endkrp-blog

[endkrp-blog]

the following rooms are currently booked at the end.

—   expiring on march 8th. XXX – nam joohyuk, actor. ; extended once.

now in line for the check in.

( empty list. )

the following rooms are now free at the end.

602 – choi jinri, actress. 602 – lee taemin, of shinee.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  GUEST FILE.

                                                      name    kim jaeho                                                       d.o.b    01/02/1991 (25)                                                       occupation    former business analyst                                                                             (systems analysis for generic car corporation)                                                       room    402

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

There’s little that matters enough to relay.

His mother picks him up in his black chevrolet. She kisses his cheeks and asks about the bundle of curly letters in his hands. He promised his cellmate he’d pass them on to his relatives. He won’t, but it’s the thought that counts. They don’t talk anymore after that and she doesn’t drive on the main road to Seoul. The ride feels terribly depressing, and not quite as emotional as he imagined it to go.

His wedding was held in a small chapel in Namwon. Bucolic countryside isolation served as backdrop in the later low quality cellphone videos of their vows. His wife is two years his senior. He doesn’t remember her face, but he remembers what she forced him to feel. What she did to him. During first week in jail he used to imagine him hurting her, because he had to vent his anger some way. He never particularly liked her, maybe that’s why in the dreams he had of her, he never allowed her to speak. She had very distinctive set of demands, back when they lived together. He had to get a haircut every three months, and he had to keep his fingernails trimmed. She wanted to be called four times a day, and liked to keep track of what he ate. He also wasn’t allowed to contact women, regardless of their age or relation to him. A year into their deeply troubled marriage, he realized he didn’t love her. And that he didn’t know why they got married to each other. His college friends who he rarely got to see, trivialized his pains. Clearly, he was crazy for not wanting her. Maybe so, he’d tell himself when they’d lay side to side at night.

Before they got married, he’d tried many times to put an end to their relationship. He wrote countless speeches with her feelings in mind. When he got to read them to her, she’d make a big deal out of not listening. “We are too different,” he’d tell her again and again. “I don’t like myself anymore. You knew this was coming.” And she’d convince him his behavior was inadequate with body language alone. “Please, let’s take a break at least. We need a break,” he had tried one last time, a year before she had decided that they were getting married to each other. She dismissed him, as she always did, and he resigned himself to his fate. The one time he did manage to end things, she grew very quiet and locked herself inside the bathroom for hours. Later when her mother found her, she’d managed to slit her wrists. The doctor explained that the cut had been shallow and that there hadn’t been any real danger. But he had still felt so guilty. After she was discharged she showed up at his parents house and told lies. She said that he was mentally unstable, a recluse, had some sort of narcotics addiction. That she was the only thing keeping him grounded. That she loved him. And when he refused to go back to her, she got him arrested for alleged drug possession. It was the first time she’d gotten other people involved and it had scared him. So they got married. He felt the desperate need to hold onto the belief that there was something out there set on saving him. That’s why he studied his horoscope religiously and occasionally phoned spirit mediums on late night TV, asking for guidance. He also consulted a shaman priest once, but felt empty after the seance and developed a profound fear against drums. So he began planning his escape instead.

His mother drives them down to Daegu. They reach a bus station by dusk. She stops the car and pulls a thick envelope from the compartment. “I can’t take you back home with me,” she says. After a year in prison with no visit right, he notices her hair has grown completely grey. “Your father, he can’t have you near him. He can’t have stress. You know about his diabetes.”

He only realizes he’s crying when his mother starts crying, too. “Where am I going, mom? Where am I supposed to go?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I can’t.”

“What am I going to do?” He thinks of his wedding day, and how his mother loved his wife very much. “There’s money for you. On your card. I’ll try to keep in touch.”

“Mom, please. Don’t do this.” She gets out of the car and takes her bag with her. He sees her climb into a bus. And that’s that.

When they arrested him again, he was at work. They carried him out in cuffs and told him he was to contact his lawyer once on station. His court sessions were hard to sit through. His father in-law managed to break his arm while he was being moved from the courthouse to a small penal institution temporarily. It was weeks of public humiliation before he was sentenced to a year in prison on rape and domestic violence claims. He was told by his lawyer that a year was relatively tame. His wife called him on his third day and said she wasn’t planning on getting a divorce. He refused calls and visits from family after that.

He tanks up and buys a smartphone before driving south. He checks into a few guesthouses, but never overstays his welcome. There’s something unnerving about driving with no destination, and he contemplates suicide on multiple occasions. The first time he settles down is in Jeju. He gets on a ferry, and buys travel guides to keep himself busy. He avoids reading the newspaper or watching TV. Tourist tours and plenty of folklore is enough to have him occupied for a while. He calls his mother twice: their first phone conversation lasts a few minutes in which she begs him not to call anymore. The second time she hangs up before he has the chance to greet her. The thought of loneliness saddens him so much that he runs out to the sea and acts on drowning himself. But he finds the water too cold, and notes that dying is quite inconvenient before leaving.

He arrives at The End at late night, asks for a room and feels absolutely nothing inside.

Life goes on, he supposes.

— then, we wonder: what?

He used to work around statistics, which relied on the subjectivity of cultural whims. His life was dependent on sales and how they were affected by season, economics, trends, and matching figurative PR. Sometimes cars didn’t sell because a celebrity publicly reclaimed the bicycle to raise awareness to charity organizations with unbalanced profit shares. Or because TV would mass spread hysteria over climate change. None of that made much sense to him: the shame of being caught in enclosed apathy nor the forced concern over the environment. And so he went about counting numbers, and calculating the likelihood of college kids taking up loans to buy cars.

He was let go, a year ago. When his wife decided she didn’t trust him anymore. It paid well enough. But he doesn’t miss working in an office very much. The coffee always tasted bitter, and his coworkers always had pricey get togethers after work in sketchy karaoke bars. In The End, he keeps to himself. He hands the receptionist a check every day, then sits in his bed and contemplates life. Though there’s not much to it nowadays. At least he’s allowed to eat what he wants.

— finally, we demand: who?

I referenced The Zahir by Paulo Coelho and the screenplay for Gone Girl while writing down certain aspects to Jaeho’s life. Both are about troubled marriages, and served as spiritual footwork.

NICK (V.0.)

The primal questions of a marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other?

*

They lie down side by side on the marital bed. Nick is staring at the back of Amy’s head, just as in the opening.

NICK (O.S.)

What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other? What will we do?

“The following morning, I swore to myself that I would not try to find out where Esther was living. For two years, I had unconsciously preferred to believe that she had been forced to leave, that she had been kidnapped or was being blackmailed by some terrorist group. Now that I knew she was alive and well (that was what the young man had told me), why try to see her again? My ex-wife had the right to look for happiness, and I should respect her decision. This idea lasted a little more than four hours; later in the afternoon, I went to a church, lit a candle and made another promise, this time a sacred, ritual promise: to try and find her.”

― Paulo Coelho, The Zahir

[endkrp-blog]

mw faces for both m/f/nb? assuming that the rp accepts all fcs of different ethnicities by reading the rules, western fcs would be nice too!

A few of the k-entertainment faces that would be lovely to see are Tiffany and Seohyun from SNSD, Red Velvet, f(x), Oh My Girl, CLC, SHINee, TVXQ, Chen and Baekhyun from EXO, Blackpink, AKMU, Lee Hi, Yugyeom from GOT7, Jessica Jung, Lee Dongwook, Gong Seungyeon, Lee Yubi, Go Ara, Kim Jisoo (the actor).

I’m not very familiar with western faceclaims and which ones are usually preferred, but generally looking into non-kpop faces, I think Fernanda Ly, Komatsu Nana, Tachibana Eri, Fukushi Rina, Sun Fei Fei, Ming Xi, Lais Ribeiro, Joan Smalls, Chanel Iman, Jasmine Tookes, Bruna Tenório, Camille Hurel, Andrea Andersen, Priyanka Chopra, Anushka Sharma, Shahid Kapoor and Ranveer Singh are all nice options!

( Sorry for the huge name drop & for the fact most of these are girls, I’m generally unhelpful with non-female faceclaims lol )

[endkrp-blog]

hello! is it necessary to reserve your face claim before sending an application?

