of butlers and their inadequacy: ijn<m.
@cnxtaemin
folded arms, gritted teeth and a piercing stare hidden beneath oversized sunglasses are all tell-tale signs of jinah’s signature short fuse ready to explode. she’s quick to place blame on the long and arduous journey, thinks it unnecessary how he’d pick that house out of the many houses he owns and as a result, she’s forced to travel on not one, but two modes of transportation. but in all honesty, if one were to step away from the black dot on white canvas that jinah stubbornly chooses to focus on—always, forever—they’d be quick to realise that she doesn’t have it all that bad. after all, the car service she had politely requested he send—scrawled in cursive font and slipped into the same return-to-sender envelope that contained her rsvp card—had arrived at her doorstep only two minutes late, and the driver had been quick to make sure she need not lift a dainty finger to carry her heavy bags, numerous as they were, to the boot. the boat had been patiently waiting near the shore when she approached, and the boatman had offered his hand to help her steady herself; and as promised, none of her clothes nor her belongings had gotten wet when she arrived at the set location.
but perhaps if one were to step back even further from the white canvas, they’d see the bigger picture and recognise that the reason for her annoyance has little to do with the journey, and little more to do with the fact that she’s wearing only a white, see-through teddy underneath her nude trenchcoat. perhaps the shiver that slithers up her spine is not only due to the cold weather, but also because at the end of this day, she would’ve crawled into the revolting arms of the man who, in the past, she tried so desperately to escape from. perhaps she fears the worse alternative: that she’d be rejected by him; that she’d lay her pride so trustingly on his doorstep, only to have it be trampled on by a man she doesn’t even want.
perhaps, perhaps.
she places her sunglasses atop her head as her feline eyes scan the premises, and she it takes her two beats to recognise the attire of the man standing within arm’s length, as though ready to serve. she assumes that he’s the butler, and immediately, turmoil begins to build within. because she knows mr yang, and she knows that he employs perhaps the worst servants she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.
this fellow is new, though. but it doesn’t stop her from comparing him to mr yang’s previous butler, who was just about as stupid as he was poor. well, whatever; she has hit the maximum quota of the amount of attention she would waste on the poor per day.
jinah rolls her eyes before looking away from the butler, and she’s quick to breeze past him, the slight scrunch of her nose caused by both her distaste of him and the fact that she’s finding it hard to act to keep the air of superiority around her when her heels constantly sink into the mud.
“bring my bags to mr yang’s room,” the words roll off her tongue too easily, despite the fact that they taste bitter on their way out, “and be quick about it. i’d hate to keep him waiting because of the likes of you.”
