#inbox;meme

[seulgifly-blog]

Shot of Tequila

perhaps it was a bad idea to go out drinking. it usually is, for her. clad in a white dress, long-sleeved to hide the wings between her shoulderblades as they’re tucked against her spine, seulgi had left her house without any second thoughts. the outcome of the evening is predictable. after but a few swallows she will be thoroughly drunk, stumbling about as careless laughter leaves her lips but it’s a friday night and the store doesn’t open until ten tomorrow. she can afford to be reckless.

as expected, it doesn’t take much. first glass still half full and seulgi is well past wasted, drifting in and out between real life and whatever her inebriated brain wants her to see. the alcohol leads her over to another table, and she sees him sitting there alone nursing a drink of his own. underneath the lights he looks a bit different but she knows it’s him. hair that looks almost silver in this lighting, sharp cheekbones, and broad shoulders. but even as his eyes are unfamiliar she slides into the seat by his side and drapes her arms around him as if they’d known each other for years. unable to focus on anything she doesn’t notice that she’s forced her presence upon a complete stranger, oblivious to whatever the look on his face might be.

“the lights are so pretty,” she slurs, eyes crinkling at the edges as she smiles up at him. and they are, neon, setting the ice in his glass aglow with blues and purples and greens.  “kinda like you.”

[kaxstal-blog]

"How did I get here?"

Eyes alight with the reflections of neon Seoul at night, Jongin casually glances over at the stranger, eyebrows raising. The bench houses the both of them and, being late, they are the only two sitting there. The city is alive and that’s how Jongin likes it, swimming with energy and emotion. He likes to taste each one as they walk by in their heels and pretty black dresses, like his very own buffet. Clad in black, hair recently ruffled - Soojung’s fault - Jongin knows that he was quite deserving of the admiring looks heavily lined eyes have given him.

He takes the chance to give his neighbor a quick up-down. What a gorgeous little flower. Small build, sharp jawline, dark eyes, heavy eyelashes that cast inky shadows over his cheekbones. Why, he could be an angel.

The thought makes him chuckle out loud, and perhaps such a thing might be misinterpreted as him laughing at the other when really Jongin is laughing at himself. And if he cared, he might explain, but he doesn’t waste his breath on that. “A strange thing to ask. Maybe you flew.”

[kaxstal-blog]

"You did this?" ( either is fine )

Legs propped up on the table, toes of his boots knocking as he lazily clicks them together, Jongin glances at the man out of the corner of kohl lined eyes. His hair is ruffled in that perfectly imperfect way, orderly disorganization. Dressed in black he looks the part of someone that might have come right off the pages of a magazine; or perhaps…straight out of hell. Which explains things, doesn’t it.

The librarian - at least, that’s who Jongin’s presuming the man to be with his muted demeanor and well, he just looks like a librarian doesn’t he? He’s got that look in his eyes. Anyways, he’s real pretty. Eyes perfectly round and doe-like, lips pink and parted, figure slender, exuding innocence and purity. He looks like the perfect toy, easy to toss around, corruptable. The boy looks like he might break in the most beautiful of ways.

Jongin can’t quite decipher the tone. What he’s referring to is the impressive stack of books on the table in front of him, all half-open and precariously stacked atop one another like a house of cards. If one were to come by and barely bump the table the whole thing would topple over, making for a lot of noise in a silent place. Commotion, the threat of commotion. The thing cannot be deconstructed carefully, either. It must fall and fall hard or it will stay standing forever. It took him half an hour to create, hoping to inject something psychedelic into this monochrome bore of a building. However, he can’t tell if the librarian is in awe or if he’s using that you-idiot-what-have-you-done sort of voice.

Either way, he’s unbothered by it, grin stretching across his face. His head dips into a nod, arm lifting to gesture to the structure as if it were something grand to behold, as if it were more than a stack of books balanced on their corners and bindings. Which, actually, is not an easy task. “Why, yes I did. Would you like to take a picture? I hear those last longer.”

[kaxstal-blog]

My, my. What have we got here?

Lips pursed, the demon turns his head just enough to glance at the other out of the corner of his eye. The constellations above are silent as they always are; they look on from their eternal places against the inky black night sky without any sympathy for those shedding blood underneath their watch. He strips his gloves off with two clean, quick snaps of latex and throws them unceremoniously in the bag with the body. The dead man’s wallet has already been swiped from his pockets - Soojung’s fast, isn’t she? 