Not at all, as long as the faceclaim is avaialable, you can apply for them. The only setback I should warn you about is that, in case someone sends a reservation for the same faceclaim in before you send the application, they’ll have priority over you, since we work on a first come, first served model.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  GUEST FILE.

                                                      name    jeung haeryong                                                       d.o.b     03/22/1987 (27)                                                       occupation     antiques curator,                                                                                purveyor of fine & rare things                                                         room    504

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

one of his earliest and fondest memories: with his father in the study as his mother puts on some jazz records, peering wonderingly at a Fabérge egg and marvelling at its intricacy and bejewelled surfaces, and the way his father handles it like an infant with white-gloved hands. the first rule of this house is that he is not allowed into the study when his parents are not around, and the second is that he may watch, but he is not allowed to touch. his mother fondly calls their family a band of magpies, hoarding their precious treasures and dealing in antiques sometimes much older than them. he thinks, even in his childish state, that they are more than that, they are treasure hunters and curators, storing and caring for beauty the best they can.

he doesn’t grow up in korea, because most of his parents’ business is conducted in the united kingdom, and so he has a foot firmly planted in either country, slipping smoothly through languages and cultures like water off the back of a duck, a chameleon. and as he grows older, so does his understanding of the business his parents conduct. the front: a perfectly respectable, not a toe out of line antiques shop selling quaint little figurines and rarer collectible items; the back: a hub of criminal activity and stolen jewels. the fabérge egg of his younger dreams? sold to the highest bidder, a private individual who collected them like collecting candy.

perhaps the thing that bothers him most is that the black market in his parents’ shop does not really bother him. why shouldn’t individuals be allowed to buy beauty and pore over their treasures in secret? and perhaps, that’s why his heart was so soundly broken at university.

he is nineteen, and studying history of art at the university of oxford, half sick with love over a girl. they were happy until university ended, and things changed in the world of adults and shadows. perhaps he forgot that she wasn’t a treasure, that she wasn’t something he could keep selfishly for himself, but that she also belonged to herself.

he is twenty five, and on the day he plans to propose to her, she leaves him, every trace of her purged from their shared apartment in London like she had never been there in the first place, a moth, a mayfly girl, gone. needless to say, the abject depression that descends upon him is indescribable.

at twenty seven, he is older and somewhat wiser, and is working with his parents, with the masterpieces and the art that he loves. his parents send him back to korea alone on the pretence that he is there to start up a new branch of their business and will act as an intermediary for their less savoury activities, but in all honesty, they want him to rest & recuperate, so they can get their son back.

at twenty seven, he unlocks his door on the fifth floor of the End Hotel, 504, the room that his parents and him always stayed in when they returned to korea for business and a short holiday. he smiles fondly at the small carving of a dragon he made many years ago on the underside of his childhood bed, and watches the sea churn from his balcony.

and for now, he feels at home.

— then, we wonder: what?

for now, he is running the korean branch of business on his parents’ behalf, and his main priority is to rest and get away from the rush of city life. personally, he wants to find closure within himself for his previous relationship & adjusting how he views people, more like people and less like objects of worth. professionally, he is still extremely interested in the arts, and i guess if you want to sell a family heirloom, buy a rare item, hit him up! romantically, he’s not very open to relationships right now and would be terrified of getting into another one because he doesn’t want to hurt the other person, but things happen. he’s definately quite insecure and unsure about romance in general at the moment.

— finally, we demand: who?

if he were a song, he would definately be Claire de Lune by Debussy, because like the piece itself, he is calm and quiet on the surface, but the undercurrent chords are a more accurate depiction of his mind. the song Something Just Like This by the Chainsmokers & Coldplay is also pretty fitting because he is searching for something that his work cannot give him, the true joy of human companionship and love, which he doesn’t quite understand.

he’s also quite like a matryoshka doll, layered and difficult to get to the next one, because his centre is very well protected, and in consequence, he can sometimes come off as aloof or unfriendly. other things that I feel are related to him: charles baudelaire’s les fleurs du mal, the movie ‘the light between oceans’, & the impressionist movement— blurred, melancholy, perhaps a little too pretentious & mysterious, but with a good heart and intentions beneath it nonetheless.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  GUEST FILE.

                                                      name    cho sanil                                                       d.o.b    02/06/1995 (22)                                                       occupation    unempoyed                                                       room    602

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

The hotel was not a choice he had made, but one that had been made for him.

Undoubtedly, since his childhood. Arguably, millennia ahead before his birth. It all depends on where your feelings and reasons lie when it comes to fate, most likely.

For Sanil, however, what mattered was the heaviness that yanked him to The End, a force that ignored all logic and emotion alike, so powerful and so deeply rooted inside him he had been vehemently sure it was a manifestation of what the books described as destiny. Or maybe the id, roaring and palpable. Or maybe the self, externalizing its desires.

What mattered was The End.

*

He read often, mostly tales on childhood, adventures of kids like himself. They were fantastical, narrating epics in universes as wide and soaring as the imagination goes. In comparison, his upbringing had been uneventful, certainly uninteresting. There was an intersection between the colorful wonderlands spread over dusty book pages and the grayscale of his own experience, a fat cross marked in thick crimson paint that never seemed to set.

Tragedy.

He had no taste for the dramatic arts, but it was how the books described it, and he thought it was a reasonable description. Tragedy was how he remembered his mother’s expression as she looked at him, a puzzle of blurred memories he often tried to piece together deep into the dark of his room. Tragedy was remembering their voices ever so faintly, and how intelligent and important they sounded even in their most casual. Tragedy was remembering but not remembering enough, being betrayed by his own mind, having seen enough to miss something he was never meant to have.

*

Sanil was seven and his sister, Sani, was five when they were told their parents died in a tragedy. They were nuisances to the state, mumbling, inarticulate pawns in the push and pull game of Who Gets The Stinking Children. They should be happy that their uncle had volunteered to be their legal guardian. That gangly man who had been speaking in nonsensical legal jargon since the funeral had told them it was luck.

They disagreed. If not immediately, by a simple once over on the figure of the uncle and his square, abhorrent smile, it was certain by the time they were thrown to the basement of a house too old to be standing, and too dusty to be inhabited.

There were rules, so many rules, but no rewards. There were boundaries and punishments and a whole lot of steaming nothing. Any and all of their options boiled down to rotting away in the basement, much like the rats and cockroaches that made them company.

His hereditary empirical nature couldn’t help but wonder; how many kids do you know that have had a cockroach larvae as their first pet?

*

There was black and grey and blues. The yellowed pages said, be the change you want to see! But Sanil at gray on his hands and his forehead, and Sani had gray on her cheeks and her hair, and they weren’t much better than the house that made them.

He was allergic to dust, and he spent the days sneezing away. He was good enough of an eater to survive on the goob they were served every other day, but there was a hunger always seating at the bottom of his stomach.

There was black and grey and blues, and then there was bright pink. Molded in a glimmering golden frame that seemed to dispel the piles of dirt collecting on the wooden floors, there was that beautiful picture, glowing pink in a sunset sky. It read The End, Jejudo.

Sanil thinks of those words separately. Jejudo in straight, sans serif typography, small letters decorating the map of South Korea his uncle keeps in the library, right next to the island to the south of the main land. He’d read in books of many kinds, fiction and history and geography. Then, The End, in flowery calligraphy, or tasteful italics, an universal motif of completion. The point he anticipates the most since the moment his eyes lay on a cover.

The End, a peach pink in a gray wall, a conclusion to a journey.

*

He loves war.

Undeniably tainted by traces of stereotypical masculinity, with an inherent taste for anything that can cut and hurt and kill, Sanil has romanticized belligerence since the moment he understood his life as a battle ground. He has what to fight, and he has to fight for, and those are the only two things he needs to pick up spikes and slingshots to make them into leisure.

His uncle has his own set of guns too, firearms decorating his room, his gun room, and the living room. All across the house, a shotgun by the bed, an axe by the couch. The End, Jejudo hangs between a spear and a dart board.

For the most part, he has the first turn, with Sanil and Sani defending and retaliating. He never defends, because they’re desperate, underfed children, but he always retaliates. There is no truce, only time -- games get old while heads remain between shoulders. New games roll in, new objectives set in place.

