"Okay. Remember to brush him daily, else his hairballs will be ridiculous. Also, send photos and keep me updated on Felix okay? Thanks! I've already transferred the amount. I just paid for one month in advance because I'm not sure when I'll be back from my trip— okay, thanks!"
He ends the call with a smile and chirpy 'goodbye' that fades as soon as he hits the 'end call' button. That has Felix taken care of.
Tossing the mobile device onto the passenger seat, he twists his body around, stretching an arm around the driver's seat to retrieve the stuffed duffel bag and backpack resting in the back seats. Unzipping the duffel bag, he does a check of its contents, mentally checking off the supplies off his list as he accounts for each item – clothes, toiletries, electronics, batteries, cash. Check. Once he's done, he tosses the bag back to the backseats.
From his backpack, he pulls out a laptop, opening it to be greeted with a new message from the chat room:
[ 莲花 ] I've told you already right?
[ 莲花 ] They're moving tonight. Leaving Seoul.
[ 莲花 ] If you're planning on doing anything. It's now.
[ nameless ] I know.
[ 莲花 ] So? Are you doing anything.
[ nameless ] Would I have bothered contacting you if I weren't?
[ nameless ] Don't worry. I'll get your son.
[ nameless ] I can play dirty.
[ 莲花 ] They are dangerous people boy.
[ nameless ] Hence the dirty.
[ nameless ] If I can't bring them down, then I'll just drag them down with me.
[ nameless ] Simple.
[ 莲花 ] Sicheng.
[ nameless ] Chill woman. Did I say I'd bring Sicheng down with me?
[ 莲花 ] Like I said. They're dangerous.
[ 莲花 ] So be careful.
[ nameless ] Aww, is that concern I hear?
[ nameless ] How touching.
[ 莲花 ] Child, you are too young to lose your life over something like this.
[ 莲花 ] Too young to be meddling in such affairs even.
[ 莲花 ] This isn't the world for youth like you.
[ nameless ] We could go on about how I'm not supposed to be fucking around with the bad guys and the criminal.
[ nameless ] But here we are.
[ nameless ] And so is Sicheng. So save the nagging for another time.
[ 莲花 ] Always so stubborn, Watchman.
[ 莲花 ] Anyways. They should be leaving soon.
[ nameless ] Hacked their vehicle before hand.
[ nameless ] Got GPS tracking on them. Don't worry. I know where they will be.
[ nameless ] g2g
[ 莲花 ] Watchman.
[ 莲花 ] Remember our promise.
[ 莲花 ] Sicheng will not know.
[ 莲花 ] You promised.
Doyoung doesn't bother granting the woman a reply, switching windows to a map with a illuminated moving blue arrow on the screen. They were still a few blocks away. He's got time.
Scoffing, the slams the laptop close and carelessly tosses it towards the backseat, along with the backpack. Leaning back into the driver's seat, he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as he empties his mind. Or at least, that's what he attempts to do, without much success. As if Kim Doyoung could ever empty his mind; His mind never stopped.
So today was the day huh?
He's waited so long. Bide his time. Plotted. Schemed. It's a bit of a letdown, to him mostly, how crude the plan seemed; But he supposes that's just a reflection of him as a person. He's not one for complicated mind games of logic and reason. He's one for complicated mind games of reckless unpredictability and bold chaos. It's just unfortunate that Gray wouldn't be in the picture. And that revenge was off the table for the time being.
But it's fine. Sicheng came first anyways. He always did.
He slips on his gloves and face mask, pulling out the steel baseball bat from the side as he stepped out of the black Audi ( he thinks; he doesn't know, he stole it ).
The streets are abnormally quiet tonight, though it's unsurprising since it's New Year's Eve. And pretty much everyone was out being all festive at Yongsan. Good for them, and good for him too. It's a blessing in disguise that they decided to transport Sicheng tonight of all nights. Now everyone would be too preoccupied with the festivities to bother with the chaos he has planned. And even better, the SPD would all be concentrated in that area. Who's going to care what happened at the outskirts of the city?
He casually saunters over to the conspicuous red Ferrari – also stolen; from one of those sleazy old men patronising Gray's shit business – parked further down the street, bat in hand. Sliding into the driver's seat, he turns on the engine. And waits.
Sparing a brief glance at his watch, he dully notes that it's 11:51PM, and wonders if the fireworks haven't started yet. And as though on cue, his ears pick up the vague sounds of explosions going off in the distance coming from the heart of the city. He almost misses the distinct sound of a roaring engine just up the street over the sounds of the distant fireworks and his own vehicles engine.
It's here. Here.
He straps himself in, eyes glued to the mobile GPS on his lap as he revs the engine, foot pressed down lightly on the accelerator and right hand resting on the handbrakes.
