#it’d also fit into their ethical code

[foxyfrolic]

//

Thinking about AUs for Sionna in any vampire media and how and—

Just the way they’d walk around in their human disguise at night, slipping under the radar as something supernatural to said vampires, traipsing around with their doe eyes and baby face until a vampire comes after them and then they just pull the Uno reverse card and eats them instead

[metalbergmanufacturing]

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

SOMEONE FINALLY TALK ABOUT THE WORLD BUILDING LORE AAAA I'VE ALWAYS LOOK FORWARD FOR SMALL ITS BITS OF IT PLS 😭😭😭

What I know so far of healing magic was from Jamil's lab coat personal story where it's mentioned that their lab exercise was to create "a potion that heals burns instantaneously" which does make you wonder to what extent these magic potions can do (and what nots, the forbidden/ancient magics too...)

[Spoiler from twst jp Scalding Sands]

But chemistry also exist in Twisted Wonderland apparently based on Trey's yasmania silk personal story, where he extensively explains the flame reactions of the fireworks was from specific metals burning (e.g barium, lithium, sodium, etc) which he experimented in the Science Club

Malleus asked why bother making fireworks if its so hard to make when you can hire a mage instead (tru tho 😭) but Trey said there is the beauty in extensive labour put into the fireworks which makes em pretty!

So with this mindset we can conclude civilization still progress as usual there(?) The medical field might still be as advanced, or even more advanced with the help of magic!

I think the most hilarious part out of these world-building (whether this counts as a loophole or not) was that IF periodic table exist in that world, wouldn't that mean all the scientists we knew who discovered them ALSO exist in Twisted Wonderland?? 😂😂

Hence leading to my wildest fantasy of Twisted Wonderland to be some sort of wacky alternate universe of the Earth, and that maybe, MAYBE even an alternate version of us could exist there, and vice versa iykyk 🤪

(well this is just my funky brain thinking too far ahead tho, still it's nice to think of what ifs to explore onto hehe)

[Referencing this post!]

We slurp up crumbs of world building 🤤 ashdbaskudbauvailbd and thanks to your funky brain for sharing!!

I’d really want to know about the extent of magic potions and healing spells too! In regards to the “potion that heals burns instantaneously”, I have to wonder what its limits are???? Because there isn’t just one type of burn; there’s friction burns, cold burns, thermal burns, radiation burns, chemical burns, electrical burns... not to mention different classifications based on severity (first, second, and third degree burns). If the burns have managed to damage nerve endings, can magic heal those too (considering that real world medical experts have yet to be able to grow back damaged nerves, only do what they can to encourage the nerve to repair itself or reconnect whatever nerves are left)?

THIS ALSO SOUNDS REALLY BORING BUT I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE ETHICAL CODE OF MAGICAL HEALERS 🤡 Like we got the Hippocratic Oath in the real world, so I’d assume the magical healers of TWST would have to take something similar???? But if it IS possible to heal people or to do certain invasive procedures with magic, I’d think there would be new and intense regulations surrounding that???? Because imagine how scary it would be if a magical healer could literally get inside your cells and mess with your genetic code??? Or reprogram your cells to speed up its natural life-death cycle????? Medical lawsuits in the world of Twisted Wonderland sounds like it could get super complicated... AND IT SOUNDS SO SCARY WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT LIKE THAT...

Yeah, chemistry and pharmacology definitely exist in TWST! It’s mentioned in some coursework and character lines. Interesting that Trey mentions some specific elements straight off of our own Periodic Table (but very fitting that he brings up his own Science Club expertise and that he understands and appreciates the effort that goes behind doing something by hand instead of by way of magic).

I think that maybe Twisted Wonderland has its own history and famous figures that discovered the various elements! It’d be pretty wild if everyone had a twisted counterpart 🤔 which is what I guess a lot of TWST OCs are!

[davidmann95]

Despite DC occasionally trying to drop “The American Way” from Supes motto, it’s still widely associated with Supes. Do you think swapping “American Way” with say “Universal Way” as a code of ethics baker into the United Planets set up that Superman adopts as a motto in his role of advocate for said organization could work? It would mean defining what that code IS which could get dicey but I think it could work.

The idea of ‘the American Way’ in regards to Superman is something I’ve been thinking about lately due to PKJ taking over the book and pointedly using the term (as did Bendis), noting in interviews it’s in part because he wants to ‘reclaim’ the idea of those values in spite of the nature of the American reality as opposed to what the perception of them popularly become. It’s understandable, and while we’ve been friendly on Twitter recently I don’t know that I could bring up why I don’t prefer it for the character without his eyes also understandably glazing over after the other 50 times he’s probably gotten negative responses to that. Which is a shame, because my reasons for thinking it doesn’t quite work aren’t the same reasons as a lot of peoples’.

As much as I like to think “Superman is for EVERYBODY! so long as you’re not an asshole”, the guy’s also inextricably draped in Americana - he’s a midwestern immigrant dressed in red and blue with a flaglike cape fluttering behind him, and one of his first ‘iconic’ covers was him with an eagle on his shoulder. Even if those ideas are paid lipservice more often than they’re actually explored, they’re there. I don’t think occasional stories interrogating him through that lens are remotely inappropriate, and in fact are probably necessary for keeping things honest whether you’re doing that from a largely positive (Of Thee I Sing, Superman Smashes The Klan) or negative (DKR, Other History of the DC Universe) angle. Yes, there are takes on Superman who would unambiguously condemn America (hell, those are some of my favorite takes), but it’s not particularly a stretch that there are other perfectly legitimate interpretations of the guy thinking “everybody having the inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness would be nice even if America the extant entity doesn’t really provide those”. And let’s be real, Truth, Justice, and the American Way just rolls off the tongue in a way no one catchphrase for him has managed yet.

The problem is he isn’t Captain America.

The thing about ‘reclaiming’ the idea of the American Way is that you have to be really, really specific about what that means. In fairness, it’s not as if Johnson hasn’t done anything to do that: when he draws a mere mortal parallel to his take on Superman in his second story to illustrate the latter’s values, it’s in a man who fought fascism and then took and dished out beatings standing up to cops and counter-protesters in civil rights marches. It’s clear where his Superman stands in the broad strokes. But what about the next person who takes over after him? Even if they think of it as meaning the exact same thing, what if the topic simply never comes up and the notion of the American Way is left hanging there, a contextless, vague signifier of moral righteousness? People disagree all day every day about truth and justice, but they’re at least mostly arguing from a shared definition of the terms.

Captain America can’t have his notion of the American Way he’s fighting for be contextless for long, because he as a character is built around constantly reckoning with it. Even if it exists on a vast sliding scale from socking Crossbones and Batroc to delivering a speech about how America is a piece of trash and a flag is just cloth without ideals behind them, generally speaking we’re constantly having what Steve Rogers (and moreso those writing him) thinks of as ideal American values reaffirmed, even if just by the implication of a guy with America in his name doing what he does. Challenging and relitigating the notions popularly underpinning the country are what his character is about. But Superman doesn’t have to have much of anything to do with America beyond the fact of living there, so just sticking that big nebulous qualifier in his list of core values and assuming we can pick up the finer details from stories that may or may not have anything to do with it sort of gives us “well, I guess the American Way is...stopping Bizarro?”* I don’t dislike it because I think it’s impossible to tell a good story where it fits for the character, but because its utility as a signifier is not only charged but limited.

* Granted, such a story might not be much about ‘truth’ either, but again, at least we probably don’t need to read much into creators’ intent to guess what their definition of it is.

(As for your question - went on a bit of a tangent there - I like that but then you’d constantly have to keep bringing that back up and reexplaining it, so I don’t think it’d stick.)

[mtjester]

More BNHA steampunk AU thought dumps!

I desperately wanna get out some ideas on Hawks, the au’s problem child.

On one hand, BNHA Hawks has wings, and there is wiggle room in the au with the human experimentation for him to literally have wings, the way Ojirou literally has a tail. On the OTHER hand, steampunk=machines, and clockwork machine wings are dope as hell. And then we have the dilemma of Hawks as a person. He was born to a shitty family, then picked up to be a hero by the big security government people, then chosen to infiltrate by playing villain. He’s got this Icarus “fly too close to the sun and get burned” thing going on. So, where to fit Hawks in?

I was talking with @docbe, and we thought it’d be cool if we kept up with the “infiltrate the bad guys” bent as well as the “kind of a little bit owned by the government” side of things. As far as wings go, here’s what I’m thinking: Hawks is a genius inventor with a particularly intuitive understanding of flight. His father’s bullshit lands his whole family into trouble, which the Ethical Science Commission levels against him to get him to work for them. So his wings are mechanical...at FIRST. The commission has him go undercover to work with the still-nameless Bad Science Gang, which is actually several groups doing evil science shit but for different reasons--Hawks is specifically infiltrating the pseudo-religious, cult-like faction that spouts off philosophies about “the New Human,” and that is subsequently trying to artificially create the next step of human evolution through science. They produce pamphlets, which is what Hawks uses to communicate in code to others. In his undercover role, Hawks adopts the story that he is trying to biologically engineer humans to be actually, truly capable of flight. In the end...maybe he does get his ACTUAL wings, huh?

Also he gets a sliver of an opportunity to help Tokoyami escape by making a tiny “mistake” that gives Dark Shadow the leverage he needs to break out.

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Ellis Watts III→ Aldis Hodge → Jackal

→ Basic Information

Age: 99

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: December 25th

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Religion: Christian

→ His Personality

Ellis Watts is a workaholic. He has spent the entire duration as head of the Jackals looking for ways to better the clan and push them into more prominent positions within the city. This includes heavily encouraging the jackals in his clan to pursue a degree and better themselves intellectually. He also serves the citizens of Chicago as the City Planner. He has been making significant efforts to improve the quality of life for both supernaturals and humans. He is very dedicated to his work and responsibilities and does not falter in his duties. He is disciplined, often working nights and weekends until a project is seen through to the end.

However when Ellis relaxes, he does so in style. He loves expensive clothes and timepieces, nice cars, and excessive hobbies. Since he could get his hands on them, he’s loved anything with a motor: cars, motorcycles, and speed boats. Only recently has he begun to tackle the skies. It was a 95th birthday present to himself, and he’s almost put enough hours in to finally obtain his license to fly. He also enjoys spirits, and has begun making his own wine. This harkens back to his youth filled with mild over indulgence and a desire to escape.

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Head of Clan Jackal and City Planner

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: High end watches and Fast vehicles

Two Dislikes: Idle hands and People who ride their brakes

Two Fears: Failing at leading the Jackals and Heights

Two Hobbies: Boat Racing and Wine Making

Three Positive Traits: Responsible, Disciplined, Ambitious

Three Negative Traits: Work-Obsessed, Superficial, Stubborn

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ellis Watts II (Father): Ellis did not have a very strong relationship with his father, contrary to everyone in their pack. They were not very affectionate towards one another and often got into spats. Though it appeared that Ellis Watts II was handing his son the keys out of respect, in reality he left out of spite. They didn’;t have any other contact with one another for the rest of his life.

Lucretia Watts (Mother): Lucretia was old, much older than Ellis’s father, when they mated and died while Ellis was 30. Ellis was close to his mother, and she instilled many of the mantras he repeats and follows to this day.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None.

Romantic Connections:

Mary-Alice Lewis (Ex Girlfriend): He met Mary Alice when he was away for school. Too many things were trying to work against them, and when he asked her to come back home with him, she said no. He still thinks about her often and has thought about trying to see if she was still with her clan.

Miriam Vance (Ex Girlfriend): They dated in the 1970s for a few years. He was just getting in the meat of his political career and she wanted lots of children immediately. They parted ways and last he knew she moved to San Francisco.

Platonic Connections:

Sarah Harris (Best Friend): Sarah has been one of his longest friends and is often the person to call him out. He is the Godfather to both of their daughters and spends most holidays with their family.

Zack Harris (Best Friend): Zack is his most trusted confidante. They throw ideas around, playing with possibilities, before eventually bringing it to Sarah who helps make the idea possible.

Shannon Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Shannon since she was born. She’s a mini-Sarah through and through and he has recently begun training her to begin as a liaison to the pack. With the new influx of supernaturals that may come due to the University, Ellis wants to be ready.

Zelda Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Zelda since she was born. She was always a very independent child, taking the harder and often more daring road. Despite Sarah’s surprise, he saw Zelda forming her own path long before she finally told her mother she wasn’t going to school. He has her placed in the water department.

Odell Rella (Friend): Ellis brought Odell on as 3rd about 9 years ago, after he returned home from going to college and travelling the world. It’s a perspective that Jackals don’t often have and he values his input because of that. He’s still an idiot, but he does a good job as 3rd.

Seth Allen (Curious about): Seth is somewhat of an enigma to Ellis, Zack and Sarah. He is wild and difficult, but the strangest thing is that he doesn’t really act like a jackal, or at least not like anyone in Chicago. He loves being shifted and running in his shifted form. Seth also seems somewhat uncomfortable with the family dynamics that most of the clan has. Ellis has been mulling over their new addition a lot, and has even gone on a run with him in shifted form to see if it’d shed any more light.

Vee Armstrong (Employee): Vee has shown her work ethic since she was in college and Ellis took notice. When Sirius proposed getting a Human Shifter elected with the jackal’s help; Ellis knew she’d be the best person to get them there. So far she’s impressed him, and the early polls indicate Fischer will win.

Leon King (Friendly): Ellis knows of Leon through his work with the kids. He increased general activity and helped spearhead a childhood activity project that got kids moving.

