#rietsu

뭐효? send ‘advice?’ to ask my muses for advice!누구? @rietsu!상태? accepting!

SEND ME A WORD AND I’LL WRITE A DRABBLE : accepting !» @rietsu

Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

There’s nothing discreet about the place they’ve picked out.  If anything, it’s booming with business– she’s forced to edge her stool closer to the counter as someone squeezes by, cold granite pressed against a mercilessly thin t-shirt.  Hardly one to voice complaints, she merely grimaces; the bartender chuckles under his breath as he slides a glass of something bubbly over, tells her it’s on the house.  She doesn’t have to turn her head to see the younger girl stifling a giggle behind one hand as she nurses a coke with the other.  

In the spirit of conspiracy, thick lashes lower just enough to give an impression of coquetry as she stirs the straw between her fingers. Double, double, toil and trouble…Behind them, someone snorts.  Apparently even the blaring electronic music isn’t enough to drown her out, but she can’t find a reason to care.  There’s a deliberate pause, melodramatic air only augmented as her stool spins around just enough for her to jab the straw in the direction of her singular audience.  You’re not involved in this scheme of ours, Monsieur. (her French accent is atrocious.) This time the hand isn’t enough to suppress the laughter, but she’s grinning as she returns to her previous position: one elbow propped against the countertop, cheek nestled against her palm. Waiting.

….I think he’s here– unnie! It’s a frantic whisper amplified by the hand cupped around her ear but she takes her time, leisurely tipping her glass back until it settles onto the counter with a hollow clink.  Prey won’t fall for eager predators, and as dense as the boy is, she isn’t taking her chances.  There’s an uncharacteristically mischievous glimmer in her eyes as her lips form a sweet, falsely unassuming smile.  Only minutes before showtime.  

@rietsu

( ... ) The two were complete strangers, both eager to get home and both just as eager to split the cab fee that charged way too much for a seemingly ten minute ride. Alas, along the way, their driver got lost. Took a left when he was supposed to take a right. Forgot that he was supposed to go straight and instead went left. Thirty minutes in and he receives a call from his distressed wife. Something about her water breaking. That adds on another bajillion minutes, where he ditches them in the freezing cold to race home to his in-labor wife.How selfish.

This leads them to the current situation at hand: Yerin strolling up and down the road with her thumb hitched high up into the air, begging ( which consists of way too much swearing to be persuasive ) for a ride.

“Aw, c’mon, I know you assholes see me!”

The situation was dammed. Dammed to hell. He stares at her useless attempts at hitchhiking, fighting a spread of lips. He's afraid she'll think he's sneering at her -- which wasn't entirely wrong. He shakes his head, gripping her shoulder and pulling her away from the curb as another vehicle speeds by.

Like a chorus of misfortune, it begins to rain. First a few heavy drops, then a downpour, soaking them both in seconds. It wasn't a grand help in the cold December air. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, "c'mon, we'll catch our deaths out here - " he insists, tugging on her forearm. "Besides, no one would pick us up, we're strangers and no one these days picks up strangers. Let's get on with it."

He all but drags her down the sidewalk with the water splashing around them. It fills his hair, his clothes, his shoes. Each step squelches as he marches towards the shops down the road. The neighborhood is shoddy but he's armed - he's always armed. He fights back a shiver and pulls his coat off, exposing his gun but there was nothing he could do about it. He throws the leather over her shoulders and continues his fast pace.

Nowadays, taxi drivers are directionally challenged. Hence, her reasoning behind taking the train home tonight.

It’s oddly quiet, not to mention completely empty. But it’s the peaceful kind of quiet. Not to be confused with the one where you’re stuck in some horror movie trapped with a psycho serial killer on the loose. As for number of occupants, let’s just say that there are about ten others on the train ( and that includes workers ). She could give you an exact estimate, but she’s much too focused on the familiar figure standing right by the door. Female. Bordering the short side, but who is she to judge with her equally as short stature? Her face is obscured from view, thanks to her mask and hood that is practically eating her entire head.

                  we’re a thousand miles from comfort.

Her mouth is open, preparing to voice her inquiries. Yet it’s the flickering of lights that stops her mid-sentence, and suddenly the entire train is engulfed in complete darkness. A series of screams ensues, but the sound is quickly drowned out by the squealing of the train tracks. Blindly, hands reach forward to grasp onto something stable to keep her upright, fingers wrapping themselves around what appears to be a coat, and Yerin’s practically clinging onto it for her dear life as the train begins to come to a halt, consequently propelling her and the poor body forward.

“O…ow.” She pushes herself up into a sitting position, hands moving to rub at the back of her head; the feeling of a bruise already beginning to pop up. “That, actually didn’t hurt as much as I thought– oh woah, wait, hey are you okay?”

