, kitty-sized bites.
tracking people across distances by their emotions is odd. for her, every emotion is like a finger print. emotions are complex, so no two instances of sadness, for example, feel exactly alike.
she doesn't really like to track people via their emotions. to some degree, it feels invasive to her. sometimes, there are special circumstances, though, like today. one of her students' emotions were particularly alarming today, as was what she told her in their counseling session.
she sent her home with mental health resources, but apparently she didn't make it home. miyoung gets the personal call from her student's mother, asking her if she knows where she is. she doesn't, unfortunately, but she tells her she'll find her.
so miyoung zones in on the student's emotional fingerprint, and she tracks her and her tumultuous emotions, growing heavier on miyoung's mind and heart the longer she focuses. as she approaches, however, her mood improves a little, bit by bit.
that's a relief, at least – and when miyoung arrives where her students' emotions are the strongest, on a local playground, she sees why. she's sitting on a swing, talking to a man on the swing beside her. part of her is worried for a moment, but she searches the man's emotions for any deception or ill-intent, and doesn't find anything. another relief.
by the time miyoung reveals herself, her student's mood is significantly improved. she smiles politely at the man, before turning to her student, smile still soft, but warming.
"sohee, i got a call from your mother," miyoung says.
sohee smiles sheepishly and close-lipped.
"can we call her to come pick you up? she's worried about you. we all are."
sohee agrees, reluctantly, and miyoung dials her mother, letting her know their location.
"do you still have those names i gave you?" miyoung asks her. she gave her a list of mental health professionals she suggested she look into. miyoung's name is not on the list – she tends to think it's better for her to remain her students' counselor and someone else to be their therapist.
"yes," sohee replies, voice quiet.
"okay, good. thank you."
miyoung takes a seat on the other empty swing beside sohee, making small talk that sohee clearly doesn't want to participate in, but humors miyoung with anyway.
it doesn't take long for her mom to arrive, and miyoung walks sohee to the car and bids her farewell with a smile and, "i'll see you on monday."
once the car drives away, miyoung takes a deep breath, finally letting herself relax. she remembers she's not alone, though, and returns to the swings and the man still seated on one.
"thank you for talking to her," miyoung says. she thinks it's only fair to offer her gratitude. "talking to you improved her mood a lot." she realizes that might be an unusual thing to say out of context, so she adds, "i'm an empath. and her counselor at school."
Swings were relaxing. The rocking motion had the perfect blend of many elements -- reminiscent of a parent's consoling affections, the sway of a boat on the waves,the flip-flop of the insides as one fell backwards only to fly up again, both mastering and defying gravity for small flickers in a moment.
At first it had been just him as most of the playground had become vacant as evening fast approached -- dinner and darkness tended to pull the children away. But upon approaching the swingset, he found he was not alone. Sparky didn't have to be an empath to read the emotions on the face of this young lady.
He knew the look in her eyes, the emptiness, deep wells of sorrow and hopelessness. He had seen it far too many times … but he hated seeing it in someone so young. So, being the compassionate person he was, he slowed his swing to a stop, noting that the girl was just … sitting there, not actually rocking on the equipment, but just sitting.
"You look down …" he said with gentle honesty as he sat on the swing beside her. That seemed to get her attention, though only with a side glance as she didn't move much. "That's okay," he continued. "Nothing wrong with looking down. I think it's important to look at things from all angles." She seemed confused, but he went on. "Sometimes, when we're looking down, we find things we'll miss when we're looking up. Or ahead. Or backward. Like today, I was looking down when I found this." Digging into the pocket of his cardigan, he retrieved a small tumbled stone the size of a marble. "It's tumbled opalite. Pretty, huh? Would have missed it if I hadn't been looking down," he continued, captivating her attention with a couple sleight of hand tricks, making the stone disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. He did it again, disappearing from one hand and appearing in the other. He did it a third time and this time, the stone did not reappear.
"Huh. That's odd," he muttered, searching his hands, his sleeves, behind him on the swing and then around her. "Where did it go -- oh! There it is!" He pointed to her lap, where the stone sat neatly upon her knee. "I think it likes you," he said with a warm smile.
