#mi:tarot

[jeonggukxmi]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ I HOPE  YOU MAKE IT TO THE DAY YOU’RE 28 YEARS OLD  ▓▒

he's awfully busy for someone who feels like he does absolutely nothing. what do you do? people he meets ask. they mean where do you work, what is your job, are you as young as you look, which sky university are you going to, and he always says not much. he plays it off with a boyish smile-- falsified charm, over cups of coffee, and in pc bangs, and libraries, and everywhere. he is anywhere there is information to soak up; he is in the wires and the walls and in every camera now.

at the end of the day, when day fades to night, he is in a warehouse owned by vanguard that he’s made his office, sectioned into rooms where the other, less rambunctious members of the gang work. he constantly updates databases-- stockpiles information-- does any jobs required of him behind his laptop, and then when he’s done, he sits in club mystique, blends into the background and observes.

always, there’s his primary laptop, tucked away in his bag, and his phone, coded ridiculously to deter anyone less intelligent than he is from meddling with it. deep within hidden pockets, if someone were to rummage through, they’d find a knife and a lighter, just in case. less suspicious are the books he keeps in the bag, just to fill it up and defend his innocence if anyone snoops as much as he does. (sometimes he reads them. sometimes, his life isn’t completely robbed of his hobbies and joy.)

all of this, stacked on top of each other, keeps the tarot card from slipping out of his bag until he’s back in his silent, mostly-abandoned apartment, and with no idea how and when it got there.

he inspects it curiously. languages aren’t his strong suit, but he commits the kanji to his memory for further inspection-- takes in the sight of the scorpion, and his mind reels. his first thought: there is a mole in vanguard. the only time he can think of where he left his bag unattended for an instant was during his work today, or at club mystique, both of which swarmed with vanguard members. (he wouldn’t be surprised at this point. double agents are abundant in this business. vanguard has taken everything from him; there is nothing beyond its members. he knows.)

he flips the card over, taking in the sight of it: judgement, reversed. he isn’t a fan of symbols-- never learning deeper meanings quite as well as numbers and probability and patterns, but this is a code in itself. some hackers are incredibly creative in their puzzles; once, there was one who left clues to crack their system based on the tarot cards and their meanings. reversed judgement means-- no, he’s forgotten. how could he forget? he is only human too, but...no. it’s not acceptable.

it doesn’t matter.

he walks further into his apartment, down the hallway and into the family room-- over to the windowseat and the standup lamp he turns on, looking at it beneath the light. it’s then that he sees the words-- then that he feels rage.

it’s not time for you yet. refine your skill. 

no. it is always time for him. no one else gets to decide that.

and yet he doesn’t know who they are. not yet. how does he not know, when he dwells in the very security of this city? how can anyone escape him unless they are right under his nose? surely there is a traitor in vanguard. it’s the only answer.

he reaches into his bag, and the inner pocket, drawing out the lighter. he opens the window, and watches as the flame flickers to life-- holds it dangerously close to his face. he holds the tarot card in his other hand, eyes bobbing from the card to the flame, words on it since vanished, but still dwelling in his mind.

it’s a challenge and dismissive all at once. he has never been so infuriated, and yet never cared so little-- at least this is what he tells himself.

no. you’re not ready for me yet.

he burns the card and lets the wind carry the ashes down to the city streets below.

“i’m watching you too,” he says, just in case they’re listening.

(he’s going to scour every inch of his apartment to make sure it isn’t bugged.)

[jupmi-blog]

Finding the Tarot

Jongup had picked up the decently sized card, not having ever really seeing one before. Yes he had seen it in the movie and such but he never held one in his hand before. The initial thought that ran through his mind was 'I thought it would be smaller than this.' That thought quickly fell when he noticed  how it shined in his hand, 'justice.' Justice? For what? For who? He didn't need any justice, he hadn't done anything --- no that was a lie. He had recently done something to people but it wasn't exactly his fault. His mindset got side tracked again when he noticed the small print as he turned the unclaimed item. His head tilted to the side, as if he were a dog and his owner was making a high pitched sound while speaking and he didn't understand. That's exactly the thing, he didn't understand.