"Looks like he was someone important, yeah?" Jongin grins, tying the victim away, no last remorseful glances at his pressed suit stained crimson, tie slit, a perfect slice across his throat. "Not anymore." The penny scent of blood is in the air, still strong even beneath a layer of alcohol. Whatever he did, whoever he pissed off, he’s sure paying a high price for it. Jongin finally turns to the other, unashamedly scanning him up and down before his smile grows ever wider. 

"Unless we’re talking about me, in which case we’ve got an awfully handsome chap on our hands."

[kaxstal-blog]

"I’ll take my mask off only if you can guess my name."

A mask, raven black against pale skin had caught Jongin’s eye. He had managed to lure the other over his way, curiosity sparked. The mask is undoubtedly beautiful. Lace in his favorite color, intricately woven with silver thread so thin it could be spiderwebs. Tendrils of fabric curl down the other’s right cheek, gently clinging to his skin as if the mask was meant to be worn by him and him only. Dark bangs just barely dust the upper edge, jewels playing peek-a-boo through his hair. It’s a work of art, settling just over cheekbones and although the mask is pretty he’s much more interested about what lies behind, just as one is naturally curious about what is behind a closed door. Especially when told not to try opening it.

Jongin’s own mask is a pure pure white, a strange color on him. He has half a mind to push it off, annoyed by the extra layer settled over his face. But, that’s not how these things work, is it?

Perched on the edge of a table, drink in hand, Jongin leans closer to the other. All he can see behind the mask is a pair of dark eyes that whisper death’s promise; there’s a certain emptiness to them and Jongin loves it, oh would he kill to see the rest of the other’s face. Surely it would be a sight to behold, one to photograph and keep and admire, something pretty and porcelain, just like a little doll.

"What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet - isn’t that how the saying goes?"

[kaxstal-blog]

"Look out he's got a gun!" (Krystal ouo)

Seoul at midnight calls all the monsters to the streets. Soojung is one of them, bored, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, looking to play. She just so happens to find a toy, waiting at the street corner, phone pressed to his ear. 

Gaudy rings adorn the man’s fingers, pressed pinstripe suit and slicked back hair not a strand out of place. There is an air about him, a certain arrogance in the way he carries himself as if he were a thousand feet tall and looking down. As if choosing who he might step on next with polished shoes, crushing into the pavement anyone unworthy of scuffing the soles of their boots on the same sidewalk as him. He screams money, yells it at the top of his diamond studded lungs and Soojung hears him. Soojung answers.

It was easy enough to steal his wallet - he didn’t notice, they never do. Her fingertips are like glue, slipping into even the tightest of pockets to pull away any wealth her victims might own. And she gets away with it every time. She runs, she flies, she lands and then rewards herself with a new diamond bracelet. Sucks the leather billfolds dry until she can toss them aside and search for another. In between assignments that already pay well enough she’s always turned to this, finding boredom in the absence of a knife in her palm. In a sense she is always drawing things from others, whether it be their life or their money. It’s funny how people always seem to see her in an innocent light upon first meetings. Oh, how wrong they are.

However, despite swiftly getting the wallet stuffed into her own pocket, the man turns to glance down at her and by chance Soojung is looking up at the same time.  There’s the flicker of recognition his eyes and the demoness curses every god that might have allowed this crossing of paths to happen once again. “Shit.”

The man is of power, obviously, and she’s worked for him before. The problem does not lie between the two of them but with a friend of the man’s - a former, because he’s dead now, thanks to Soojung herself - and she’d managed to anger her old employer. By the looks of things he hasn’t quite gotten over it yet.

"Look out he’s got a gun!"

The warning is a bit too late, as there’s already stabbing pain in her shoulder and a bloom of crimson spreading over the fabric of her shirt. “Well would you look at that,” Soojung says, tone rather nonchalant. She then proceeds to disarm him, but she doesn’t dare end him as it looks like there’s a witness. With the man lying in a limp and boneless heap on the ground she brushes herself free of invisible dust. Her shoulder aches and burns and stings but as she turns to the other there’s a smile on her face, a grin, brighter than the sun. “That was close.”

[kaxstal-blog]

"This is the worst idea ever."