Finally, FINALLY, he got a little smile out of the girl and he considered that progress. "Keep it," he insisted. "Opalite symbolizes new beginnings and it has chosen a new beginning with you." When she accepted the stone, she murmured a thank you and stared at it for a while, slightly swaying a bit.
"Looking down is great and all, but have you ever looked up while also looking down? It's fuckin' rad. Check this out." He leaned back then, holding on to the swing's chains so he could hang upside down. "Wow, the sky looks great from down here."
A quiet, nearly inaudible and tiny giggle from the girl was all he needed to know that maybe, just maybe, she would be okay. Not too long after, she joined him in hanging upside-down, eventually winding the chains so they could spin in an upside-down world. After that, and they were sitting upright, he retrieved a coin from his pocket and taught her how to perform the trick he had done with the stone earlier, the young lady practicing along with him. However, it wasn't long before their duo became a trio. A woman approached him, one who seemed to know the girl and with whom the girl seemed familiar. A polite smile was returned.
As the two conversed, he sat quietly, just listening as he rolled the coin over the back of his hand. He learned quite a bit with their exchange -- not just the girl's name, but that she had a mother who was worried about her … which did cause a noticeable dip in his own mood as he remembered his own mother, a plethora of emotions blossoming and crashing in him before he redirected his attention to the ground, redirecting his thoughts as his foot gave small pushes that caused the swing to sway a little.
When young Sohee ultimately left, he did feel a bit sad, though also relieved that she would be with her mother, under the care of someone who loved her. But being left alone again, those emotions bubbled back up, his coin long-since pocketed, and leaned back in the swing again, hanging upside-down once more, watching the darkening sky. And that was how the woman ultimately found him again, in that upside-down stance, the chains creaking as he swayed forward and back as his mood settled again.
He looked up (down?) at the woman, tilting his head a little when she thanked him. "Oh … sure," he replied to her gratitude for Sohee's improved mood. "The past can be heavy and the future can be scary, so … sometimes, it's best to just … focus on the present, appreciate the little things," he explained as he sat upright once more, slowly rock/twisting his swing from side to side as he kept his attention on her.
An empath? And a counselor? "A noble profession," he stated with a nod, "And no doubt a tough job. Sooooo … how's that work-life balance going for you?" he asked, arching a brow. Obviously, not a job she could just leave at the door if she was clearly here long after school had ended for the day.
the atmosphere felt still, the soft hum of the city was muted by the thick walls surrounding her. a delicate series of knocks broke through the quiet, a rhythm that was deliberate but careful. her lips bloomed into a small smile as she recognized the pattern immediately. a visitor!
there was something so melodic about the way he knocked, some kind of composition; it was not only a signal of his arrival but a moment filled with comfort and warmth that would soon fill the space. she dabbled into her bubble, basking in the gentle nostalgia that the knocks conjured. a sweet memory of her parent's home, infused with rich aromas of simmering stews and storytelling over dinner. a feeling that she hadn't felt in so long, a warmth that was tucked away as she was drowning in the weight of her responsibilities. she hadn't eaten all day, leaving her hangry.
she moved towards the door, her fingers tracing the cool metal of the handle before turning it. the door swung open, she looked over to sparky. "hello!" she greeted him, her voice soft and welcoming, embodying the unspoken gratitude she felt for his existence and presence. "it's so wonderful to have you here. please come in."
she stepped aside to let him enter. the tantalizing, wistful smell of familiarity shocked her as she recalled the scent of the ingredients, mingling with memories of her home. it was as if, for this moment, the past and present were intertwined together, creating a safe space where she could recover a piece of lost warmth.
"how was your day? do you need help?"
then, out of the blue—a sleek russian blue kitty, maomao, rushed from the couch. with a soft purr and flick of her tail, she nuzzled against sparky's leg, greeting him with her emerald eyes—sparkling with affection, desiring some attention too. she let out a playful but excited meow.
When she opened the door, it was … it was … he didn't have a word for it. He needed to find a word for it. He was still becoming accustomed to someone being HAPPY to see him and welcoming him into their space. It was a warm feeling, whatever this was, and it prompted a smile to his face, reaching his eyes just a little bit. "Hi!" he greeted back. "Thank you for having me. Nice place," he added, offering a genuine compliment.