He continued to be confused as he lifted the card into the air, noticing that the card shimmered once again, but in a different way. There were more words, but they weren't embossed on the card. It was written. He read it quickly to try to understand it as he went to find his phone so he could take a photo but by the time he was actually able to find it, the words had vanished. It irritated Jongup quite a bit, he wanted to try to figure it out, by himself but now the ink was gone. It just didn't make sense, unless...it was holographic, or whatever that term was. He didn't know it exactly, and nor would he really tell anyone else but he found it /really/ cool. After a quick ponder, he went back to trying to figure out the words, what they meant. He wrote them down in his phone so he wouldn't forget them.

He was right, he wouldn't ever forget them.

The words stung in his mind as he worriedly paced around his apartment. So many thoughts, so many questions but alas there were no answers, and if he didn't use one of his skills, there would be a answer soon...but he didn't think that it would be a very good answer. He stopped quickly as he realized that someone had been in his apartment, or several people even. He ran to his room to check on the things that he never wanted to lose. Yeah, it was a bit morbid, even Jongup thought so himself but he wanted to keep his brothers ashes beside his bed. It wasn't just out in the open but more or less in his drawer, supposedly safe.

Sighing with content as he realized that they were untouched, and that everything else seemed untouched as well other than what was used to hide this threat that came in a card. He went back to reading the phone, wondering what skill. He had many-ish skills that he considered was useful, and clearly so did someone else. But what one? Was it the most common, that everyone else could clearly see him do at his day job and probably at night while he worked on the gangs cars? Perhaps his fighting? Was it up to par that /anonymous/ wanted him to continue. Maybe, just maybe it was the talent that he possessed but others rarely knew of it. Playing dumb to gain trust, or information? Now, that could be something that the messenger wanted. He could even see it too, but that was the next unsolved riddle.

How could someone see this talent? Were they always around him? He started to panic, thinking if there was a face that he saw often and then he held his breath. Could it really be his gang? He shook his head not wanting to ever think that. That was betrayal, slander. Jongup shouldn't ever think of that about his second family, that someone would do this to him...they just couldn't.

Night pressed on as he continued to pace, pause and look back to his phone for the words. The phone made it more real, something to hold as if staring at it on /his phone/, when /he/ wrote it, it would some how secretly have more answers for him. It didn't and it never would. The feeling that gave him though, was one of comfort. When he looked at the time, 4:45AM, he sighed knowing that he should go to bed, thanking that he didn't have his day work to go to.

After his phone was charging he plopped down onto his bed, ready for sleep. But not to worry, the words etched into his mind. It was the last thing that was on his mind and the first to be when he woke. The message was clear, crisp and delivered.

"do not cross us.“

[mixhyoseong-blog]

pendulum.

tw: blood, murder, death, guns

she reads the text with a small tilt of her head, arms crossed against the windowsill of the car as the busy city life is completely blocked off to her world. focused, intrigued, hyoseong is already going down a list full of possibilities and finding some sense of mild entertainment while doing so. a gloved thumb and index finger keep the card from slipping out of her grasp as she rests her head against her arms, a sigh escaping her lips, brown hues watching with interest as the message from earlier that has now since disappeared had embroidered itself into her brain.

to say she had not adjusted to the abnormalities that came with gang life would ultimately be a lie, but that doesn’t leave her with days without being surprised. a few weeks ago it came in the form of gunshots, and today it’s the silent flutter of a card that nearly goes unheard of when she pulls on her jacket. the item had fallen out of her pocket, only catching it’s random appearance in the corner of her eye (that also reminds her that it might be best to wear a hat today).

for a moment she thinks the card may be linked to the shootings from not too long ago, but her train of thought comes to a halt when deep voices echo in the parking garage. she regains her composure, placing the card in her pocket before rolling the window back up in time for the original owners to return. 

drunk, incoherent men stumble into their respected seats: one in the driver’s seat and one accompanying the unexpected hyoseong who swings her legs over his thighs without hesitation the second the doors close. smith & wesson revolver in her hand when the driver checks behind him, the barrel aimed for his face, “do you know about tarot cards?” she asks softly, almost cooing, and maybe the contrast is what helps coat the situation with a sense of security in alcohol driven logic.

