gonegirl, cruelheart

hello hello! i’m excited to be here, and i’m here to introduce cha4 — aka the devil in disguise (in case, nobody has told you — the devil is female.) kind of reckless, a total manipulative bitch that knows nothing more than how to handle the club industry but please love her! i’m excited to plot with you all through ims or discord! give this post a like, and i’ll come running to you for plots! peachy#6987 <—reach me there for your discord folk!  

important links: bio / profile / plots

the club ~

@yhiseul 

believe it or not, cha yura did occasionally go to the clubs that her parents owned. the main reason was that, because she was family, it gave her instant vip status and she was able to get alcohol much more efficiently. she wasn’t even much of a drinker. however, yura needed this - she need a day or so to get loose and enjoy herself, and if it means going wild in one of the various night clubs, then so be it (she was going to try not to, though). this is the effects of going to college and having work loaded on you - too much work.

smoothing her dress out, she stepped into the establishment and sighed. maybe it was the feeling of just how hot it was in the building. summer was clearly over, yet it felt like it had made a brief cameo in october. maybe it was the amount of people in here. they were all jumping up and down to the music that was playing and the dj that was blasting music through the speakers. or maybe it was the familiar clinking of the glasses.

whatever it was, she simply let out a sigh.

“hmm…” looking around, she started to make her way to her usual section. she was instant vip because she was family, so there was a certain section that she sat in whenever she came. she kept her eyes open for anyone that she may know.

“cousin iseul!” she called out, sending her a small wave. sure enough, it seemed like she wasn’t the only ‘cha’ in the building tonight. she turned on her heels, making her way towards the female with a small smile. a part of her was happy to see family, while another part of her just wanted them to not be anybody from her family in the building. there were already rumors about what goes on inside these walls - stupid ones, in her opinion - and she low-key wanted a break from her dysfunctional family. the best thing she could do at this moment was put on a smile. “i didn’t expect to see you here!”

“then again, i didn’t know myself that i was coming until about three hours ago.” it was between this and having a movie night at home.

she’s used to it by now.

used to the thunderous bass that dulls to nothing more than a mere steady tempo (static silence, it’s background noise to her), and the flashing lights that become the lighthouse in the pitch black scene of the club - it’s her holy guidance to oversight of what goes on inside and between the lines of the place she calls her sanctuary. 

except. she’s no nun.

dressed to impressed becomes a comical excuse for the past, and she’s traded in the dress that feels like a second layer of skin for a rugged t-shirt bare enough to be deemed ‘vintage’ and a pair of some dirty jeans. to the naked observer, iseul might as well be an outsider. an intruder. stumbling into the lost world, but she’s a stage-five sinner throwing out the doe-eyes of innocence for a killer smirk.

but a simple greeting unravels a sole sheathe of the devilish poise, and her face softens, lets loose. settles for what becomes the extent of open arms charging the edges of her lips wide. “yura, nice to see you’ve stopped by tonight.” royal protocol doesn’t die so easily, especially not in the pretense of family. her tone’s still wavers upon apathy, but then again - family delves a little deeper than surface level ties. 

“i’m always at one of the clubs. lucky for you, you’ve managed to find me at the right one.” all tongue-and-cheek, iseul quirks a brow quickly tossing a glance to the young female. “i’m also not here for enjoyment. it’s work, no play. but you, i can see, have come to play. you know how to make yourself at home.” quick strides take her from one corner to the other into a hidden nook while a snap of her fingers calls over the bustling body of the nearest staff - perks, she assumes of having the entirety of the club sitting in her palm like molded clay (take the ropes, and she’s knotted them full force).

danger is an ugly monster. it’s hungry enough to cut corners, make cheap shots by clawing deep and prying past the layers of safety. it looms in the shadows of vulnerability, waiting for the right time to strike dead-center and knot itself around the ankles of the innocent. contrary to the cliches, time doesn’t lessen the weight, but instead carves something taxing out of the soul. 

beware: one misstep and you’re set straight down the path of sweltering nostalgia and remains of broken optimism.

lucky for iseul, innocence only becomes a figment of history she buries away at age sixteen. now, she stitches together facets of hedonism with ambivalence underneath the flickers of weekend lights and deafening noise that plays the one-track soundtrack to the job that now feels like a nightly ritual.

today, she assimilates to the title of bartender and server, topped with the button down shirt and stoic expression imprinted on her face. and when she makes rounds in the vip section, garnering the intricate details of the has-beens and up-and-comings, the mannerisms that unfold with loyalty brazen customers in intuitive fights and sly glances. it all falls right into place, piecing together a full picture of what she’s already riddled in her mind.

it feels like home. well, almost.

today brings a sore spot in the corner of her eye - a lonesome figure that obtrudes the perilous aura exuding from the vip room. 

darkness breaks with the stream of light that scatters from above, and inside the four walls she remedies as her new home, iseul loses track of time. 

no windows, nor awareness of the position of the moon - it’s using the ripple effect of people as the ticks and shifts of the clock (for all she knows, it’s still golden hour). an aggregation of gleaming faces struck high by the blaring music and the visions of cloudy smoke, and she knows it’s too early to wave the white flag and call it a night - except, that’s not what she sees. the crowds nearly hollowed with staggered bodies heeding heavier steps as the background music lowers a notch in tempo. the taste of the last tequila shot barely dances on the tip of her tongue, and it’s sheer banality that comes when it’s cue to shut the club doors.

automotion comes in stages. one, it’s the articulation of her fingers and the way they free the tresses of hair restrained in a ponytail. two, it’s the eager slip out of the black blazer and head-first jump into the familiarity of a tattered t-shirt. and finally, three comes a breath pulled chest heavy, soul deep. 

it feels like being wounded prey - open and honest during the off-hours, and it comes like reflex the way her eyes sweep the area only to meet a mirrored dismal gaze of someone vaguely familiar. “enjoying your first row seat to a low-grade teenage angst movie?” self-depreciation comes in chips off her own shoulder as her mouth curls into a vacant smirk, hands already tossing the blazer to exhaustion-ridden staff.