#*constellation

power supply or not, the afterlife is alight with voices, the buzzing murmur of an intoxicated and fearful population. she’s fairly drunk herself, if she’s being fully honest, and has mostly gotten over the fact that she was interrupted from the night’s hunt by all this madness. it’s at least a small favor, now, to find herself nimbly weaving through the crush of patrons. she adjusts the thin strap of her dress, a black velvet number that skims her body in such a way that she’s able to hide the blade strapped to the inside of her thigh while simultaneously distracting most of those who would be suspicious just enough to keep them in check. it’s not that difficult to do, if she’s being perfectly frank. 

she’s content enough, too, for company. the tension between them, even in the midst of all this chaos, is still palpable. it’s a physical thing that pulls between them, like the force of a magnet or the pull of the sun, hyper-massive and inescapable. she scratches idly at a spot of dried blood on the hem of her dress, an unfortunate reminder of lost targets. she knows he’s there before she sees him. she could chalk it up to her improved senses, augmented reflexes, but is that the reason? the hair on the back of her neck stands up as if on a whim, her heart stuttering in her chest as always. there’s a single split hair between jaein and a blind rage, a single wrong move from feral. 

she calls it a survival tactic. she looks at him from over the edge of her glass, amber liquid swirling within. “taking advantage of the chaos sungki?” she drawls, in an idle question meant to do little beyond break the silence, fingers tip toeing up his arm, wondering at the steel beneath, an intrusive thought bubbling to the surface of her brain. what would happen if she unfurled one of the razors beneath her nails and dug down to the metal she knows must be housed there?