Clara Fields (Fellow Council Member): Ellis doesn’t often talk to Clara, actually avoids it when he can, but they’ve known each other for a long time and he respects her work ethic.

Isaac Baker (Friend): Ellis has liked having Isaac on the council. He’s smart and isn’t weighed down by a century of baggage like the rest of them. They occasionally go to sports games together.

Chris Bialar (Work Associate): Chris came to him a year or two ago to suggest creating a University for the supernatural community. Clan Cat was experienced with the education side of things, while Clan Jackal could encourage the permit and general bureaucratic business along. Before their business venture Ellis thought he was an arrogant asshole, now he’s an arrogant asshole with a plan to get more Jackals to the city.

Nick Hamelin (Fellow Council Member): He and Nick are on good terms. The rats don’t invade any areas they shouldn’t and in return they don’t try to keep too much from them.

Percy McCormick III (Fellow Council Member): Ellis is fairly neutral about Percy. They’ve never really hit off, unlike him and the Fields, and it’s not something he’s interested in trying to start.

Greer Finley (Work Associate): Greer is the 2nd of the Cats and is spearheading much of the project on the Cat’s end. He tends to work with her on projects to avoid putting her and Sarah in the same room.

Amaria Crais (Work Associate): Amaria is the main liaison between the Cats and Jackals for the University project. He finds her much easier to deal with than Greer.

Asa Fields (Old Friend): He hasn’t spoken to Asa since he has been back, but the two would occasionally meet at parties around the city. He’s interested in seeing how he’s changed over the years.

Sirius Cobic (Business Partner): Sirius proposed the idea of getting a supernatural to the top of the Chicago government about a year and a half ago. They need someone with real power to rule and a human shifter would be the only one who could make it. Together they developed a plan, and are currently seeing it play out.

Hostile Connections:

Russell Jordan (Concerned about): Russell quickly shut down many lines of connections that had existed between the hyenas and jackals since they’d arrived. He claimed it was to unify the clan under new leadership, but they haven’t opened back up.

Alan Thomas (Annoyance): He’s never seen anyone argue so much over building codes that have been public knowledge for years. Thomas takes any slow down as a personal offence and doesn’t care to restrain himself from throwing a fit.

Pets:

None

→ History

Ellis was born in Chicago to Ellis Watts II and Lucretia Watts. Unusually for jackals the pair married at quite old ages and Ellis III was the only child they ever had. Lucretia was showing signs of slowing down when Ellis was a young boy, so it was only a matter of time when she passed away. He was away for many of her last years, and when he returned from school she refused to shift back into her human form. Ellis spent much of his time shifted the last year of her life so they could communicate easier. When she finally died, he didn’t change for years. It was at this time of no shifting that Ellis discovered his love for fast machines; motorcycles, cars, boats, anything he could feel the exhilaration of. He also garnered some criticism at this time, specifically from his father who thought he was being frivolous and wasteful. This was the beginning of what would become decades of arguments between the two men.

They fought about him not using his degree or getting a useful job, about Elli II being inflexible and running members out of Chicago. This was all hidden from the packs eyes as their leader having the least happy family of all might cause an uproar in such a family oriented clan. The only members who were aware were Sarah and Zack Harris, his father’s seconds. Finally in 1941, after a particularly brutal argument Ellis II quit, told his son that he could burn the pack down if he wanted, but that he wouldn’t be around to watch. He packed up his things and left the clan to Ellis to rule, with the obvious assumption he’d fail. Ellis, like he did in many instances rose to the occasion. He hunkered down and learned everything: each pack family, who needed assistance, what needed to be done, where there were spots they could expand. It was Ellis who made the switch into the Government and slowly began securing good jobs with good pay for his people. He finally joined office himself once he was legally able to and has been City Manager on and off for many years.

After he switched into being a leader, he’s had a difficult time turning it off. It’s ruined any relationship he’s had, caused tension headaches and teeth grinding, and he rarely if ever takes a day off. He still maintains many of his hobbies like boat racing, wine making, and now piloting; but work and his clan is always in the back of his mind.

→ The Present

Ellis would like to find a wife and start a family. Sarah says it was his dysfunctional family life that’s scared him off. Which is partially true, but he’s worried that he’ll start slipping if he relaxes too much. He’s actually considered asking Sarah or Shannon to set him up, but he’s not sure that he is that desperate yet.

Ellis is also creating a University with the Cats. He, Sarah, and Zack have been in talks for about a year or so developing the idea, but they are going to break ground soon. He’s excited to have a new school for his Jackals to go to, as well as a new draw for the supernatural community. Another venture he’s taking on, though in a much more removed position, is the election of human shifter, Robert J. Fischer. It was an idea concocted with the human shifters to get a member of the supernatural community in the highest seat of power. Though the council previously ruled no species could be in the mayor’s office due to an unequal balance of power, Ellis knows they don’t understand the nature of modern politics.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Aldis Hodge  [1][2][3][4]

[vreenak]

I’ve seen your recent interest in Angel from Mayans. How do you think he and Rafael would get along?

That’s a very interesting question, thank you! It’d be a lie if I said I haven’t thought about how Barba would fit into the world of Mayans M.C.  

I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t think they would get along at all. 🙃

Angel would find it extremely hard to bring himself to respect an ADA, they’re the enemy, plain and simple. And Rafael, he thinks people like Angel are a menace to society that need to be brought to justice. Ouch. He also might pity him (~waste of potential) and wonder how a guy with a relatively good family background ended up like “this”.

Angel is guided by his personal and his club’s moral/ethical codes, never the law. Whereas Rafael’s character is built around the idea that the law always needs to be upheld, even if it clashes with your own sense of right and wrong. It’d be almost impossible to overcome such a fundamental difference.

On the other hand,  I could see them appreciating each other under specific circumstances. Angel has a conscience and believes in Los Olvidados’ vision of a better future (or what he thinks their vision is) for the Mexican people, which would redeem him a little in Rafael’s eyes.  And I think Angel would definitely come to respect Rafael’s intelligence and experience in the field of law IF he ever switched sides and was hired as a defense lawyer by one of his club brothers.

(Slightly related - I’d pay cash money to read a Mayans/Trouble in the Heights crossover.)

[azhefa-moved]

if roan had won the conclave, how do you think he would have handled being in charge of the bunker? would things be different?

lore questions || @azgedaspy

wow ily and this question so much okay sO! in the realest talk? roan would probably only have let azgeda into the bunker. but i also don’t think it’d be out of the question he’d have let some of skaikru in as a way of honoring octavia’s sacrifice and because it’s roan. he has a high code he keeps to and even if skaikru betrayed their blood bond, it’s something he still takes seriously. he probably would have only given a very small amount of space to them though. and he also would have not overfilled the bunker (in all honesty it’s so stupid they retconned the bunker being too full when…they already had done the math on how many people should fit for that long lmfao). so really the only tension would be between skaikru and azgeda, but he would have left very little room for an uprising from them. jaha wouldn’t have even been allowed in the bunker as punishment for trying to take it during the conclave. roan is used to ruling people who can become very wild and restless. an azgeda king is honestly the perfect sort of person to lead in such a situation and he would never have been cruel, but it would have been very strict to keep people in line. everyone does their part, if you don’t work you don’t eat. if you steal, you get your hand cut off. very much eye for an eye mentality. basically no fighting pit and no cannibalism. i do think in many ways skaikru would have been forced to assimilate. probably not great ethically, but for the to survive and coexist, and being outnumbered by azgeda, they would have had to not only respect the culture they’ve been disdaining but also take part in it. unity is imperative to survival and roan definitely would have encouraged them to actually integrate, both for their well being and as a strategic move to try and keep peace.

[sol1056]

fixing the clone

Ambiguity has its place, but that lies in giving only certain pieces of information, not in the full picture being muddy. In other words, every clue -- taken as a whole, by story's end -- should add up to a complete picture. The narrative should have a clear position of where it stands, and the mid-story ambiguity should lie in the readers simply not having all the information yet.

three clues in the text and one red herring 

First clue is Shiro’s explanation when he returns. 

SHIRO: The last thing I remember was Zarkon trying to overtake the Black Lion. It told me to use my bayard. Then, just nothing. I woke up, and I was back on a Galra ship.

Most fans concluded that Shiro's memories were taken via his arm. This begs the question of when and how. Were there transmissions, or was Shiro's arm designed for later retrieval? That assumption is based on this exchange back in S2:

PIDGE: The Galra could have implanted fake memories of the escape in your head. HUNK: Oh, come on, that would be so evil, which, of course, they are. But they'd have to come up with some molecular level storage unit, which his hand does have. But, to be linked up to memory, it would need a direct pathway to his brain, which yeah.

Taken at face value, we could interpret this to mean a single set of fake memories were implanted, to override a specific stretch of time. It leaves open whether Shiro's core memories were otherwise intact. The metaphor starts to get muddy, here. Once it’s patently clear Shiro is compromised, we get this:

PIDGE: I recognized [the countermeasure] from the code I scanned from Shiro's arm when we were looking for Galra installations. When I was scanning Shiro's arm, I made a copy of its programming. 

That instance was way back in S1. If this was an adult-grown clone, with a brand-new arm, why would there be no upgrades or new commands? Whether the arm had been a recording device or a supplemental memory storage, the new phase (of active control) would imply the need for new (or at least additional) programming. If the programming required to flip Shiro's switch was present all along, why wasn't it used previously? (I have no answer for that, since that requires a deeper revision than I’m suggesting here.)

The third clue is in S3, when we learn it’s an open secret that Zarkon is severely injured. In other words: Zarkon was retrieved from the battle before that final blazing sword blow became truly fatal. This sets up the possibility that Shiro was somehow captured in the same move.

Last is Black finding the clone. Knowing now that Black had Shiro within and yet still roared for the clone, it feels like the story’s lying here, too. It wanted to present enough to doubt Shiro and see him as 'real' at the same time, but in hindsight, it doesn't work. We needed more groundwork to fit Black's behavior into the metaphor.

Behind the cut: what it could add up to, and how we could clarify the metaphor to fill the biggest plot holes and avoid the ethical issues of the clone’s treatment.

now to add this up

When the dust settles, every clue should add up to a complete and comprehensible picture. Unless Shiro has been a clone all along, there's no need to call it 'operation kuron' except to mislead the audience into assuming this isn't Shiro in any way except appearance (and, apparently, shared memories).

VLD does this several times, which is why I'm suspicious here. In Lotor's storyline, Axca's and Lotor's choices can only be explained by saying they pretended despite the lack of audience. In other words, the scientist calling the project 'clone' was intentionally misleading the viewers, and had nothing to gain, in-story, from mislabelling the project. Taken in hindsight -- and placed against the actual (and unscarred) clones seen in Black Paladins -- if the project title is accurate, the rest of the metaphor falls apart. If the project title is inaccurate, there's no explanation other than willfully lying to the viewers.

Done right, the revelation of Shiro’s presence in Black should make every piece fall into place, perfectly comprehensible in hindsight. Take the metaphor of a divided system -- OS as interface, memory as database. At some point in that final battle, the hardware is ripped away, and Black catches the OS -- the personality, the interface -- and ghosts a copy. If we stretch the metaphor so ghosting simultaneously removes the OS from the original hardware, then we have Shiro's personality in Black, and his body in Haggar's clutches -- and both share the same core memories.

After the final battle, with the replacement OS shutting down, returning Shiro’s mind resolves the split and returns Shiro to himself. There is no clone to be used and discarded; there is only Shiro, taking back his own body.

(This does not evade the issue of the clone’s personality or self-awareness, but it does at least get us around the ethical question of keeping the clone for the sole purpose of having a place to ‘put’ Shiro.)  

fixing the metaphor

S1: make it explicit that the arm has code, and Pidge has removed it. All is safe. Reintroduce the question when Shiro returns, and have Hunk raises the worries, then. 

S2: simplify or truncate the finale to leave five minutes' breather at the end. Add comms visuals so the team witnesses what appears to be Shiro being pulled from this reality, going staticky, something. (It'd be a nice parallel to S6E1 if Keith ditches Red and heads for Black; Allura’s repetition later would prompt fear of the same happening to Lance.) Add an easter egg for the fans, a quick shot of Zarkon's mecha ripped open but the central cabin is empty.

Use those final minutes to show the impact. Show the team's escape, the passage of time, and each person’s reaction. Show Pidge on her laptop, wiping tears as she works. Hunk cooking, only to stop and cover his face. Lance retrieving his armor and seeing the empty spot where Shiro's was. Keith sitting in Black's cabin, watching the empty chair. Coran talking to someone on the overhead screens, then looking over his shoulder at Shiro's empty seat.

Add just enough dialogue to show the team's concluded that Haggar used her magic to tear Shiro apart. They're grieving, but they're also coming to terms with Shiro's death. End with Allura coming to Keith and saying, it's time to find a new Black Paladin. And I'd probably end on Keith's determined, No, and let the screen go to black.

S3: the team has accepted that Shiro couldn't have survived. They tell each other he's dead, but Keith won't stop looking. He wants closure (and the rest of the team goes along, as a way to help Keith heal). Show small reactions from Black, implying the lion has intentions or wishes of its own. Skip the flippant humor and instead have each pilot note something odd. The seat wouldn't quite adjust for Pidge; the sticks wouldn't move for Hunk, the doors hesitated before opening for Lance.

Skip Shiro's return journey -- or don't start it until he's in the sentry fighter; after all, he repeats the crux of it when he's talking to Keith. In hindsight, it should become clear that Black was looking for Shiro's body: the hardware that fits the ghost software. Mid-story, though, it would appear Black had retrieved the real Shiro.