“no--”

she pulls the trigger, blood spreading across the front window as the body slumps back upon impact. the man engrossed in her legs snaps into reality, disblief and fear evident in his eyes as he looks to the brunette in time for both her and the gun to turn their attention to him. “do you know about tarot cards?”

he doesn’t answer. at least not in a timely fashion.

she wipes blood from her cheek, stepping out of the car once she’s retrieved the requested paperwork.

her thumb glides across the screen of her phone, bringing it up to her ear as the sound of a familiar voice causes her lips to curl into a smile. “brian, come over,” her words are laced with command, “and find out a few things about tarot cards before you do.. oh? if you haven’t eaten anything yet then i’ll order chinese.”

[wonwoomi]

party poison,

it’s left discreetly in your belongings. it doesn’t look out of place, in fact, it looks like it belongs there. you don’t notice it’s being falling out of your belongings until you reach for the said item. the tarot card falls like wicked grace on a mine field; scattered and beautiful. it’s a copper coloured card with a monochrome twist, the words ‘justice’ and a picture of lady justice herself is decorated upside down on the card.

on the back of it is a symbol. not one you recognise yet. but one you soon will. the symbol consists of a geometric scorpion with astral points connecting the dots. in faint kanji the words ‘scorpion’ had been written. it means nothing.. for now.

once the card is lifted up into the light, you can see a faint text. on further analysis, you realise that holographic ink decorates the card. the ink fades after sixty seconds, but you manage to read the words that had formerly faded.

“it’s not time for you yet. refine your skill further. we’ll be visiting you soon, but for now we will monitor you from afar.”

albeit the context, you understand this is an invasion. not something that you can analyse for now, but whatever you do with this card is solely up to you. the message, however, is something that burns deeply in your mind. paper can be thrown, sentiment cannot.

( tw !! death/murder mention )

honestly, when wonwoo first feels something out of the ordinary tucked into his pocket, he assumes very little of it. having sat in a shady bar for most of the night, scoping out a target before going in (literally) for the kill, he’s not surprised to feel a little slip of card in his (or not his, technically) leather jacket pocket. he’s proud to admit his mysterious good looks have gotten him a few business cards and scribbled phone numbers in the past, though he only ever throws them away on the way home, or reuses them in the future (he’s scribbled many a suitor’s number on the door of a bathroom stall, or passed them onto new strangers in new bars). 

thus, when his fingers trace the edges when he dips into his pocket casually as he watches the man before him wither away, whimpering, he assumes it’s simply a business card to some sleazy club, or a business man or woman looking for attractive eye candy, or something ridiculous that makes wonwoo want to hurl. it’s not until he’s on his way back to his second home, that he finally pulls it from his pocket and inspects it before he decides what to do with it. 

it’s a soft copper colour, art decorating both sides. he’s immediately aware this is not a business card, or a number scribbled on the corner of a receipt — of course, that doesn’t mean he does know what it is, but process of elimination will get him to some kind of conclusion eventually. truthfully, it feels like a very vague, and unnecessary threat. it feels like when someone comes to your door trying to sell you something, and won’t go away when when you say no, and shoves their foot in the door when you close it, proclaiming their product or service will ‘change your life!’. and people wonder why wonwoo never answers the door. (that’s a lie; it’s because he’s far too lazy to walk the distance.) 

anyway— it’s pretty, sure, and it’s weird, but what puzzles him are the words. only visible when he tilts it around under the lamp post to see it more clearly; ‘refine your skill further’, ‘we will monitor you from afar’. was this a direct message? it couldn’t be. jeon wonwoo was the best in his field; there’s no way he wasn’t good enough for whatever this shit meant. even so, wasn’t it all a little... childish? petty? why was he being passed notes in class again? he’s twenty fucking years old. an (almost) fully fledged adult. he wasn’t about to spend more than a couple minutes pondering on a little piece of card left in his pocket, potentially by any kim, lee or park. for all he knows, it could be nothing more than an attempt to mess with him by a brave prankster. it could even have always been there, before he even put the jacket on. 