And then, they grow up. They’re well equipped with tools and tricks and knowledge, and he’s aging and tired and disgusting. He makes them prepare his bath and pretends it’s to assert his power, but it’s because he no longer can handle himself. And they’ve been raised starving foxes, able to sniff weakness when it crosses them.

The games are changing, and the siblings pick up their new weapons. Tiny little pills, a doctor’s office and resilience that has been building for fifteen years of war.

To the winner, the end.

*

In his head, Sani and he would be sat in a boat after the funeral, setting sail off to their end. But there were lawyers and law and judges with tiny hammers that didn’t seem strong enough to crush anything. He is told to be patient, which is his specialty. Furthermore, he wants to do things right, and savor the victory that was owed to him since he had conquered it.

So, a year after the funeral, they’re in a bus that’s on a ferryboat, setting sail off to their end. He doesn’t carry the big suitcase filled with money bills he’d envisioned years back, but he has a wallet with a shiny card that he’s come to understand serves a similar purpose. Sani mouths a couple instructions on how to talk to people, read off the pages of the book in her hands.

He looks out to the sunset, filling their seats in a glowing pink, and he wishes for nothing more than The End, golden italic and final.

— then, we wonder: what?

The End is a happy ever after, an idealized catalyst of instant satisfaction that Sanil was conditioned to believe in for years, a coping mechanism his mind had set to maintain him on his feet for fifteen years. It had been his uncle’s prized possession, he’d boast about visiting the hotel, spending two weeks away in Jeju once a year. Both children spent their days rejoicing his absence, but Sanil wondered what The End looked like and what it was like to set foot inside such a colorful place.

The End is all Sanil desires. Completion, correction, the triumph of what he believes to be right over what he believes to be wrong. Not the physical structure of a hotel that’s way past its peak, but the picture on the wall, the beauty in the stingy darkness, the attaining of a goal that will restore the wrongs he had endured. A part of him dies when he steps into the hotel, a burning desire now waning in the face of the frivolity of life when contrasted with the vivacity of his ideals.

Instead of being overridden with disappointment, however, Sanil deconstructs his goals to see the ulterior meaning beyond them. It lies deeper that walking into a hotel, the answer is in experiencing the hotel. The answer is letting experiences renew himself and his sister. The answer is finding new questions out of their own agency to uncover.

— finally, we demand: who?

Getting this out of the way, Sanil and his sister are evidently inspired after A Series of Unfortunate Events. In childhood, they found themselves in a similar conundrum to the one the protagonists face in their misadventures, and coped with the consequences like the three children as they struggled to survive the whims of their uncle.

Sanil also has a touch of The Great Gatsby’s title character as well, romanticizing a highly idealized goal to a blinding fault, believing that its acquisition will not only bring the happiness without which he has lived, but that will also reform the past, restore the time he and his sister had lost. However, he struggles with making sense of that idea after seeing its first cracks once he attained the goal he held dear. It’s becoming apparent his belief is so deeply rooted into who he was, the captive boy separated from his wealth, that it has gained religious characteristics, persisting even as evidence points to tis flaws.

When it comes to his current state, he also takes from the protagonists of Moonrise Kingdom, the violence and excitement of going in an anticipated and carefully planned journey into a freedom never before experienced. In his nature, he’s slightly inspired by the violent unadulterated human nature portrayed in Lord of The Flies, the masculine fantasy of cruelty stirring deep inside him, sometimes clouding his capacity of empathy, partly due to his segregated lifestyle, with few connections to other human beings.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  GUEST FILE.

                                                      name    cho sani                                                       d.o.b    18/07/1996 (20)                                                       occupation    trust fund baby                                                       room    602

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

“do you know a flock of crows is called a murder?”

i.

most people don’t. most people don’t think about murder on a daily basis. though, then again, most people didn’t have to live through eighteen years of psychotic uncle trying to make them into their personal slave, so, she thinks, it makes them even.

( yes, there’s two of them. if one wasn’t enough already. )

hardly a surprise when one month after her brother turns twenty one their uncle ends up with a convenient heart attack during his fashionably early pre-noon lunch; they find him face first in his pea soup ( there’s something about pea soups, isn’t there! ). in this most unfortunate turn of events, the lawyers conclude sanil is to take custody of his sister, and their fortune, and the house too. indeed, this had been the saddest day of their life yet.

but we are getting ahead of ourselves.

ii.

before that, they used to share a room.

it had one bed and a lot of holes in the walls. it was her idea to hide things there; for later use, she concluded. she always had a brilliant mind for inventions, sani - built a cleaning device out of a hairpin and some gum once. so they made the best of their situation. with a heavy heart, she tore pages from any newspaper or book laying around, as their uncle had forbidden them such luxuries as reading.

( sanil was more sensible. he liked slingshots and bullets and rat poison. )

iii.

best times were when he was away on vacation.

once a year, he would visit this famous little hotel in jeju. the end, he called it. they thought it was a joke.

( turns out it wasn’t. )

iv.

but even before that they were just two kids. their parents were scientists, traveled the world and sent them post cards of the great wall, pyramids, northern lights, all dreams and places and budding hopes. and they were left, huddled in their mansion, never even considering their lives could turn into such a series of unfortunate events.

— then, we wonder: what?

a new beginning. the cho siblings’ idea of a resurrection came in the form of a spontaneous need for a distant retreat. of course, after years of sheltered living they could only turn to the single place they knew, as their uncle had mentioned it enough times to make it important. the memories that plague them run too deep to count, but they need something to help them ease in.

in short, sani hopes to find a little bit of everything.

in the longer version, they’ve wasted too much time in what they had been forced to become. isolation had made her fragile in ways even she didn’t dare to admit. like a crab, she thinks. hard shells, soft insides, a disbalance that shakes her off her feet. she is looking for a means to an end; people to talk to, relationships to form, something out there still undiscovered waiting for her. she is a blank page and a name, cho sani, bank account number, social security.

there’s always something to see, indeed. this shall be her own little expedition, unprecedented experiment. whether if it will be a failure is yet to be observed.

( schrodinger’s cat. curiosity will kill you. )

— finally, we demand: who?

as you probably could’ve guessed by now, sani’s character is highly inspired by the unfortunate events series. the struggles she faced are much similar to that of the baudelaire children, though, in comparison she is far more socially awkward and blunt, having already lived years in the uncle’s care. her character will be full of a lot of black humor, for better or for worse; her intentions are pure, but they don’t always turn out the way she wants them to.

another major influence on her was moonrise kingdom, particularly suzy’s character, but also the overall mood of the film itself. the journey of the escape from the life that only brings pain is a very fitting theme to be applied here. sani’s whole world view was more or less also set from what she read in books, so those became a major influence on her, as they are on suzy.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  STAFF FILE.

                                                      name    min joomi                                                       d.o.b     02/12/1993 (24)                                                       position    hotel psychic                                                       room    001

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

min joomi’s upbringing had been anything but conventional, to say the absolute least. she was born on a cool fall day in honolulu, hawaii, and celebrated her first birthday in budapest. her parents, two photo-journalists for a very highly rated korean travel magazine, home-schooled her from the time she could hold her head up on her own. she learned korean and english together, and could hold a conversation in spanish by the time she was ten. “can you read this, joomi?” was the first thing she remembered her mother speaking to her, and the first word she ever babbled out loud was paris. home was not a house or flat or duplex, but whatever exotic hotel her and her older brother would be locked away in for the next week.

as a young child, she loved every minute of her nontraditional life. when they weren’t busy studying the local birds and history with their parents, joomi and her older brother would spend time playing a number of games they’d made up with toilet paper and bedsheets in little hotel rooms. but, as her brother grew older and became a teenager, the glamour wore off. he turned to drinking whatever he could pay the locals to buy him, slipping out at night to walk roman streets and causing trouble. he became distant and cold, and joomi became lonely. her brother left at sixteen, and hotels never felt so big before. she graduated with great marks and a bright future ahead of her, but headed to seoul instead of university, leaving her parents behind her.

in the beginning, min joomi worked an array of odd jobs, traveling from town to town and experiencing everything she could. always with just enough money to get by, she’d been a tour guide, bartender,  ticket booth saleswoman, dog-walker, weed trimmer,  and  translator by the time she was twenty-one. most of her meals were from convenience stores and when she wasn’t sleeping in shitty hotels, she was hitchhiking her way to the next town. she’d seen a dozen korean countrysides and a handful of cities, but when she finally reached seoul, things slowed down.

joomi played her first game of poker while drunk out of her mind and surrounded by loud gamblers. the suits and numbers blurred together dangerously as she shuffled them in her hand, and although she vomited somewhere in the middle, she still managed to win. joomi had never had a natural talent for anything in her life, but she could win any card game buzzed, drunk, or sober, it seemed. after that, it wasn’t hard to get sucked into one of the strangest scenes in seoul’s underground: gamblers.

joomi made something of a name for herself, growing close with a few friends that had become so addicted to poker they met up nearly nightly. she made twenty-five percent off her bets in profit in the little rooms they rented out to drink and play in, dimly lit and always loud with insults and laughter. she also made friends in low places, always knowing who to call for what when something went wrong. a washed up rich kid, an old man she thought might be in a gang, a ceo, and a traveler; they were a force to be reckoned with, always sucking on cigarettes and talking so big it was like they owned the city.

the group dissolved with none of the flashing fireworks you’d expect. instead, a few of the guys proposed to their girlfriends, and family became more important than nightly rounds of poker. joomi decided it was a good time to skip town, but before they ended their last game of cards together, the eldest member leaned in and slid a deck of tarot cards over the table to her.

