#clovrz

[hategana]

'i don't need a date, i need cash' beziel

the way things turned out for beziel this fine afternoon, is far from how he has envisioned them. he had wanted nothing more than to lounge around in goethe’s basement, enjoying to the fullest how cold the air is compared to the bothersome drought outside, and do nothing taxing, whether mentally or physically, until he was knocked out by sheer exhaustion.

clearly, that didn’t fucking happen.

clemente had done an awful job at explaining the situation thoroughly, or even barely, but she’s the cutest thing ever, and certainly the cutest out of this lot, so he can easily overlook this horrible habit of hers.

all beziel knows is that clement was out of breath, dragging a less than impressed jiyeon behind her, and that she unceremoniously forced her to plop down on the sofa opposite his with the promise that it won’t be long til she returns.

and so, here beziel is, utterly overwhelmed with the situation — if feels awfully like one of those cliche tv moments where an absent father attempts to rekindle whatever crumbs of a relationship he’s got left with his rebellious teenage daughter, and beziel honestly doesn’t feel all that prepared for this sort of commitment.

❝you ain’t got some sweetheart to leech free dinner from instead of being locked up in here with me ?❞ beziel eventually whines, the picture-perfect of a petulant child past his prime.

jiyeon is, genuinely, less annoying and invasive than he makes her out to be in his narration; it’s just that beziel simply has no clue as to how to interact with her in an organic way, as far away as possible from painting him out to be some pot-bellied creep trying to sweet talk a babe into hopping inside his van.

the few times their paths crossed, it was mandragora who took over the ship, whilst beziel was chilling in some far away corner if the dark, empty universe.

❝i don’t need a date, i need cash.❞

beziel blinks expressionless at her answer, first of all, because he hadn’t expected her to dignify him with any sort of answer. but he gets it, kind of, or at the very least, speculates he does.

jiyeon must be feeling just as uncomfortable and lost as he does being forced into a room with just him. so he sighs, relenting.

❝yeah, ditto.❞

beziel stands up, half-yawning as he begins putting on a show whilst stretching his muscles, going far and beyond the modest. at this point, it matters little.

❝say, how about you graverobbing with me, hmm ?❞

might have to dig his own grave in the meantime once clemente catches wind of just what beziel has been doing to entertain her most esteemed guest, but oh well.

[fockbambi]

i’m still standing!! • @clovrz​

a scream echoed through the empty streets, followed by a looooooong car horn sound. nothing moved, except a single dead leaf parading across the street. bambi was waiting for the lurking monsters to show their faces, round each corner of the street and crawl out of all the alleys. glowy red eyes in the night-- this time the car horn first before the yell. what was that? just the boy hyping himself up in his own car.

truth be told, it looked more like a garbage can than a car.

a discolored green coated the vehicle, and each door looked borrowed off of other different cars. the inside an even bigger of a mess, with spilled glitter all over the seats and the floor, the strong smell of weed and rich people’s perfume. there was weird fabric covering parts of the inside; a ‘tornado season’ blue velvet with painted dicks all over it was draped over the backseat, with a ‘dead salmon’ pink fleece sullied by dirty shoes and boots on the floor. a couple of tiny containers ornate the cup holders, and the radio’s been yanked off. there was a beautiful ( fake and electronic ) antique record player sitting in the back, playing all and only bambi’s music. entering the car felt almost surreal, like falling into a lucid dream that made absolutely no sense despite how hard you tried to control it- NO PLEASE, I WANT WHITE CLOUDS, GREEN GRASS AND WINGS TO FLY. but you can’t communicate with a burnt out brain.

and you couldn’t forget the countless feathers flocked at bambi’s feet. he was wearing home-made hot pink dyed wings, but only one survived on his back. half of its feathers were gone, and every few minutes he was spitting one out of his mouth. huh, maybe dressing up as a half-demon stripper and half-human mozart wasn’t such a great idea. his white face makeup was melting off, making it look like he’s gone through the most atrocious relapse due to a depressive episode, and his body was sweaty all over because of the 18th century costume. mozart probably was a BITCH if he had to endure this nonsense.

he had just come back from a private party, where he was paid to sing song recommendations thrown at him all night. like a fucking circus monkey, with his hot pink wings and his lipstick-red lips and his eyes burning from the unknown fumes in the room and drinking every glass he was offered and getting kissed by every person who liked him. the bambi needed to rest after all, as much as he hated it.

he could pretend all he wanted that being parked a few feet away from the casino’s entrance was self-care. that he was just stopped there to take a breather; lining up white powder into his system and then reducing its effect with a looooooong drag of the most expensive joint he could get. his accelerated heart rate made him feel good; yes, great, i’m both DYING and NOT DYING at the same time.

resting? there she was, walking out of the casino’s doors, heading god knows where. he starts up his garbage of a car, the motor turning on heard miles around as it polluted the whole street, and he whirls his car over to her, following her for a few minutes-- no seconds, before he pulls down his window. and yes, he still has the awful manual window hand crank, so it takes a while of his extenuating cranking before he pops his head out, spits a pink feather or two, wipes glitter off his face ( if that’s even possible ), and waves at the girl. “ jiiiiiiiiiiiiiiyeon! ” he’s almost giggling at the way he calls her. 

“ i--i got your name last time. don’t really remember when. last week? last...year? last... ” he pauses, stares at her. “ yeah, i asked someone about you. ” he points at her, fingers filled to the brim with all sorts of rings; large, tiny, skull-shaped, ladybug-shaped, and there’s even a ring pop in there. “ yup. you. ” it would’ve sounded romantic if he wasn’t being so strange.

bambi wipes off two kiss-shaped lipstick marks on his cheek. “ i believe you’ve got my money. ” he’s so sure of himself, he doesn’t realize he’s almost yelling over the noise of his car. “ i’m not lookin’ for a fight... i don’t hit strangers, you know me... ” he’s staring at the horizon, or nowhere in particular; he seems focused on something that doesn’t exist. “ i just think, at this point, you and me, ” he makes a click noise with his tongue, “ we’ve played around enough. i don’t wanna play anymore, i want my toys back. ” his money, he wants his money back. 

“ it’d be better to talk about this in private, i suppose. ” his hand jingles over to the seat next to him, tapping it, and never stopping. “ unless rumors is your fetish. ” he motions his hand back at her, now imitating a talking mouth with it and never stopping. “ jiyeon with the scandal fetish sounds funky, i dig it. ”

JIYEON WITH THE SCANDAL FETISH, to be released next month with a whooping twelve tracks, all written and composed by yours truly.