The changes in Shiro can be written off as trauma from being taken, again, but the narrative should be quite point-blank that something is very, very wrong. With S3E5 gone, there's room to add a more significant break between Shiro and Keith, and to show Keith diverting his attention to the Blades. Let characters rationalize this -- frex, Lance telling himself, "no one knows Shiro better than Keith, and Keith doesn't seem worried." Show the imposter's influence by the way the team slowly stops confiding in each other.

At this point, the working theory would be one of two possibilities: either Shiro was ripped away, brainwashed, and returned to the team... or this is a clone who carries Shiro's memories per the arm's programming. In either case, there should be no doubt for viewers that Shiro is not to be trusted.

Remember the metaphor, too. Keep a very light touch on humanizing this new version. Make it like Windows stumbling over Mac: those echoes don't make sense, they're junk. Let someone call Shiro out on his uncharacteristic mood, and have Shiro v2 dismiss his past actions. He's a new OS. He has no need for those artifacts that don't add up, anyway.

When Shiro's switch gets flipped, the team will understand and support Keith's need for closure, but they know there’s no hope. Pidge can lampshade, mentioning previous mindwipes (ie when Hunk was controlled, or how Narti spoke through the Puigian leader). Let the characters put forth a theory that unlike simple brainwashing (where the person remains), Shiro's case is so extreme there's nothing to recover.

I'd wrap up the entire storyline by the end of the full season, since that puts the Black Paladins battle as the midpoint of the entire story, structurally. But if limited to small tweaks, by the thread’s conclusion, the most obvious conclusion should be a) Shiro died and was grieved, and b) Shiro returned broken, with the original personality gone forever.

S6: only a few lines need to change. Shiro's appearance on the astral plane should be the first sign of hope in 20-something episodes. Changed lines are in bold:

SHIRO: Just let me explain. That thing that attacked you wasn't me. Since my fight with Zarkon, I've been here. KEITH: How? SHIRO: My physical form was gone. I existed on this other realm. I didn't know where I was or how much time had passed. KEITH: We thought you died, Shiro.  SHIRO: The Black Lion retained my essence. I tried to warn the others about the imposter in my body, while on Olkarion, but our connection wasn't strong enough...

In the broadcast version, this exchange is too final. It needs to open, not close. Keith needs to begin certain of Shiro’s death -- and then Shiro's reveal can turn harrowing loss into the first glimpse of hope. 

With that, the clues would fall into place to show the full, true picture: Shiro's body was taken, a new OS installed that relied on the original memories, while the ghost in the machine lived on in Black. It would make sense that Keith would still recognize Shiro v2 as 'his' Shiro, and it would also make sense that Keith would continue to protect Shiro's body -- even after knowing Shiro’s spirit is elsewhere. Keith's already thinking he’ll get Shiro back where he belongs, somehow. 

Add a single line from Pidge, checking Shiro's arm, noticing some behavior or code that tells us Haggar has sent shut-down orders, wiped the second OS, something that indicates the personality is gone. Then have Keith ask to put Shiro's soul back into his body.

In terms of continuity and development, it means Shiro would now have access to the memories of everything from the previous year or so (though I'm ignoring for now how traumatic that would be to see yourself doing things against your grain). While it's still torture of a character who's already suffered so much, it at least removes the amorality of treating a created creatures only to hurt and be hurt, as @ptw30 put it. 

Instead, it would be Shiro's body, overlaid with a fake, recovered, and restored. 

[betsynagler]

Critical Thinking is Hard

I’m lucky: I grew up in a family where thinking was encouraged. My parents treated me and my brother like we were brilliant, which makes you want to be brilliant, and come up with your own ideas. They liked to talk about stuff, and, while they definitely treated us like kids, they also didn’t really shelter us too much. My mother was always ruining TV shows for me by pointing out the sexist moments in television, from reruns of The Brady Bunch and Star Trek, to Charlie’s Angels, Three’s Company and, well, it was the 70s and 80s, so pretty much all TV shows. But they still let us watch them, as well as R-rated movies which may not have been age-appropriate, and while they told us not to smoke pot, when we found out that they smoked pot, they gave us reasons for why it was okay for them and not us (since they “weren’t going to have any more children,” which seemed to make sense at the time). Another thing they did was encourage us to take responsibility for our own decisions from a fairly young age, which meant that you could stay up until 10 or 11 pm on a school night if you really wanted to, but it’d be your fault when you felt like shit all the next day. One can debate the pros and cons of this method of child-rearing (pro: de-mystifying drug use and other taboo behaviors to the degree that they actually start to seem uncool; encouraging kids to develop strong ethical compass and think through their actions; con: kids are even more weird compared to their peers, and precociously develop anxiety and guilt about their own actions). Nevertheless, it did start me on the road to learning the value of thinking for myself.

I didn’t really come into my own as a critical thinker until junior high, however, when I spent two years in a program for gifted students. First, isolation from my peers at a time when I was supposed to be learning the social skills of adulthood and the bullying that naturally flowed from that taught me to look for other people’s faults as a means of self-defense. That made me critical, if not necessarily thoughtful. But then I also had two years of Mr. Snyder teaching me social studies. Many of us in the gifted program had all of the same teachers for all of our academic subjects two years running. This meant that we got to know those teachers really well, and, in the case of Mr. Snyder, came to greatly admire and be shaped by his worldview. Mr. Snyder wasn’t an obvious candidate for intellectual guru to early adolescents. He wasn’t particularly handsome, and he’d had polio as a child and walked with a prominent limp. But he was funny and charismatic, gave terrific lectures that were like brilliant comedy monologues or TED talks, and knew how to make his students feel smart and special — in part because we had made it into his class, but still. We liked him so much that several of us would get to class early every day so that we could draw cartoons of him on the blackboard with clever word bubble-jokes, and he loved that. Too see him come into the room and look at our clever depictions of him and smile and make jokes right back at us, to feel appreciated for our intelligence and creativity, a sensation could be hard to come by as a suburban New Jersey youngster, was wonderful. The class was a mutual admiration society and a bit of a cult of personality that I think hugely affected all of us who took it.

I learned a lot there, as we studied political systems, geography and the history of the ancient world, among other things. We were assigned projects that were unlike anything you’d typically get in junior high or even high school, a combination of fun, self-driven exploration, and out-of-control amounts of work. We had to make a map of the world that included every single country, city, major mountain range and body of water, using color-coded overlays — something that I would have enjoyed, and sort of did, except that, since I was in 7th grade, I was terrible at judging how long it would take and left it until the last minute, and had to repeatedly re-letter the smudged plastic to make it readable in my 12-year-old handwriting. The following year, when we did separate units on Greece and Rome, we had to either fill in an entire outline that he provided with a paragraph or more on every subject, or do a handful of more creative projects designed to help us probe the topics in more interesting detail. After choosing to do the outline for Greece, thinking it would be easier, and ending up with several pounds of handwritten paper (I could not type) on everything from Sparta to Socrates to Doric columns that was probably 75+ pages long, Mr. Snyder had stared at the pile and admitted to me that he hadn’t really expected anyone to choose that option, that he’d made the outline so absurdly long to encourage people to do the creative projects. I probably got an A more because he didn’t want to read the whole damn thing than anything else, and on Rome, I did the projects, like going to a Roman-Catholic service and writing about it — which I did by interviewing my Catholic friend, Tara, instead of actually going to the service myself — or going to the Met to observe and then expound upon the differences one observed between the Greek and Roman statues — which I did after 15 minutes of taking furious notes on a Sunday when we arrived just as they were getting ready to close. Just because I loved Mr. Snyder didn’t mean that I, like any other kid, wasn’t always trying to get out of doing homework in any way I could.

The thing I learned and remember best, however, was not the facts, but the method. We had a class about political and economic systems — communism, socialism, capitalism, authoritarianism — and the first thing Mr. Snyder did was define these terms for us, explaining that they weren’t what we’d been told they were. Specifically, “communism,” the way it was looked at in the budding Reagan Era of the early 1980s, wasn’t actually communism at all. Real communism was an economic system that someone named Karl Marx had come up with, in which everyone owned everything, nobody was rich or poor or more powerful than anyone else, and that was, in fact, kind of the opposite of what the Soviet Union had become. This somewhat blew my mind. Here was the boogeyman that everyone talked about as the great evil threatening us with destruction — and remember, in the world of an American kid who had trouble sleeping at night because she obsessed with how we were one button push away from nuclear war, that meant genuine annihilation —  and it wasn’t even what it really was. How was this possible? How was everything that we saw on TV and in the newspapers and at the movies just plain wrong? It turned out that, once you delved into it, the evolution of the term “communism” in the popular vernacular was an education in how concepts entered the public consciousness and then were propagated endlessly in the echo chamber of the media and society until they became something else entirely, usually in the service of some political or social end. Sound familiar? It wasn’t the same then as it is now that we have the Wild West known as the Internet, in some ways it was easier to get an entire culture to basically think one incorrect thing rather than many insane things, but the ability to miseducate a huge swath a people without their questioning it? Yes, that existed, and understanding that was a very big deal to me. It meant that you always had to look deeper than the surface of things to be sure you understood the reality, even when it came to what those things were called.

Why doesn’t everyone get taught to think this way? Well, like most things in life, it gets increasingly harder to learn as you get older. The more set in our ways we get, the tougher it becomes to look at ourselves critically (which is essential to critical thinking, because to truly get that you must dissect and assess the viability of ideas, you have to start with your own assumptions), much less change the way our brains function in terms of adopting new ways of doing anything that’s really embedded in there, much less ways of doing everything, which is kind what it means to change the way you think. Plus, it’s in the best interest of those in power to keep the bulk of the human race from doing it. It’s tough to build an army of people who don’t automatically follow orders, or have a religion made up of people who are always questioning the word of God, or build a movement if the followers are continually asking the leaders, “Is that really true?” And so we’ve arrived at this situation where we have so much information out there now to make sense out of, and the bulk of us without the tools to figure out how to do that — and many who reject those tools because they’re told education is just liberal elite brainwashing. Instead, you see a lot of people turn to a kind of twisted, easy version of “critical” “thinking” espoused on the fringes of the left and right, which disposes with the thinking part and instead just espouses wholesale rejection of anything dubbed “establishment” or “mainstream,” no matter how awful the alternative may be (and at this point we know: it’s pretty awful). Add to that the folks who skillfully exploit the overwhelm of information and lack of analytical skills to support their own greed, lust for power and desire to win at all cost, and you end up with an awesome new and different kind of embedded orthodoxy, that encourages us to silo ourselves within “our” (really their) belief systems, walled in with “alternative facts” and media that support them, and defending it all tooth and nail with false equivalencies that encourage us not to critique thoughtfully based on evidence, but to to pick apart every idea that doesn’t fit or even makes us uncomfortable (“Well, every politician lies” was one of the most egregious ones I heard used recently to defend the president). 

And, when it comes right down to it, can you blame people? Thinking is exhausting, especially in this environment, and even human beings with the best intentions manage to ruin everything good anyway. Like, even though my parents didn’t make us believe their ideas, of course they still managed to inculcate in us their most mundane opinions. My father was particularly good at doing this, particularly when it came to eating (yup, Jews), like how fast food and chain restaurants should be avoided not based on nutrition but on lack of flavor (which I guess is why we still ate at White Castle), or how chocolate was really the only kind of acceptable dessert. It’s amazing that, no matter how far I’ve come as an adult, I still find it really hard to shake these ideas — like I saw a conversation on Facebook about how pie was superior to cake, and I just thought, Huh? But there aren’t any good chocolate pies. Another case in point: by the time I was a senior, Mr. Snyder had moved up to the high school, and was teaching an AP history class that I had the option to take. I decided to take economics instead, because I had never studied it, because one of my best friends was taking it, and, on some level I’m sure, to show that I didn’t need the wisdom of this idol of my 7th and 8th grade self, now that I was all of 16. I heard from people who took Snyder’s class that in his first opening monologue of the year he mocked those of his former students who had decided not to take his class — which I think might have just been me. That wasn’t really an appropriate thing for a teacher to do, especially since I was kind of doing what he’d taught us: to move on, do my own thinking and evaluate him critically. But as a human being, it’s hard to be a charismatic leader and just let that go — which is why the world has so many despots, and celebrities, and despotic celebrities. On other hand, my economics class was a terrible waste of time because it turned out that I didn’t like economics and the teacher was boring, so perhaps my premature rejection of Mr. Snyder and my 8th grade way of thinking, just to prove that I could do it, hadn’t been the best decision either. It’s hard not to wonder if I’d be just a slightly better, smarter person today if I’d accepted one more opportunity to take his class.

I’ll never know, but I guess the fact that I’m telling you this story means I haven’t given up on critical thinking. Maybe it’s because self-flagellating comes naturally to me, but these days, more than ever, I try to employ those skills as much as I can, even as it grows increasingly fucking hard. On top of all that media landscape stuff I mentioned a few paragraphs back, I also have this stupid menopause business I mentioned in my last blog post, which just amplifies all of the emotion that drives me as a human to err on the side of insanity, as if there weren’t already enough bad news, and bad “news,” out there driving a person in that direction. There are so many bad actors with so many tools that can be used to manipulate our fear and greed and lust into steamrolling our thinking these days, and all we have to fight back are these little broken piles of poop in our heads. And yet, we all do have them, aka brains, and so we have the ability to use them. And as one of those cynical-on-top-but-at-bottom-idealistic folks who believes we all also have the capacity to change, no matter how hard it might seem, until the day we die, I think we all have the ability to learn how to use them better. And yes, that means you, and your friends, and your kids, and even your cousins in Florida maybe, if we all just try a little harder.