“because you’re going places and i’m not.”

joomi had never been great with receiving gifts or goodbyes, so she took the cards with a nod and got on a bus the next morning. with dreams of the warm beach sun on her skin and a luxury, movie-star lifestyle, she headed to jeju. she spent the entirety of her gambling savings renting a room in the end for a few weeks, pretending to be rich and falling in love with the island. for maybe the first time in her life, joomi found a place she considered home.

just before money ran out, joomi learned how to make predictions with the mysterious deck of tarot cards. she practiced on a few other guests at random, laughing over drinks at the bar as she read off oddly specific prophecies as a joke. it made for good fun, until the predictions started coming true. not all of them, just a few here and there, the ones she supposed she had done right. before long, the hotel caught wind of the psychic giving out readings, and offered joomi a job. the rest is, of course, history.

— then, we wonder: what?

despite having told her parents (and herself) she left home for modelling, joomi had searched the entire city for her brother. she has the phone books and search history to prove her efforts, still looking for her personal idol and best friend even years after his disappearance. It’s not uncommon to find joomi tapping the shoulders of any guest around his age, asking for a name and birthplace just to be sure. while she liked to believe she didn’t have a huge dependency on the whereabouts of her brother, she also spends more time than she’d care to admit thinking about him.

as time goes on though, joomi is seeing more and more of her phony predictions coming true in the end. it’s not always in the exact sense, sometimes the results coming in disguised little coincidences. sometimes, she’ll pull a wealth card and the guest’s room will be upgraded, or she’ll predict a misfortune while playing with the cards on her own and there will be a new fiasco at dinnertime. the little things add up, though, and joomi is starting to wonder if there is more to her deck of cards than she originally thought.

— finally, we demand: who?

joomi has always wanted a life like the classics. she’s watched gone with the wind over a dozen times and can recite nearly every line of casablanca. she fell in love with old hollywood films in the free section of hotel pay per view, observing with wide, eager eyes as the women danced and had larger-than-life experiences. she wanted all the glamour that came with a life in movies, all the sparkling hope and kissing in the rain, and she knew the only way to get it was to be them.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  GUEST FILE.

                                                      name    kang illhwa                                                       d.o.b    07/17/1991 (26)                                                       occupation   stay at home wife                                                           room    501

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

from birth to teenhood, illhwa grew up in a small two bedroom house with her mother, father, and younger sister. she shared her room, her food, her phone – everything that belonged to illhwa belonged to her sister. only being a year apart, they were often mistaken for twins, and at times, it felt like that, too. they had nearly the same everything, their parents complaining about how costly it was to have two children. the sisters tried to stick close like honey to a bee, especially when money grew real tight, forcing them to move out of seoul and to a much smaller city, which just meant a much smaller home. this time, it was only a one bedroom apartment – mother and father on the floor of the living room while the girls shared another room.

it wasn’t a burden to be raised lower-class. it was a burden to feel like one. to have her parents make comments day in and day out about the bills, about how it would be hard to pay for college. it felt so much like a burden that illhwa wouldn’t speak up when her shoes got holes, or when she needed something for school. she let her sister talk for the both of them, letting her be the one to receive spankings from their parents. when the girls turned eleven and twelve, they were moving out of the small apartment and into an actual house with two stories and their very own room. it seemed too good to be true after so long living so cramped.

her younger sister often asked how they suddenly got the money to live so nicely like this? and the answer both girls got was the same: “dad’s got a new job now.” a new job, sure, but they weren’t allowed to know what he did, and where he was most weekends. where he was when he was missing dinners – they weren’t allowed to ask. illhwa figured they needed to enjoy the normalcy of living middle-class, to try and make the best with what they were blessed with. her sister, however, voiced all of her complaints and problems freely, the more outspoken one of the two. she said all of the things illhwa didn’t dare want to speak.

it was because of this that their parents must have saw something in illhwa to choose her for this. to choose to marry away their daughter in order to pay their debts to the mafia. in the last two months of being seventeen, illhwa was being put before professional photographers (the girl needs a profile photo for the gentleman, her mother said), for a whole file being made on illhwa. her birth certificate, identification, bus pass information, grades from kindergarten to her senior year, her college application, scholarship funds, hospital records – every little detail possible about dok illhwa was in that folder.

she heard it landed in the hands of the mob boss’s son, the next in line to lead, and he liked everything he saw. when illhwa got a file of kang intak, there wasn't nearly as much information as she had given, and he was already nineteen. his school records were perfection, his photographs were handsome, all illhwa needed to do was just sign the document, and her arranged marriage would be finalized. illhwa kept the contract for weeks before deciding it was the right thing to do to help her parents and her little sister. she could spare her feelings if it meant caring for her family.

her signature went on neatly with pretty loops only practiced english could bring. and her wedding was only a month after she turned eighteen. with consent from both parents, dok illhwa became kang illhwa, jumping over the broom with a man she had only met twice before. she moved out of the house with her sister kicking and scratching for her not to go, and began living a completely different life. she’d also given up college since she was meant to have children and play the homemaker.

in the beginning, intak spoiled her rotten with lavish gifts and plenty of diamonds. told her that if she did as she was meant to as his wife, she would continue to get these things. money wasn’t just money to this man, it was his pride. he was following in his father’s footsteps, married young, and even planned on having at least two children with illhwa. the couple grew to like each other, but with every gift, came a new threat. intak began threatening his wife to ensure that not even she could go against him in the future. he was paranoid that one day she might grow bitter because she was forced to leave home so fast, but she couldn’t stress enough that it had been her decision to sign the contract.

the threats gave illhwa a sinful feeling in the pit of her stomach, something like butterflies with strong rushes of adrenaline, and the chemical responses started to become something illhwa craved. she very much enjoyed it when the man came home and set his gun down on the table, resting it so that the barrel pointed at her the entire dinner. even when he came home with a fur coat and told her that she just needed to keep up the good work, needed to not too comfortable with him despite the gifts. fear of her husband turned into something deeper, something not even illhwa could possibly wrap her mind around.

does she love him? is she really afraid of him? it was much easier just to say that she loved her husband, but respected him more. that was what she told people during pricey cocktail parties and any other business parties intak had to take care of. but there was nothing like the passion she shared for him in their most intimate moments, the ones where they would kiss and he would tell her not to get herself killed, that he’d gut her if she ever tried to leave him. she could never tell if the words were just sensual whispers, or true threats. no, no, there was nothing to fear. intak’s game was safe, wasn’t it?

intak graduated from just a prodigy to the real deal when his father died, making him the new boss of seoul’s mafia, which put pounds of pressure on illhwa’s shoulders. she was expected to act, talk, and dress a certain way around others at all times. it was expected of her to be able to cook and bake to keep intak’s mother happy about their marriage. without this marriage, her family would go back to starving, they’d go back to hard times, and her sister just got into a good college. this was often among the things intak used against illhwa. if you don’t do what i say, your family will pay for it.

but if she has nothing to fear, then why the fuck is she running to some hotel on jeju island? nine years later, the brochure came in the mail one day along with other things that didn’t pertain to her. she tucked it away from intak’s sight, too afraid of what he’d say if he saw her reading it. he’d think she’d want to leave, and he just couldn’t have that. just the other night he threw a glass cup at her when he saw her making too many gas purchases on the car. who are you with? where are you going? why were you there and not here? the outburst had been the first one to ever make illhwa scared.

the end was just far enough that she could use whatever cash she could find to get there, intak’s eyes were on all of their bank accounts, so using any of their cards was out of the question. jeju island seemed like a good place to stay for now, it just had to be. until illhwa could get herself figured out. what did she want? a marriage with a man she wasn’t sure she could tame after not having a say for nine whole years, or a marriage where she was completely at the mercy of a man who did dangerous things with a temper intact? it was already a risk for more than just herself to be running off like she was, but if she looked at the same four walls any longer, she was going to lose her head.

illhwa was painfully unaware of the exact mafia her husband leads operates right under her feet, in the basement of the end, their eyes and ears on everything that went on in the hotel. including the woman’s arrival.

