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@baudellare
- Angela Carter, The Lady of the House of Love.

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throwback drabble! (probably around 2015? 2016?) @baudellareâ
âyou said we came here for the beach.âÂ
thereâs a hint of annoyance in her voice; tension, tooâthough it is hard to pinpoint which emotion ran deeper. he is convinced that heâd be able to figure it out if he tried, but finds himself far more interested in the colors that brighten the wall in front of him. when a minute passes, the female speaks up again. this time, he is certain it is frustration that is overruling. it is easy to recognise what heâs grown used to.
âcasper, you said the beach would help me calm down.âÂ
a click of tongue proceeds his words, âi dunno, you donât seem very calm to me.â
âand whose fault is that?â
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Space / The Sun & Moon. for @baudellare
undressed in the same way
the night sky slowly sheds its inky luster;
unbuttoning stars, unclasping the moon
letting darkness fall in great shifts of blue black.
and as moonbeam begins to spill from the horizonâs edge,Â
sheâll slip into dawn in all of its silvery coldness.
a swan song flowing in gradients,
hues of midnight, rose, and ichor.

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đť â do you regret letting me close ?â
FOR: @godsqeed
IN RESPONSE TO: Â đť+ the question you want to ask my muse for a tipsy, drunken ( honest ) answer.
itâs embarrassing, the way she canât stop laughing and how heâs just sitting thereâ watching, waiting for an answer thatâs fighting its way up her throat. acid and regrets and every single thing that sheâs still left unsaid. god. nowâs not the time or place to crack open. so she downs a glass of soda instead, washing all that darkness away and replacing it with overwhelming sweetness. artificial, the smell and taste of something manufactured. like the facade sheâs trying to build againâ a large âno entryâ sign in bold red letters. chains all across it. no, casper. you canât come in.
too late for that, haneul.
she squints and tries to see past the fluorescent crown he wears; bright white and pure in a way he has never been. at least, not in a way that she has seen. because not even in their closeness did he ever truly let her in. so yes, yesâ thereâs some regret. how she stepped aside and opened the door for him; here, here is everything about me. fears and insecuritiesâ my envy, my vanity. how he took all that and slowly used it to break her down.
âiâd take back everything you know about me if i could.â she smiles and itâs like a sickle. hand gripping his own in a flash of anger. casper is the color of a bullet. gunmetal. gun powder. maybe he thinks of her as a moving target. a sliver of red in a forest of dark green. the crunch of leaves underfoot as she runs and runs and runs. maybe he thinks of her as ridiculousâ an easy prey, something he can toy with before the final blow.
but maybe, just maybe sheâs the final girl in this hunt.
and all he can do is chase her until his lungs give out.
âwhat about you, cas? do you regret letting yourself get close?â
@automaticfurytacoâ
She is not suspecting. Good, perfect. Itâs time to admire the sight (and scent) of pastries laid out in front of them. This, admittedly, is not a sight he expected, but a sight he greatly appreciates. âYouâve done a good deed,â he manages to comment as he sets his helmet aside, now facing the mysterious paper bag and its secrets. Never expecting to receive physical gifts, the way his eyebrows raise shows just how much he didnât expect anything (itâs the same thing every year, will he ever learn?). Curious he is, though. Especially after that reference to senior people and their tendency to freeze. According to that, he has been old for the past ten years already.
âYa⌠Careful.â Sungil scrunches the bag gently and the only thing he finds out is that whatever it contains, it is soft. âSoft, not too special, but useful. Just like me.â The man peeks in the bag without asking for permission, fingers reaching to touch. A reaction takes a few more seconds to arrive, delight mixes with amusement. They know he is hard to offend. They, the people who have met him at least a couple of times and stayed around. She has, for some reason.
âWhat is this⌠Eggs and foxes, what are you trying to tell me? Foxy egg? Eggy fox?â He glances at her for answers, finding none within that split second he spends inspecting her. Of course, he jokes again. She is fine. âThese are the only reason Iâm now suddenly looking forward to winter,â he utters, smiling, while still feeling out the fabric with his fingertips. âThank you, Haneul.â
(Heâd hug her if he hadnât just sat down in front of her. Later, then.)
Sheâd be the first one to see him sporting the new pieces of fashion. Knowing him, sheâd not have to wait until winter. He will start freezing in the next two months.
