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honestly don’t think i can get to drafts this week rip. pls be patient with me
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@peachyuus
Kiran knew that one day her father would trade her off. She didn’t know when or under what exact circumstances they would be under, but she knew that a day would come when her father viewed her as nothing more than a pawn in his game. Kiran was cunning and strategic, and she would be an excellent heir to the empire her father had spent his life building, but in the end, she was still a woman. Men were the rulers in this lifestyle. Women could be powerful and fierce, but they would never measure up to the potency of a male’s reign. No matter how hard she tried and succeeded, Kiran would always be at the mercy of her father’s decisions.
During the days, she spent her time busied with business strategies and ways to secure control on the parts of the city that her father oversaw. She was trusted enough to handle money and wages, and yet her father would never be able to trust her enough to choose her own husband. As long as she lived and her heart beat beneath two breasts, she would be seen as a lesser being.
As a mere attempt to remain in good graces with her father, Kiran agreed to accompany him on a supposed business meeting. There was nothing for her to question when he mentioned the event in passing. A dinner with strangers or mutual allies wasn’t uncommon. Her family had to maintain alliances and manage their reputation as best as possible, even if it meant making deals that were less than respectable. And although some of her father’s past choices had been despicable at the very least, this trade was beginning to seem like the worst of the worst.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The words were nothing but a mutter under her breath as she took in the sight of an unfortunately familiar face. If she were anyone else, under any other circumstances, perhaps she would find him handsome or dashing in some sort of way. But Kiran knew he was more than a pretty face. In fact, she sometimes thought his good looks are what made him all the more unbearable. If he at least had a smile as ugly as his personality, it would be much easier for Kiran to despise him. But for both of their parents’ sake, she would behave for now and bow as though she were a respectful and dutiful daughter.
A last, desperate glance was thrown his father’s way to gage his reaction, but he was still in a good mood, welcoming the other don with a gesture to the seat beside him and a nod of his head — his greeting. The conversation between the two started almost immediately, but Yunfan had already turned his attention to the other guest.
He had already sat down when she came around the table, her chair being pulled out for her by one of the guards, and waited until she was close enough to hear before lifting a glass to his hide his lips and whispering through his teeth.
“What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t even that he hated her per se, it was the arguments and fall-outs between their families that had caused tension between them to begin with, and building that up since childhood took its toll on any potential friendship. He had met her several times outside of “clan clashes” and had still ended up disliking her more and more because of their head-strong beliefs of who’s family was right — each of them thinking they were on the “correct” side of the war. A pretty face can’t save foolishness, and he sure was about to start getting cozy with her now.
“Whatever you’re trying to do, or whatever you’ve to make this happen, it won’t work. I won’t let them go through with it.”
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✏ starter for - @frequentdreams ‘s kevin
The whole week had just been one weird situation after the other, and in the beginning, he didn’t even mind. The time when some waitress welcomed him back to a restaurant he had never been to before, or the time a girl from his class DMed him to thank him for a drink — despite never having met her, or the handful of back-of-head pictures his friends had sent him after supposedly seeing him “cruise” downtown. Those were all things that could be explained in some way or dismissed without issues. But this...
Yunfan drummed his fingers over the armrest of the bench he was sitting on. After the absolute shitfest that went down yesterday between him and a partner group, he did some digging and found that the source of it all — the supplier of the shit, if you will — religiously passed by this spot at the same time daily, and Yunfan was there to get to the bottom of this mess. Not only was his reputation on the line, but the reputation of his whole gang, along with the relationship with their partners, and in turn a major part of their income. So when he spots a strangely familiar figure approach, quick-paced and distracted, he swiftly gets up and strides straight in to block his path.
“Hey. I think we need to talk.”
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@avantenharu
A month is nothing in the grand chaos of a dancer’s life, especially one holding a title such as himself. The bouquets from that day is dead and disposed, any publicity from that evening had died down and the sense of familiarity that clung onto him all three weeks that he spent in Beijing has almost left him entirely. However, he who prioritised efficiency and purged all that was unnecessary in his mind; to his own surprise decided to keep the black business card. A relic of their interaction that day pinned on the dancer’s cork board hanging by his apartment door.
✂
A month feels like an eternity in the life of a hot-blooded student. Yunfan had spent the rest of August with his father in Shanghai and Beijing, and had returned to Seoul a week before classes started to get everything sorted with the members of his group. Fall and winter were bad for business, but he didn’t mind the down time it came with now that he was in his own space.
It had only been one semester since he started living in the new city, but previous visits with his family had made him familiar with the areas, leaving him somewhat bored now that he had done some full-fledged exploring on his own. He had narrowed it down to 4 different go-to locations the last few months; Hongdae’s party scene, Gangnam’s party scene, the good dimsum place down the street, and his apartment — of which floor he was laying on when his phone started buzzing on the coffee table. He didn’t even notice it at first, a variation of Chopin’s Nocturne blasting from the TV speakers, but opened his eyes when his phone fell onto the carpet with the third buzz.