— then, we wonder: what?

since eighteen all she’s ever really known is portraying the ideal housewife. she’s done a fine job of keeping an act going that her marriage wasn’t flawed, but the deeper the years went, the more illhwa became “unsure” of her husband. with her stay at the end, illhwa acts as though doesn’t know what she wants. playing the victim is much easier than not, telling a sob story about how her parents forced her into an arranged marriage with a scary man. in reality, she’s stuck between wanting her husband to come after her – so maybe she’s swiped a credit card or two in jeju to give him a clue – or wanting to just be left alone. on the outside, she lies to herself and anyone that asks her about the man, tells the whole world she’s done with the confusion and fear. but on the inside, illhwa’s aware of the trouble this could cause her, and she wants it.

illhwa wants to feel the fear and tension with the man, she lives for it. she doesn’t have any other dreams, or aspirations, she just wants to play the cat and mouse game with intak. perhaps it’s her age that’s kept her so foolish. or maybe it’s the endless drinks the end’s bar serves that makes her feel so brave.

— finally, we demand: who?

( addicted - body language ) , song choice.

she’s obsessed with being afraid of her husband. illhwa can’t get enough of intak and how he talks and acts around her. she didn’t mind too much when the glass cup hit the wall right beside her head because it gave her a rush. the song is about two lovers, one who is fully in love with the other, and the other who says that they spend plenty of time together, that they don’t need to act any further on their feelings. the one in love is the one who gets dragged into the confusing relationship that never has tied up answers, always frayed ends left standstill. with so many emotions on the table for both parties, but neither of them speaking clearly, it only leaves the girl in love to be going over everything in her mind until she can’t possibly work it out – and the process just starts up all over again, becoming a true addiction.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                                      You have been cordially invited to a                                                                 celebration of invention and debauchery.

It has come again, inevitable as it inherently is, given each passing of twelve months defined by convention. The most awaited yearly event at The End, aside, of course, from the universal commercial holiday dates reserved for the reasonless, inhibited spending that so often fills our modest pockets.

On February 25th, we traditionally reserve the evening to remember the death of the hotel’s founder and biggest investor, Hwang Sukcheol. A man who, according to his own words, owned so much and lived so little, and saw merely a glimpse of his lifelong dream spring to life before passing away at the blooming age of seventy-four. A grim reminder that life is transient and indifferent to our passions and meticulously planned ambitions.

And so The End has since turned the anniversary of the great businessman’s death into a joyous event, filled with music and spectacle and beverages, all items he fervently desired to be intrinsic to the hotel’s fame. We choose not to lament, but laugh and dance and make terrible, ghastly noise, a desperate attempt to stifle any trail of genuine sentiment that could surge to haunt us in the cruelest of ways.

We are expected to have a live band, as well as a buffet to cater to everyone’s needs. More information on the details as well as attire code will be attached to the this invitation.

And so, our dearest late leader, this is the day we celebrate your death the way you lead your life – shattering moral shackles and bastardizing ancient traditions, all for the ephemeral glimmer of shallow pleasures. Not a single second of this evening shall stay with any of us for as long as we live, but we will, undoubtedly, have gone through with it.

It in in this festive spirit that fills us all that we invite our guests, as well as willing members of the population of Jeju, to join uns in commemoration.

Faithfully, The End.

                                                                    DETAILS.

TIME & PLACE. The celebration will take place at 9PM, February 25th, 2017, inside the entire ground floor of the hotel, focused on the general area of the lobby, as well as the rearranged dining room.

FOODS & BEVERAGES. We’ll be working with an open bar for the whole evening, and the catering team will ensure that there’s enough food to fill the tables. The theme of the buffet’s menu revolved around a variety of Hwang Sukcheol’s favorite food, peas. (Furthermore, do not bother informing us of your dietary restrictions, they will securely not be relevant. The food serves only as an aesthetic finish, not for possible human consumption.)

DRESS CODE. Formal wear. Tuxedos, gowns. Jewelry and shoes allowed. Sequins tolerated, but limited to a moderate taste.

                                                                                                 briefing.

ABOUT:  hello, and welcome to The End’s opening event! Please try not to think of it as serious and extremely time sensitive, this is simply a way to set the tone for this verse & help the members break the ice and get a few connections. So use it as a common space for plots, and have some fun!

TAG:  #end:anniversary. ---  please tag posts related to the event.

TIME FRAME:  february 25th -- march 11th. ---  ongoing threads can be continued past the final deadline, but new threads related to the event must not be created!

[endkrp-blog]

Greetings to our most kind guests!

A quick update just to announce, much to this team’s satisfaction, that The End has finally opened its doors and is ready for action! We hope you all enjoy your stay as much as your staff have so far enjoyed working on this project. We will be looking forward to seeing all of your amazing muses finally come to life. 

While you make yourselves familiar with the surroundings and exchange information to get started, why not take a gander around the sights to experience in the hotel through this link that’s been added to our map?

That should soothe your wait for tomorrow's inaugural event, which we hope you’ll anticipate. We're hoping it will unite young chronic over-drinkers and pea soup lovers alike!

Love, The End.

P.S. the masterlist is currently updated and should be working. If any issues arise, don’t hesitate to drop a message!

[endkrp-blog]

                                                     GUEST FILE.

                                                         name    kwon jaeha                                                          d.o.b    01/14/1994 (23)                                                            occupation    classical pianist and composer                                                          room    130

                                                             welcome to the end.                                                                 kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

Jaw locked open, lips dried and cracked, he could barely utter a scream as the cold sweat elicited down the contours of his skin. Shaking and feeling his eyes welling uncontrollably, he started to feel a warm stream draw across his face, the taste of iron lacing along the corrugation of his mouth as his palm attempted to jerk up and smeared the blood away. Locked against the cold pavement, he parted his lips only to feel a laugh lurch up his throat and excavate from his lungs. Catching his breath, he tipped her head back as his sight went hazy, the distant embers of incandescent fluorescence dancing across his lids like a ballet.

The perimeter of the lobby visibly offers a spacious venue but only to the physical effect, and acts as a vacuum to time. The thick hands professing the hour and minutes steadily stomping along with the rough, slow drums of his heart against his ribs. The edge of the card dug into his palm, sucking away the sanguine hue from his skin as he wet his lips.

The nerves that riddled down his shoulders felt unfamiliar — as if he had lived in a different carcass when he had last experienced the unsolicited cold waking sweats. The bandages bound tight as a cast around his right hand was a clear reminder that he had no right to show his face to the affectionate, enkindled souls that created the possibility of him literally fucking the tuition and rent out of them. Or rather, he no longer wanted the reminder of their selfish faces to plague his stream of unconsciousness.

And the cool ivory prisms offered no solace. The string of humans, the royalties, even the promise of repair. Suddenly the thick, viscous warm paint that doused the antique walls, embraced by the rococo of plastered planes that surround him, felt like home.

— then, we wonder: what?

When a fingernail digs into the same region of skin in a repeated fashion, no matter the pace, it grows red and agitated. The fervent nerves are struggling to coat a barrier over the growing infliction, only to swell at the disturbance of the organ being picked at. On occasion, the fingernail with break past the skin, carving and curling back the last layer like the dried edge poorly holding together an onion. Blood encases the canyon that has been created by that damn fingernail.

Your fingernail.

And when your casing scabs and heals, it leaves a faint reminder with a bleached mark across the skin, the same shape as the laceration, planting a piece of itself permanently onto the vessel. As the plant grows its roots, it entwines with the gaps between the bones, traversing through the nerves and conjoined seams hidden beneath muscle tissue only to consume and rot each part of what holds one together. The constricted vines pull around all vitals, tighter and tighter until breathing becomes a conscious chore. It makes you sluggish, as if your feet are dipped in cement and harboring the pains of your thin ankles attempting to raise your legs up and carry the burden that seeps between your toes. It corners one until the process of waste begins.

And that was the attempt, to escape the repeated injuries that he had inflicted on himself. Amounting to nothing more than a mortal with gifted hands — which was no longer the case either — he wanted out, wanting to evade from the familiar faces in Seoul, he disappears practically overnight in hopes to find more than what the surface of himself offers.

— finally, we demand: who?

Sugar Skulls by, Wolftron is an indie folk style composition that has a sugary twinkle of a keyboard in the background. The lyrics written are quite somber — in contrast to the instrumental — but the chorus clings to fringes of hope.

The first lyric is, “We are blessed, I am cursed.” The entirety of Jaeha’s life is spent feeling as if he is stuck in a vicious cycle of curses. “We are blessed”, with its sacred connotation, can innately describe the confusing nature that occurs when individuals who suffer question the presence of a greater being. The following lyric is, “I’m staying in the dark and drinking from my heart,” which creates the isolation in which Jaeha has concocted due to his string of misfortunes. Essentially, he keeps away from others and confines in “the dark” with the troubles that have accumulated, “drinking from his heart.” The theme of “I’m feeling blessed” returns as the next lyric but has a tail of, “But something in the air will drive me to the start.”

“It’s the same things that get me again,” the feelings of confusion that make him return to the “start” of what created this turmoil creates a character in him that is bitter, somber, and apathetic. It make him return and start up the same bad habits that seem to damn him to furthering down the abyss of misery.

Attached to the “same things that get me again” follows “sticks of death, cigarettes — I hate the smell of smoke but I’ve learn to hide ‘em in and then when I’m old I’ll damn these broken lungs I should’ve listened to my friends,” Jaeha is an avid cigarette smoker. Though he may be clean and organized when doing so, not to leave much of a scent or ash, he constantly finds that he isn’t fond of the tobacco. But he can’t seem to break away.

The chorus is the most crucial component of the piece. The first verse offers a vague looking glass into the past, the second verse represents the present and the vice the prior has created, and the third creates the future and perhaps the longing that needs to be completed to fulfill the void in which Jaeha feels he is missing; “This time I want to take it slow and try to keep this life in line. Maybe fall in love so I can learn to love the night. We can sail the seven seas and just leave behind all these ghosts of mine, but it’s the same things.” These set of lyrics repeat but at the very end “but it’s the same things” is left out, offering hope that perhaps things can change.

[endkrp-blog]

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                                                         name    kim jaehwan                                                          d.o.b    12/30/1995 (21)                                                          occupation    unemployed                                                          room    107

                                                             welcome to the end.                                                                 kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

in the beginning, they were seven.

one. they grow up as the unwanted, abandoned once and never to be picked up again. years pass with the time ticking and they grow up to be the ones too old for the system. yet where society fails them, they create their own brotherhood – a family for the lacking, belonging to the ones with nothing.

two. troubled youth shakes the ground with each step they take. loud, rambunctious, rebellious youth seeks for their own freedom within their own terms, above the law and above societal norms. they crash, clatter, burn with every move, bolstered by their numbers and a connection that cannot be failed.

three. but the virtues together are only as strong as they are weak, susceptible to the sin and grime that festers in their bones when they are alone.  they’re too busy conquering the world to realize they’ve lost the fight within themselves.

four. “what do you mean he’s killed himself?”

five. six does not sound as pretty as seven and without him, they are lost. fragile ties shatter in the face of confusion, irritability, blame, and guilt. they shout, fight, and destroy until their very earth becomes undone. so seven becomes six and then to none.

six. he lives in winter – withers. becomes a punching bag that can take no more, secrets and emotions spilling over the top. he snaps and can’t contain the mess until his hands are stained red. she tells him to get out of here but he’s always been someone with no where to go.

seven. he ends up at the hotel, something about forgotten promises and adventures left behind. perhaps if he can find the reason why he’d chosen here, he’ll find the question to the answer. until he knows why, until they can be six again, he’ll find his path here.

— then, we wonder: what?

he hopes to find himself here, to find him, to find them. he’s always walked in their path, being the glue of the family. his steps have never been alone, whether an extra two or an extra twelve. so without them, he has lost his purpose. he’s soul seeking in his time at the hotel. perhaps he’ll find the ghost of the passed, a reason why this place had been in their bucket list – recollections of brief passing comments gathered around the fire place but he supposes there’s a reason why he remembers now of all times. . ( one last hope to rewind it all ). perhaps he’ll find a path he can walk on alone, one where he is no longer tied to those he calls brothers – new beginnings from a terrible end ( not one he’s truly actively seeking ). until that time comes though, he’ll chase threads, the last lingering ties between him and them. searching high and rarely low, for his mind is terribly polluted and there’s really no place like at the top of the world. ( and when you’ve sunk as low as his own life has gone, high enough is really an option anywhere ).

— finally, we demand: who?

epik high – “slow motion”

“love and pain, the speed of memories: slow motion dreams nightmares, the speed of innocence: slow motion”

everything in his life has veered out of control, speeding by in a forward motion he cannot halt or slow. nothing is the same and he supposes it never will be again. still, he finds himself wanting, wishful for a pause, for everything to stall in slow motion.

“ with a splitting headache, i still don’t want to wake up.i hope for eternal rewinding. for some reason, the concept of time feels awkward here would it be walking slowly, matching my tardy movement? it feels like the line between life and death, but i think i’m falling asleep in comfort.”

pause and rewind. pause and rewind. it’s all he can hope for as he thinks back to the days together. nothing feels real. nothing feels right, especially here alone. he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing yet that his time here at the hotel seems to be ethereal, a different timeline and universe.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                     GUEST FILE.

                                                         name    yoon ilsung *                                                          d.o.b    12/30/1991 (25)                                                          occupation    con artist                                                          room    404

                                                             welcome to the end.                                                                 kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

 Criminal activity leads to interesting places. Especially when one is forced to look for those.

 It was three in the morning when he stirred in his sleep, an annoyingly melodic siren seeping though the walls and surrounding him. When Jaesub‘s eyes came to focus, his mind was still thirty meters behind – ‘sleeping in a club is much more comfortable than I remember’. His droopy eyes, glazed with stupidity that only the sleep-deprived share, were chasing the red and blue flashes of the “disco lights” that were waltzing around the room, elegantly following the repetitive high-pitched sound. Until his mind snapped out of the dream-like state and Jaesub realized that the walls in the club were too much like the ones in the house he lived in. Also, that almost no club allowed his level of nudity.

Jaesub barely got his pants on as he was jumping out the window before the men in uniforms could ungracefully kick his front door open and handcuff him in a rather barbaric manner for the 21st century.

 The petty survival bag (that‘s how he called the bag he kept all the money and jewelry he stole from naive and obedient lambs) hung low on his shoulder, as Jaesub locked himself in a bathroom of a gas station, mind frying trying to think of considerable options of where to go. One neon hair colour and unnatural contact lenses later, his chain of thoughts led to the conclusion that having home records under the fake names he hid himself behind didn’t seem to be working anymore. The less proof of his existence and ownership, the better.

 Unless he wanted to stop the riveting game of leeching off of the unsuspecting upper class people and start living under his own name.

 The thought made him laugh.

 As if.

 That‘s how Jaesub ended up in the furthest corner of the country he could think of. Isolation was something he needed until the talk about him died down in the police stations and he could come back to the secluded corners of Seoul to gather information and look for yet another ungodly rich person he could rip off. Or at least that‘s what he thought before checking into a hotel he kept seeing in flyers around the island of Jeju he found himself in. Over his time in The End, Jaesub learned that somehow the surroundings of the Grand Hotel made the upper class feel too safe for their own good. Or at least it seemed like it, since the role of Ilsung, the failed singer whose eyes were still wide and full of naive, childlike love for the world, seemed to hypnotize them. The rich allowed the romantic musician in, trusting him. After meeting him, they seemed to live in the illusion of great altruism, as they offered him their support in forms of money and jewels.