—- it wasn’t usual for mina to take the the train back to the dorm. she was more often than not restricted from sing public transportations and stick to the taxi’s or the van when going out. however, the meeting she had been having today, at the dorm of her significant other, had been something her manager hadn’t approved of due their late night schedules and early schedules coming the following morning, telling her that if a taxt stopped outside there, he would tell them to leave. so the young girl seemed to have no other option in using a facial mask and cover as much of herself up as possible to sneak out of the dorm and use the train. it had been one year since she last had done a thing like it, and for some reason, it had made her feel sentimentally normal. 

the train had been oddly empty, only a few other passenger’s had been there yet none had seemed to be in the age of recognising a new generation idol, all but one, a female who seemed to have her eyes glued onto mina. from time to time, mina seemed to shift her glance back to the girl, but not too much to make it appear as if she was seeking for eyecontact. eyecontact meant revealing yourself and taking off a cover, mina wasn’t ready for that sort of intimacy just yet. perhaps the female was just seeking contact with mina due the fact that they were the youngest people on the train. perhaps the idol was doing nothing but overthinking again. but one could never be too suspicious over what surrounded them. 

flickering lights in the ceiling of the train distracted mina from her suspicious thoughts, and suddenly she found herself fonding with her hands in front of her. it was a scene taken out of a horror movie, without all of the zombies. a faint shriek pressed through mina’s lips when someone gripped onto her coat and for a second the thought ‘ this is where and how i will die ‘ managed to slip through her mind. how stupid even. taking a step forwards to regain her balance, the one she lost when the train stopped unexpectedly and sat down on the free seat right behind her, she helped the person to get up on the seat as well. nodding her head, a very unaffective manner when being stuck in the complete dark. 

               Unbeknownst to the stranger who’s just situated herself in the seat next to him, unabashed and the like, is that JaeHyun doesn’t have a single fucking clue of what she’s just said. When she first speaks, he’s in the middle of reading a drawn-out line of dialogue for the third time, losing track somewhere in the middle, and finds himself just barely acknowledging the resolution she has to offer.

               But does he get angry? No, no, no– a young woman who proves to be eager and unfamiliar with the concept of personal space was most certainly far more interesting than the small selection of script he’d been attempting to memorize. In fact, after spending a good half-an-hour (or so) in sheer frustration, he half-appreciates the interruption. Makes it obvious by smiling bright and wide, almost teetering the fence between sarcastic and polite while still managing to play right back into her liveliness.

“There are no bad ideas.”

YOU’RE DRIVING AT THE speed of light. Hair flying haphazardly in the wind ( because you never liked helmets ), and you could of sworn you saw flashing blue and red lights in your rearview mirror but you’re much too engrossed in the adrenaline rush to fully process the thought– or care. It’s only when the blaring sirens reach your ears that you finally notice a figure of justice on your tail that you realize you done fucked up. AGAIN. But does that thought make you slow down or speed up?

It’s the latter!

“Only great ideas that go horribly wrong.”

Survival skills. That’s what she likes to call it. Others call it resisting arrest or even eluding the cops. But to each their own, right?

She relies heavily on her INSTINCTS. Nothing but adrenaline pumping in her veins. Life’s going much too fast for her mind to keep up–to carefully lay out decision after decision– so she relies purely on her instincts. They’ve had a few close calls, but when it comes down to it, they always manage to get her out of trouble. Somehow. Probably a MIRACLE. Though she doesn’t believe in those.

Anyway, she managed to escape from the cops. Hallelujah! Yet the tricky part is they’ve seen not only her face, but her scooter as well. And after about five seconds of contemplation ( with sirens still blaring throughout the streets ), Yerin decides to ditch her ride and save her hide. ‘Course, she was going to come back and pick it up eventually. She just didn’t expect to do so at a towing place. Where the building is already closed but the bike is not officially hers ( it belongs to her job! ), so what does she do?

“Shh,” she has a finger to her lips, while her other arm is snaked around Mi’s shoulder, palm resting flat against her mouth in order to keep any startling noises at bay.  Their backs are pressed flat against the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with their knees drawn to their chests. A beam of light shines through the window above their heads. Yet just as quickly as it came, it vanished and the room transferred back into darkness. The security guard is gone. “I think the coast is clear.”

Call it a lack of her own will, or an insatiable thirst for adventure, but Mi always seems to be getting tugged along into the antics of her friends---no matter how illegal or wild their ideas are (barring murder of course, which, thankfully has not been proposed). After all, it’s not as if the upholsterer hasn’t had her fair share of adrenaline rush-inducing borderline-illegal endeavors. 

So when Yerin’s call lights up her phone screen at ten-p.m., it doesn’t take long for the two of them to assemble. Assembling entailing Mi rolling her butt off her sunken old couch, putting on decent clothing, and making Yerin send a photo of her signature to an agreement that she owes Mi a top notch carrot cake slice within the next week. That is, assuming they don’t perish in the night’s events. Breaking in is new to Mi, but she’s just been promised a slice of carrot cake and the coffee she’d downed four hours ago is still keeping her up, so she figures might as well. Besides, the experience might come in handy at a later time.

Eleven o’clock finds the two of them huddled up against a cold hard wall, doing their best to avoid detection, and Mi wondering if she’s gone a little too far this time. If she goes straight to jail, there’s no way she’s gonna get that carrot cake. Maybe they could make a detour on the way, or compromise and make a drive-thru run for---wait no, Mi---focus.

Ocean Ask / Accepting!( this stop is yours! @rietsu​ )

turquoise: weirdest dream you’ve ever had?