He sat up, pausing like that for a moment as he considered which of the two earlier choices he was going to spend the evening at, before reaching to blindly pat for the phone behind him and pulled it up to his lap. The messages made him pause again, and he squinted at the screen for a split second before it clicked.
... Oh!
What a pleasant surprise. And indeed it was. Yunfan hadn’t forgotten about the man, but after a week into September, had assumed that he wasn’t going to contact him. It didn’t matter heavily to him, as he would have found him anyway, but this sure made everything a lot easier.
He added the number into his phone under “Twirly Man”.
[ sms : twirly man ] good afternoon, mr.nam
[ sms : twirly man ] not quite yet, but i’m positive i can squeeze in some time for a dear friend
[ sms : twirly man ] i’ll be at toms gangnam at 7 tonight if you’d care to stop by
A change of plans, for a change of circumstances. Worst case he could just stick to the original schedule if the dancer didn’t show up, but he had a feeling that whatever drove him to send those texts would work its magic for this as well.
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✏ starter for @peachyuus 's kiran
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard that correctly. The Nam family is joining our dinner because of what now?”
Yunfan wasn’t someone who’d ever knowingly show attitude in front of his father, he was the ideal son (at least in the house) and prided himself in being able to keep his composure in front of the intimidating man, but the words his ears picked up had thrown him off-guard. He knew that there had been discussions like these about him since he was a child — back and forths between important adults politicising his future — so it wasn’t the words themselves that threw him off. It was the name connected to them.
“Forgive me for asking, but how exactly would an arranged marriage with the unruly Nam Kiran benefit us? Since when are we on good terms with them?”
To his dismay, his father seemed in a particularly good mood, so something must’ve happened between the two dons. To his even bigger dissatisfaction, he quickly came to realise that the seat beside him at the restaurant table was empty for a reason. But just as his father is about to answer his questions, midst tapping the ash off of his cigarette, the door slide open as a group of familiar faces walked. Instead, his father gave him the ghost of an amused smile and motioned for him to stand up to greet the guests —which he did, albeit internally reluctantly.
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@avantenharu
Oh-
His already peaked attention was further drawn in once the young rebel spoke Korean. He figured he heard it incorrectly at first since the younger’s tone was so mellow he hardly caught it. The kind you make at your mates while in detention-
✂
“You’re well aware if you recognised the battu.”
He was. Though he wouldn’t acknowledge that the man was correct other than returning the smile with one of his own before changing expression, hands coming out to clasp together in front of him as if pleasantly surprised.
“I guess you will be seeing me, since I’m living there now.”
It had really only been less than a year, but nonetheless, he was pretty settled in. He hadn’t really even thought about visiting any academy or theatre during his stay — even the regular Arts department was on the opposite side of campus — and he had been occupied with... more urgent matters.
“Say...” Reaching into his inner suit-pocket, he pulled out a card-holder, flicked it open with his thumb, and pushed out one of the cards inside. He held it out between two fingers, a matte black surface exposed on the top of the rectangular paper, and looked at the other expectantly.
“The name’s Yunfan, it’s on the card, along with my number. Skip the step of looking out for me and give me a call next month.”
He reached out to take hold of the other’s wrist, turning his hand over to place the card on top of his palm.
“For the shows.”
Punctuating the statement with a lopsided smile, he leaned back, stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his pants, and glanced over to his father who was wrapping things up with the director.
“Well, it seems like I’ll be going, but I’m hoping to hear from you Mr. Nam. I really do want to see more performances in Seoul.”
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@dxsiderivm
yunfan nodded at the bartender as the older man explained for the nth time why the chemistry of balancing alcohol with water-intake was important to keep your skin healthy. he wasn’t really listening at that point, busy scanning the thickening crowd for a tuft of bleached hair while pretending to have his mouth busy with his mixed drink. it hadn’t exactly been long since the last time he saw the woman, but he felt like chatting — both business and private life — and felt like she was someone he’d grown comfortable enough with to talk freely.
“listen, uncle, i’d LOVE to hear more but i’m here for chaerin. so if you could, y’know..” he did a little hand movement. “make a call or point me in the right direction, you’d be a champ.”
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reblog if you’ve been in the rpc since 2012 or earlier
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His father had always possessed a tendency to pull him along to performances like these. It was only a couple shown in when he figured the old man had an especially soft spot for ballet, going as far as being a private sponsor of the Liaoning Ballet of China.
“To be a man of power, you have to also be a man of culture, Yunfan,” was something he’d hear from time to time, to which he just smiled and nodded.
He had come to like them as well, finding the performances to be some of the most peaceful memories of his childhood, and started sneaking away to watch smaller productions in his teens after an especially moody week. Though he’d never tell his friends, at the time, about it.