I’m not sure what Mr. Snyder would say about me now, as I try to get people to think about stuff with this blog that almost nobody reads, but considering how many years he spent trying to teach adolescents about Platonic ideals, I’d imagine he’d approve. So in honor of him, and any teacher you’ve had who inspired you to think more, and more better, let’s advocate in 2019 not just for “our values,” but for the value of intelligent thought, even if we have to do it one mind at a time.

[captainderyn]

Cipher Five (A Real Introduction)

Because I never formally introduced him, and I’m having fun with this character sheet. 

Again, it was done by @therron-shan​, gotta give credit where credit is due :D

(**Old drawing, think no scar..)

Preliminary Info:

Name: Valetyn Slovoko

Nicknames: Val, Vicky, Five

Alias(es): Cipher Five, Viktor Aulis (most used cover name, he introduced himself this way to people after he’s out of Intelligence as he doesn’t like giving his “real” name. 

Age: 32

Born: 19  BTC? Maybe? Years work how?

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Affiliations:

Empire, Imperial Intelligence

Occupation:

Imperial Intelligence Agent--Cipher division, instructor at the Imperial Intelligence Academy (unwillingly at first) when he was on leave, mostly full time once he leaves Intelligence. 

Physical:

General Description:

"Five...first time I met him I thought he was an ass, but intimidating. He practically had the agents in my training class falling at his feet, he’s got that whole ‘tall, dark’ thing going for him. I just wanted to fight the fabled Cipher Five. But he’s intimidating, cold and distant like he could kill you with his eyes only until you see him out of uniform *glares off camera* no not like that. When you see him outside of being an agent you get a softer person. Not different, not entirely, but like the harsh edges are softened...” --Erabelle Torven “Cipher Nine”

Height: 6′0

Weight: Somewhere in the 170lbs range

Hair: Dark dark brown, probably slicked back out of his face if he’s working, his wife would rather it be ruffled because then cowlicks start to form and she finds them adorable. 

Eyes: Hazel eyes, leaning more on the brown end than green.

Skin/Fur: His skin has a naturally more tan tone, despite being stuck on Dromund Kaas most of his life. 

Scars/Birthmarks/Etc.: He has a line of double scars going down his spine from between his shoulder blades all the way down his back with some larger scars crisscrossing over those from the accident that ended his agent days. 

Tattoos/Markings: ---

Cybernetics: He has cybernetic implants along his spine after an accident in the field that caused severe injuries to his spine. Those cybernetics allow him to walk and function pretty normally, though they aren’t a solve all and he still suffers some on and off pain from the injury.

Handedness:

He’s left handed 

Style:

Intelligence: In the field his favored uniform is black/very dark grey (unlike SOME agents, he says, glaring at Era, preening in her white/light grey uniform). He wears gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints everywhere in the field, and his uniform is lightly armored. The less bulky the better. 

Civilian: He dresses classy, he dresses nice okay. I blame him growing up in Kaas City, where everything is high fashion. It’s easier for me to just post a picture than explaining: 

Other:

He has a thick Imperial, Kaasian accent that comes through when he’s tired or very amped up/angry/whatever. His voice is very nice to listen to, it’s relatively deep and just has a soothing cadence to it. Unless he’s angry and then its sharp as a dagger and you better get ready to dodge. 

Mental/Emotional:

Background/Backstory:

Five grew up under two military bred parents, his father from the Imperial Army, his mother from the Imperial Navy, in Kaas City. He led a pretty easy life and excelled in his schooling, finding a passion in history. He knew he wanted to go military-esc to serve the Empire, but when applying to a program initially for the Imperial Navy he was directed towards Imperial Intelligence as a best fit instead. He worked as an agent for ten years before being forced to retire.

Personality: Five is very logical, very analytical, and horrible with numbers. He’s highly intelligent and can read people quite well, something that has allowed him to do well in his field as opposed to somewhere like a Fixer or a Minder. Five has a passion for history and the habit of being able to remember random facts that he can pull at a single trigger. When he’s nervous he’ll start talking if it’s someone he’s comfortable with--like when he was going to propose to his now wife, he started talking about the art history of the resturant they were at. 

Due to his time in Intelligence he’s developed quite a suspicion of people and is very much someone you can get the wrong first impression of. You need to work to get him to trust you and open up to you, otherwise he just comes across as a very quiet, rather rude and cold asshole. However, when you do unlock the actual man behind the agent mask he’s quite nice to be around, if you can handle the highly intelligent sort that always have a habit of guessing the twist on a holonet show before it actually happens. 

Quirks: He doesn’t sleep much during his agent days and even after, he refuses to give his birth name to anyone but his wife--as she’s the one who realy gave it meaning again, he almost never will have his back to a door and will flinch if you surprise him from behind--ie, hand on his shoulder. 

Disorders: Most likely some manner of PTSD after all he’s been through and seen, haven’t thought enough on it to expand comfortably. 

Addictions:

Not a full blown addiction but for awhile he had a heavy reliance/quasi addiction to adrenaline stims so that he didn’t need to sleep and face what he’d see in his dreams. Eventually it becomes easier to be awake than it is to sleep. 

Strengths:

He sees the Empire as what it could be, not venerating it for what it is, he’s quite methodical and careful in his work, he’s good at what he does. 

Weaknesses:

He’s got a fricken attitude towards his superiors, but it’s all veiled jabs and insults, his old injury means he could seriously fuck himself up if not careful, he got too attached to his small gaggle of agent ducklings. 

Likes: Helping his fellow ciphers, the idea of a better Empire, people who aren’t blind to the Empire’s flaws. 

Dislikes: Sith, whoever in Intelligence thought it was a good idea to keyword Ciphers, people who are blind to the Empire’s flaws, ect. 

Phobias/Fears: Losing control of his mind/body, hurting his wife or anyone close to him, his own mind in some sense, a suppressed one is losing his ability to walk. 

Hobbies: Reading military texts and strategy books, good natured debating, learning all the history things he can, patting his cat.  

Interests: History--both general and military, other cultures. 

Favorite movies: He sleeps through more movies than he watches. Things that are either fairly lighthearted or related to historical events/retellings. His daughters have warmed him up to Space!Disney animated movies though he’ll roll his eyes at their cheesy messages. 

Favorite music: Again, not much a music listener. If he had to choose it’d be of the classical type, or at least instrumental. Music soundtracks, orchestral movements, ect. 

Favorite books: Shoot I already covered this (*smacks self* overzealous!). Hm, military histories, some historical fiction, some fantasy, though he’s picky. 

Favorite TV shows: Whatever his wife will watch with him. Also things that make him think, with twists and stories and characters that are interesting.

Skills/Talents:

Habits: Being hyperaware of his surroundings, always checking the people around him, always being on high alert outside of the safety of his home. 

Morality/Ethics:

I have these goals I need to meet and I follow my own morale code, if you cross the line of what I deem is right and you don’t have a valid reason for it then I have no problem doing what I have to do to you. There are things I need to do in my line of work that I am not okay with, such as needless killing, and if I can’t avoid it then I am deeply sorry.

Don’t hurt people who don’t need to be hurt, don’t make people needlessly suffer. Always be honest to what you do and accept the mistakes you make. Faction doesn’t justify wrong things that you do. 

Goals:

Short Term: Survive raising two twin girls who are very energetic and enthusiastic about life, see that Daughter #1 (see family) makes it out of her own career alive and well and that she’s happy, build a normal life and adjust to a normal life with his family. Finish his own recovery from his injury/linger effects from Intelligence years and be there for said family.

Long Term: Survive raising two twin girls. That doesn’t go away. Reconnect with his own family on a better level, be happy.  

Motivations:

His own drive for a long time, his passion for the Empire he knows can be born, then it shifts and its his wife, then his family as a whole. 

Other:

He’s an introvert by nature and isn’t the most outgoing of people, he’s honestly rather reserved. But among a select few people he will open up a bit to show his sense of humor and be a little less quiet. 

Relationships:

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Bi/demi

Relationship History: Not good. He’s been in a few relationships and until his wife they’ve always crashed and burned as the people he was with couldn’t handle the intensity of his career and how he would be traveling more often than not. 

Reputation: He doesn’t have a reputation relationship wise. As far as anyone in Intelligence knows he’s single and has been single. He’s usually known to be successful in missions where seduction is a key element, does that count? Gossip in the Academy when they learn about Cipher Five is that he’s hot??

Family:

Vitaliya Slovoko: Five’s younger sister. Four years his junior, a major in the Imperial Army by the time they reunite. She’s just as intelligent as he is but finds it best put to use in the context of strategic analysis in the Army. She’s run several successful operations in her time. The last time Five had direct contact with her before resuming it was when he was nineteen just before he became a Cipher Agent. He was close with her growing up, very much a protective older brother Now their relationship is rather cordial until they finally break through the ice and then they’re close af again. Tries to see some of her old brother shining through and sometimes presses a bit too much for it. 

Anton Slovoko: Five’s father, retired from the Imperial Army where he was highly successful in support and leadership positions instead of combat positions. Regrets ever allowing his son to go into Imperial Intelligence, worries about Five even after they’ve reunited. He and Five have always had a pretty good relationship, he was the fastest to warm up to Five (Five as a person, not Valetyn, the son that left for the Academy) as he is when he returns. Probably the one that understands and respects Five’s nature the best and is the only one who just nods and accepts his request to not go by Valetyn (He goes by Viktor to everyone outside of his wife and to an extent Era).

Stasya Slovoko (nee Roksana): Five’s mother, ex Imperial Navy where she was a successful combatant/pilot. Thought for the longest time after Five cut off contact (rather unintentionally, he was stripped of most memories of familial ties upon his entrance into Intelligence) that her only son was dead. Hasn’t quite forgiven him or Intelligence for making him/self disappear, hasn’t entirely warmed back up to him. Part of her expects and wants her pre-Intelligence son back, the one who didn’t hold his blood family at an arms length, the one who wasn’t a little bent and broken whenever she looks at him. However she and Five are working on it, they’ve always had a slight tendency to knock heads after all, but they’re trying to work through it for her granddaughters/his daughters’ sake. 

Erin and Claire Slovoko: Five and Thea (his wife)’s daughters, twins and too intelligent for their own good. The mirialan in their blood shows through more than the human, which sometimes doesn’t work in their favor in the Empire. They wrangle their father into princess parties and beg Auntie Era to paint his face into funny creatures. He let’s them, he loved his daughters more than anything and would do anything to protect them. 

Erabelle Torven: Yup, she gets lumped in with family. Because she’s technically Daughter #1. Because Five took her under his wing when she was a wee little field agent first coming into the Cipher program and well, oops, now he’s stuck with her. Thea jokes that Era is their first child and she’s honestly a part of the family without question. She and Five are extremely close and have a lot more of a father-daughter relationship than say, a sibling-like bond or something. 

Agent: He and Thea have a loth cat that they found as a kitten on the streets of Kaas that was jokingly called Agent until he started to respond to it and well..not the cat’s name is Agent. He’s like a big maine coon mixed with a loth cat and is a smug, cuddly bastard. He and Five get are best friends and Five loves his cat dearly. When Five came home injured, almost two weeks after he was supposed to come home the cat sat on his bed and belittled him in meows as cats tend to do for ten standard minutes. 

Friends:

Noa: ...who belongs to @delavairesslegacy, obv, basically gets lumped into family as well considering she’s Era’s girlfriend and Five and Thea love her too. But they’re also friends, so to speak. They get along, he’s about as friendly as he can get. They meet officially through Era, but he nows her through Intelligence as Fixer Twenty-Four. He’s probably worked on a mission with her once or twice. 

Most of the agents in the Cipher program: I headcanon them to be a fairly small, tightly knit group and he’s grown pretty close to the ones that have been around consistently. Of course, he’s been in the cipher program for close to 10 years, compared to the 5 that most get before they’re killed or disappear and with the ever revolving nature of the cipher program a lot of the agents by the time he retires are young. And since he’s usually tossed into teaching training classes at the Academy he’s had a hand in most of their training. So he’s like the mother duck of the cipher agents, hence the gaggle of agents mention. They’re all pretty close and support each other. The agent puppy pile is a thing, and when Five is being tested after his injury to assess that he really can’t serve the ones that are home at the time are there to support him and are sad (but also glad) that he’s released out of Intelligence. 

Enemies:

There are too many to name, and none that have names that stand out to me rn. 

Love Interest:

He’s married to @delavairesslegacy‘s Thea Xern. They met when they were both working (she’s an ex SIS agent), and she was interfering with his assassination mission. They infuriated each other, getting in the way of each other’s missions and such. TBH he antagonized her a bit, played games with the SIS agent. He got in trouble for a) letting her see his face by accident and b) doing an unsanctioned search for information on her (where he found mundane jobs listed that he called bullshit on) and was sent to a non combat posting to tie up loose ends and eliminate her, as a loose end. They met, she surrendered and said he could kill her as long as he helped her tie up her own loose ends. Being stuck on a ship for x amount of time later he couldn’t bring himself to kill her and offered to help her start a new life with a new name, no ties to the Republic, on a neutral world. No strings attached. She accepted and from time to time he would check on her, make sure that his connections were sound in what they’d provide for her. And from there they grew closer until they became involved, and eventually she moved to Dromund Kaas to live with him. Which means he may or may not have committed treason in bringing an ex SIS agent into the heart of the Empire. Oops. 

