SMOKESCREEN - @velveteenr4bbit ??? - EVENING THE CREW APPEAR AS A SEMI-CIRCLE OF EYES AS THEY WATCH - Minji standing there, cigarettes stuffed into a palm and poorly hidden. Not that Kiyong’s any better, a half-pack of them jammed down deep in his pocket, and with a thumb-nail bitten down past the quick and into the rind of his skin. He’s been needing a smoke for the past four hours and this entire production doesn’t seem forgiving in regards to broadcast-banned habits. They likely won’t stop him, but sabotaging your career that spectacularly probably makes for great TV. He’s not looking to do that, but he’s looking out past the skyline of production-heads and into acceptably-maintained nature. He could slip off on his own, the crew hasn’t noticed him yet. But he can recognize the tight door-hinging of her fingers around that pack to know that he shouldn’t. If she were a stranger, he might’ve. But she isn’t. So Kiyong winds his way closer and presses a smile into place. Here’s the thing about most people: smile at them with straight enough teeth and they’ll let you get away with a lot. Kiyong’s wearing this peel-and-stick personality now, a head ducked into frame and he pins that smile onto her. “Minji, haven’t seen you in ages. You know, there’s someone else who was looking for you…” he tilts his head as he talks, hopes the quick dart of his pupils is enough to get the hint of it all across to her, that he’s planning on bolting and taking her with him. It’s enough, because he can hear the drag of her shoes behind him as he backs out from the swarm of production crew hanging around them locust-thick. He doesn’t slow down to talk, cuts past a group of people he somewhat recognizes, around a corner, and then another, until it starts to feel like they’re wading out from the mire of filming. It feels like residue now, stuck to his skin. He swipes a palm against flat of his chest, thumb digging an ache into his sternum. Kiyong stops on the outskirts of the grounds, trees crowding into each other and overgrown weeds intent on choking the grass out. Everything a dead shade of yellow and snapping underneath his heel “no cameras here, don’t worry” he reassures as he finds a toppled rock to sit on. “God, I don’t know why I agreed to this.” Already and this is mumbled around the filter of a cigarette he’s got in his mouth, hand to flame and watching it smoke up that paper does something to settle his nerves. Done lighting his and he extends his lighter out in a silent offer to Minji. “Regretting it too, or enjoying your time in the limelight so far?”