When she stepped aside to allow him entry, he did so, habitually stepping out of his shoes once past the threshold and using his foot to tap them against the wall and out of the way just as he did at his own home, clearly a habit for him; if he was entering someone's living space, then he would treat it with respect as he would his own home. He stepped in a bit further, looking around a little more -- it was fascinating to see how other people lived, captivating really to see the sort of personal touches they put in their residences, how much of their personalities showed or how much they hid within their own walls.
How was his day? "I didn't make any friends in the Yakuza today," he replied with a slow, mischievous grin. He was not referring to the actual Yakuza, of course, but to the most recent video game he had been playing. "But I did find out who the mole is, soooooooo progress was made. How about you? Anything exciting happen?" he asked.
But when questioned about if she could help, he thought for a second. "Uhmm ... I need a rice cooker and a wok and a spatula --"
A distraction happened then-- because what was different about this apartment compared to his own -- aside from the obvious superior integrity and cleanliness of the building itself along with the personal touches -- was the presence of the young feline that promptly found her way to his leg, snapping his attention. And immediately -- IMMEDIATELY -- his expression lit up even more with a child-like grin. "Hi!" He lowered himself to a crouch, bag still in one arm as his free hand took to giving the precious Maomao gentle neck and chin scritches. "Don't worry! I brought something for you, too. Look at you! You adorable little shit! HOW are you sooooooooooooo fucking cuuuuuuuuuuuute!" he announced in a baby voice, not yelling, but more like a whisper-scream.
In such an upscale environment, he stood out a little (though perhaps in an endearing way); he didn't wear trendy clothes or have an expensive haircut, but rather just wore simple black slacks and a grey tee under an old and oversized cardigan of faded orange and navy patchwork, a bit ragged, his hair somewhat unkempt and up in a half-ponytail.
When it came to displaying his art, Sparky was content to do so freely at one of the infamous galleries at the Platinum Mall. In fact, a couple of his pieces had appeared in the background of a couple recent promotional videos. When it came to selling the pieces, however, he insisted payment be made in donation to specific charities rather than receiving a personal check. Sometimes, that made buyers curious of the seemingly eccentric artist which prompted the gallery to call him in and, after a brief meeting with t he buyer, Sparky opted to wander about the exhibit to look at the displays until ultimately landing on the painting that he (and the majority of the public) would likely never see again after summer's end, subconsciously chewing on the cuff of his left sleeve as he stared at it.
It was considered an ethereal piece, two pairs of eyes, one pair at the top of the canvas and another at the bottom, separated by and overlaying a sunlit field of vibrant blue forget-me-nots and soft yellow butterflies. The top pair of eyes contained a universe, darkness and light with stars and swirling galaxies, nebulas, comets, planets within the iris and a shining iridescent star in the pupils. The bottom pair of eyes contained a beautiful sunrise over the sea's horizon, full of color, with clouds drifting and lined with light as though painted with golden fire. The title on the placard read "A New World, A New Dawn" with his name listed as the artist.
Noticing someone approaching out of the corner of his eye, he quietly stepped to the side in order to give them space. But upon a second glance, he didn't look away, just stared captivated because he KNEW this young lady -- well, not personally, but he recognized her! NOT someone he expected to see in District X, but also ... maybe?
there was something so comforting about the night.
the world seemed so different. the darkness could bring a sense of clarity, running away from the distractions that the mundane world has to offer.
the moon, so full, shined so high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the mountainous terrain. the air carried a cool breeze, transporting the faint scent of pine and damp earth. luna moved quietly as a mouse, her footsteps were gentle and barely audible as she walked a rocky path. she always found peace in the shadows of the night, when the world seemed to slow down; her mind was in a much more tranquil state.
as she walked further and further, the path began to incline higher, pursuing a deeper path into the mountains. the trees were like a protective cloak, intensifying the presence of shadows; surrounded by an open field of rock and shrubs. for a moment, luna slowed her pace as she needed to allow herself to enjoy the moment. the breeze was thinner up in the mountains, crisp but colder air filling in her lungs.
she glanced at the sky, her eyes gazing upon the constellations that she had memorized as a child - due to her love for stargazing. she pointed with her index finger, specifying the first three stars she witnessed: "the big dipper." "second, cassiopeia." "my favorite is up there! it's ursa major! a bear!" she's smiling from ear to ear, keeping her tone as low as possible, just in case.