Affiliations:

Imperial Agent:

Rank:

Cipher Agent

Known Aliases: Viktor Aulis, Daniil Antonov, Emil Nichevo

Weapons/Specs:

He’s well versed in both stealth/knife fighting like Era prefers, but his strength and preference has always been sniping. He prefers to shoot with a rifle. 

Methods of getting information:

Five prefers to go for seduction and befriending rather than torture. He finds torture unnecessary and gruesome. If it comes down to it his veiled, elegant threats will put a blade to your throat but no torture. 

Thoughts on the Republic:

He is loyal to the Empire, serves Intelligence to a point unless it conflicts with his own beliefs, but does not hate the Republic. He thinks they do some things wrong and that their supposed morale high ground isn’t as true as they’d like to convince themselves it is but being married to an ex Republic citizen has given him a new perspective, even if she’s not really a Republic patriot anymore. 

Other Info:

He’s gone undercover on many occasions but has a general distaste for deep undercover missions. Especially deep undercover missions in the Republic, he thinks they’re tedious and often don’t gain the information they hope. That being said, he’s best suited for solo or pair missions (he and Era are a popular partnership) that involve being undercover to an extent or getting in and out without fuss. He does not enjoy desk work, he gets restless and much prefers to be out in the field. 

Other Biographical Info:

Birthworld: Dromund Kaas

Homeworld: ...Dromund Kaas

Where is/are their stronghold(s) located?  Where do they consider home?

His home is a modest now family sized apartment (they probably had to move once they realized they’d have two girls)  on Dromund Kaas that’s filled with personality and life compared to his old apartment when it was just him, where it was furnished with the basic necessities and was only used as a brief check in point. 

Familial Background:

He comes from a military family, and a successful one at that. He’s the first one in a few generations to go into Intelligence however. 

Other Info:

A fun little fact; I’ve already mentioned this but Five is particular about names, just as Era is. So he introduces himself as Viktor to people, and Thea, Era and Noa are the only ones (outside his blood family) that know his real name. However Era refers to him as Five still and Noa probably calls him Viktor, as they both understand far to well how much names mean and how special they are for agents like Five and Era. Likewise, Era doesn’t tell Thea and Five her full name (Erabelle) until after the end of the canon story. Even then Thea calls her Belle and Five still has a habit of calling her Nine, though he’s started to call her Erabelle/Belle as well. Only Noa calls her Erabelle. 

[chicagocityofclans]

Ellis Watts III→ Aldis Hodge → Jackal

→ Basic Information 

Age: 99

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: December 25th

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Religion: Christian

→ His Personality

Ellis Watts is a workaholic. He has spent the entire duration as head of the Jackals looking for ways to better the clan and push them into more prominent positions within the city. This includes heavily encouraging the jackals in his clan to pursue a degree and better themselves intellectually. He also serves the citizens of Chicago as the City Planner. He has been making significant efforts to improve the quality of life for both supernaturals and humans. He is very dedicated to his work and responsibilities and does not falter in his duties. He is disciplined, often working nights and weekends until a project is seen through to the end. 

However when Ellis relaxes, he does so in style. He loves expensive clothes and timepieces, nice cars, and excessive hobbies. Since he could get his hands on them, he’s loved anything with a motor: cars, motorcycles, and speed boats. Only recently has he begun to tackle the skies. It was a 95th birthday present to himself, and he’s almost put enough hours in to finally obtain his license to fly. He also enjoys spirits, and has begun making his own wine. This harkens back to his youth filled with mild over indulgence and a desire to escape. 

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Head of Clan Jackal and City Planner

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: High end watches and Fast vehicles

Two Dislikes: Idle hands and People who ride their brakes

Two Fears: Failing at leading the Jackals and Heights

Two Hobbies: Boat Racing and Wine Making

Three Positive Traits: Responsible, Disciplined, Ambitious

Three Negative Traits: Work-Obsessed, Superficial, Stubborn

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ellis Watts II (Father): Ellis did not have a very strong relationship with his father, contrary to everyone in their pack. They were not very affectionate towards one another and often got into spats. Though it appeared that Ellis Watts II was handing his son the keys out of respect, in reality he left out of spite. They didn’;t have any other contact with one another for the rest of his life. 

Lucretia Watts (Mother): Lucretia was old, much older than Ellis’s father, when they mated and died while Ellis was 30. Ellis was close to his mother, and she instilled many of the mantras he repeats and follows to this day. 

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None.

Romantic Connections:

Mary-Alice Lewis (Ex Girlfriend): He met Mary Alice when he was away for school. Too many things were trying to work against them, and when he asked her to come back home with him, she said no. He still thinks about her often and has thought about trying to see if she was still with her clan. 

Miriam Vance (Ex Girlfriend): They dated in the 1970s for a few years. He was just getting in the meat of his political career and she wanted lots of children immediately. They parted ways and last he knew she moved to San Francisco. 

Platonic Connections:

Sarah Harris (Best Friend): Sarah has been one of his longest friends and is often the person to call him out. He is the Godfather to both of their daughters and spends most holidays with their family. 

Zack Harris (Best Friend): Zack is his most trusted confidante. They throw ideas around, playing with possibilities, before eventually bringing it to Sarah who helps make the idea possible. 

Shannon Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Shannon since she was born. She’s a mini-Sarah through and through and he has recently begun training her to begin as a liaison to the pack. With the new influx of supernaturals that may come due to the University, Ellis wants to be ready.

Zelda Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Zelda since she was born. She was always a very independent child, taking the harder and often more daring road. Despite Sarah’s surprise, he saw Zelda forming her own path long before she finally told her mother she wasn’t going to school. He has her placed in the water department. 

Odell Rella (Friend): Ellis brought Odell on as 3rd about 9 years ago, after he returned home from going to college and travelling the world. It’s a perspective that Jackals don’t often have and he values his input because of that. He’s still an idiot, but he does a good job as 3rd. 

Seth Allen (Curious about): Seth is somewhat of an enigma to Ellis, Zack and Sarah. He is wild and difficult, but the strangest thing is that he doesn’t really act like a jackal, or at least not like anyone in Chicago. He loves being shifted and running in his shifted form. Seth also seems somewhat uncomfortable with the family dynamics that most of the clan has. Ellis has been mulling over their new addition a lot, and has even gone on a run with him in shifted form to see if it’d shed any more light. 

Vee Armstrong (Employee): Vee has shown her work ethic since she was in college and Ellis took notice. When Sirius proposed getting a Human Shifter elected with the jackal’s help; Ellis knew she’d be the best person to get them there. So far she’s impressed him, and the early polls indicate Fischer will win.

Leon King (Friendly): Ellis knows of Leon through his work with the kids. He increased general activity and helped spearhead a childhood activity project that got kids moving. 

Clara Fields (Fellow Council Member): Ellis doesn’t often talk to Clara, actually avoids it when he can, but they’ve known each other for a long time and he respects her work ethic. 

Isaac Baker (Friend): Ellis has liked having Isaac on the council. He’s smart and isn’t weighed down by a century of baggage like the rest of them. They occasionally go to sports games together. 

Chris Bialar (Work Associate): Chris came to him a year or two ago to suggest creating a University for the supernatural community. Clan Cat was experienced with the education side of things, while Clan Jackal could encourage the permit and general bureaucratic business along. Before their business venture Ellis thought he was an arrogant asshole, now he’s an arrogant asshole with a plan to get more Jackals to the city. 

Nick Hamelin (Fellow Council Member): He and Nick are on good terms. The rats don’t invade any areas they shouldn’t and in return they don’t try to keep too much from them. 

Percy McCormick III (Fellow Council Member): Ellis is fairly neutral about Percy. They’ve never really hit off, unlike him and the Fields, and it’s not something he’s interested in trying to start. 

Greer Finley (Work Associate): Greer is the 2nd of the Cats and is spearheading much of the project on the Cat’s end. He tends to work with her on projects to avoid putting her and Sarah in the same room. 

Amaria Crais (Work Associate): Amaria is the main liaison between the Cats and Jackals for the University project. He finds her much easier to deal with than Greer.

Asa Fields (Old Friend): He hasn’t spoken to Asa since he has been back, but the two would occasionally meet at parties around the city. He’s interested in seeing how he’s changed over the years. 

Sirius Cobic (Business Partner): Sirius proposed the idea of getting a supernatural to the top of the Chicago government about a year and a half ago. They need someone with real power to rule and a human shifter would be the only one who could make it. Together they developed a plan, and are currently seeing it play out. 

Hostile Connections:

Russell Jordan (Concerned about): Russell quickly shut down many lines of connections that had existed between the hyenas and jackals since they’d arrived. He claimed it was to unify the clan under new leadership, but they haven’t opened back up. 

Alan Thomas (Annoyance): He’s never seen anyone argue so much over building codes that have been public knowledge for years. Thomas takes any slow down as a personal offence and doesn’t care to restrain himself from throwing a fit. 

Pets:

None

→ History

Ellis was born in Chicago to Ellis Watts II and Lucretia Watts. Unusually for jackals the pair married at quite old ages and Ellis III was the only child they ever had. Lucretia was showing signs of slowing down when Ellis was a young boy, so it was only a matter of time when she passed away. He was away for many of her last years, and when he returned from school she refused to shift back into her human form. Ellis spent much of his time shifted the last year of her life so they could communicate easier. When she finally died, he didn’t change for years. It was at this time of no shifting that Ellis discovered his love for fast machines; motorcycles, cars, boats, anything he could feel the exhilaration of. He also garnered some criticism at this time, specifically from his father who thought he was being frivolous and wasteful. This was the beginning of what would become decades of arguments between the two men. 

They fought about him not using his degree or getting a useful job, about Elli II being inflexible and running members out of Chicago. This was all hidden from the packs eyes as their leader having the least happy family of all might cause an uproar in such a family oriented clan. The only members who were aware were Sarah and Zack Harris, his father’s seconds. Finally in 1941, after a particularly brutal argument Ellis II quit, told his son that he could burn the pack down if he wanted, but that he wouldn’t be around to watch. He packed up his things and left the clan to Ellis to rule, with the obvious assumption he’d fail. Ellis, like he did in many instances rose to the occasion. He hunkered down and learned everything: each pack family, who needed assistance, what needed to be done, where there were spots they could expand. It was Ellis who made the switch into the Government and slowly began securing good jobs with good pay for his people. He finally joined office himself once he was legally able to and has been City Manager on and off for many years. 

After he switched into being a leader, he’s had a difficult time turning it off. It’s ruined any relationship he’s had, caused tension headaches and teeth grinding, and he rarely if ever takes a day off. He still maintains many of his hobbies like boat racing, wine making, and now piloting; but work and his clan is always in the back of his mind.

→ The Present

Ellis would like to find a wife and start a family. Sarah says it was his dysfunctional family life that’s scared him off. Which is partially true, but he’s worried that he’ll start slipping if he relaxes too much. He’s actually considered asking Sarah or Shannon to set him up, but he’s not sure that he is that desperate yet. 

Ellis is also creating a University with the Cats. He, Sarah, and Zack have been in talks for about a year or so developing the idea, but they are going to break ground soon. He’s excited to have a new school for his Jackals to go to, as well as a new draw for the supernatural community. Another venture he’s taking on, though in a much more removed position, is the election of human shifter, Robert J. Fischer. It was an idea concocted with the human shifters to get a member of the supernatural community in the highest seat of power. Though the council previously ruled no species could be in the mayor’s office due to an unequal balance of power, Ellis knows they don’t understand the nature of modern politics.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Aldis Hodge  [1][2][3][4]

[kalinara]

Okay, so this is a completely irrational pet peeve.  But I’m honestly really annoyed how Matt seems to shoulder the lion’s share of the blame, both in character and out of character, for how the Castle trial imploded in Daredevil Season 2.

Because that end result was not remotely Matt’s fault at all. This isn’t to say that Matt hasn’t been an asshole at various parts throughout the season, or that he hadn’t been unprofessional.  But Matt Murdock did not make the mistake that tanked the Frank Castle case.  

Well, let’s be honest here: that case was unwinnable.  Seriously.  There was no way that anyone was ever going to salvage that case.  The greatest attorney in the world couldn’t have salvaged that case.  

But I do think there were some screw ups along the way.

The Opening Statement: this was Matt’s biggest professional screw up.  He didn’t show up in time, and Foggy had been left in the lurch.  Foggy and Karen are justifiably angry.  That said, Foggy gave an amazing tv-courtroom opening statement.  So while Matt personally fucked up here, it is not what tanked the Castle case.

The Medical Examiner:  Honestly, I’ve never been really sure what our heroes thought they were going to gain from the Medical Examiner to begin with.  

I appreciate that Karen’s trying to solve a mystery, but you don’t solve a mystery on the witness stand.  Whether or not the Medical Examiner lied about the Castle murders doesn’t really add anything to the idea of Frank not being legally culpable for his crimes.  It’d be one thing if they were trying to cast doubt on the Medical Examiner’s results when dealing with one of Frank’s victims, but Frank’s defense has never been “he didn’t do it.”  

But let’s assume that the Medical Examiner would have been the smoking gun after all.  That still wasn’t Matt’s fault.  Now, it did happen BECAUSE of Matt.  Specifically because Elektra decided to take it upon herself to “help” Matt.  But that wasn’t something that Matt ever asked her to do, nor did he have any reason to assume she knew who this person was or that she’d interfere.  Her decisions are not his fault.

