sɪx ʜᴜᴍᴘᴛʏ ᴅᴜᴍᴘᴛʏs

eulalie ⧟ arthur ↬ general verse abbiding ↬ starter for @sanguerosas

while eulalie enjoys doing nothing and getting paid for it, she detests feeling useless. she’s stopped trying to figure out exactly how the hotel she’s working at is still open despite the rooms being vacant for most part of the year, the same she’s stopped questioning exactly what’s the deal with it, but she’s seen the many cars pilling up in front of the newly opened hotel in the city, has seen the rave reviews, the happy customers.

yes, she might enjoy the luxury of spending most of her time at the front desk playing online games on her phone, but she definitely does not take pleasure in thinking the competition will force the doors to be shut for good and make her lose her job.

hence, why she’s now staring with her mouth agape at the man before her, stray synthetic hairs from the cheap wig she’s wearing caught on her teeth, her oversized sunglasses bought at a gas station on her way here, sitting askew on the bridge of her nose. she doubts the staff here has ever even heard of the hotel she’s working out, so her putting this much effort into concealing her identity might be a tad bit too much, but damn it, she’s had fun buzzing with energy when she picked each item, almost high off the thought of being in her own version of a low-budget spy movie.

❝ excuse me ? ❞ eulalie scoffs. ❝ you’ve got eyes of your own, buddy. why not use them to avoid incidents such as this ? ❞

fergal ⧟  kit  ↬  general verse abbiding ↬  starter @misterharington  

the ac feels like millions of tiny prickles all over his exposed arms, as fergal stares with his mouth slightly agape at the man he knows he’s met in a taxi, despite not being able to recall much of that night — it was a dangerous combination of existential frustration and expensive liquor bought with a card not his, that had him riding with strangers at unfanthomable hours, towards an unsure destination, that eventually turned out to be the gates of the closed community he has landed a place in, with a chipped yet proud moon shining high up on the sky, as if hanging from a thin, celestial thread that risked breaking with every sway of the trees.

the pack was on their weekly run, and hadn’t been impressed with the blinding headlights of an unrecognizable vehicle at their doorsteps. fergal felt awful in the morning, when all came back to him in flashes and fragments, and thought of no better way to apolgise than by buying his weight and more in the finest meat seoul had to offer.

there is an exclusive shop for that, hidden in the shadows of the neon lights of fancy clubs, that mostly ran their business during the nightime; fergal had to close his eyes when he had to punch in the code to his card, regretting having returned the one he had used the previous day, so much so, that fergal just had enter the closest groceries shop still opened to buy himself a can of beer, the bags of meat he dragged after him leaking just the slightest, when he stopped in front of the many choices, and bumped into the man he could not remember the name of, but could easily draw masterpieces of, had he had any talent.

With every passing second his mind wanders from one corner of the shop to the next. Joon can practically see a vision of himself pacing back and forth in frustration. The way the other continued to put up a front has him on edge. ( What a clever man. ) His fingers rub the charred tissue into his skin, the scent of burning material seeping into his nostrils as he takes a deep breath in. With eyes never leaving the tea shop employee, he narrows his gaze. His feet tap against the floors of the shop, the rhythmic sound now deafening in the silence that grows between the pair.

“If I wasn’t already CLEAR, I’m not here for your manager.” His diversion of the topic has Joon more and more on edge – close to the point of breaking. “I’m sure you can handle a little bit of pressure from a customer, or did they not train you for that?” He laughs, the sound cold and piercing as he mocks the other at any chance he gets. A childish move, but his irritation is getting the worst best of him. It has him reaching forward and snatching the paper roughly out of the other’s hand. A gesture that Joon wouldn’t be proud of later in the day, but his blood is boiling and patience is thinning. Without another word, he sets the piece of paper on fire, watching the red, yellow, orange make room for the main act of ash.

“My name isn’t necessary, nor is calling the police. I won’t hurt you.” His words are unconvincing, as expected from a man who’s been pressuring a stranger for so long. “All I want a confirmation of a life you clearly don’t want to live anymore.” Before he can start up again, the other is going on with an excuse that Joon doesn’t have time to hear. A bright, yet plastic, grin plasters on his lips as he chimes up, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Great! We have twenty minutes to talk, plenty of time !!”

His palms come down on the counter, the half empty cup quivering beside his palm as he leans uncomfortably close to Ulrich. Rather than speaking, for a moment he stands there simply eyeing the other. Once up, once down, once more UP. Eyes lock, and his brows furrow as he tries to uncover why such a brilliant mind would stifle itself with the act of tea making. What a waste of talent, what a waste of expertise. With a scoff, he pushes himself back from the counter, turning on his heels as if to leave.

However, before he can get to the glass doors that are begging for him to walk past them, he stops beside a garbage can. Leaning in, he grins at the sight of items perfect for kindling. Turning slowly back to the other he fishes his lighter out once again. Holding the small device over the garbage can, he clicks the lighter on with a flick of his thumb. “Do you know how quick a fire can spread? Just as quickly as word can. Sometimes you can extinguish it at its root, and sometimes it engulfs you whole.” He hums to himself, flicking the flame on and off, hovering menacingly over the trash bin.

“ONE last chance, Ulrich. This doesn’t have to turn into a forest fire if you don’t want it to.”

ulrich hates this man, and hates this situation. he hates how the man rejects kind offer, after kind offer to avoid an unpleasant situation. he detests how he continues to threaten ulrich, to intimidate him, to make a fool out of him, when ulrich has done nothing to warrant such treatment from him. he abhors how such a despicable person like him managed to get his hands on something just a little more than ash from his past and came to torment ulrich with it.

❝ i find the police to be exactly what we need, right now. ❞ ulrich smiles. he’s been smiling alot today, for this man, for this undeserving, low-life imitation of a man. 

ulrich refuses to play his game, or to entertain him — much like the nameless scum offered him one last chance, so does ulrich, before things  become dirty, and nasty, and bloody.

❝ i don’t know what you want from me. ❞ he shrugs.  ❝ i told you times and times again that i don’t know what you are talking about; what you see, is what it is. this is my job and other than some pizza delivering or lawn mowing, i’ve had no other. ❞ ulrich sighs dejectedly, as if he doesn’t want to do this, as if he’s over it, as if he’s sorry, unaffected, unpeturbed.  ❝ you’re crossing a line, here, sir. all you’ve been doing since you’ve stepped foot into my store is to threaten and harrass me, and i’m sure that’s just enough ground for law inforcement to become involved. ❞

ulrichs glares, not shying from showing the hatred he has for this man reflect in his eyes, burning like a forest fire, all consuming and unforgiving.  ❝ leave, sir. you are welcomed inside this shop no longer. call customer service, file a complaint. where did you say you were working again ? i’m sure they’ll be more than happy to hear how you use your free time, what you do in their name. leave. ❞

he leaves the comfort and the safety of space behind the counter, hand grabbing the bat dalian insisted on leaving nearby for situations such as this, on his way. ulrich puts as much space as possible between him and the man, as he goes to the entrance, pressing down on the doorhandle and holding it open.