"gege, do you know what your favorite constellation is?" she spoke in mandarin happily, her mother's native language; a linguistic feature that she rarely has used ever since she settled in south korea. "let's see if we can find your favorite star!"
His first love had been the night sky. A childhood in the mountains, he had been captivated at an early age. While the rest of the village slept, he would climb onto roof tops or lie in a boat on the river dock just to watch the stars in silence. While in the facility, he would reproduce constellations on the walls and ceilings. Even the bedroom of his apartment had been painted with a realistic scene of floating above the clouds to join the stars.
And now?
Sparky had not seen stars this clearly since his escape on the boat, traveling hundreds of miles -- north, always north, following Polaris like the legendary guiding light it had been throughout the all of history. In these moments, hiking along the trail, embraced by nature from every angle, he truly felt overwhelmed -- emotionally, mentally -- though somehow, someway, his feet continued along the trail. His steps may have been a bit slower than usual, but he was managing to keep it together despite the distractions in his soul.
In these moments -- and surely for the rest of his (what is sure to be a very long life), he would be eternally grateful for Yingyue, for bringing him beyond the borders of District X to have this excursion in the wilderness. Perhaps oddly, he HAD been a bit quieter than his usual chatty self since embarking on this hike, occasionally distracted by something but managing to keep his hands to himself by grasping the straps of his backpack (because he did come prepared, of course, snacks and drinks were important). He snapped out of his thoughts, though, as she began speaking of the constellations, his gaze turning away from the sky to look to her, to her gesture, then back to the stars she indicated as a small smile ghosted over his lips. They had something in common, it seemed, with preferring the northern constellations.
"Ah, those are amazing constellations," he concurred to her favorite celestial arrangements, content to naturally speak his native tongue with her. "I think Xuan Wu would be pleased you chose constellations that fall in his domain." He was, of course, referring to the ancient Chinese constellations, lifting his left hand to trace the edges of the Black Tortoise constellation which encompassed the entirety of the northern sky. "Though, what draws you to those three?"
He paused, though, when she posed the question of his own preferences.
"Hm? My favorite constellation?" he asked with a curious quirk of his brow, looking to her, then back to the sky. "Technically Andromeda, but not really," he explained, motioning to the constellation just below her beloved Cassiopeia. "See those two stars there in her arm? The bright ones. That's called the Water Wall. Or Wall Water Yu. It's the library where the heavenly emperor keeps all his books." He paused and turned a bit to face southeast, looking more to the center of the sky. "I like Orion, too. I don't think I have an absolute favorite star, but I do like Nigel," he explained further, noting the brightest star of the constellation at Orion's "foot", the hunter just rising over the eastern horizon. "Not sure why, but I always feel kinda happy a little when I find him." He turned his attention back to her. "What about you?"
He didn't dress up -- he hadn't thought he'd need to! -- but upon arriving at the Top View Towers Officetel. Given, the place wasn't as swanky as those villas he passed every time he went to the park, but it was still a very nice place. (Honestly, compared to his current and previous lodgings, this building might as well be a five-star hotel!) He couldn't blame the doorman for assuming the plain-dressed fellow carrying a bag of groceries was just there to make a delivery to a resident or office and not actually visiting someone on the second floor.
He'd had time -- Sparky had nothing but time, actually -- so not only had he procured a couple recipes he thought his friend might enjoy, but he had also prepped a few things already. (A proper braise for the pork would take a minimum of two hours tops! She might starve by then!) Cradling the bag on one arm, he lifted his free hand to deliver a gentle but firm series of two knocks upon the door of 202.
Knock-knock, knock-knock.
Pause. Wait, that was technically four knocks? Two knocks delivered twice equaled four. That wasn't good.
Knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock.