His eyes follow the little blue arrow... and just as they're about to reach the junction...
Now.
He simultaneously slams down on the accelerator and releases the hand break, sending the car lurching forward as his body is pulled backwards and into the seat by means of physics. The last thought in his head before the airbag explodes in his face is something along the lines of, "Fuck, I'm going to regret this aren't I?"
And surprisingly, he doesn't regret it as much as he though he would. Also, it the crash, surprisingly too, does not hurt as much as he though it would've. When he looks up – after stabbing/deflating the air bag with his knife – he realises why. The van had taken the brunt of the impact. Swerving off the road and onto the pavement and colliding with the opposite building.
So the whole: It's better to hit a moving object, over a stationary one. Is true. There must be some physics mumbo jumbo explanation behind that, but he'd got no time to dwell on that.
Not when he might have whiplash, and not when he's got a boy to rescue. He ought to get some action done before he knocks out from fuck knows what internal injuries he might or might not have sustained thanks to this stupidly effective plan of his.
Coughing, he drags himself out of the wrecked car, baseball bat in hand.
Walking up to the driver's seat the wordlessly smashes the window in, ignoring the groaning driver as he reaches his arm in to grope around for buttons – of which he presses all of them, indiscriminately. One of them ought to open the back door.
Heading over to the back of the van, he pulls the doors open – evidently his 'press all the buttons' idea had worked – swinging the bat over his shoulder.
"Okay. Hear, hear. I'm looking for a Dong Sicheng. You little shits might know him as Kiddo."
It'd been just over a week since Sicheng had moved in with Doyoung, and he'd settled in nicely. His room here was itself larger than his old apartment, and he'd been able to pull some stuff out of storage; a few mementos of his mothers, little tchochkes that she'd brought from China, a few photos of her, young, holding him, still a doughy, pale little baby, her smile wide and proud. He'd been selective, of course, just in case Doyoung ever came poking about. There were no photographs that indicated that he'd spent most of his life here in Korea, save for one of his mother and himself posed underneath a blooming cherry tree when he was in middle school, which he figured he could explain away as a vacation photo. He remembered that day with strange clarity, and knew that it was the last photograph of him and his mother ever taken.
He hadn't realized until he was moving in how weird he might look; the vast majority of his belongings were useless doodads, little souvenir miniatures from shrines and other historical locations that he hadn't realized he collected. He also owned an alarming amount of capsule toys, little plastic figurines of chibi felines, personified food, that sort of thing. He hadn't brought any furniture, however, aside from a television stand, because he hadn't owned any. He also didn't have much in the way of clothing, and his closet was looking quite bare, frankly speaking. No more than a dozen shirts hung from hangers inside of it, and his dresser was half-empty. He had three pairs of shoes total, which sat in a neat row on the floor, beside a large duffel bag, which contained high school uniforms from five different schools (which he was currently trying to think of a better hiding place for). He'd made a mental note to go clothes shopping, so that he might seem more normal, but he hated shopping for practical things, as evidenced by the collection of toys he'd amassed over the years.
The apartment had been rather peaceful, as Doyoung had been suddenly quite busy the past week, citing sudden changes in deadlines set by such-and-such magazines. Sicheng hadn't fully listened, honestly, only nodded and wished the other boy a good day. The two of them hadn't exactly spoken in great depth quite yet, but they'd shared a bit of cordial banter, Sicheng thought, and had settled into a pleasant enough cohabitation.
Today was his first real free day since moving in, Sicheng had decided. There were no deliveries or deals to be made, and he had finished unpacking. He'd went out for coffee that morning, and instead of tidying up the remnants of his move (cardboard boxes which still sat scattered across his room, and newspapers he'd wrapped his more delicate belongings in), had opted to be lazy and settle on his bed, his back up against the wall, to watch television. In this case, a rather silly drama. In truth he was more preoccupied with staying completely still, so that Felix, who currently purr-snored away in his lap, didn't wake up.
He hadn't even heard the sounds of Doyoung returning to the apartment, so he was quite genuinely surprised when the door swung inward, and the taller boy stepped in, causing Sicheng to jump, and the sleepy cat to perk up and shoot him an irritated glance.
Sicheng loved school holidays, because although he wasn't actually a high school student, it wouldn't make much sense to see one walking down the street in their uniform on a holiday, so they were, in effect, holidays for him too.
So he had slept in. And even after waking, had spent most of his day in bed.
Which was nice, but also served to highlight a key problem for Sicheng; his apartment was woefully small. It was after all, a studio, but frankly speaking, it'd be better described as a closet.
