#chapter4.

Setting: Hongdae, South Korea ( Joowon’s work ) Time: 2:43pm kst

“Okay okay but what about them, what do you think they’re going to order?”

Breaths flow between the two of them like it does the shop. a little stale when it wants, a little fresh when it wants. They have moods like the time of day. Some where they get along just fine and some where they don’t. Just how some days the shop is bustling and moving around, freely or stuffy and other days when they only rush is the air when Joowon airs out the entrance.

They’re not as interesting as fire and water, not as cool as the gray in between. They’re more interesting in their humanity and that’s what Joowon hates most. How there are some personalities that just don’t mix and how everyone has this complicated system in them that people call humanity. Preferences and pieces, all together to make people who are friends, enemies, co-workers and lovers. It’s not because he’s some optimist who wants to get along with everyone, even Superman had people who hated him. 

It’s because it’s humanity. And humanity isn’t what he wants.

Humanity is what he is, deep down inside he knows that but he doesn’t want it. Like a child he tries to cling to other things, other quirks, and throws himself off track. Gets along with Hyunshik when it doesn’t make sense to, becomes oil and water that mixes against all odds. It’s not a hard task Joowon’s adapted to his co-worker’s disposition, built the right walls and the right smiles to combat his words. So even as he leans against the counter, head canting towards the direction of the two girls approaching their cashier for the day, he’s ready.

“You haven’t got one right all day so at least get this one right? And I’ll leave you alone I swear.” He probably won’t. Even if Hyunshik got it right. That’s just the kind of person he is when he’s on a mission. It’s not a specific mission just one that boredom brings forward. And the target?

-

The sound of an altercation fills the cold air, Rigo recognizing his brother's voice among it. But, it's not quite the Cruz he was raised with. He can hear how his brother keeps a level tone, everything sounding fair and light. No big deal. No issues. Wrong. Rigo doesn't rush to intervene either, the scene that unfolds is several cabins over and easy enough for him drown out with his work. Maybe, watchful eyes will find it strange that the Rigo they've come to know doesn't wish to placate the situation. He hates confrontation. Thinks there's always a fair way to resolve things. Wrong.

He glances to Olive through space in the woodwork, eyes flashing with a gleam of enjoyment. She knows the Rigo that isn't getting involved because it's much more amusing to let his brother handle it. She also knows the Rigo that would love nothing more than to join the moment with a spark and a match. "You look sad today 'cause you're actually sad or what?" he challenges her with no bite to his tone, but his lingering stare does enough for him. "You can go if you want." Rigo suggests for her to mediate, because now, on a whim he's decided she looks at him in judgment, his voice half sounding like an instruction even as he grins the words. "But Cruz wanted this so, that's his own shit to deal with. What's the word everyone said to me? Consequences. Yeah, that. That shit is Karma. People talking to him like a little bitch."

dakota x frankie - traveling, idk a store or something

-

"You'd think wires would be the first fucking thing people grabbed." a smug little laugh follows after her words, Dakota's hands nimbly dismantling an overturned vending machine. Trusty pliers are unhooked from her belt to get to work, more interested in the electrics than the scattered cans of energy drinks at her feet. "It makes me wonder, how the hell is anyone even surviving? World goes to shit, you're gonna need wires. Always." she talks to the empty space around her, knowing her words float somewhere to Frankie. "What you got over there?" Dakota perks her voice as she hears what sounds like interesting movement, something being dragged or moved away from one place to another. "If it's twinkies, burn them. I don't want to see another twinkie for as long as I live." she's to her feet then, but not without studying the perfectly cut electrics that she rolls up neatly to stuff into her pack. Her curiosity takes her to Frankie then, seeing the witch attempting to move around the office space.

"Oh, spidey senses? Let's see..." she assumes the earth witch has sensed something, immediately moving to the other side of the shelving to help shove it along. It scrapes with a grating noise against the harsh floor, enough to prick at Dakota's hearing and emit a groan of frustration to the pain. "Jeeeeesus. Hate that." she strains. "You know what? Fuck this." with that, she stops pushing, her hands grasping the other side of the shelves to send them hurtling down and everything on them. The chaos doesn't matter to Dakota, who's keen eyes spot the slight groove in the wall, a clear space cut out for a safe and she shoots Frankie a grin. "How the hell you do that every time?" it's an impressed note, Dakota gesturing proudly for Frankie to do the honors. "I've never wanted to open something this bad before and there not be money in it. Life's fucking hilarious, right?"

-

There are whispers, fluttering through sleet of snow and crackling under worn boots against ice. It is the first time Runa has sensed such a feeling through the camp. It isn't nearly a fast enough revolution for her liking, her mother's heart beating wildly in her chest. They have an idea so why the delay? The world moves much too slow for Runa Visser, her hurried footsteps moving seamlessly through the crowds but swift and light enough to not draw attention to herself. The whispers have reached her ears, and so now she needs to continue them. She grabs onto the first familiar face she finds through the bustle, hand clasping tightly onto Storr's arm and hauling him away from the direction he aimlessly walks in.