Three double knocks equaled six, but it still didn't feel right because now that was technically five double-knocks total. And that was odd! Unlucky for an even unit on an even floor, right?
Knock-knock.
There. Six double knocks for twelve knocks total. Evened out. Safe. He nodded to himself, satisfied.
Ever cursed to frequently fall into Youtube rabbit holes, Sparky landed on videos of a new (and seemingly very popular) kitchen gadget called the "Stuffler" -- a waffle maker that allowed one to fill their waffles with all sorts of ingredients. Like a kid, he got just a tad overly excited to try it for himself and procured one of his own. From the moment it arrived, he was transfixed, filling waffles with all sorts of things.
There was, of course, the basics: bacon, egg, and cheese being one, strips of fried chicken in another. He experimented more with fruits such as apples and cinnamon, bananas and peanut butter (he didn't like that one as much, but it was decent), strawberries (okay, that one was pretty fucking good), raspberries and blueberries (not bad at all!) -- but before he knew it, Sparky had nearly a dozen stuffed waffles and, even as ambitious as he was, there was just no way even HE could eat it all on his own, so glancing at the time, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to a neighbor he knew was always up for free food.
Text sent to Jiha 403:
Captain's Log, Stardate 24.08.2024, The Presto envoy has provided the ship's cook with new technology known colloquially as 'The Stuffler', which is heralded as producing an interesting dish called a 'stuffed waffle sandwich'. Culinary Officer Sparky has performed many experiments with varying results and due to the excess, proceeds to distribute the successful results with the rest of the crew in his quarters.
For as run down and dilapidated as the Urbane apartments appear on the outside (and mostly on the inside), once someone steps inside Sparky's place, they might swear they'd been transported to a completely different building.
The first thing one might notice are the WALLS. The exposed brick isn't just painted, it's COVERED with full-on murals hand-painted by the tenant himself. One may find a wall filled with a dragon, another filled with mountains, another with a colorful tree befitting a fantasy setting, another with a field of Chinese forget-me-nots, another with a perspective of one walking a forest path, another a night sky, another with full galaxies and planets.
So much color.
The entire space is clean and tidy -- not spotless, no, but everything does have its place and instead of smelling dank and dirty and dusty, the air just seems fresh. Perhaps it has something to do with the numerous house plants kept near the windows (which do provide quite a bit of light being on an upper level). The aroma of kitchen spices and coffee just seem to permeate the area.
The living room is a comfortable space with two large sofas facing each other -- one leather, one plush -- with a simple black coffee table between them. One wall is completely covered by bookshelves (with another, secret mural hidden behind it that maybe someday someone will have the chance to see). The books are an extremely eclectic collection ranging from fantasy to horror to psychological thrillers to serial killer documentaries to physics to DIY projects to cultures to SCIENCE! to world history to manuals and, of course, cook books. All this is illuminated by an array of string lights woven across the ceiling. An open concept, opposite the living room is the small kitchen where MAGIC happens! (And yes, Mr. Sparky the Handyman DID install a water filter in that sink, thank you very much.)
Now, one may ask, just why would a man who never sleeps have any need for a bedroom, let alone TWO bedrooms? It may suffice one to learn that even someone who never sleeps DOES need a space to rest. Even if it is resting his mind, getting lost in thought, the first bedroom is certainly a quiet and relaxing space. The walls are painted like the night sky just above the clouds illuminated by the moon. He may not sleep in the bed, but he does lie in it and it is quite comfortable with velour blankets and cool sheets, plush pillows, and a weighted comforter in colors of dark blues and whites and greys. (And of course, an old panda plushie that appears well worn/loved but clean). It's his quiet space, where he lies in comfort and meditates among the stars, an astral projector illuminating the room with thousands of stars shining on the ceiling. He also keeps his more personal paintings hidden in this room -- it is the only space in the apartment that no guests are allowed to enter. Period.
The second bedroom? While it DOES have a bed in it (you never know, someone might need to crash at his place someday!), it appears to be more of a hobby room, filled with his many artistic endeavors -- many canvases of varying size, some in progress, some empty, some complete and resting in a stack against another wall covered by another mural. His gaming computer is also tucked away in a corner with a very comfortable chair and a mini fridge.