Now, after the Medical Examiner fiasco, Matt stops showing up to the trial.  But we also learn from Foggy that he actually TOLD Matt to stop showing up.  (He just didn’t think he’d listen.)  Foggy does a pretty good job actually with what we see of his case in chief: particularly with the x-rays and medical experts.  So it’s again a case of Matt being unprofessional, but without an adverse effect on the case.

But now we get to the real fuck up:

Frank Castle on the Witness Stand.

Here’s the thing, Matt didn’t fuck that up.  Sure, his vigilante speech never would have flown in a real courtroom, but that’s a pretty normal tv show lawyer thing so whatever.  (If I were a stickler for accuracy, then I would have had a freaking aneurysm as soon as Reyes tried to object to a leading question during a fucking cross-examination.  But I digress).  Foggy didn’t like Matt’s approach, but well, Foggy kind of gave up that decision when he insisted that Matt perform the direct examination.  If he wanted to control the approach, then he should have conducted it.  Besides, it was pretty obvious that Frank would have crashed and burned regardless.  He knew exactly what he was doing up there.

But if anyone at Nelson and Murdock fucked up the Frank Castle case, then it was Foggy Nelson by insisting on calling Frank Castle to begin with.

Because here’s the thing: the accused doesn’t HAVE to testify.  And when it comes to something like an insanity defense, it’s generally best if they don’t!  Because Legal Insanity is a very specific concept.  It’s not just enough to be mentally ill.

The show cites M’Naghten, and this is the M’Naghten rule:

"Every man is to be presumed to be sane, and ... that to establish a defense on the ground of insanity, it must be clearly proved that, at the time of the committing of the act, the party accused was laboring under such a defect of reason, from disease of mind, and not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing; or if he did know it, that he did not know he was doing what was wrong."

To put it bluntly.  Frank Castle doesn’t qualify.  He knows he’s killing people.  He knows about the moral prohibition against killing.  And he knows it’s against the law.  And that’s going to be clear as soon as Frank Castle opens his mouth.

...actually, the funny thing is, Matt’s approach may have actually been better than Foggy’s, in terms of trying to establish a M’Naghten defense.  If Matt could have gotten Castle to support the idea of vigilantism as a morally and ethically right thing to do, then he MIGHT have been able to swing an argument that Frank “didn’t know what he was doing was wrong.”  (I sincerely doubt anyone would buy it, but I admit, I’ve never looked for case law on the subject)

The Model Penal Code rule that New York ACTUALLY follows is actually a bit more helpful in Frank’s case:

Using the MPC test, a criminal defendant must be found not guilty by reason of insanity if he is diagnosed with a relevant mental defect (for example, severe mental retardation or schizophrenia disorder) and at the time of the incident was unable to either:

Appreciate the criminality of his conduct; or

Conform his conduct to the requirements of the law

Therefore, using the MPC test, a legally insane individual must have been diagnosed with a mental defect (typically by a court-appointed mental health professional) and either did not know right from wrong or lacked the ability to control an impulse that led to the incident.

THIS is actually workable based on what Foggy had established previously.  The x-rays and expert testimony establish an actual medical cause/diagnosis, and he started to lay the groundwork for Frank not being able to conform his conduct to the requirements of the law.

In this case though, I don’t see any reason to actually call Frank to the stand.  The requirements are far better satisfied through medical and behavioral experts laying groundwork, and then some witness testimony showing how Frank’s behavior corresponds with the requirement.

And look at it logically.  Why would you call an insane person to testify to their insanity?  At best, they behave in such a way that makes it clear to the judge and jury that they are insane.  But I’m not a fan of the idea of making a spectacle of an ill person when other witness testimony could do just as well.  At worst, the jury sees a calm, articulate, reasonably put together person who is able to talk about their crimes and motivation.  And well, then you run the risk of the jury not believing that this man is legally insane.

And honestly, I think they’d be right.  Frank is mentally ill.  He may even fit some medical definition of “insane”.  But he knows what he’s doing when he kills people.  He knows what that means.  And he’s not mindless or uncontrollable about it.  He chooses his victims and can restrain himself when he wants to.  He’s not legally insane.  

This is not to say that Foggy’s a bad lawyer.  He’s a very good lawyer.  But even good lawyers make mistakes sometimes.  But it irrationally annoys me to see Matt as the scapegoat.  There are more than enough things to legitimately blame the man for: being unprofessional and leaving them in the lurch, being an asshole, lying to them and driving them away.  But Frank Castle’s trial was not his fault and that may end up being the hill I die on.  :-P

[onghwcng]

a midsummer night’s nightmare (2/4)

RATING: T

PAIRING: Park Jihoon/Park Woojin

SUMMARY: As the record would have it, Park Woojin's life is ridiculous: befriending a transfer student he'd saved from getting bullied, gaining a punishment forcing him to partake as the theatre club's tree hopeful, and sharpening his acting chops with the help of the costume director, Park Jihoon.

WORD COUNT: 25,575

Also posted on AO3.

NOW PLAYING: Intro of CD 1 — American Idiot.

“So, the first thing you want to do to improve my acting, is to see my playlist?”

Jihoon’s lips fall into a mixture between a frown and a pout; the former because it’s kind of what it is, but the latter because he also has the urge to jut out his lower lip, and ends up doing it halfway. It’s messy, unappealing, and somewhat of a bother: in the end he settles for showing his displeasure with his brows instead.

“Yes.” If Jihoon has any thoughts regarding the ridiculousness of the situation, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he stubbornly pushes on his opinion and request, and gives Woojin the most intimidating glare he can muster.

Considering Jihoon’s baby face and the thick rimmed round glasses that aren’t scoring him any points in the intimidation factor, the glare wouldn’t even intimidate a baby. Obviously it doesn’t work on Woojin either, considering he now has a funny look on his face, like he’s trying to restrain his laughter—and it takes all of Jihoon’s might not to pout.

Damn him and his tendency for pouting. (This is likely attributed to the fact pouting does help him get what he wants, because honestly, if he can’t work intimidation then he might as well try another tactic, but some of it is also because Jihoon’s gotten so used to pouting at the face of the mirror that some of it translates to pouting during real life situations, too. Inappropriate real life situations, maybe, because Park Woojin’s barely a friend and is mostly an acquaintance, yet here Jihoon is, trying not to pout.)

“I don’t get why I’m doing this.” In the end, Woojin hands his phone over to Jihoon, who opens the music application almost immediately as he gets his hands on the gadget. The list of songs (an impressive amount of 3583, this Jihoon figures out after a particularly long scroll, long enough it gets him to start playing elevator music in his head) are diverse enough in genre: Woojin has some hip hop, indie, as well as movie soundtracks. Jihoon even spies a song from The Lion King, but wisely keeps his mouth shut, though fighting back a smirk is a more difficult task than what he’d expected.

He shifts through the songs in his head, although he still has the phone held in his hands; somehow, it just makes things easier to skim through the songs, and reorganize them to fit within his song organizing system that runs rampant in his mind. This process takes him a little under four minutes, and it’s four minutes Woojin seems to be bothered by, if Jihoon’s judging from the fidgeting and twitching of his dormant arms.

“Be patient.” Jihoon meant to keep the words recited in his head, but inadvertently the words fall through the crack. Rather than taking it back, he acts as if he’d intended for the words to be said, and flashes Woojin an enigmatic smile before resuming his retreat into his headspace, getting involved in the last few steps before he manages to find his breakthrough.

When he does find it, he snaps his fingers (unnecessary but at the same time, it’s nice for the effects!), and meets Woojin’s confused stare with a bright-eyed one of his own. “I’ve got the first step in mind!”

Woojin blinks. “O… kay?”

Jihoon strangles the urge to roll his eyes, reminding himself that this is the first time Woojin’s worked with him, and might not be used to his unorthodox method of teaching. There is, after all, a reason why he’s one of Seongwoo’s favourite pupils (or as Seongwoo likes to call them, his “little ducklings”) despite the fact he hasn’t headlined, or even performed, in a single one of his productions.

“I think you need to find your love for theatre.” At Woojin’s lost look, Jihoon chooses to resume, instead of staying silent for too long and letting Woojin get the wrong idea of what he’s attempting to get across. “I’m not saying I’m going to force it onto you, but you won’t be able to perform to the best you can if you view the entire thing as a joke.”

“Are you a mindreader?” Woojin practically leaps away from Jihoon, hands swatted in front of him, as if that might be enough to fit away a fortune teller. “Only Guanlin knows I still don’t take this thing seriously!”

Jihoon snorts, and this time, he doesn’t bother to fight the urge to roll his eyes, obviously unimpressed. “You’re dense as hell, you know that?”

“What gives?” Woojin says defensively, obviously taking it as a slight against his intellect.

“Anyone can see you’re still not giving this your all, Woojin,” explains Jihoon with as much patience as he can conjure. It’s not exactly much, but it’s still something, given he hasn’t resorted to catching the other in a headlock in frustration.  “Like it or not, though, you have to suck it up and just… like it, I guess.”

Woojin crosses his arms in front of his chest. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

Jihoon casts a look at the list of tracks. “You listen to a lot of genres, but I can see that you’ve got a couple of punk rock songs. Did you know there’s a broadway version to some of Green Day’s songs?”

Considering the widening of Woojin’s eyes and how his arms fall slack, Jihoon would bet his favourite beret (the red one he’d bought in Paris two years ago) on the other not knowing. “Really?”

Against himself, Jihoon smiles. “Yeah. Here, take a listen.” He searches the song on Woojin’s Spotify application (bless him for having the premium membership, or else it’d be a pain to shuffle through the songs individually), and finding it, he hands over the right part of the earphone to Woojin, who puts it on without a second thought. Although Woojin darts his eyes expectantly on the other pair, Jihoon ignores it, and inserts it into his own ear.

In the corner of his eyes, he can see Woojin making a face, but he doesn’t voice his complain; so this could constitute as a win in Jihoon’s book.

He clicks on the song, and the result is immediate. Music blasts through the earphones in moderate volume, and at first, Woojin is visibly hesitant at the rendition of one of the most played songs on his phone (Jihoon had checked, and it was snugly seated on number 16, the first being the Batman theme song), but as the song continues to progress, he relaxes, and even begins to bob his head to the beat.

Jihoon succumbs to the gnawing urge to smirk in triumph. The first step of his mission, now accomplished.

“Not bad,” admits Woojin, albeit grudging. “I guess this isn’t too bad.”

“Not bad,” echoes Jihoon with no little amount of incredulity. Woojin appears to be enjoying the cover, and all he says about it is ‘not bad’? Jihoon’s not saying that he calls bullshit, but he calls bullshit. “Guess I’ll have to give you homework until you can give a higher compliment than ‘not bad’.” He makes air quotes, finding sadistic pleasure in Woojin’s paling complexion.

“You’d give out homework?”

“I have to get the job done somehow.” Jihoon shrugs, like that explains everything. It kind of does. “I can’t make you improve by leaps and bounds if we only do this, what? Once a week? Every two weeks? That’s why I said we should figure out a schedule,” he stresses the word, and mirrors Woojin’s frown. It’s not as if he’s particularly thrilled about this either. “You’re not the only one who’s seeing this as a burden, you know. I have to take care of the costume designs as well, and helping you takes some hours of that off my agenda.”

Woojin gnaws his lower lip at the admission, and in contrast to the upbeat song, his crestfallen expression shows some regret. Jihoon memorizes the picture in his head, remembering to reference this when, at some point, they’ll eventually have to practice facial expressions while acting. “Yeah, you’re right,” he gruffly says, and takes the earbud out of his ear, letting it dangle slightly above the ground. Jihoon, affronted by the careless treatment of the device, tugs it up, and keeps it clenched on his palm. “I should’ve considered your situation more. Sorry.”

Jihoon would be lying if he said he wasn’t pleasantly surprised at the admission. Contrary to the rumors he’s heard of him, Woojin’s not as difficult as he’d been led to think; this might even be the first time in a while someone owned up to their mistake to him, and while that might not mean shit in someone else’s books, it means something in Jihoon’s.

While Jihoon is not much for moral codes and ethics, he knows better than anyone else when to appreciate effort when it is given.

“I see something in you, you know,” he says, and it’s so out of the blue that Woojin chokes on his own spit. “The same thing that Seongwoo sees, too. Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered why he gave you a pretty major role, even though you lack the kind of experience that nearly everyone else has.”

“Uh…” The other boy’s brows have furrowed together in puzzlement, and Jihoon sighs, taking the earphones off his ears and pocketing that (and his phone) in his pocket, before turning on his heel to face Woojin directly.

He makes sure to look at Woojin in the eyes when he continues. “You’ve got potential. It’s unpolished, definitely, and it’s going to be hard to dig out, but I think we can do it.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we. Why else do you think he’d assigned me to help you out?”

Woojin hums, but the corners of his mouth twitch, fighting a smile. “Are you a professional acting trainer on the side or something?”

“Or something,” affirms Jihoon, plastering the most innocent smile he can create. “Now, don’t forget to watch the following movies, they’re all musicals and you could stand to learn a thing or two—”

The groan Woojin lets out is loud enough that it distracts Jihoon from the words he’d meant to say. “I thought you weren’t serious about the homework thing.”

“Of course I was serious!” Jihoon eyes Woojin’s slouching posture, the awkward way he holds himself together, all to the hastily combed hair he proudly sports. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

NOW PLAYING: Track 1 of CD 2 — Eugene.

When Woojin meets Hyungseob on Monday, it’s purely coincidental. Neither of them share the same classes, and meet, with a stroke of what Woojin would like to call fate (except it probably isn’t and it’s just his ability to be at the right place at the right time, sometimes), a few steps short of the cafeteria.

