palmminki-blog - Tumblr blog

[palmminki-blog]

well... like a lot of people, i'm going to be taking my leave. i still don't have reliable internet and won't for a good two weeks, i'm losing muse slowly but surely, and with the main hiatus it seems like this is just the direction things are going to have to go in. if at some point this rp gets active again, maybe i'll be back? it's been a pleasure meeting all of you and maybe we'll meet again in the future, who knows? sorry to all i had plots with, you can imagine the threads ending however you want now, haha. well, bye guys! if you ever wanna talk, my aim is still axe.emoji C: [[ this all applies to ayumi as well ]]

[palmminki-blog]

minki rolls his eyes at ‘fair human being' but it's friendly. “i'm minki. it's... i can't say nice because you made me lose business, but.. i met you. hi.” he's really not the best at introductions, usually gets to skip into his customer's drunken telling of their life story, or at the very least why it is they're sitting in front of him. (minki makes a mental note to complain about the barstools being too tall; he doesn't like how much key is looking down at him.)

he finds a self-satisfied smirk slipping onto his face as key takes the picture. really, it's not bad for something he just whipped up. at the very least it looks better than your average beer. minki finds himself tapping his fingers on the countertop as he waits for the other's appraisal of his drink.

the smirk changes to a grin - the kind minki preferred not to use, it ruined his brooding artist image, but it's almost two am and he's proud of himself - and he manages to mutter out a ‘thanks' before addressing the second part of key's comment. there's a shadow of shame as he actually has to read the bottle of juice to answer, but in his defence he'd just grabbed it because it was pink and said ‘juice'.

 “guava, actually,” he says, shaking it around inside the bottle.

dancing queen + cm;kk

[palmminki-blog]

there's something odd about the stranger, has minki suspicious - but he really has to get work. it's not like he hasn't been late before. eyes slitting to shoot a look of distrust at the other, minki motions with one hand for him to go in. he wants to believe that maybe it's something like an unfortunate meeting with an ex at the front entrance but he's not that naive.

the stranger is probably underaged, and now that minki thinks about it - the fullness of his cheeks, the shape of his jawline - it's about ninety-nine percent likely he is. it's too late though, minki's already extended an invitation. he can practically feel the seconds ticking in his head, going by as fast as the muscles in his heart. he really needs to get to work.

twelve maybe ;;

[palmminki-blog]

it's not fair, minki thinks, how this eric guy can look so confident, so sure of himself even as minki is essentially rejecting him. minki's more than certain that if their positions were switched, he would've stopped pushing after he was told ‘no' the first time.

he shrugs nonetheless, “i was thinking more you already had the corpse all ready,”  he settles back on his heels, there's the feeling he's going to be standing here for a while. and really? it's not that he's utterly opposed to modeling, it's more that he'd never considered it and he wants to end this conversation as soon as possible.

"if i say yes, we can just get it over with, right?” he asks, cautious. this is kind of a big deal, he thinks, if this eric guy's apparently also a model himself and is good enough to operate mostly as a photographer. there's curiosity and his inability to handle confrontation that's pushing him towards yes, but minki's really unsure.

Persistence ✖ Eric & Minki

He didn’t even at an eyelash when the card was returned to his hand, even though he was slightly surprised. But if there’s one thing people should know, it should be the fact that he’s got persistence module programmed into him, and his stubbornness knew no bounds. 

What Eric wants, he usually gets. 

“Think about it,” he commented, unaffected by the fact that the young boy hadn’t even bothered to take a good look at the name card. The card was just a validation of his career, something to show people should they ask for his credentials. Laughing at the ‘murder’ comment, he shrugged a little, the hand holding onto the card extended out once more. “Would the word ‘unique’ be better then?” Eric put on his most charming smile, all profession as he tilted his head just the slightest, “as for framing someone for murder, I would have to be a murderer in the first place, no? If so, shouldn’t you be more worried about being a victim of such hideous crime instead?” 

“Jokes aside,” he waves the free hand, shrugging once more, an air of confidence stemming from within, “you don’t have to be a model just to model. If I want an actual model, I’d have better luck photographing myself. I’m looking for someone with potential - I’m not interested about people who simply hang the career choice like a nametag.” 

“Besides, if you’re still talking to me, isn’t that a hint that you’re actually, the slightest bit interested?”