âWhat are you doing here, why arenât you asleep?â Early birds. Itâs not the first time theyâre awake and sharing thoughts the first thing in the morning. How accurate they are, that is up to the universe to judge.
foxy egg-- where does he even get these ideas from? haneulâs not the least bit surprised, but certainly no less amused. âaegi fox is more like it.â sheâs got jokes, sure, and she lets them fly without much thought to how well theyâll actually land. but this oneâs got her chuckling long before she even finishes saying it out loud. âget it? aegi? because youâre someoneâs baby brother--â she really ought to sit down now, before gilâs saint-like patience runs thin. âand youâre most welcome. iâm just glad you like what i got.â
sheâs sampled a few of the treats before he even got to the cafe-- considering how long it took him. something she would have questioned him about, but she supposes the birthday boy deserves a break too. âi was rehearsing and forgot about the hour-- as usual.â heâs heard this before; tales of woe about the job she loves and hates at the same time. âwhen i opened the curtains, the sun was already up-- i wondered if i should just greet you over the phone or make sure you get some vitamin d instead.â
it was 6 am when she left the studio. 6 am and everythingâs just waking up-- accompanied by the sound of her own footsteps as she finally makes her way to the bus stop; imagining the trees and its birds yawning as a gentle breeze wakes them up. a sky so bright and blue; why would she want to waste a morning as beautiful as that?Â
âisnât sleep for the weak? or was it iâll sleep when iâm dead?â her lips purse, fingers tapping on the toast sheâs holding thoughtfully. scattering crumbs as she chases the answer in head. scene paused.
"sleep when i'm dead, you angels. i'll sleep when i'm dead. but until then-- thatâs how the song goes, right? "
Camille Saint-SaĂŤns â Swan (me as a music piece)
MARION
I made you a cassette recording. Itâs a compilation of songs I used to listen to when I think of you. Plus a couple of things I thought you might like. Itâs not Tchaikovsky nor Saint-SaĂŤns, unfortunately, but they are pretty good if you are willing to broaden up your view in music.
MARIONÂ
I think music can make things seem a bit more real, sometimes âif you know what I mean.
MARIONÂ
 Iâve also included some break-up songs towards the end, just in case things donât work out. Which, obviously, you know, that isnât the aim, though, Iâm gonna tell you, it is likely. Passion  rarely lasts, Iâm afraid.
(Marionâs breath become shaky. He chuckles and shrugs off the feeling that is currently bothering him before continuing his one-sided conversation.)
MARIONÂ
Itâs not that Iâm trying to say we are going to break up. God, Iâm so shitty at this. What Iâm trying to say is happy birthday andâ
(He sighs, remain to continue the word that suppose to be included in that voicemail)
MARIONÂ
âŚÂ ĐŻ ĐťŃĐąĐťŃ ŃĐľĐąŃ Đ˛ŃоП ŃĐľŃĐ´ŃоП. Good night, or should I say good morning?
(Marion laughs)
SIX ACTS AND AN EPILOGUE set divided in two continents.
ACT IÂ END OF 2014 SET IN MOSCOW, RUSSIA
he doesnât need to think, nor doesnât need to feel (or so he believed)âas apathy drips from his tongue, his brain aches for the electric shocks of empathy, of love. yet, all he has is raging anger and a wish for a better opportunity to run away from the set on stone fate made by his father and granted by his mother dearest. all the life that he run away from, all those whom he push away, will inevitably be the death of him.
surely, everything will catch up to him in the end, wonât it?
but on the stage, she emerging. she is blooming, unfurling, coming alive. the creation of god that will be the killer of his nihilistic self, no? is this what they called love at the first sight? oh, donât joke around with this. ha-ha-ha how funny this sound, a gentleman in love with a ballerina is almost a similar concept of a prince falling in love with a mysterious woman in the castle that run away by midnight. leaving nothing but her glass shoes, but when the show end, she left him nothing but a beating heart and desire to hold her hand.
she leaped, and leaped, and leaped and leaped. so his heart beat, and beat, and beat, and beat. then he is burned alive in a heartbeat. darling, what kind of a witch are you to be able to bewitched a witch.
(standing ovation for the lovely ladies of elysian! they are warriors without armors but their hearts and determination can bring a whole army of men down their knees!)
he lit his cigarette, waiting for her to come up by the moonlight. gracing him, gracing everyone with her presence of endless beauty â then finally, finally annabel lee come to presence her grace, her unworldly beauty to this sinful world. smiling and laughing and how it swooned his heart on sight.