whatever it was, wonwoo didn’t pay much attention to it before he lost interest. right now, freshening up and curling up in bed into familiar warmth was far more important than some dumb card and ‘what if’s. 

therefore, when he does finally kick the door shut behind him, he tucks it into his jeans pocket instead, as he throws the jacket down onto the nearest surface, sighing out the tension in his body. he cleans, changes, stretches, and finally, yawns at the figure on the sofa, pointedly looking between him and the bedroom door. he’s tired, but he sleeps so much better with company, so join me, he asks wordlessly, and I’m coming is replied, in the welcoming silence of the apartment. 

that night, he sleeps contently, having already almost entirely forgotten the cards existence. 

[mingyuxmi]

persecution complex.

Normality. A single week, a single day, hell, even a single hour seemed too much to ask for. Though, honestly, what did he expect? He had chosen this life, after all, and he pretty much threw away all chances of regularity back in November of 2013 when he officially joined Vanguard. While he couldn’t have predicted every moment and every aspect of his future and what lied ahead of him, he certainly thought his decision through enough to accept that normalcy wouldn’t be involved. He was aware that being involved in a gang clearly wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and he didn’t need it to be. He was well-trained and taught for years before he finally gave in to his fate and became ‘Ghost: the Hitman and Thief’ of a gang that he had grown close to thanks to the man he felt comfortable enough to view as a father. Even so, no one can really brace themselves for the side-effects and repercussions of a difficult life. Mingyu couldn’t have readied his mind and prepared his psyche for the psychological issues that often time walk hand-in-hand with trauma.

A lot of it was his own fault and not completely uncontrollable, but he couldn’t bring himself to see that when he was constantly being proven that his mindset was “correct”. The boy had been abandoned far too many times, and the occasion in which he lost the people closest to him weren’t scarce. He began to see everything as temporary which skewed his views on connections and attachments. No one can be trusted, he’d constantly tell himself. Despite it, he still held his gang higher than everyone else. While they may not be totally trustworthy, he still knew that they would have his back and probably not go anywhere if they had anything to do with it. Though he caused himself to believe that all forms of connections were off of the table for him, it wasn’t exactly precise. He cared about Vanguard, every single member, though he couldn’t fully admit that to himself, much less anyone else. It was just something that happened to be true, information stored somewhere deep within him that would kick in if triggered. He would die for those members, but he wouldn’t even be sure of that himself unless faced with the situation in which it was necessary.

Paranoia. It was something that the hitman experienced quite often. His issues with trusting people had, over time, dipped into the realm of thinking that a lot of them also had ill intentions. It wasn’t completely surprising, of course, when you take into account the amount of near-death experiences he’s encountered in the past twenty years. Alongside that, he’s discovered that members of other gangs, dangerous individuals, surround him when he isn’t even expecting it. He’s let enough people in and he doesn’t want threats close. Knowing the nature in which people behave, especially within the depths of Seoul, he knows that one wrong move could result in his death. While that isn’t the worst thing in the world, as he’s mentioned time and time again, he still has a duty to fulfill. He would prefer to keep himself safe, as well as those very few that are dear to him, and the gang family that’s stuck around (despite not having much of a choice) when no one else did.

He’s attentive, so, of course, he notices when an unfamiliar card falls to the ground as he’s hanging up his jacket. It’s really odd, so his eyebrows knit together in confusion as he bends down to remove the item from the floor. “Hm,” he quietly hums as he examines the image upon the unusual tarot card. He knew for a fact that he never picked this up, so it wasn’t put here by him. His mind immediately begins to race as he turns it in his hands. One of his first thoughts was that it could have been planted by someone from Black Lotus since he discovered recently that their SIC now knew where he lived. Though, as soon as his eyes fell upon the symbol on the back, he knew that wasn’t the case. This was clearly from someone else, but who? It worried him as he considered the fact that he now has even more people to worry about. He softly, yet abruptly, inhaled when he noticed words printed on the back with an odd ink. Not time? Refine your skill further? Visiting you soon? Monitor you from afar? “What the fuck,” was whispered under his breath as the message soon faded. He felt a sense of dread wash over him as he continued thinking about this. Who was this from? What did it mean? But most importantly of all... at least he wasn’t totally insane. He’d felt like someone was watching him, and now, at least, he knew that he wasn’t completely losing his mind.

