#pt!sk

xx. they forgot something.

airheaded—jinri’s had the adjective slung at her number of times, a play on her gift and (though she wouldn’t like to admit it) a pretty accurate one to utilise when describing the girl; it’s certainly a word that runs through her thoughts—along with a slew of frustrated expletives— as she searches through her bag for a certain something, embarrassed and panicked. she can’t find it, she can’t find it, the little bound, black moleskine she used for a variety of things, tattered and worn from her varieties of distress.

the brunette heaves a sigh, dark eyes searching the heavens—as if they’d be there, unless she’d… no, no, no—before dropping to her hands; she frowns, stroking a pale thumb against a blushing fingertip—she’d been busy in the last while, leaving her digits to forget the cutting caress of steel strings and grow irate.

steel strings.

she pulls out her phone, searching through her contacts before pressing the device to her cheek; contemplation colours her face as the dialtone continues to hum (this has to be it, it has to be), eyes widening with foolish surprise as she’s presented with a greeting. jinri clears her throat, tongue flicking across her lower lip before she responds, “hi! um, by any chance, did i leave a little notebook behind?”

20. they can't find their phone

her dedication to keeping busy is one that’s bound to forge forgetfulness some time or another; jinri’s forced to be aware of this, painfully so as she scrambles around, searching for her now lost phone. why did it have to be her phone that went missing? she’d loaded the device with many a precious treasure, memories of now and then that she’d lose if she couldn’t find it (internally, the aerokinetic curses herself—this is what she gets for being too lazy to back the thing up on her computer and too scared to upload it on the cloud).

somewhere amidst her panic, she pauses, releasing a shuddering sigh as she sinks to the floor of the staff changing room. it’d be stupid to cry over something like this, the girl tells herself, running twitching fingers through dark hair and reminding herself to of how to breathe, resting a heavy head against aching knees.  staring through her lashes, she becomes sharply cognisant of how fragile she is today.  

as quickly as she deflates, the girl bursts to her feet, all soft flutters of air and fake bravado; it’s dangerous to stay still for too long, to soak in the same sentiments, she knows this, she knows this, she knows this!  the mutant is quick to extend a sweet smile at a coworker, asking to borrow their phone for the shortest while, tucking herself back into the locker room.  jinri strums her fingers against the side of the device, holding her breath as the dialtone breaks into actual, human dialogue; the grin on her face is evident in her tone.  

9. They think they’re being followed.

tonight marks the end of another long shift accompanied by a trip home in the winter dark, abnormally grey and black—all the snow, which would usually leave the streets with a magical sort of violet hue, had been washed off the streets with the onslaught of recent rain, which even now insists on falling.  it could be worse, she notes—the wind, while whistling to the point of being a bitch to fly in, isn’t so much of a force that her drained self can’t form some sort of barrier; and so she does such, taking the air about her and pushing out, lips twitching before breaking open to release a yawn.

it’s the kind of weather that’s nice to sleep in, jinri ponders, small smile dancing on her lips as she takes quick steps through the streets, occupied more with the memory attached to the thought than where she’s going; it’s no surprise that she walks straight into a garbage can, stuttering out an apology and bowing before noticing what she’d bumped into.  jinri stands in silence, quietly embarrassed, a small nervous laugh dropping from her lips as she looks about herself, checking that no one had seen.

from the corner of her vision, her eyes catch a figure shaped collection of shadows slipping into the overall dark; it throws her off so severely that she simply blames it on fatigue, patting herself down and reminding herself that it wouldn’t be the first time she’s seen things that weren’t there—tired, she’s simply tired.  tired and too sober, that’s probably it; the thoughts don’t do much for her, something evident by the electricity that bounces from synapse to synapse, leaving her anxiously electric.

whatever.  i can take it.

those are fighting words, she realises, but they’re much more comforting than the ones she’d churned out before; she grows slowly more comfortable, at ease, until she hears what’s undoubtedly the sound of something big hitting the same can she’d just walked into—she whips around to the sight of nothing, heaving a sigh and scratching the back of her head. 

“paranoia won’t get you anywhere, choi jinri,” she mutters, pulling the gaseous cloak that’d dropped along with her stomach back together again, turning on heel and continuing to walk onwards.  undoubtedly, she’s still nervous, eventually choosing to pull out her phone and dial a variety of numbers—it wouldn’t hurt, to have some audio reassurance on a trip that seemed far too long—straightening up when she finally hears something other than a dial tone.

12. They got locked out of their home.

all she’d wanted was some eggs.

the constant storming that seemed to plague genosha’s skies tricks jinri into thinking it’ll be a simple, quick errand; however, fate has other plans entirely—the moment she exits the grocer’s, a dark feeling knowing settles in her stomach, but stupidly, she ignores it, taking to the skies anyway, quick to land at flash of lightening.  her steps become quicker, wider as the rain begins to hit with more intensity, curses slipping out of her mouth with the intensity of the pellets of moisture that seem to shoot out of the mouth of a celestial ak-47.

standing at a street curb, she sighs, mumbling, “at least it can’t get a—” words cut off by the slew of street water that hits her the moment a semi-truck makes an iffy turn.  the proverbial cherry on the fucking cake.

“why.”

it can’t get any worse, she tells herself, zipping through the halls of park towers; something the universe simply has to prove wrong the moment she stands before the airtight door to her apartment, keyless.  small shoulders tense before growing limp with the release of a frustrated sigh, forehead hitting the surface with a soft thunk as she knocks, calling out, “no one’s there right?  right?  ughh—” she slides to the ground, quietly brooding. 

a few seconds of silence later, the aerokinetic decides to extend a dripping hand into her plastic bag, pulling out the carton; she holds her breath as she opens the container, it escaping on a sharp exhale as she sees the yolky bloodbath that’s the insides—this was all for naught—and opens her mouth to press some sort of complaint to the forces of the universe under her breath, only to sneeze.

…

4. They're on a game show!

sally’s is dead—something severely short of being surprising considering the fact it’s another soaked, dreary tuesday night; what is surprising is the fact that there’s three hours until the end of jinri’s shift and she already finds herself a wee bit drunk.  if anyone were to ask, she’d weakly argue that her slight lack of sobriety is totally valid—she’s playing a skewed hybrid of ‘who wants to be a millionaire?’ and ‘jeopardy,’ with her coworkers, where there’s no money to be offered, just punishment shots at incorrect answers; and unfortunately, she seems to be taking a majority of the shots, her fellow servers finding amusement in sabotaging the group’s maknae by asking questions like ‘what genus was rediscovered in 1994 by david noble?’(to which she sputters, “what does that even mean?  none of you know what it means,” and is thusly made to take two punishment shots).

eventually, she’s had it, digging for phone the moment sunhee gets to pass with the simple question of ‘where is the eiffel tower?’, declaring, “i’m using a lifeline!”  their bewildered expressions draw a giggle from the girl, and stumbling fingers tap out what should’ve been a familiar number—but is actually a misdial—tapping for speakerphone mode and then shoving the phone in the face of the current question master (a very bemused lee shinjoon), who reads the next question, voice heavy with drunken mirth:

“what comes after ‘a, b, c?’”

the closest one can get to describing choi jinri’s face at that moment is by describing it as an encapsulation of caesar’s iconic, last words, “et tu brute?”; a portrait of total, unexpected betrayal.

( * a small scoff of amusement )

( txt ) no, you love it ꒰｡•ॢ◡-ॢ｡꒱

( txt ) ༼≖ɷ≖༽ shh, this isn’t about me!!!

( txt ) this is about how you like ssaem (◔◞౪◟◔)