"It is me. Quiet." she demands in a snap before he can protest. "The Cross Wolves, the ones that arrived. There is a store of supplies kept, slowly being added to. They are watching the guards." she relays what she's heard and noticed and how all of it points to the obvious conclusion. "Have any of us spoken with them yet? Suna? Aric?" her mind whirs with a way they can join. "You must. Maybe the young ones. Tyr." she can say his name with ease, but the other names fall strangely from her tongue. "Ma-Masson and Teddyr."

-

Loki scans the unfamiliar symbols scrawled upon the parchment. Each curve and line seems to mock his effort to comprehend them, a puzzle he cannot decipher. And he hates those. He considers himself to speak English well enough, yet reading it seems an entirely different task. He wonders why he has been handed the shifts, considering he will pass them to Rineike or Roan to change. Perhaps, he muses, it would be easier to read if Hati hadn't possessed the lists before him. The oldest Jansen's previous ownership made obvious by scribbled drawings of abnormally large women, who's muscles obscure the words Loki attempts to read.

"There is something strange about my brother." he speaks quietly to Esje, her head resting against his chest. He suddenly realizes that he lives in a vision he never once imagined for himself. A quiet affection as his fingers absentmindedly tangle into moon silver hair and brush back and forth against Esje's head. He peers to her with a flicker of a smile, brief before a laughter follows. "If every woman he ever bedded were to stand side by side and with their back to you, Esje...you would think they are men." and then another thought brings sheer amusement to his eyes, his lips grazing her forehead as he chuckles. "And if every man you took to bed were to stand side by side, it would only be me standing there." he humors himself as he laughs, peeling away from her as the paper is offered. "Make sense of this for me. And enjoy Hati's drawings that he will deny are even his."

-

Roxy's preferred method of survival is a sturdy knife wedged, precise and deliberate into somebody's back. She's quiet footsteps and sly grins. She's shark eyes and wolf teeth. At least, that's what some would say. Those closest to her would know how she's not only a whisper of a wind but a raging storm. She's a gun placed to her father's forehead as he opens the cabin door, the click of it matching the sharpness in her eyes. "Hey, dad." she's a forced smirk, lifeless and mean. "I think we need a talk, don't you?" and now, she's all of it at once. "And when I say talk, I mean, listen to me." her words are as cool as the metal pressed to her own blood's face, urging Michael Rose towards the table with her finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger.

All of this to gain a father's attention, all of this to be taken seriously isn't normal and she knows it. But, it's ingrained now. Shouldn't he be proud? "I've been elbowed out of every fucking search I put my name on. And, at first, I thought someone on the council had it out for me." Roxy speaks levelly and slow, recounting everything she's experienced since Dominic's disappearance. "And then...as if fucking God himself wanted to chit chat in my ear. I heard something." she knows he knows where this leads, the gun still pushed against him. "Why are you getting me taken off the searches?" she isn't really asking, and he knows that too. "You're scared, and it's starting to show." Roxy tuts then, but there's no glimmer of humor not even in her usual amusement when she mocks and jeers. "Stop. Taking. My name off them. Yeah?"

-

It's not like she's going to sleep, anyways. Blair declaring to keep watch while her brothers and sister rest is the best way to avoid whatever lurks into her brain as her eyes close. But, there is a downside to staying awake for so long. Irritability, for starters, and the fact the wolf that's with them isn't much of a sleeper either. "Good thing about motels..." her dry tone resounds as she leaves one room, pottering towards Cole where he slumps by the main reception. "They're usually used by delinquents, drug abusers, criminals-" she continues, still no enthusiasm in her tone as bottles clink in her hold. Blair knew the exact places to look for discarded and forgotten about bottles. Muscle memory comes to mind, which is just the same if called "an addict's thought pattern." She places them down one by one in the undercover entrance, lined up like shot glasses. "Alcoholics." her lips twitch at the fact all of these things are still true. "And coincidences." she finishes, unable to help vocalize the irony she enjoys.

Blair chooses herself a half empty whiskey bottle before nodding sharply to the vodka. "Could help with all that." she gestures before she takes a swig, the days old bandages that aren't doing anything to keep Cole's injuries from seeping with blood. But there's something else she's noticed beyond the slow healing from silver and wolfsbane. How he doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. Blair's eyes constantly narrow and sharpen to the wolf, a stern look that tries to look through him and find all of his secrets. Because there are some. Everyone has them. "Are you trying to be a hard motherfucker because of your little bromance with Trick going on? Because he doesn't care if people cry. Works on him more than the rest of us."