a sigh of touch for [ ahn yisol the mottled venom ]. ... ft. @solah9 // a strewn bar somewhere // 23:11. [ tw. alcohol abuse, future implied violence ]
there’s no reprieve for the cruel. he engraves that into the mouth of the night, his lips latching onto the third shot glass that he’s learned to familiarise himself with since long ago, too long ago. the feelings of claustrophobia that creep underneath a sign of life, weeping writhing, siphoned in the form of a common complacency. he’s subdued the sense too, the clamouring crowd with occasional glances directed his way—one, of desire, and two, of inquire—has become an amalgamation of the usual denominator. there are words hushed, rumouring the fact that the boss of the triste is dwelling within these very confines. however, despite their best or worst interests, not many actually would surmise that a pretty face harbours a pretty beast, too, underneath this very humble attire. clad in tattered jeans, alongside a secondhand black sweater with its fading humility, he barely grasps the attention of plenty beyond his face. still, he would rather blend with the rest, keeping a low profile.
the mission is afoot, with a sliver of thoughts plaguing the forefront of his mind.
there’s no captive intent between his teeth, for now, but his eyes are fixated on the back of a certain man working behind the scene. they share a surname, but their fates cannot be more polarising. he’s diligently scoured the reports around ahn yisol, the cruelties branded to this very name piquing sophos’ interests. it’s been a while now, thus the personal act. yisol, or rather, sol, should be flattered by the end of the night if it goes well. housing a group of hundreds, the triste doesn’t typically endure a private investigation to initiate new members. the method of brutalities, nevertheless, has always smeared intrigue into sophos, so here he is. he tips his head back to finish the alcohol, the scorching trail a sobering moment in its contrasting ripple. when he finally captures sol’s attention, he smiles, almost meekly. he knows that sol would notice him despite the previous encounter being cloaked in the dark. he gestures for sol to come closer. “hey,” he hums when sol is close enough to him from across the counter. “i’d want my wallet back, but you seem like you might need it more than me, albeit empty.” his words are lined with mirth. “let’s say, i commanded the man commissioning you. do you know where this is going, ahn yisol?” his eyes flicker to the man, then his own shot. empty. he tilts his head sideways, gaze a burning question despite the overall apathy.