 Jaeseb‘s game seemed to be working in his favour for almost a year. He had a never ending money source, food was always served, his room was always clean. Why in the world would he leave?

— then, we wonder: what?

Jaesub chose The End while looking for a secluded and an inconspicuous enough place to hide from the trivial human form of justice. Therefore, his main focus in the hotel is not to deviate from the fake sickeningly romanticist and gullible persona he created and live off of what the Grand Hotel can offer. Guests included.

 As of right now, he is running on relatively low funds. The bag that he kept well hidden was still full enough to keep him stable for at least six to eight months, though that is not good enough for the scammer. Jaesub‘s honey tongue that came along with the character of Ilsung had to be put to action - he is trying to sweet-talk his way into the heads of the current guests that live on the higher floors of the hotel. He doesn’t care that much about the consequences of his sweet talking; the nature of the relationships that developed on the base of his innocent tone and syrupy words does not bother him. Hatred, friendship, romance – all is good as long as he gets access to their overpriced belongings or bank accounts in which the balance numbers are separated by multiple commas.

 The idea is to survive. And whatever comes along with it he will welcome with open hands. Because even if he lacked the feeling of guilt, just like any other human being, he craved attention and company.

— finally, we demand: who?

 Nothing that I can think of fully describes who he his. I think for most part the closet connection that I found to Ilsung was the song “Mensware” by the 1975. Not lyric-wise but mostly because of the stages of it - the way sounds stack one onto the other. During the evolving process, the song does not become heavy, it stays light and afloat. In a way it inspired the character of Ilsung, a.k.a. the hotel Jaesub.

 Jaesub‘s main focus when he ran away from Seoul was to create someone who people would take pity in without giving it much thought. Who else would fit better than a outcast musician? Therefore, he entered The End with a skeleton idea – a reject singer. As time passed, he dressed the skeleton in robes and jewelry, adding more and more to the fake persona: a dreamer, crazily optimistic, romantic, open-hearted, naive, a little bit like a child. Someone easily lovable and trustworthy. The innocence of Ilsung determined that he was one of Jaesub‘s most complicated characters - somewhat like a positivism bomb, giving off this light, dream-like vibe which he used to cast a spell on people around, trying to make them think that behind all the bright smiles and chummy attitude lies a person broken by the failure and disapproval that kept following him around like a shadow. Much like the song, the character of Ilsung evolved slowly, as Jaesub stacked layers of characteristics one onto another, taking stops between every new trait added, growing on it and adjusting according to the response the new part of his creation got. Ilsung is gradually developed, making him more and more complicated but keeping him feeling airy and clear – the exact way the song is.

 It‘s hard to associate Jaesub himself with something, as he‘s been anyone but himself for so long that somewhere along the way he lost who he was as an individual. Though, looking at how he was seven years ago before running away from home and living off of scamming, you could say he was a thrill seeker. That‘s why he got in so much trouble, that‘s why he left his parents and siblings - looking for something that would electrify him to the ends of his fingertips. Subconsciously, that‘s what he is looking for to this day while changing names and getting his hands one riches that were not his. Therefore, Jaesub reminds me of the song “Midnight City” by M83. It has this full, epic, wandering sound to it. And I think in that way it fits the thrill-seeker Jaesub, his choices in life and all the people he played out so far.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                     STAFF FILE.

                                                         name    kim taehoon                                                          d.o.b    01/12/1993 (24)                                                          position    receptionist / phone sex operator                                                          room    S01

                                                             welcome to the end.                                                                 kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

The End is quite a fitting name for Taehoon’s workplace because it is, ultimately, what he sometimes thinks the job represents. After successfully dropping out of university as a result of an existential crisis that was not solved (or dissolved, for that matter) in a slightly unsafe mixtures of heavy drinks, Kim Taehoon found himself:

a. broke,

b. uninspired,

c. existentially lost,

d. really damn broke.

And anyone who has been through one of those bulleted struggles is aware that they are, in fact, a pain in the behind. He believes – or at least attempts to – that life, at times, creates odd paths for us all to walk. Where does his begin, you ask? Well, it is unlikely of him to tell just where it truly began, or exactly which turns he took, however he remembers a few bifurcations and turnabouts, namely: choices. What choices, you ask? Silly things, see, such as confessing through a letter to the prettiest girl in third grade, skipping hangouts with friends to study, detouring from his passion for cinema to study business at university, dropping out of the said university… All of those really tired our boy, and now he is a tad bit lost.

And how is that a problem, you ask, since we can all find inspiration again? You, oh curious one, ask lots of questions, so we shall simply cut to the chase: the path of his life is not quite what he expected, and that is quite hard for him, who grew up in such a family that has the patriarch’s funeral planned since age thirty-two. It is natural, now, for him to feel lost and, considering his nature, a bit desperate. He does not expect his life path to follow a direction in which he has to work at The End for the rest of his existence, or for much longer for that matter of fact.

But you know, if all goes wrong, at least his life path led him to a tall building by a cliff, and he will always have Wednesdays.

— then, we wonder: what?

The End was found in an unusual weekend, with an unusual bunch of acquaintances drinking unusual mixtures of drinks that probably should not be mixed. The truth is that, to this day, Taehoon does not remember how he got in Jeju in the first place – he supposes someone had a car, and an odd desire to drive three hours across the country; and he, a soju enthusiast, obviously did not step out of the vehicle, since he has never been a truly sensible person. It was in the morning when he found himself in someone else’s clothes by the sea that an important realization came to him: the magnitude of his mistake. Which, mind you, was enormous. In his possession were two wallets: one belonged to him, and the other, to a fella called Gam Jeongwoo. He assumed, in his humble assumptions, that the kind, forgotten man also (guess it?) assumed that Taehoon would be in trouble in the morning – he gives off that sort of aura, see –, and thus left him his wallet to be borrowed – along, of course, with his 200 thousand Won, since his own wallet had only the tragic amount of fifty cents.

He only really stepped into The End by noon, after buying a beer and an unfashionable pair of sunglasses. He strut shameless and barefoot into the lobby, booked the cheapest room available, and proceeded to lay on his bed for the rest of the afternoon, staring at the ceiling while wondering what his life had came to. His path between a borderline homeless guest to staff of the hotel was somewhat simple: a day was spent in even more existential crises, as well as designing a too elaborate plan to go back home; another was spent accepting his situation as a pitiful person, and stealing shoes from a store downtown; and the highlight of it all, which were three days somewhat begging and puppy-eyeing his way into the role of doing errands for the hotel. It was, of course, thought as a simply job he would not keep – something temporary to fill gaps and earn money.

At some point in the two years he has been part of the staff of the hotel, he simply stopped attempting to make plans, because none of them actually thoroughly worked. Take working at the hotel as an example, he planned meticulously to work only enough to go back to Seoul comfortably, to the warm embrace of his parent’s house – which to be fair, he did, however what came afterwards was the Unexpected Part of a seemingly infallible plan, and it can be summed up in two words: university debt. Between asking his parents pitifully for pocket money and working part time as a barista, there was the ever surprising, odd, and enlightening on human nature phone sex with strangers, which basically required Taehoon to turn his voice into everything from a sweet listener to Christian Grey inspired scenarios first-person narrator.

In no time he was back at the hotel, and though his previous position was now filled, the receptionist spot was open. He accepted it, innocently, and kept his previous night job, which was not so innocent, however well-paying and surprisingly entertaining. After having to interact daily with a wide variation of strangers, who most days seem to have left half their brain back in the room (which would be later collected by the maids, with wet towels, not brooms, since brains are moist), Taehoon could comfortably state that he sees no future in the pursuit of a career within the hospitality business. Truthfully, he cannot understand some of his fellow co workers, or the challenging guests, who see The End as a place for self enlightenment, or any other pretentious meaning they might attempt to attach to the place. Maybe – just maybe– he will eventually stumble upon another big realization, but until then he only hopes The End is not, truly, his end.

— finally, we demand: who?