âspectacular performance there, annabel lee.â
âpardon?â
âoh donât you know?âÂ
the summer heat in a form of a white cloud, coming from the between of his lips. not a very pleasant smell when you are surrounded by honey and vanilla, a very contradicting view if anyone happened to passed by this side of theatre; like moth, everyone else likes the light, the very life of the high.
so he starts:
âit was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of annabel lee; and this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved byââ
(the very presence of a thin smile, hesitant yet at the same time bring a sunlight in spring to the whole room just for two makes him pause in an awe.
good god, she is breathtaking.)
ââme.â
hint of amusement and delight crafted neatly on his face if the woman, the gracious woman in front of him notice how a man, a stranger in front of him is bold enough to keep talking and talking and talking endlessly to a girl he barely know.
âi was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than loveâ i and my annabel leeâ with a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven coveted her and meâ
âwhy are you doing this?â
âand this was the reason that, long ago, in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful annabel lee; so that her highborn kinsmen came and bore her away from me, to shut her up in a sepulchre in this kingdom by the sea.â
âthe angels, not half so happy in Heaven, went envying her and meââ
(âi wouldnât dare to lay my eyes on one of them.â
 âwhy?â
 âthere is something not right and you know it.â
  âperhaps i love and desire âoddity, and weariness.â
  âyouâve been warned âweâve been warned. they are bad news.â
 âbad new donât always seem to be bad.â
  âyou are impossible, marion.â
 âso they say.â)
she says: âstop.â
âyes!âthat was the reason (as all men know, in this kingdom by the sea) that the wind came out of the cloud by night, chilling and killing my annabel lee.â
âyou are ridiculous.â âbut our love it was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than weâ of many far wiser than weâ and neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Leeââ
âsir, you are not allowed to be here.â interrupted, they takes her away from him by their arms gently and with so many mystery lingered around her. protectively, oddly protective, watching him still as they take her away from her.
âsorry, i wasââ he bites his own words. âit was a poem by edgar allan poe.â he says, instead. âonly the best poem for the most beautiful woman in the world âpoe, you dirty bastard.â their eyes met and he knows that she knew. that itself makes him chuckled, it wasnât all went to waste after all. oh what a tragic end of a very light meeting.
âannabel lee!â he calls her.
âwhen the moon rise, a soul waiting patiently on the edge of the world. see the stars and you will know!â
then she disappears right before his eyes, but her smileâher smile remained in his heart. he hopes that one day he will meet her again. on the edge of the world âthe beach, and when the moon is rising âfull moon, mid month. see the stars and she will know âhe will show her the world, the beautiful one.

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still not fully capable of writing anything just yet, but--
âI look at the blanked-out faces of the other passengers-- hoisting their briefcases, their backpacks, shuffling to disembark --and I think of what Hobie said: beauty alters the grain of reality. And I keep thinking too of the more conventional wisdom: namely, that the pursuit of pure beauty is a trap, a fast track to bitterness and sorrow, that beauty has to be wedded to something more meaningful. Only what is that thing? Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet-- for me, anyway --all that's worth living for lies in that charm? A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are. Because-- isn't it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it's a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what's right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer:Â
"Be yourself."Â
"Follow your heart." Only here's what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight toward a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?
If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person?Â
Or is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?â
( Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch )
lay with me, and look at the sky tonight. thereâs no stars out in the open, clouded instead by the very thought of you and i and the flowers that you sew within my heart; it bloomed, it bloomed so beautiful, still. begonia, crocus, daffodil, lilies, irises. clouded instead by the very thought of everything that we should have undone before itâs too late.
@automaticfurytaco
( text: neullie ) yeah how did you know, itâs just my subconscious texting while I catch some Zs
( text: neullie ) but, honestly⌠ maybe itâs the 70-year-old grandpa soul in me doing the wisdom talk
( text: neullie ) and making me wake up at 5 for no reason
( text: neullie ) leaving now
Sungil is in fact awake, staring out of the window with his eyes trying to get adjusted to the dayâs demands. So far it is like any other morning he constantly deals with, except for the fact his presence is required elsewhere. Haneul, Haneul⌠Text messages may be deceiving, but she sounds way too awake. She probably didnât even go home last night. Is that true? False? Something about leaving the building without having to worry about breakfast makes his steps a bit lighter. Itâs still early, and he pushes his motorcycle out of the garage underneath the first floor apartments just to let others continue their sleep in peace. There are days when he truly anticipates the sun rising, as it welcomes him with warm kisses on the cheek. Itâs dim outside.