His bed was the only notable resident of space, and that was because there could only be his bed. There wasn't space for anything more than it and a dresser, and his bathroom was narrower than his armspan and was in various ways a tight squeeze. Not to mention, after a close call with a customer attempting to follow him home last month, a change of scenery would be nice. It was no good living in a neighbourhood that he worked. It was like shitting where you eat.
The thought of getting a larger, nicer apartment had knocked around in his head before, and he'd even made the effort of looking into it. Unfortunately, Seoul was not an easy place for a foreigner of any sort to rent a nice apartment, no, if you weren't Korean, most landlords required that you had a sponsor of some kind to vouch for you. Most foreigners used their employers, or schools, as sponsors, but Sicheng didn't have either of those things...at least not legitimately.
And so it was that Sicheng took to a website on which people could post classified ads, and started sorting through listings of people who were looking for roommates, mostly out of sheer boredom, as there was very little chance that a flatting situation would actually work out, considering his...general disposition. He'd compartmentalized his life well enough that work didn't come home with him, so at the very least, that wasn't an obstacle.
That was the story, anyways, until he came across one listing in particular that piqued his interest, if for no other reason than it seemed too good to be true. The post was authored by someone who was requesting a roommate for an apartment in a nearby neighbourhood, a neighbourhood notably nicer than his own. The apartment was relatively spacious, and overall, quite nice. It was strange, though, Sicheng thought, that somebody apparently able to afford such a nice place to begin with wanted a roommate.
Sicheng to a moment to admire his surroundings, and almost immediately picked up his phone and began to dial the number listed on the post. At the very least, it'd satiate his curiosity and give him something to do, at best, it'd get him out of the claustrophobic space he currently occupied.
"Um, hey?" he said, when the owner of the aforementioned phone number answered, "I'm just calling in response to your classified ad. The one about the roommate?"
Sicheng hates clubs, he hates drunken people and their drunken antics, women gathered in groups laughing too loudly, men standing shyly against walls, or sneaking up on unsuspecting girls on the dancefloor, the grinding, the poorly hidden erections, the reek of breath and liquor, it all pisses him off. But there he was, standing at a bar, music playing so loud that each thump of the bass vibrated his chest, setting off an itch in his ribcage, watching as the bartender poured him a drink.
He was waiting for a Vanguard contact, and seeing as it was unlikely that the bastard was going to show at this point, Sicheng had decided to at least get a little tipsy. Worst case scenario, he'd be tipsy, best case scenario, the asshole would show up late, and Sicheng would be loose enough to punch him in the face. He’d had a bad enough day, and this was only serving to make it worse.
Twenty minutes passed, and Sicheng had had more than he'd intended to drink, or at least that's how he felt; he'd only had a couple of drinks, but between his being a bit of a lightweight, and a heavy dose of the placebo effect, his world wasn't quite as stable as it ought to be. He had just decided to pack it up, get a cab, and deal with all the bullshit tomorrow, pushing himself away from the bar, and straight into the chest of a man who'd somehow managed to sneak up beside him. The force of the collision almost knocked Sicheng backwards, and in impulse, his hands came up and grabbed the other guy's arms in order to prevent a fall.
Said man was tall, and handsome, and Sicheng had trouble reading the expression on the guy’s face, which irritated him.
"Can I help you with something? Or do you want to remove yourself from my way?" he pieces together, his hands still planted firmly on the stranger's forearms.
Hello Murder Inc., I'm Dayo, mun to Sicheng here! I (as well as him, I'm sure) can't wait to get to know you and your muses! I am always open to plotting, even if it seems unlikely or something that our muses would meet, don't hesitate to pm me (or find me on Twitter @prolapsehun and we can talk there, no but really let's follow each other I need more activity on my timeline) ANYWAYS, We can always figure something out!
Sicheng is kind of difficult to get to know. He's good at being friendly when he needs to be, but if he doesn't need to be friendly, he's either all-business, or kind of a sarcastic prick. Whether it's charming or not kind of depends on your (or your muse's) point of view. He can also be kind of brutal...I mean, he gets what he needs to get done...done. Somewhere beneath the hardened exterior, sure, is some surprisingly genuine kindness, and a very lonely person, but it's been years since anyone's got to see that side of him.
ANYGUAYS, I can ramble on about him for days, so I’ll stop. I’m glad to be here! Hit me up, I don’t bite! Unless that’s your kink.
[text] Look, just because you have my number, it doesn’t mean you can keep messaging me.
★ texts memes
outgoing → general waste of space #4( ✉ ) um… no? that’s… exactly what it means. ( ✉ ) how else am I supposed to keep myself entertained this boring afternoon?( ✉ ) nothing makes me feel busier than causing suffering and pain.( ✉ ) especially to those so deserving :) ( ✉ ) (: ( ✉ ) :)( ✉ ) (:
