The shop is dead.

It's been quiet for the last few hours, as the night rush has yet to begin. It's going to be another good hour before he starts seeing more than one lonesome soul at a time in his little haven. He's mostly okay with this, as it allows him some time for reflection. And time to polish the hookah pipes. The gilt ones are his favorites.

As soon as he reaches underneath the counter for his cloth and polish, the bell above the front door chimes, signalling that he is host to another customer. He drops the cloth and brings both hands to rest on the counter top. A small, automatic smile slips onto his face, as it does every time someone new enters the room.

The man that enters is not one of his own, not of his associates, despite the tattoos that visibly cover his arms, and not one of his regulars. It's not unusual to see new faces around, but he can tell straight off that this man is a little more than he appears to be. There's something in the way that he walks, the way that he scans the room, and perhaps even something in the hue of his skin, that just gives it all away. His smile widens a fraction.

"May I help you find anything today?"

It's quiet, as he always is - reserved. But he can't keep the underlying amusement out of his tone.

He looked up at him as he completely locked up the shackle, stepping away to squeeze out the water in his shirt as he whipped his hands out. He pointed a finger at the man, creature, thing and scowled.

"What?" Junmyeon lifted his head, his eyes wide as he stands up from the table. Everyone else at the bar merely waves him off as Myeon walks up to the strange man. "What happened.... Show me what you did..." 

    SeLin can't breathe.

    He cannot force air into is lungs, cannot get his chest to expand far enough to allow his organs to take in the oxygen that they need. But he's gasping for it, yelling while he can; while he can still see the shore.

    There is a frigidness that seeps into him faster than anything he's ever experienced, cold water tearing his body heat from him like he's made of tissue paper and his core temperature is the present at the bottom of the bag.

    There's an overload of his senses, water rushing into his mouth and nose as he plunges beneath the currently violent surface of the Han. His clothes are soaked through, weighted and dragging him down and he can't keep himself up because of the hand wrapped around his ankle.

    He thrashes out, trying to dislodge the appendage and free himself. His lungs are burning now, screaming at him that he needs air soon or he will pass out, and then everything is over. That's one thing that he will not stand for.

    SeLin has always been bellicose, resilient, and he will not be slain so easily.

    As the half-light from a break in the clouds starts to fade and he's beginning to be surrounded by the darkness of the depths no man should ever see, he stops flailing and attempts to reach downward - a feat that is hard for him, considering the current and the low visibility - to find the hand of the creature that had pulled him under.

    It takes him a few seconds, precious time wasted, but when he feels it, he pries it from his leg one finger at a time, using both of his own hands. By now, he is fairly certain he's going to contract hypothermia and possibly have a few fingers and toes amputated.