After his parents and their guards stood to applaud, he followed suit, eyes directed to the man standing in the front of the stage bent over in a bow. He was exceptionally sharp-featured, almost cat-like, and Yunfan remembered his father mentioning something about the Seoul Ballet Theatre. And sure enough, they were soon approached by a translator.
He kept his eyes on the male lead as he once again bowed — this time as a greeting — and met his gaze as his head raised. He stood there for a while, half-heartedly listening to the translator switching between Mandarin and Korean as he tried to take in the dancer’s expression. With the twitch of a curious smile, the slight tilt of his head, and hands still inside his pockets, he finally parted his lips and spoke in mildly accented Korean.
“How did you do that?”
Nodding towards the stage, he continued in a quick but soft tone — as if to not let the discussing group beside them hear him. “The battu in the last jump, how were you able to go through with that after the whole number? It was quite impressive, Mr. Nam. Say, do you often do shows in Seoul? I will be going there soon.”
“hello again, if you must”
@pvinkillers
Beijing, China
Figures began to part as the few beginning notes of the composition signals the last act has begun. Rows upon rows of dancers, his co-workers; in quick succession performed sets of movements, rapidly and gracefully they emptied the stage.
Witnessing the very last step marking his queue, Haru’s demeanor shifted once again, shedding his collected self replaced by the smiling and expressive persona he wears at every performance. A mask sculpted by years and years of scoldings and maniacal practices infront of a mirror.
Haru leapt into the light, his technique polished and sharp almost rough as this role demands. The climax is a few eights away, the intense culmination of pressure and fatigue beginning to eat away at his limbs pushed at his last cache of energy. This is it, his favourite sensation, a ghostly companion threatening to either ruin the piece or make it. He revelled in executing the last battle with his body.
Finally, wrapped into an invisible bouquet by noises and applause, the performance ended. He was left heaving, the specially demanding choreography of this piece had been leaving him breathless for a week now.
“Thank you so much for coming to our performance today Mr. Yun!–” The troupe’s leader almost too theatrically approached a group of men a young translator follwing suit. They are the same people he noticed earlier on during his wait behind the curtains, the short period he’s allowed to be distracted.
They projected a certain aura, namely predatory, elite, powerful and if his experience with pop culture taught him anything, they’re certainly the sort you avoid at all cost. Mafia he thought, or atleast something of close comparison. Afterall they sat in the front most row typically reserved for a special guest.
One however he’s intrigged by, despite being cloaked in the same aura and dressed in the same dark expensive attire he stood out to Haru.
He looks young, can’t be any older than 20- actually exactly 20. His posture composed although not over shadowing his little rebellious details, the unkempt hair, the sneakers, the accessories…he likes that. There’s something appealing about subtle defiance.
“Let me introduce you to the star of the show, this is Mr. Nam he’s our principle dancer and this is is partner Miss–” simultaneously Haru bowed as the translator relayed the message.
The registering was obvious, their entire group without any hesitation eyed him head to toe, granted he’s currently dressed in a skin tight costume with countless embroided details practically screaming for him to be stared at. But as they all turned to his partner, the young rebel didn’t lose his gaze and niether did Haru. There they are surrounded by people held in a silent game of stares.
Well..hello there-
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“It’s been raining for days.”
“Looks like the rainy season is finally here.”
“Shall I put on a pot of tea?”
“Turn up the heat/put another log on the fire, the rain brought a chill.”
“Close the window, you’ll ruin the flooring!”
“You’re sopping wet.”
“What on earth were you doing out there?”
“Fine, you can come in, but take off your shoes.”
“I don’t need you tracking mud everywhere.”
“The sound of rain is so nice.”
“You’re going out? In this?”
“You can’t go out there, it’s pouring down rain!”
“I like the rain and all, but being stuck inside is so boring.”
“The day would be a lot less boring if you learned how to sit still.”
“I cannot believe we’re stuck in this!”
“Maybe we should find somewhere to take cover until it stops.”
“Does it ever stop raining here?”
“Oh no! The rain ruined our picnic.”
“Want to go for a walk in the rain?”
“Can I have a blanket?”
“Sorry to intrude. This rain came out of nowhere.”
“Look at the sky! The lightning is insane.”
“It’s getting pretty intense out there.”
“A rainy day, warm blankets, a cup of tea, and a book to tie it all together.”
“Let’s go for a walk in the rain.”
“Here, this should warm you up.”
“Come in here before you catch a cold.”
“Ugh, that’s just a silly old wives’ tale.”
“I pity the poor souls caught out in this.”
“Aren’t there any books to read?”
“Rains smells so different in the city.”
“The rain smells better in the countryside.”
“Nothing like the sound of rain to go with a good book.”
“Careful, the tea is still hot.”
-draws on the fogged up windows-
-Flips loudly through book-
-sighs- “It’s so cozy in here.”
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