[palmminki-blog]

alright alright so i’m preparing for a concert at the moment, and am practicing pretty much all day. right after that i'm moving across the country, so i won't be all that active until the 14th or 15th. i'll still try to get to replies for both minki and ayumi as they appear but no promises, and aim will be ignored overall until then. (i won't have a real internet connection) 

thats all! C: <33

[palmminki-blog]

   minki nods as he hears the dancer talk, hands moving behind the bar. “alright,” he grabs a glass, “your name? i'm not going to call you ‘that dancing guy'. unless you want me to?” he raises an eyebrow, checks the glass is clean.

   in complete honesty, minki doesn't even like drinking, much less have a favorite. he guesses it helps him resist the temptation of sneaking a drink on the job, but the feeling of mixing alcohol and flavors is relaxing. maybe it's also knowing he has complete control over his customer, can choose just how drunk they get by adding or taking away little things. he settles on something fairly simple, but decides to get creative.

sprite and vodka would be alright, he thinks. minki grabs some fruit juice, thick and pink, and pours that in the bottom of the glass, but minki likes purple better so in go a few drops of blue food coloring, too. the sprite and vodka follow.

it's really quite pretty, the fizzy upper half sparkling in the club lights and the opaque bottom seeming to suck light in. quite proud of himself, minki gently slides the glass across the countertop, not wanting to destroy the balance.

"i'm not much of a drinker myself, so i just made something up. tell me if it's any good, i guess,” minki says, curious how the dancer will take it.

dancing queen + cm;kk

[palmminki-blog]

   hesitantly, minki takes the business card and reads it. on it there’s ‘viva’ in a color too bright for minki’s tastes, ‘eric mun’, and a phone number he doesn’t even bother glancing at. it’s only out of good manners he doesn’t take the card and shove it back into eric’s chest. 

   “really. i don’t think i want to.” he says, scratching the back of his neck. he feels a little bad about turning the other down but really? he’s not interested. “look, i’m flattered, but i’m not a model. and isn’t ‘interesting’ a little vague? for all i know you could be planning to frame me for a murder, or something.” it’s a bit of a stretch, but minki could see someone taking a picture of some poor soul, bloodied and wild-eyed, and turning it into the police as murder evidence, or something. 

   he sighs, “i don’t even know why you’re asking me when there’s probably actual models on this island who’d be more than happy to help you, as long as you paid them or whatever.” his mind drifts to all the times he’d been at v1be, on the beach, just walking around, and had come across faces he’d seen in ads and on the internet. 

Persistence ✖ Eric & Minki

Eric knew that he probably caught the stranger unaware, but he kept his smile on, still rummaging for that metal box of name-cards. The rejection was almost anticipated, thought not necessarily appreciated. The few strangers he’s approached in a similar manner often expressed some form of suspicion at the sudden opportunity, but most also showed an underlying interest and curiosity after the initial interruption.

And the boy in front of him wasn’t that different. Finally pulling the metal box of cards, he pulled out an all-black card, the words ‘Viva’ splayed across one side in vivid hot pink, and on the flip side wrote his position as a fashion photographer, complete with contact details. He took another step to the side, subtly trying to cut off his path as he handed out his namecard,clipped between two slender digits.

“Really?” he asks, shaking the card, gesturing for the younger to take it, “you really should consider it.” The stranger might be a little shorter then the average runway models, but that visual and body proportions would make him a viable magazine model. But that’s not what he’s intending to offer, though he was sure he could provide him a portfolio enough to enroll in that path. No, Eric wanted him to model for his personal projects. And to any average full-time model in the industry, that was as close as Eric was to giving a worded compliment - but naturally, the boy wouldn’t know that. 

“I’m looking for a model to do some interesting assignments,” his smile widened slightly, the other free hand holding onto the camera, “and I think you’re a perfect candidate.”

[palmminki-blog]

   moving out from behind the bar, minki thought over how he was going to answer the question. “well...” he wasn’t quite sure how exactly he wanted to put his thoughts into words, “cats are cute. but they also have that don’t-get-too-close aesthetic, you know?” he shrugs. it’s late anyways, does it matter if he’s not making sense?

   there was one thing minki definitely didn’t know, though: how exactly to go about getting a cat. did he just get one off the street? where did cats even come from? he mentally cursed his father for forbidding him to get a pet as child. surely then he’d know more about what to do. 