His arrival raises no suspicion, not at first. The place looks right, but something is⌠off. That thought gets a sequel when he opens the cafe door to enter and sticks his head inside. The interior is different and an unfamiliar face stares at him behind the counter.
Are you looking for something, she asks. Yeah, my dignity.
Thatâs when the information he wouldâve needed ten minutes ago reaches him, fashionably late and just in time to give him a motive for self-inflicted scolding. The information? The cafe he looks for, the cafe Haneul sits in, moved to a new location months ago. This, this is where it used to be. Dementia, is that you?
( text: neullie ) 5 mins, okay
He is lucky to have a motorized vehicle to drive, and by the time he finds his way to the place he shouldâve been at almost 15 minutes ago, he is certain he has missed out on the good pastries. Sungilâs head peeks in from the doorway, the rest of his body refuses to follow until he spots a face he knows. All gloominess he carries drops among his steps as he approaches her and finally, finally takes a seat with a wide, tight-lipped smile tugging on the corners of his lips.
âI made it.â
did she believe heâd come in strutting within the next few minutes of her text? no. so instead of staying in her seat and waiting until he arrives, she does what any good friend would do: get first pick at the fresh batch of pastries being set out. it hasnât been thirty-minutes since sheâs arrived at the cafe and already, there are people lining up for it. what a dream that must be for the baker behind all these delicious treats.Â
she gets two of each, with a few extra so they could both take some home. cannolis, pies, tarts, and tortes. strawberry sandwiches, an assortment of cupcakes-- and the carrot ones she hates. haneul eyes the slices with some disdain before moving past them, taking the last of the fruit and nut breads. itâs only after she reaches the second table that haneul realizes she doesnât even know what sungil likes-- is he allergic to nuts? to berries?
when his text comes in, she hurries a bit-- grabbing a few more of the meringues, remembering that he had a niece he looks after. on the off-chance he sees her today, the treat might come in handy-- for appeasing a crying tot or an older sibling. with that, she makes her way back, plopping down on the worn couch completely satisfied with the small accomplishment sheâs made. pastries: saved!
âand just in time, too. there almost was a pastry shortage-- so i already picked out some.â brow raise, mischief drawn smile. hoping he couldnât tell that sheâd just about dozed off before he arrived. the cafe crowd had grown since a few minutes ago, so sheâs gotten more than a little self-conscious about greeting him in the way she had planned. instead of breaking into song, she greets gil quietly-- handing over the a paper bag containing his present.Â
( choosing gifts? not quite her talent. an hour or so of searching online and what does she end up getting him? embroidered wool socks. oneâs green with brown foxes on it and the otherâs the color of wheat with a fried egg on either side. the peak of fashion, as far as sheâs concerned. )
âitâs nothing too special, but itâs very useful. i heard old people get cold easily, so...â
@avemort
a place like this reminds her of a deep blue sea her mother once read to her before sleep. how big, how blue, how beautiful it is. she told her that the water tell a forgotten tale to you, lulled it to your ears, inviting you to look more, more and more and more until your lungs filled with salt water, until you are reaching its floor (until you are out of breath, out of lives). sirens become friend, a friend who lure you back to slumber â eternal slumber. the sirens sing you a song and maybe thatâs why the deep blue sea is so alluring, as if its tell you to come back home where you belong and that place is with the siren. no, no, no, home is up above the ground but you canât help it can you? beauty is deceiving, irresistible.
what is she? is she a mermaid or is she the siren? agatha will never know until itâs too late.
but right now, she has plenty of time. plenty of it for her to fall deep into the ocean of endless beauty, perfection that is offered by elysian; yet she canât help to feel out of place still.tchaikovskyâshe doesnât know what kind of chai tea is that. nervousness have eaten the best part of her, sweaty hand unworthy to touch the mermaid but still, it will be impolite to not shake hands with her. someone she believed to be part of elysian.
she wonders if holding her hand will make her zero-point-five percents as beautiful as the woman standing so gracefully. god, this make it even worst, she makes her feel like she is standing in the wrong way.
âagatha williams.â
ah yes. who is she? agatha williams, nervousness shouldnât be her middle name. not ever. so she shakes hand confidently with haneul (ah, even her name is beautiful. look at her face, itâs doll-like. itâs too blindingâshe reminds her of the meme she saw the other day where there is a man blocking the sunlight away from his eyes saying âthey sun isnât it too much?â thatâs it. haneul is too much, in a good way).