Looking out over the sleepless metropolis, city lights casting webs of neon, Soojung allows herself the momentary delusion that Seoul is truly a beautiful place to be. There is no blood dried between cracks in the pavement of dark alleyways, there will always be a pretty pastel sunrise to look forward to, there are no demons to run from. But it’s hard to forget the blood shed by her own hands, the clouded over mornings that bring gloom and lethargy, and the demons that lurk in the shadows of her own mind, itching to set fire to each building she passes by.

Still, it’s fun to pretend sometimes, isn’t it? But, unlike white that can paint itself black, black cannot be painted over with white. The good things are not quite as unforgiving as the bad; once dark, always dark.

She offers him a dazzling grin, one many of her victims would be familiar with were they even alive to remember what she looked like. “You’re right, this is a terrible plan.” She agrees with a nod, expression solemn. Wind whips her hair around her face, snapping through the fabric of her shirt. It’s cold, but not as cold as her. 

Of course, bungee jumping is not supposed to be dangerous, but if it is done recklessly - as they are doing now, off the side of a building - there’s a hell of a lot more risk involved, isn’t there? Her grin widens as she reaches over, pretending to check the harness around his waist one last time, just to reassure him and make sure he doesn’t back out. All of the equipment was stolen, and neither of them are trained, but Soojung isn’t the one jumping. And even if she were, she is the last one to be afraid of falling. She has fallen far enough already.

Maybe if something goes wrong, and the chances are high, she will be able to save him in time. But only if she feels like it. Their relationship is hardly at the ‘acquaintances’ checkpoint, as far as Soojung is concerned. Perhaps he feels differently, but frankly, she doesn’t care, and if this doesn’t work out, then she doesn’t need to anyways. A distant part of her wonders if he’d splat or if everything just breaks and soups up inside him like some sort of water balloon. 

Her palms between his shoulder blades is enough of a dismissal. It was a miracle she had managed to get him to do this at all, but he is a human male and their prides can be manipulated accordingly. It has become nearly second nature to her. “This is a terrible plan,” she says once more, because there is a long list of reasons that people don’t allow this sort of thing, and she wants to agree with him because the slight hint of fear amuses her and she is only confirming that his fear is rational. He should be worried about the outcome. “But that is the fun of it, you see.” Danger is undeniably attractive.

[kaxstal-blog]

"I see. So I still haven't reached you..." {either muse}

The way the snowflakes catch in his hair remind Soojung of ashes, drifting away from tongues of orange and fingers of red. Gentle in their descent only to deliver bitter cold, she thinks that they look awful pretty there, glittering between silky strands. Gone is the sun, hidden beneath a veil of gray over grey, casting the neon city into monochrome gloom. Gone is the noise, everything one notch closer to silence; the only sounds to be heard are the crunch of tires over ice and the distant blare of a police siren. For once, it does not blare because of her.

The wind is nasty. She is wearing a t-shirt.

With the way fate has managed to twist their paths over one another more than once, the fact that she has not yet taken the opportunity to steal his wallet is a near miracle. At this moment, pick pocketing isn’t an easy task when the target is sitting down, although she’s sure that if she really wanted to steal something from him she would be able to do so. What was his name again?

She turns to him with a gaze that has been known to melt ice and freeze fire, demolish any last ounce of feigned strength to leave behind the little mouse once hidden away behind tiger skin. Soojung doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t care to know what he wants, really, unless it benefits her somehow. She doesn’t quite see what he might have to offer. But she humors him with a reply because she’s bored and he’s cute, anyways.

"We’re within reaching distance, no?" She holds out an arm, extends it in his direction. She does not touch him, but it is obvious that she’s close enough to do so if she wanted. Her lips twitch, tempted to curve into her signature grin, but she keeps her countenance wiped blank. She’s playing with him, just as she likes to play with anyone else, and it must be so frustrating to deal with. His persistence is both admirable and amusing. Her walls were built without doors for a reason, and yet there are people that still come knocking.

Icy fingertips pinch the fabric of his scarf, tugging it upwards with a flick of the wrist. She retracts her hand after pulling the scarf over his nose, softening the sharp gust of wind that blows down the street and lifts strands of hair, tickling her cheeks and sticking to her eyelashes. “Perfectly reachable, as you can see.”