    “so... do you know where to get a cat?” he asks jimin, teeth worrying his bottom lip. 

「 buddies 」 — jimin + minki

jimin pressed his lips as he swivled playfully in the barstool trying to think it over. could he ever be good at helping someone make a life altering choice? probably not but it was just a cat. it wasn’t like he was taking the male to go adopt a child right? he sighed and ran his hands through his hair looking at him. 

“okay, well i guess i don’t have a choice.” he laughed a little as the male walked away. in response jimin pulled out his phone and scrolled through his sns for a few moments waiting for him to come back. it didn’t take long he didn’t even get to comment on one thing before he returned. “So, why do you want a cat?” he asked curious. 

[palmminki-blog]

"hi"

[palmminki-blog]

    so the painter knows just about as much about the paints as minki does. that’s helpful. he takes a few deep breaths to calm down the annoyance rising in his throat, like fizzing soda bubbles but in reverse. there’s still just the slightest bit of jealously - how can someone so ignorant be so good? - but he realizes how utterly stupid he’s being and decides to take the chance to make an art friend.

   “it’s fine. i’m choi minki, by the way,” he offers his name almost cautiously. now that he’s cleared his head, there’s a definite swell of guilt for interrupting the other when he was clearly so focused. it seems like he’s not too bothered by minki’s intrusion, but maybe he’s just acting that way. 

   “i wanted to know because i’ve always wanted to try my hand at painting but i don’t know where to start - i’m a pencil and paper kind of guy,” he doesn’t know why he’s telling the painter this. it’s not like he can suddenly take the words back, though. minki decides to blame it on the semester ending and his sudden lack of people to talk to art about.

➳ cadmium ;;

He takes the other earbud out completely, pauses to stop the song he’s listening to and he’s not gonna lie– he’s a little bit disappointed that he was interrupted and there’s also a mix of slight panic in there– because shit, he caught me painting when he only likes to do this alone, though there isn’t much he can do now so he holds back on throwing a fit. It’s too early for that anyway. (It’s too early for anything)

“Ah.” the reply is slow and he feels slow and an awkward blanket of light orange starts to cloud his vision. “Thanks, I guess.” is tone is uncertain when he scratches the back of his head at the supposed compliment, though he’s sitting there wondering more of ‘where on earth did this guy pop up from?’ but he can’t figure it out so he plops the paintbrushes back in the little bucket of water that he has and he shrugs, oh so casually. 

“Just paint.”

And he really wishes he could answer that question at least because how much ore straightforward can ‘what kind of paint are you using’ can be? But the simple fact is that he just really doesn’t know. He’d gotten someone else to buy the same set of paints he’d received for his tenth birthday and he’ll be damned if he knew what kind pf paint it is– how much other kinds can there be? That’d be like like saying there’s more than one kind of pencil or more than one kind of paper or more than one kind or brush.

“I don’t really know, dude, sorry.”

[palmminki-blog]

   minki’s first reaction to the girl’s sudden display of emotion is pity, the second is the desire to get away. he’s not good with tears, his or anyone else’s, but he can’t help but think she’s overreacting. 

   she tries again, which is unexpected. “it’s not a matter of being nice to you or not. it’s the law.” she seems kind of oblivious, in that sheltered rich kid kind of way, but usually actual rich kids went to expensive private schools and spent most of their time there partying and experimenting with alcohol (and other things). 

   “you don’t need to be drunk to have fun, you know. and... haven’t you ever heard of a fake id?” he knows he’s given a few of the kids around here drinks, but as long as he could blame it on them, he was fine. in this case, however... she had blatantly said she wasn’t supposed to be here, anyone could’ve heard her. minki prefers to be safe - and seriously, hadn't a fake id crossed her mind? 

➳ big kids ;;

[palmminki-blog]

   minki hears clapping, but just barely, then footsteps getting louder. he's so, so close to the bar when he hears the dancer's voice again. he decides not to reply until he's back behind the safety of his position. there's no one there covering for him like he'd expected, but then again. he and the majority of the other bartenders didn't have the best relationship. (too much of a rule-follower, they say, too rude, he hears them gossip. he'll be the first to admit he still has some of the... obedience, instilled in him as a child, but he's only human. the thought of them still leaves a sour taste in his mouth, as he no doubt does theirs.)