âpleasure to meet you, maâam? should i call you maâam?â or maybe she should call her something fancy like mademoiselle. curse les miserables, now she has jean valjean and javert introduction song in her head. this feels like she is 24601 while she is javert. she is but a mere slave and haneul is a graceful, strong bishop. (who am i? who am i? a disappointment the lee will ever have, 24601 or remember me as agatha williams).
âoh you know that song of new toothpaste commercial!â
âhey, hey suzy q. whatâs cookin with you? your teeth look whiter then new, new, new. my teeth arenât new but my toothpaste is new pepsodent. get with it kid; new package, new flavor, new formula too. means brighter smiles for me andâ she points her finger at haneul while laughing at her own self. âyou!â
âyouâll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with pepsodent. the new formula with imp gets teeth much whiter, you can see! it cleans the stains and film away, 1hile irium fights tooth decay!â
she is definitely not going to get in now. itâs over. itâs over for her. sorry mother, she has been a disgrace for singing a commercial song in this fancy school.
agatha williams. now, that was a name she rarely hears around the elysian. sheâs met her fair share of svetlanas and vladas, but agathas? no, not really.
âlovely name.â lovely face, too, now that she gets to see the girl up close. a little too nervous, perhaps. a thought she keeps to herself, but it wasnât difficult to sense or see the tension brewing beneath. the handshake was brief, hardly comforting to anyone new to the company, but she has the time to make up for that. make sure their new student didnât runaway out of intimidation or fear.
it has happened before, after all.
âjust call me haneul. no maâams or madames-- i beg of you.â how cute. how refreshing. nothing like the privileged daughters coming from old money who enter the elysian expecting to be catered to. the headaches. the rotten apples or so she liked to refer to them. all glossy and lacquered red on the outside, but maggot infested on the inside. compared to them, agathaâs a breath of fresh air. a nice change. one thatâs needed as far as sheâs concerned.
though, perhaps, a bit too energetic given the hour. given how tired she was. still, haneul cracks a smile then a quiet laugh-- a few seconds too late-- after the younger finishes her little performance. strange and surreal-- bits of the pepsodent song already stuck in her head. âthat was... interesting.â she chuckles, clapping her hands together as she gathers every derailed thought. right-- she still hasnât told her if she was applying for the lessons or not.
would there be any other reason for people to voluntarily visit the company, however? the theatre is a public place, but this building? hardly anyone ventures into it, given its distance. its seclusion is key to privacy, to the exclusivity the directress is adamant about maintaining. unless invited, everyoneâs persona non grata. might as well call the place a prison-- a gilded cage.Â
sheâs learned to make the best of it, turning to her imagination when it comes to keeping boredom at bay. picturing all the unexplored rooms sheâs overheard in many a conversation. all the different stories passed down from one generation of corps members to another. the red room, the white room. the apparitions, the phantom footsteps. tall tales, the lot of them. well, most of them.
âthe lessons donât start until next week, but since you came all this way-- do you want a tour of the elysian, mademoiselle agatha? i can give you insider information on what you can and canât do around here, but you have to keep it hush-hush. okay?â

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@dreamsup
was he surprised? yes. was he surprised that sheâd done this? no. it was more that there was an unexpected element here and the human thing to happen was to be surprised by the results of said unexpected element. so hongil barely had the time to take in the information of dogs didnât even get a question in before haneul was telling him about the rest of this impromptu adventure. apparently made for them but planned entirely by her not so little innovative brain.
innovative and caring.
âfor us you say, you know one sided decisions have broken up kingdoms before? created wars from misunderstandings and made peace impossible for years and years and years andââ and on and on, but deep breath first, then his laughter as he let her lead the way anyways. as he let her tug him down the road and took in instead what he could have been missing of the air of the day, if she hadnât shown up to get him out of his apartment.
âan aggressiveââ what had she just said? something he could use to tease her about he was sure, so he did. âchihuahua, is that what you just said? tiny and with a bite? am i about to meet a twin of yours?â he used the arm she had around his to give her a little tug towards him, nothing too harsh, a play along with his words. but also as a way for him to lead her to the door of the cab, he was prompt to open the moment it came to a complete stilled state and have her get in ahead, ladies first and this one was definitely part of the lot.
âi am capable, i have been trained for years. this is exciting now. maybe you should take more decisions for us and then inform me at the last minute more often.â
as for the shoes, he gave a shrug. theyâd survive. he wasnât that attached, no, something ingrained from not having much for long enough to stop needing it. not obsess over it. how old were these pairs again? probably bought last week because heâd liked the idea of replacing his old ones. not attached to material, but he seemed to go through them like the wind.
