#seul;p

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something wicked. kjj.

The smell of tea brewing lingers in the air, though Taemin stepped out of the shop long ago, and Seulgi revels in its familiarity, chin propped in her hand and her surroundings a mass of vibrant hues and soft silks, delicate tapestries and plush cushions in saturated colors. She's situated in the center of a plush couch, velvet and navy blue, a pleasant contrast against pale skin and golden hair. The back of it rises high and ornate, an antique plucked from a rummage sale and thoroughly cleaned before being repurposed into the opulent interior of the little shop. Before her is a wide black walnut coffee table, polished until her reflection shines in the surface, a stack of ornately detailed cards stacked carefully at the edge, along with candles and a few other miscellaneous items, two plush arm chairs sitting across from her, angled to face both table and girl. This is her general set up for tarot readings, designed for maximum comfort- a good reading takes awhile after all.

Today she is bored, however, left to her own devices with a lack of customers to appease her and her partner fled in search of better times. So she sends out some texts, falls into conversation, and slowly finds herself lifting her head to greet a familiar presence, a face she recognizes before she sees it. He has an aura to him, something dark and grasping that draws her in as she grins- feline and sultry as it settles against her lips. She's still reclining lazy and poised against the couch, legs extended long past the hem of her dress, a plain black slip of fabric. She isn't half as ornate in the outside world as her surroundings in Delphi would suggest.

His appearance brings a grin to her lips, knowing and saccharine sweet, an edge of mischief that cannot be properly hidden. He thinks himself a bundle of secrets, this would-be king, but Seulgi doesn't run a fortune telling shop for nothing- she knows enough in bits and pieces of secrets and whispers to know that he is haunted and twisted and quite possibly terrible, and it draws her in. "I'm almost surprised to see you, oppa, I could have sworn you forgot about little old me in my boring old shop," she teases the words full aware that he can't forget her, that for whatever reason she's got him hooked. The cards suggest reasons to her, family and trauma and pain, but she'll let him reveal specifics in time- or not at all, frankly, as long as she gets what she wants. And oh, she so often does. "Do you want a little tea, or a smoke?" she offers it on a purr, gesturing to the curio cabinet beside her that houses such things, the two ways to deliver the drugs she and her compatriot so faithfully breed and brew.

[savedseul-blog-blog-blog]

descent. kms.

The summer air is warm against her skin, even as the sun slips slow over the horizon, disappearing into the glittering blue of the ocean. The sky is light yet from its glow, but there is an inky midnight blue growing over the city behind them, ignored in favor of the roaring fire and the shouts and calls of revelry amongst beach goers. 

With school out for the summer there is never a quiet evening on Lemnos Beach, and on this night the college students have monopolized the area, littering it with beer cans and smoked blunts and cigarette butts that will provide some poor life guard staff with a terrible cleaning job in the morning. But for the moment it is all revelry and madness in a way befitting of their origins, shouts and laughter ringing near as loud as the music playing from the dj booth set up on the flat sands away from the water's edge.

She's warm from booze and sun, her hair a tousled blonde cascade down her back, jean shorts cut off dangerously high against her legs but hey, its a beach party, what were they expecting? Seulgi is all grace as she traverses warm sand, flip flops abandoned at some indeterminate point in the evening. She came with Taemin - as she always does- and it is always understood that they'll be leaving separately. He's already disappeared at this point, curled up in someone's arms no doubt, and Seulgi isn't about to be left behind. 

Slender legs carry her across golden sands to the edges of the shoreline where a knot of people sit lazy around a fire. The light of the fire casts harsh shadows across their faces, and as she draws closer one in particular is illuminated into something breathtaking. There is a dark flicker in the depths of his gaze that sinks hooks into her soul and pulls her in. Before she makes a conscious decision she's balanced on the flat of the log bench beside him, legs crossed dainty one over the other and a wicked grin easy on her lips. "You look bored." she teased easily, fishes into her pocket to pull out a blunt, leaves ground and rolled carefully in thin glittering paper, a purple cast to the plant that seems just the slightest bit unnatural. "If you're a good boy I'll let you smoke with me."

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iv. golden -- ky, ksg.