   "mhmm, sure you do,” he answers first, internally lamenting the amount of business he's probably already lost. he still hasn't looked back at the dancer, even though minki's facing him now. “you realize i can't drink on the job, right?”

   he finally looks up. minki's about to tell the other to just pay for it himself, but the kind of caring that stops him from giving minors alcohol (that causes his coworkers whispers)  pops up when he sees the dancer's pout, and he concedes. “fine, fine, i'll pay half. take it as an apology for ruining.. your fun, i guess.” 

dancing queen + cm;kk

[palmminki-blog]

   minki almost grimaces at the thought of himself performing the dances he’s been watching the other continue past his numerous pleas not to. he’s not meant for dancing, can’t command attention like a performer onstage. no, he’s the designer, or in this case, the enabler, handing out glasses of liquid courage for his paycheck. not quite an extra, but not the leading role either; that’s just where he likes to keep himself.

   when the dancer goes into his reasoning - why he shouldn’t have to stop - minki finds himself agreeing, more than a little. the other does have a point, but what it comes down to is how many dollars he’s making this month. sure, his outlook is definitely different than the average korean’s, but minki’s always been a means-to-an-end kind of person and this is in essence a service job.

   finally, finally the dancer concedes. minki thanks his luck, for once, at this turning out so simply. already, the crowd is beginning to resume their swaying and bouncing to the music. "thanks," minki says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. he turns to walk back towards the bar, wishing in the back of his mind that everyone else could’ve stayed in that almost neat ring, if only so it would be easier for him to make it through the crowd. he also wonders what exactly it is the dancer is going to do now - fall into the anonymity of the many swarming on that dancefloor, follow him back to the bar and get a drink, or simply leave - he thinks, too, that the dancer was right. he does need a break. 

dancing queen + cm;kk

[palmminki-blog]

cr: 951103 - do not edit/crop

[palmminki-blog]

➳ aesthetica ;;

   the theatre district was a favorite place of minki’s on palm island. sure, quite a few of the people who hung around were just pretentious and didn’t actually know anything about art, but there was something about the atmosphere that soothed him. and the prices were usually cheap. that was important. 

   today minki found himself browsing through the aisles of a little art supply store he’d found just recently, art magazines on one side and a whole rack of faber-castell pens on the other. he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, maybe a brush pen, as his old one had dried up. he wasn’t terribly pressed to find one, as the majority of his work he did digitally, but it was still nice to have a good pen laying around to doodle with. he hadn’t even noticed someone had joined him in the aisle, too absorbed in choosing which pen he was going to buy.

[palmminki-blog]

   as he’s looking back, minki sees the people in line move, growing more and more restless. he turns his back on the crowd and walks just a little faster the rest of the way to the door. just as he’s about to close it though, he feels a hand grab his shoulder. instinctively, he spins around his heel and shakes the hand off his shoulder.

   he takes a moment to examine the person - about his height, hair dyed silver, babyfaced, almost. “couldn’t you just go in the front door? it’s really not any different in the back,” minki responds, avoiding the obvious reason why one would need to be snuck into a club, waiting to see if the other would admit it himself or just had a burning desire to use the employee’s entrance. in the back of his mind, minki thinks that he’ll probably be late, but it’s not like he can control it at this point.

   he also consider’s the stranger’s accent, korean mixed with what sounds like palm satoori and something else minki can’t quite put his finger on. it’s a strange enough combination that he can’t decide if the other is a tourist or not.  

twelve maybe ;;

[palmminki-blog]

   minki sighs, long and drawn out. the dancer had completely ignored him. at least the dance accompanying the song it’s changed to, which minki still doesn’t recognize even though it’s probably played at least twice a night, is less desperately feminine than the one before it.  

   “no, seriously, you’re making people stop dancing. can you at least be a little more subtle about it?” minki tries to reason, stuck between a rock and a hard place. here in the center of the ring, he’s just attracting more and more attention to himself and losing more and more business, but if he goes back to his place behind the bar he’ll definitely receive a lecture from whichever of his coworkers was unfortunate enough to lose the rock-paper-scissors game to cover for him.

   neither option looks attractive, and considering how the dancer had simply ignored his previous request, it’s starting to look like the only way he’d stop was to physically prevent him from dancing, and minki tries to touch as few sweaty club patrons as possible. “please - just, just stop,” he attempts again. minki decides that if this doesn’t work he’s choosing the lecture.  

dancing queen + cm;kk