âi should get your words in writing and have you sign it. the last time i made a very spontaneous decision for us, you werenât too happy with it. granted, i was taking you to a blind date with a human-- not an adorable pup. but, still! you canât take your words back now.â
the ride to the shelter was hardly a quiet one, not with her regaling him with endless stories about whatever came to mind. like that one time she got locked in the changing rooms-- certain that it was done on purpose rather than accidental. or that time she ended up with 5 orders of chicken because the lady heard her wrong, but instead of giving it back she took everything home. suddenly, she was best friends with the neighbors she gave the food away to.
she only circles back to the chihuahuaâs as they drew closer to their destination.
âas i was saying, iâm really hoping to find homes for these babies. maybe you could ask the guys at the station if theyâre interested?â she urges, holding up a photo of both dogs on her phone. tiny little things with tan fur, one boasting what appeared to be a very awkward dog smile. "adorable, right? i remember someone on your team being an animal lover. he promised to introduce me to his pets, actually, but i havenât said yes because... well...â
the building comes into view and her excitement wells up once more, squeezing his arm yet again. only to pause in thought, patting down his arm some more before squinting at the older. did he get thinner or was she simply imagining things? given the amount of time she hasnât seen hongil, the latter seems more plausible but haneul canât help but feel concerned anyway.Â
a concern that she didnât readily voice out, making a mental note to bring it up later and to check if heâs eating properly. she canât even remember the last time she did an inventory of what he had in his fridge-- thatâs how long it has been. thatâs how busy she has been. her expression softens then, sighing as she looks at hongil.Â
he could certainly use a feminine presence at home-- someone good at cooking. someone who can tend to him when he gets injured while working. someone who will cheer him up when heâs tired or if heâs in one of those moods sheâs observed him slip into. someone good with dogs. sheâs known him for what seems like forever and yet heâs never once talked about settling down or finding someone.
âspeaking of introductions, is there anyone... youâve been seeing lately? someone i need to meet?â
the cab comes to a stop and as soon as she opens the door, they are greeted by loud barking. so much so that sheâs momentarily distracted by the spots of color flashing in and out of her vision.Â
âoh, donât mind that. theyâre just excited for fresh meat.â
my own private idaho ( 1991 ) sentence starters || @baudellare || status: always accepting
âcould i get four orders of large french fries - extra crispy - and some coke. and thatâs all.âÂ
Ink tastes bitter, something heâs already known for months now but itâs brought back to the forefront of his mind as he listens to Haneul prattle off an order, somehow, while basking in the aesthetic of the diner theyâve found themselves in taking shelter for the moment, Cashâs pinky ended up between his lips, his chin digging into the palm of his hand, some of the ink on his body is permanent, what makes its way to his taste buds?Â
Not permanent.Â
Itâs the start of a doodle he began on the tip of his pinky finger that travels down the lines of his hand, to the edge of his palm, sloppy lines coloring the beginning of his wrist. âWater,â he orders quietly after sheâs finished speaking. Cash has high doubts Haneul will share her fries with him but the waitress doesnât need to know that, he is more than willing to let her think Cash had Haneul order for the both of them leaving him to request his water. He watches her retreating form as he swallows the chemical down, sticking his tongue out a second later as if the air will take away the taste.Â
âAre you celebrating something?â Why else would she ask for so much food?
@frequentdreams
ârebelling-- not celebrating.â she corrects, pausing to look at him amusedly before sliding the tissue dispenser towards the other. âand youâre in on it. unless youâre on a new ink-based diet, which i definitely wouldnât judge you for.â itâs a look-- she thinks to herself -- the purple-black staining his lips. very shelley-after-drowning, except cash is still very much alive and she really shouldnât be thinking such thoughts.Â
so she turns her attention to the nearly empty diner and to what sounds of life there are. a medley of utensils, footsteps, and conversation. the smell of food being made. the artwork heâs been working on. âcareer change?â she jests, picking up the pen for herself-- a momentâs thought given to decorating her own hand in the same manner before opting for one of paper napkins instead.Â
ink travels faster on a wet surface and sheâs transfixed as it begins to spread.Â
only for the napkin and her masterpiece to disappear under a plate of fries as the waitress starts placing her order on the table. haneul manages a quiet âthat was fast-- thank you--â before the woman is off again to fetch the rest.Â
âhey, cash-- how fast can you finish an entire plate of fries without choking?â