Her eyelids are heavy, her movements sluggish like she might have been staggering through molasses, forcing her way through jello just to climb the stairs, wander along the hallways. Perhaps due to the nocturnal nature of her goddess, Seulgi has never been the best at sleeping when she should. She struggles with wakeful thoughts an earnest flutters in her chest, wanderlust that bubbled up in her, prompted her to prowling the neighborhood in lazy footfalls. When it got to be too long without sleep, she turned to old favorites- powders and potions and booze and pills, usually in some combination. It wasn't the healthiest way to function but Seulgi never claimed to be anything but a disaster, a train off the rails rattling wild. Her circadian rhythm hasn't been in proper alignment since she was born, but she's mostly learned how to deal with it. But every so often it wears her down, runs her just a little bit ragged. Today is one of those days, and at three in the afternoon she realizes dance practice just isn't fucking happening. Her bag hangs heavy from her shoulder, sneakers scraping against the ground as she shuffles towards the apartments nearest her practice studio of choice, familiar as they loom before her. She doesn't have a ton of friends, a ton of people that she can stand in a moment like this, somewhat vulnerable and largely exhausted. Yura is one of those people. There's something so pure and sweet about the girl that she can't help but relent a little around her, softening at the edges in the wake of the other's sweet grins and quiet laughter. So there she is, rapping her knuckles against the door impatient, a staccato thunk that echoes in the quiet hallway, prompts the other girl to pull the door open quizzically. Seulgi holds up a single slender finger, extends it in a motion of silence against her lips as she shuffles forward into the other's arms, toeing off her shoes to settle her head against the other's chest, nosing into soft skin with an appreciative sigh. Seulgi was enthusiastically pansexual and when it came to women she appreciated those with the curves and softness she lacked. Ballet had toned her into lanky, lean and admittedly she had curves of her own, but Yura exuded a womanly softness that Seulgi didn't have, something that begged to be caressed and cherished. And while, quite frankly, Seulgi was generally opposed to both of those actions (preferring instead the marring of nails and the bite of teeth), Yura was the notable exception. Wrapping her arms around the other's waist she pushed her backwards, until they toppled into a pile along the couch, fitting forward atop the other girl, tucked in between her legs and pillowing her head against the soft curve of her breasts, peppering lazy kisses against exposed skin. "M'just real sleepy today," she explained absurdly belatedly, peeking up to offer the other a slow grin, the smug tug of lips into a kittenish expression of contentment, fingers spinning idly over the other's side. "And you know you're my favorite pillow." The afternoon light filtered soft through the windows, painting the pair in a quiet golden hue that illuminated the smooth paleness of Yura's skin, the dark contrast of her hair and the pretty sparkle in doe eyes.

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iii. like vines -- psy, ksg

There was a quiet ritual to getting the mail, the lull of the afternoon sun as it seeped slow through the windows, cloaking the small lobby in a golden glow. She was clad simply, jean shorts and a loose black shirt, hanging from slender shoulders, her hair caught up in an artful bun- perfected in smoothness and ease after years of sweeping it up for ballet. It wasn't the most flattering look for her, she'd been assured, but who was she to care about something like that? She was getting the mail and she wasn't generally in the business of trying to impress people anyway. The lines of little metal doors glinted quiet in the soft light and her footfalls prompted a soft echo, twining with the quiet lobby music, something classical and faded out soft. The key slid into the lock with only a hint of difficulty, rust undoubtedly beginning to mar the interior cogs, and she pulled the sheafs of envelops from the tin confines with an absent minded hum, flicking through them as she locked the door, moved to pad towards the stairs. An unfamiliar name caught her eye in that moment, prompted the barest quirk of her brow, a quiet frown as she spied the etchings of the address. A floor up from hers, a misdelivery. How frustrating- time wasted doing someone else's job. It prompted a quick roll of her eyes, tongue clicking dismissive as she mentally rebuked the undoubtedly lazy and inept mailcarrier, feet trudging up the stairs towards the noted apartment. The journey was short enough and the door perfectly familiar- identical to her own (and to all the others in the building) but for the number on the door and the very faint echo of music from within. She braced herself mentally, never one to be fond of small talk and pleasantries, and rapped firmly at the door, heard it echo through the quiet halls. Slim fingers moved to slide through her hair, only to remember the bun and drop in suspended frustration, curling loosely into a fist as her side as she pressed her thumbnail into her palm, shot a quick excuse for a grin at the girl who opened the door, her voice soft and her face similar- a kind sort of pretty. "Hey, uh, I think this is yours." Seulgi wasn't really one to mince words, proffering the envelope in her hand with a curious expression, gaze drawn to the canopy of green blooming behind the other, plants of all sorts crowded into the small room, decorating sills and shelves and reminding her almost uncomfortably of home- or rather, of how home had once been.

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i. fortune -- ltm,ksg

The wind was crisp and cold, the sky a clouded canopy of slate gray fading to a somber dusk, and it was perfect weather to be settled into bed with a good book or tucked up in front of the fireplace. But this didn’t stop the marketplace from buzzing with life, the thriving hub swarming with busy participants, shouting merchants and haggling customers, parents herding children and teenagers ducking out on after school activities to hang out with their friends, scarfing down food from little stalls. And Seulgi? She sat, draped in dark fabrics, her hair flowing and long, her eyes precisely and darkly lined, a slight shimmer to the makeup and the barest, most mysterious lilt of a smile on her lips, fit to rival the Mona Lisa itself. This was the nature of business, after all. It was peeking at the world from between the fluttering doors of her canopy, the jingle and clang of wind chimes and bells strung up from the framing. The tea kettle balanced precariously on top of a camping stove on an vintage brass drink cart in the corner began to whistle abruptly, steam shooting from the spout and flooding the small interior with an appropriately misty shroud of humidity, one she hoped the passerby properly noticed, because it really added to the mystique well. And just as she reached to place two cups and tea bags to the table, a familiar mop of dark hair stooped to poke into her tent, obstructing the sun and further muting the already dim light. “Hey sailor, want me to read your palm?” she lilted in that same lazy, minutely mysterious tone she used for business- a blend between all knowing and slightly over it. Despite her words she was already pouring the tea, watched the leaves stain the water a pretty royal blue. Seulgi reached abruptly across the table to snag the other’s wrist, slender in her palm- breakable almost, which was appealing in an odd way and certainly wasn’t a thing a normal girl ought to think about, frankly- as she swept her hand over his fingers to unfurl them, examined the lines. “You’re doomed to play second fiddle to your exceptionally hot next door neighbor.”