What’s even more coincidental is the fact that the both of them are alone: Woojin doesn’t have Guanlin hanging off his arm (though that might be blamed to Guanlin’s absence on Monday, something about his throat being sore after practicing singing all day on Sunday), and Hyungseob, on an occasion that comes once in a blue moon, doesn’t have his regular group of friends crowding around him. No Justin Huang (and thank God for that, because Woojin has had enough of the blown up messages in the dance team group chat because of him), no Lee Euiwoong (who’s perfectly nice but also just so perfect in general it makes Woojin wonder if he’s an android sent to infiltrate their high school), and no Choi Seunghyuk (odd as it is, Woojin can’t remember much of him—maybe because he seems to be the most invisible in their group?). Last year, the group also had a senior named Zhu Zhengting, but he’d graduated—last Woojin’s heard of him, he’d just begun a traditional dance program in China.

“Oh.” Woojin stops short, face morphing into something resembling surprise. At first, it seems as if Hyungseob means to ignore him and continue walking, but at the last moment, his feet drags into a stop, and he shoves a small, hasty smile Woojin’s way.

“Woojin, hello,” he greets, raising his hand in a single wave. “Guanlin’s not here with you?” He cranes his neck, as if he thought he could find the giant stalking Woojin from behind. Hyungseob doesn’t find him, though, so he purses his lips, and returns to viewing Woojin with a ghost of a smile.

There’s something odd about the picture this paints. Maybe Woojin isn’t as close to Hyungseob now as he was in the past, but he’d like to think he knows Hyungseob well enough to spot a fake smile from a mile away. And this? This isn’t even as energetic as all of Hyungseob’s fake smiles tend to be, and that strikes a sense of worry in his chest, racing off speculations in his head.

“Hyungseob… are you okay?”

The smile (but could it even be called that?) fades away, and Hyungseob’s chapped lips narrow into a thin line, weighed down ever so slightly by a featherlight frown. His gaze wavers, like he doesn’t know whether to keep looking at Woojin or to retract it to the floor, but he takes a deep breath, shoulders squaring and fists clenching, and hardens his resolve to maintain eye contact with Woojin, whose whispers of worry in his head grows louder in volume by the second.

“Of course I am.” The tell of his lie is his own hesitance, because even if Hyungseob is a good actor, there are just some things that Woojin can see underneath. The flaky façade he wears like a mantle, right at the present moment, is one of them. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You…”

You look sad.

The words scald Woojin’s tongue, and he wretches with the itch to say them. But something tells him that now might not be the time; so, against his own wishes, he forces himself to stay quiet, instead throwing on a smile so artificial it’d make someone from customer service proud. “Sorry, it’s nothing. Maybe I was seeing things.”

Something like disappointment flashes in Hyungseob’s face, but it’s gone almost as fast as it comes, and it leaves Woojin wondering if he’d imagined it in the first place. Maybe he’s just projecting.

“Where’s Guanlin?” Hyungseob says instead, making Woojin remember he hadn’t answered his initial question.

Laughing to hide his embarrassment, Woojin stretches his hand upward, and reaches for the back of his shoulder, rubbing it in a nervous habit. “He’s sick. Got a case of the sore throat, you know, from practicing and everything. You’re not with your friends?”

“No, they’re up on the roof. I wasn’t feeling heights, I guess.” Hyungseob laughs, and the sound is so soft that Woojin’s unable to resist the smile that creeps onto his mouth, lifting up its corners. “Do you want to eat together?”

Woojin gulps at the offer, and his mind is already coming up with all the scenarios of how things could go wrong—most of said scenarios being Woojin fucking up and making a mess of himself in front of his longtime crush. Knowing Hyungseob, the offer was meant to be a friendly invitation, because Hyungseob is all things nice and everything else that Woojin will never be, but still. This is an opportunity. It could even be The opportunity, but Woojin knowing himself, would probably say something stupid before the bell rings, and maybe Hyungseob would never want to talk to him again, but—

“Of course!” the words come out in a flurry, and he slips over a syllable or two, but it’s still audible, if the renewed grin Hyungseob wears is anything telling. “If you want I could get us a table while you get your food?” Although the cafeteria is usually big enough to supply a place to eat for a majority of the student body, Woojin doesn’t want to take any chances. If he’s going to eat with Hyungseob, then he better get them the best seats the cafeteria has. Or at least, the remainder of the best seats that the cafeteria has, considering it’s been fifteen minutes since the lunch bell rang and by now, all of the good seats near the window (the view isn’t necessarily idyllic, considering it’s their basketball field, but it’s a nice place to get some natural light in) must’ve been taken; but if he runs, maybe he can get them one of the seats that isn’t right next to a dumpster or squished between, like, ten other tables.

Hyungseob blinks, but his grin never fades. “Okay, sure! I’ll try to hurry so you won’t wait up too long for me.”

Please, Ahn Hyungseob could take an entire year picking out his food, and Woojin would be the one to say sorry.

But, since he can’t say that out loud without making his crush known to the world, Woojin settles for a weak smile, and swings a fisted arm over his chest in a gesture so awkward it makes him wonder what he’s doing with his life. “Take your time!”

Though unconvinced, Hyungseob warily drawls, “alright then.”

Luckily, there is an available seat that isn’t so shitty in its location, so Woojin practically leaps to take a seat, claiming the table as his. Theirs. Whatever. The sudden movement results in dirty glares from some others, and from the seat on his right, he can hear a girl muttering, “it’s that kid again, he’s so annoying.”

If the words hurt him, he doesn’t let it show, and settles for drumming his fingers tirelessly against the table while he waits for Hyungseob to finish picking out his lunch.

When Hyungseob waddles his way towards their table, he’s carrying two trays, and it takes Woojin a snap of Hyungseob’s fingers to snap him out of his trance, brain short circuiting as he realizes that Hyungseob even picked out Woojin’s food, unless he’s suddenly had his appetite increase tremendously and now needs to eat two full trays for lunch. “Is that for me?” he decides to ask, and promptly hating how hopeful he sounds. Woojin tries to bury the hope somewhere deep in the gravel of his heart, because if it ends up not being for him, he’s going to be the most humiliated he’s felt in months.

“Of course it is, silly.” Hyungseob laughs, his smile so radiant it drives sunflowers to shame. “I don’t know what you like, though. Or, what you like now, to be more precise. I picked out whatever I could remember you used to like back then—hopefully your tastebuds haven’t changed too much?” Even if Woojin’s tastebuds had done a complete 180, it’s Hyungseob who picked out his food, so even if Hyungseob asked him to eat anchovies—and he loathes them, really—he would’ve grabbed a mouthful and shoved it in his mouth.

Fuck, he’s hopeless.

“Don’t worry, I like it!” Woojin hasn’t even thoroughly scanned the contents of the tray, but he makes sure the words come out with enthusiasm, and lifts his tray off Hyungseob’s wavering arms. It’s only after he’s set the tray down on the table that he gets a proper look, and viewing the tray consisted almost entirely of protein with a little side of carrots as the vegetables, he decides that, yes, it is to his liking, and it’s not just because Hyungseob was the one who picked it out for him.

They eat, mostly in silence, save for the clangs that result from their eating utensils touching their plates and that one second where Woojin needed to pause to burp. (That was embarrassing as hell, and it was because Hyungseob was there; if he wasn’t, then Woojin would have little to no qualms about burping in public.)

“You know,” Woojin finds himself saying after the momentary silence that ensues after his loud burp, “I’m here for you. Just, you know. If you ever want to talk… or something, anything.”

“That’s sudden.” Hyungseob sips on the straw connected to his carton of milk, makes a noise of satisfaction at the taste, and peers at Woojin shrewdly. “What’s this about?”

“I don’t know.” Woojin does know, actually. Maybe he might not be able to place it, not yet, at least, but there’s something that strikes him as off regarding Hyungseob’s recent behavior. More subdued, and while being subdued isn’t a bad thing, it’s Hyungseob, who’s almost always personifying a bright ray of sunshine—that’s what worries Woojin, but if he spills all of this to Hyungseob at this moment, over lunch that’s barely edible and the only salvation of their taste buds being the drinks that weren’t produced by the school, that seems like shitty timing more than anything. “I just wanted you to know.”

Hyungseob’s mouth releases the straw, and he gently places it back down onto his tray. An undecipherable look crosses his eyes, yet, he still musters a lopsided smile. Weak, maybe. Shaky, almost definitely. But, it’s a smile, and as far as Woojin can tell, none of it artificial.

Right now, that’s enough.

NOW PLAYING: Track 2 of CD 2 — Another Night On Mars.

Visiting Guanlin’s house after school doesn’t turn out to be as smooth sailing as Woojin initially expected. But then again, it isn’t as if he’d prepared himself for the onslaught of rapid fire Mandarin and the screeching that ensued almost immediately after he’d shown up on the doorstep, so, that’s something.

“You’re Guanlin’s friend?” a pretty girl who resembles Guanlin to a considerable degree asks him as soon as the house has settled back into a semblance of its regular normalcy, and she places her hands on Woojin’s shoulders, leaning in to inspect every detail of his face. Frankly, it makes him feel like he’s being inspected underneath a microscope, and small spaces like these (or lack of personal space, to be more precise) makes him uncomfortable, but he attempts to smile, still. Maybe it’s not as good of an attempt as he’d expected, considering the disappointed sigh that erupts from the girl almost as soon as he attempts the look.

“I'm Park Woojin, and yeah, I’m Guanlin’s friend.” Woojin wants to bow, to show some formality and proper manners, but if he does it in this position, he’d just end up bumping his head against the girl’s chest and that’s really not a situation he wants to go for. In place of that, he settles himself for a stocky nod of his head, hoping it’ll do the job. Not the most polite thing he’s ever done, but even that isn’t much competition.

The girl, who Woojin figures must be a few years older than him, gives him back his personal space after three more beats of scrutinization. Maybe she’s found whatever it was she’d been looking for, or maybe she’s just grown bored. Whichever the case is, Woojin’s just glad he has a wider space to breathe, now.

“Why are you here?” She narrows her eyes, cocking her hip to the side. If she really is Guanlin’s sister, then Woojin is shocked at how it seems like all the intimidating genes went to her, because frankly, the aura she emanates can make Woojin gulp. On the other hand, Guanlin is, as far as Woojin knows, a big baby stuck in the body of a giant teenager.

“Guanlin told me he’s sick.” He holds up the plastic bag in his hand, letting it dangle in front of the girl’s face, a rustle carried by the wind. “I came with food. I mean, if that’s fine. If not I could just go home.” That’d mean he’d also wasted the time he had spent earlier in the kitchen to brew soup, which probably doesn’t even taste that good (but as his mom would say, it’s the thought that counts), but he could always reheat it and give it to Guanlin at school. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.

The girl stays silent long enough for Woojin to start feeling awkward, standing right at the entrance of Guanlin’s house holding up a plastic bag, of which the scent of chicken broth is beginning to waft in the air. His arms are beginning to cramp, too, and he masks his discomfort with an awkward curl of his lips.

Right at the exact timing he returns his arm to its former position, she sighs, and moves aside to make way. “His room’s the one with his name on the door. I think he was napping, so… don’t forget to knock.”

“Oh.” Woojin coughs, and now that there’s proper distance between them, he bends his back into a quick bow. “Thank you!”

She eyes him for a moment, and, as if she’s found something in him that she’s been looking for the whole time, she lets a small smile to grow fondly on her lips. Woojin rubs his lower back as he gets himself back into an upright standing position, but makes sure to return the smile, wary as it might be. “Don’t mention it.”

True to her words, Guanlin’s room is the one with his name plastered on the door, and Woojin can recognize the wiry handwriting from a mile away; it’s even more obvious counting in the fact he has it written on red ink, making it contrast starkly against the plain paper it’d been scrawled on. Noise comes out from the crack of the door, but Woojin finds himself unable to discern whether the noise is from a movie, or if it’s music, or if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him; ever since he’s started consuming musicals, he may or may not have begun hearing music in his head. Which, you know, might not be the healthiest indicator of life, but it’s still something.

He raps the knuckles of his hand on the door. Once, twice, until it’s a whole cacophony of knocking—and now that he thinks about it, ‘a whole cacophony of knocking’ sounds like it could be the title of a cheap, third grade musical. (Yes, this is what theatre has done to Park Woojin: sue him.)

“Hold up,” he can hear Guanlin’s cry over the door, and winces when a thud, as well as a loud curse (maybe it’s a curse? It’s in Mandarin, but judging by the context, it sounds like it could be a curse), follows only a few seconds after. Eventually, however, the door swings open; on the other side is Lai Guanlin, with bloodshot eyes and dark rings forming a blue, purplish spot just a few centimeters underneath his lower lashes. Even his lips, usually plump and a healthy flush of red, are chapped and terribly pale. It makes for a picture that stabs a rush of worry into Woojin’s maternal instincts, which is pretty fucking weird, because he’s never really had maternal instincts (or never knew about it) before now. Huh. “Woojin!”

Woojin must’ve failed to hold back a grimace at the sound of Guanlin’s voice—throaty, raspy, all the things that Guanlin’s voice usually never sounds like—judging by the crestfallen turn Guanlin’s expression has gone for; previously a sunny disposition, or at least, as sunny as someone down with sickness can muster.