Rather than to analyze Taehoon as if he were art, we must bring you all down the memory lane and see him through light-hearted lenses: the subject will be a children’s cartoon, as inappropriate as it may sound, which Taehoon used to watch as a kid, too, “The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy.” We shall start with how it relates to Taehoon as a being, since he is a bit egocentric and would think badly of us for not focusing on the true star of this show that is his life, himself. To him, we present Mandy, an abrasive, slightly bitter and sarcastic child, who is perceived as cynical and rarely sincerely smiles – which is how Taehoon’s coworker-friends usually perceive him, “child” included (because only damned fools befriend guests, anyway). Of course, unlike Mandy, Taehoon always attempts to keep on a friendly expression during work hours as opposed of his usually annoyed resting face, in the pursuit of the fattest paycheck possible.

However, Mandy has to live with her best friend, Billy, whose idiotic and foolish antics has them caught in trouble – which is exactly how Taehoon, himself, perceives The End. Mandy often seems irritated by the verse and the people she lives with. He is, however, after nearly three years working at the hotel, rarely surprised by insane events, and at times lacks the ability to even feel “done” with any of the said occurrences. It is safe to say his state fluctuates between being baffled by the impossibility of this reality found in the hotel, and feeling a tremendous sudden acceptance whenever and wherever odd things happen, which can be pinpointed by a deep eyeroll, and a whisper under his breath saying “oh but of course–” followed by a re statement of something so-unbelievable that just happened.

When it comes to Mandy, Taehoon, as the kids say, “can relate”, and feels as if The End is his Billy. Or maybe he is just going through a period of his first stated mentality – we recommend checking on him after work, when his mood is better, for a clearer result.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                     GUEST FILE.

                                                         name    choi nara                                                          d.o.b     10/25/1993 (23)                                                          occupation    aspiring novelist                                                          room    303

                                                             welcome to the end.                                                                 kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

nara was simply not suited for college. it wasn’t that she couldn’t keep up with her classes or that she did not have a great social life. her discontent in college was that everything was just so limited - although that would have more to do with her eccentric personality than college itself. her constantly changing interests in different subjects meant that she’d frequently change her major, only to get bored of them after a few months. eventually, she opted for leaving college entirely, except she would get drawn back in due to the pressure from her parents to at least obtain a bachelor’s degree. the first time she had dropped out, she was a communications major, the second time a linguistics major. as for this time, she left after a year of studying comparative literature. but this time, she does not plan on returning.

that all being said, nara is no stranger to the end. when she left college the first time, she decided to check in at the hotel after she heard about it through a mutual friend, whose aunt found some sort of solace in the hotel. it was a peculiar visit, yet she still found herself coming back the second time she dropped out. this time was no different, only that she decided to spend a bit more on getting a room on the third floor hoping that it would be more decent than the second floor, where she had stayed previously prior to this visit. she isn’t quite sure exactly how long she plans on staying, since nothing was really waiting for her back in busan. but now that inspiration for a novel had struck her, nara doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

— then, we wonder: what?

for now, nara would say that she’s staying at the hotel for that novel of hers - a newfound interest she recently picked up. and that is true, to a certain extent. the hotel’s bizarre atmosphere as well as its inhabitants has given her inspiration, and it does have the potential to work its way into the novel. however, because of her fickle personality, there is a possibility that she’ll drop the novel and move on to another random interest. this novel of hers has been in the works for quite a while, since her second visit to the end to be specific. but her title as an aspiring novelist is only temporary.

so her true desire would not be to write that novel, but to figure out what she truly wants to do while being somewhat free from her family’s expectations. she’s given up on attaining that bachelor’s degree because she’s realised that it just isn’t something she wants and that it’s something her family wants instead. but that was only the first step to achieving her primary desire. since they aren’t quite aware of where she has disappeared to, aside from a cryptic phone call a day before she dropped out of college for the final time, she isn’t bombarded by their worries now that she’s checked in at the end. although she claims that she’s at the end for her novel, the true reason behind it is that she seeks to find some sort of purpose as well as herself. this is more or less a journey of self discovery which she refuses to acknowledge.

— finally, we demand: who?

season 2 episode 3 by the glass animals would be something that i think could be alike to nara. the lyrics aren’t completely similar to nara’s entire character, but there are bits from it that do happen to fit with her personality, like the line ‘she’s broken but she’s fun’. the song itself is about a girl who doesn’t do anything and spends her days doing random things, so the random aspect of the song is the bit i find to be nara-like, since she’s unpredictable, impulsive and a little unconventional, even though she doesn’t necessarily do ‘nothing’ all the time unlike what’s told in the song. the reason why i picked this song was mainly because of the whimsical sounds that are meant to be what would’ve been floating around in the girl’s head, which i think applies to nara as well because i can imagine her in the same situation as the girl in the song, lounging around the end with bizarre sounds in her head as she notes down things that are worthy enough to make it into her novel.

[endkrp-blog]

                                                     GUEST FILE.

                                                         name    lee junghee                                                          d.o.b     02/20/1999 (18)                                                          occupation    aspiring model                                                          room    202

                                                             welcome to the end.                                                                 kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

when junghee finally graduated high school, it was like someone had cut the ropes tying her wings down. that was it; it was over. she was finally free. she never hated school, of course, as she never had a reason to – her colleagues were civil to her, as were the teachers, and nothing about it was particularly insufferable – but she never loved it either, and it had been a hindrance to her during all those years. with that hindrance out of the way, she was ready to chase her dream.

she’s become a model. a beautiful, sparkly, amazing model! appear in magazines wearing pretty clothes, and in commercials, and in fashion shows, shining like a star under the spotlight. maybe she’d even be in tv dramas and such! she’d live a life filled to the brim with beauty and light, and nothing would stand in her way.

except that, she couldn’t seem to find her way at all.

auditions that resulted in nothing. no scouting, no business emails. months seemed to fly past her until she realized she was going nowhere; empty days started piling up, no matter how many photobooks she distributed, how many likes and new followers she got on instagram. where was that life she envisioned for herself? where were the results of her constantly dressing up, of her walks around the business district, of her pouring herself into every second-rate CM casting test script? what was the use of having wings if she had nowhere to fly to?

tired, frustrated, and totally not throwing a fit nor having a very early midlife crisis, she decided to go somewhere far away, and start her life anew. yes, that was it. she’d travel to somewhere beautiful and inspiring, and there she’d find a way to start her so desired celebrity life. maybe in the crystalline beaches of Somewhere (it was always a beach, in her imagination), she’d be found by the CEO of a publishing company, and they’d be so astounded by her beauty they’d insist in making her their next cover girl. maybe in the distant, idyllic city of her fantasies, a fabulously rich and successful fashion designer would notice her potential, and scout her right there, in her effortlessly chic boho summer getup. maybe… maybe that was all she was missing – a trip to find herself. yes. that was definitely it.

she packed her bags, communicated her parents, and departed to Jeju, the island of dreams, to find her path. and of course, in jeju, all the paths lead to the end.

— then, we wonder: what?

junghee’s ultimate goal is, of course, to become a model. it’s been her dream since she can remember, since her grubby child fingers first found themselves touching a magazine; since the first time she’s understood beauty as a concept, she’s aimed for it almost ferociously. she doesn’t have much of an idea of what to do at the hotel, or at jeju, to attain that dream, so she does a bit of everything: impromptu photoshoots in the hallways, walking aimlessly around town in hopes of being scouted, shopping, trying her hand at singing, keeping a diary, crying in the bathroom, et cetera, et cetera. she’s also often seen fixing or building electronic gadgets, which can come as a fright for a maid when she enters  the room and finds a half-finished automata laying pathetically on the bed. junghee isn’t the tidiest person around.

recently, junghee has also been studying people closely, and thinking of maybe writing a book, to act like a stepping stone for her modelling career, or maybe as a mere pastime to be dug up once she’s famous and successful. she’s also thinking of maybe getting a job as a makeup artist or fashion coordinator, to make some money while she hasn’t been Discovered yet, and so she can be often found searching for volunteers so she can rehearse her services.

— finally, we demand: who?

in a way, junghee is similar to pollyanna; no matter how bad her plans might’ve been going, she always finds a way out, a way to continue chasing her dream without feeling unmotivated or giving up. of course, because junghee has never gone through real tragedy in her life, the similarity resides less in the aspect of living through actual adversity with the help of positivity, and more in using naivety and optimism as a shield from the harshness of reality.