[mixasura-blog]

❛ The Mysterious Tarot┊SOLO.

A tarot has been been found and despite her lack of interest as far as the whole world is concerned, scorching SPARKS of curiosity and eagerness have been kindled by the brief sentence written upon it — She does not want to ignore it, she does not want to forget about it... She wants ANSWERS and no matter what, she will have them.

Sheer and undivided confusion is by now smeared deftly upon each line carved out of ivory features and the more those words pirouette and echo within the confines of her incredibly hazed and blurred mind, the faster a conglomeration of anticipation and fear pumps through her dilating arteries, pallid complexion rising aglow in lines of excruciating goosebumps. What does this mean ? Is this some kind of prank, some kind of joke ? The tarot card is firmly and nervously held betwixt her rose-thorned digits and more and more, it’s brought closer to her widened pools of obsidian before being pushed away yet again, a clearly futile attempt to understand WHAT is currently happening, WHAT she should expect. With the eagerness of a child put in front of a new puzzle, Asura attempts to bring back to life all the memories of the past hours and days, digging through the recesses of her mind in pursuance of understanding WHEN the card was given to her, WHO had given it to her in the first place... Many faces appear in front of her eyes, some are familiar and others are currently twisted and deformed by the passing of time but it doesn’t matter how much she tries to recognize them or pay attention to their actions, nothing but question marks are birthed within the borders of her troubled and excited subconscious, leaving her with nothing but dozens of questions that will probably won’t receive an answer any time soon.

Instinctively, and without paying much attention to her movements or to her surroundings, the petite female allows her frame to nestle upon the edge of her bed, swan-like neck still crooked downwards and glimmering orbs of charcoal still hypnotized by the bizarre tarot; she observes every single detail of it, she tenderly brushes her fingertip over the surface but none of its characteristics can ring a bell... Not that she expected anything of the kind, considering that her knowledge as far as the outer world is concerned is extremely limited after her accident. A warning... A skill... These two words waltz on the edge of her serpentine tongue as she leans backwards, allowing her back to collide with the cushiony mattress beneath with a disheartened groan and more and more, these same words are repeated within her head. Her skill ? What could they be referring to ? There is nothing she’s good at, not extremely good at — Alright, she’s quite adept when it comes to KILLING without leaving a single trace and when it comes to TORTURE and MENTAL MANIPULATION, but who would want her skills ? And for what kind of purpose ? Despite the fact that a part of her indeed feels lucky and honored for being acknowledged by someone who’s probably much more violent than she will ever be, the much more mature and objective part of her is terrified of the possible consequences — A sublte THREAT is clearly concealed behind the pictoresque nature of the tarot and deep inside, she knows it, she knows that her life now seems to be on the line more than ever before.

Lithe digits tighten their hold around the card, pearly whites now sinking into the plump flesh of her lower labrum as her thick lashes of velour flutter closed; even like this, even with her senses reduced to a minimum in pursuance of indulging in a self-induced trance, there is nothing else she can think about. Suddenly, the previous frown shaped by dour sobriety and by the ghost of dread is replaced by an AMUSED façade, plush tiers curling upwards into the most wicked of smiles as her bloodied muscle attempts at breaking free of its cage of mortal bones and weak flesh with fast and violent beats that leaves her almost breathless — Whoever has sent her this tarot wants to challenge her to prove her worth and she NEVER surrenders in front of a fight, especially when she knows that she can WIN it. With renewed and ominous DETERMINATION blossoming within the confines of her ribcage, Asura gets up from her bed, carefully hiding the tarot card between the pages of an old diary; the night is still young and she has all the time she needs to be NOTICED by whoever has decided to contact her.