Shockingly, it was a good try; or maybe, he shouldn’t be so shocked, because this is Lai Guanlin he’s talking about. The kid could look like a puppy even when his back is burdened by the weight of the world: or, in this case, the leading role. (God. When did Woojin grow so fond of him? He’s getting soft, without a doubt; for some reason, though, he doesn’t find himself opposing the feeling as much as he’d had a few days ago.)

“You look awful,” he comments, and before Guanlin can further resemble a kicked puppy, Woojin offers the plastic bag filled with the soup by holding up the bag, pushing it closely towards Guanlin’s loose arm. “I made it. I mean, I don’t know if that’s what you’d like, and I’m not the best cook, but. I figured that’s the best I could do to help.”

Guanlin’s eyes widen as he takes the plastic bag into his hands, and he peers his head inside to check the inside. Woojin tries not to grin at the sight of Guanlin’s head nearly disappearing inside the bag, but he loses his self control the moment Guanlin begins to sniff the contents. “This smells really good!” he cries, although the noise comes out muffled from the plastic. “You made this all by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Guanlin lifts his head from the bag, and the clutch of his fingers tighten, like he’s holding something fragile. Considering it’s broth, it might as well be. “I picked up a few tricks from the kitchen,” Woojin says, as if this explains his ability to cook, and it does: being the only child to a mother who owns a restaurant, he’s had to help out a couple of times in the kitchen, and he’s also been taught a few tricks by the maestro herself. He’s nowhere as good as her, the flavor of his creations not as strong as what his mother can cook up, but he’s decent, and that counts for something. (Counts for something like college, when one day he’ll have to live away from home, and he won’t have to rely on take out or unhealthy instant food if he can make something for himself.)

“This is really nice of you,” compliments Guanlin, and his grin is exactly like the ones he wears when he’s healthy; the only difference lying in the fact that he might be paler than usual, his lips in worse condition. But it’s the same grin, and Woojin gladly returns it with his own. “Come in! We could play video games, if you want. Do you like video games?”

Woojin hasn’t played a video game in about five years, where he’d been playing against Hyungseob in the newest console (of the time) that Hyungseob had received for his birthday, and he doesn’t know the first thing about the games that his classmates rave on and on about nowadays. But, Guanlin’s eyes are filled to the brim with so much hope that Woojin doesn’t have the gall to deny him.

“I guess,” he supposes, and yeah, saying that was worth it if Guanlin’s face of delight is anything to go by. “Maybe you’ll have to walk me through it, though. It’s… been a while.” Would five years constitute as a while, or would it be considered as a pretty damn long period of time? Whichever the answer is, Woojin can’t think much on it, because Guanlin’s pulling him by the sleeve inside his room, long, thin limbs that make up a leg slamming the door shut.

For the first time, Woojin gets a clear view of what Guanlin’s bedroom looks like, and his initial thought is: oh, I’m neater than he is. Not like he’d expected anything less, considering Woojin’s habit of cleaning up whenever he felt uneasy, or bored, and boredom is far from a stranger. Before Guanlin somersaulted into his life, Woojin might’ve even considered boredom to be his only friend. (Now that he thinks about it, that’s just… sad. And a little pathetic. Sadthetic.)

“I haven’t cleaned up in a while,” Guanlin says, with something that sounds something like embarrassment. He hastily throws a blanket over the mess covering his bed, an assortment of half-opened snacks and empty cans, leaving Woojin to wonder why he’d been consuming junk food if he was sick. “I mean, if I’d known you were coming, I would’ve! Really!”

“Guanlin, it’s alright,” Woojin assures, laughing as he does. “You said something about video games?”

“Oh! I did. Come on, sit here!” As Guanlin throws himself onto his bed (a Queen-sized with space patterned sheets that match the pillow cases), he pats on the empty spot next to him, and Woojin takes a seat, sitting crosslegged on the surface. By now, Guanlin’s started to rummage through a container of gadgets on the floor, only stopping after he finds the controllers. “Here you go,” he chirps, handing over one to Woojin. “Let’s see… I think I have a few newer games, and a few older ones, too. I’ve been playing the newest Injustice for a while, though. If you want, we could play that!”

Although Woojin has no idea what Injustice is, he finds himself nodding, succumbing himself to whatever fate lies ahead. He’ll probably lose in whatever it is they’re about to play, and he’s already accepted the fact; as if he’d stand a chance against Guanlin, who seems like an avid enthusiast of video games—contrasting Woojin, who tends to finds himself getting hyped over re-runs of superhero movies on the local channel. (Also, Dancing with the Stars, but that one is a family secret between him and his mom. And maybe Sejeong too, because she’s practically his older sister by everything but blood.)

He sits still as Guanlin gets the game set up, and when that’s done, he begins fiddling with the controller held within his hands as soon as the game starts running. To keep his mind away from his looming, imminent loss, he resolves to stare at the bag containing his chicken soup propped onto Guanlin’s study table, watching how the steam continues to emanate, still, and revels at how hot the water he’d used to make the broth must’ve been. “If you don’t eat it soon, you’ll have to warm it up again before you do. I think it’d taste weird if you ate it cold.”

“Really?” He’s never seen Guanlin stand up that fast before, and nearly jumps when the controller hits his arm in the quick movement it’d taken for the other to get up (and dropping the device in the process.) “I’ll have to eat it as I play, then!” Then, he’s gone, crossing the room in a straight dart just to pick up the bag. When he’s back and safely seated next to Woojin, the controller on his lap despite the fact the main page of the game has begun to greet them, he fumbles with the plastic bag and takes out the food carefully, the plastic spoon that Woojin had supplied following shortly after.

“Here, let me help.” Woojin opens the tray for Guanlin and sets it down on the bed, careful not to let any of the soup that’d managed to get on it to spill onto the sheets; that’d be a mess to clean up. Guanlin carefully dips the spoon onto the soup, and blows on it to subside some of the heat before precariously placing it onto his mouth, taking a small sip to taste it.

Instead of saying anything and alleviating some of Woojin’s nerves, he gulps it all down after the first taste, sighing in something that suspiciously sounds like content afterwards. “This must be the healthiest thing I’ve eaten all day.” Remembering the wrappers hidden underneath the blankets, Woojin’s not surprised. “It tastes really good, too! I didn’t expect it to be this tasty—no offense!”

Frankly, Woojin’s too amused by how quick Guanlin is to reassure Woojin to even feel offended by the unintended slight. Not that he says it, and instead settles for a pleased smile.

“You should be eating more healthy things if you want to get better, Guanlin.” Woojin sighs in exasperation, ignoring Guanlin’s pout. “Do you want Seongwoo to visit your house carrying, what, store bought salad because the star of his show can’t make it to practice?”

Guanlin’s jaw drops in horror. “He wouldn’t really do that, would he?”

“I don’t know.” Woojin fakes an innocent smile, and has to swallow down his laughter, though the shaking of his lips should inform anyone he’s lying; Guanlin doesn’t see it, however, and resumes to stare at Woojin with the eyes of a terrified teenager. “I mean, you know how he is…” he trails off, letting Guanlin’s imagination do the rest.

“You’re right,” Guanlin whimpers, and promptly shoves a spoonful of hot broth into his mouth. For a whole second, he doesn’t take the spoon out of his mouth, and his eyes close at the temperature of the soup. Woojin eyes him with worry, but before he can do anything to help, Guanlin snaps out of the heat induced trance, takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth, letting the tongue bask in the relief from the cold air. “I have to eat healthier,” he says after the fiasco, resolve settling in his eyes like growing flames. “And I have to get better, so that Seongwoo won’t visit me! Could you imagine how bad that’d be? I—I’d even hide in my closet.”

He looks dead serious, to the point that Woojin, against his slippery will, finds himself bursting into laughter, bending down with a hand against his stomach at the image of Guanlin—tall enough to be taller than Seongwoo—stuffing himself inside his closet just because of a visit from the eccentric man. On one hand, Woojin would like to think Guanlin isn’t as dramatic or easily scared as this action might make he seem like, but then again, Guanlin is a baby; this might not be him overreacting, but him being himself, and somehow, that’s as terrifying as it is interesting.

“Hyung, why are you laughing?” Guanlin grumbles, putting on a sour face, even as he continues to devour the soup that Woojin’s made.

“Nothing, nothing,” lies Woojin, catching his breath after his fit of laughter. “Just keep eating your food, Guanlin.”

Guanlin’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “If you say so.”

He resumes to eat, and the bowl is empty in less than five minutes.

(Woojin begins to wonder if Guanlin literally inhales his food instead of eating it regularly, because the bowl had been big enough for him to stuff at least four spoonfuls from his wooden soup spoon.)

NOW PLAYING: Track 3 of CD 2 — Hard Times.

There aren’t many things that can surprise Park Woojin to the point of staggering, but coming into the dance club’s meeting room and seeing Park Jihoon right there, standing out with his neon sweatshirt and tanned orange joggers, is enough to get him to gape, even forgetting to close the door behind him despite Yerim’s annoyed shouting.

“You”—Woojin points a shaky index finger Jihoon’s way, who doesn’t even look like he’s moved by the reaction Woojin is showing—“what are you doing here?”

Jihoon claps his hands together, face contorted in absolute delight that Woojin just can’t relate to right now. “Great, you’re here. I’m here to help you with method acting!”

The statement is loud enough to attract unwarranted attention, namely from Justin Huang who has taken to looking at Woojin with a mixture of glee and confusion. “Method acting? Is that what you ditched club meeting last week for?”

“No!” Apparently, he sounds ridiculous enough that Jihoon’s looking at him in confusion and something that looks a lot like knowing. “… Okay, um, maybe.”

“You didn’t have to go so far to lie about method acting,” comments Yerim, wrinkling her button nose. “If you got a boyfriend and you wanted to hang out with him instead of going to a club meeting, you could’ve just said so.”

“Yeah!” Justin’s quick to pick it up. “You didn’t have to ask him—poor guy, by the way, I feel bad for him—to partake in the lie, too. Shame on you, Woojin. Dishonor on you, your family, and your cow!”

“I don’t even have a cow—”

Samuel, who’s been staying silent next to Justin, finally speaks up in the middle of the stirring commotion: “I’m sorry about Justin, he’s been watching too many medieval era movies.” Figures.

Woojin shakes his head, as if that can shake the entire dance club and Jihoon away too, but unfortunately, they’re still there when he’s gone back to his silent, standing position. “Why are you really here?” he ends up asking Jihoon, sounding as dead tired as he is exasperated.

Jihoon rolls up the cuffs of his ridiculous sweater. Woojin doesn’t know much about fashion (correction: he knows next to nothing about it), but the voice of reason in his head is chanting at him to let it burn. “I told you.” He sighs, patting the hem of his sleeves that now barely graze his elbow. This makes Woojin wonder if he’d done so to prepare himself for a fight, but then again, even Jihoon’s not that eccentric—or is he? Whatever the answer is, he isn’t dying to find out. “We’re going to do method acting.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’ve got to be in the club room, too!” Woojin says in a hushed whisper, still aware of the people that surround them. It’s not as if they’re not aware of his disposition in the theatre club by now, but still, it isn’t something Woojin wants to blow up; he’s already getting enough passing comments about him and leather jackets and greasy, oily hair (because apparently that’s the customary hairstyle of Kenickie) as it is. Does he need more? No—but maybe, when hell freezes over.

“Think, Woojin.” Jihoon’s index finger pokes his temple, and Woojin flinches away. It doesn’t deter Jihoon at the slightest. “What better way to pressure you into method acting than having you do it as Kenickie in the middle of something… Woojin-y?”

“No,” he refuses without a single ounce of hesitation, glaring at the smirking Jihoon. He wants to wipe away the infuriating smirk, but he remembers to keep himself in check, because getting into a scuffle with Park Jihoon over him being infuriating is highly uncharacteristic of himself. Thinking about the imaginary scuffle, however, isn’t something he’s above of. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Jihoon sings, and in his head, Woojin (very, very begrudgingly) would admit he doesn’t sound half bad. Though it does makes him inwardly question why Jihoon doesn’t participate in the actual performance, he lets the question sift to the back of his head—that’s probably an unimportant train of thought. “I thought you wanted me to help you polish your potential?”

“Well, yes,” confesses Woojin, raising his voice slightly, “but not like this!”

“Go big or go home, Woojin.” Jihoon is enjoying every last second of this, if his strangled laughter and quivering shoulders are anything to go by. Right at this moment, Woojin decides he’s an infuriating little shit. “Next time, I’ll corner you in class, so might as well get things over now.”

“In class?” Woojin says, obviously affronted. “Can you even do that?”

Jihoon snorts. “Trust me, you don’t want to know half the things I’m capable of.” He’s right, Woojin doesn’t want to know. Jihoon’s terrifying enough as he is, which is funny, considering he’s got the face of a baby and the stature of a shortie, his cherub cheeks not doing anything to help him look scary, but Woojin still finds him more terror inducing than someone along the lines of Ha Minho. The hidden depth, he figures, is what seems daunting. There’s something about Jihoon that just screams he’s capable of anything, maybe even hiding a body in the middle of the woods (and Woojin’s slightly unconvinced that this hasn’t happened before, but only slightly, because that’s how scary Jihoon can be), and Woojin would’ve resolved not to get on his bad side if it wasn’t for the fact he could be annoying as hell.

“Fine.” He has to will away a snarl at how pleased Jihoon looks, and woefully ignores Justin Huang’s shrieking fit of cackles—if he wasn’t (very, very secretly and also in a moderately minuscule amount) somehow fond of Justin, Woojin’s sure he would’ve decked him by now. “… Do your thing.”

Jihoon links Woojin’s arm with his, and Woojin doesn’t even bother to resist. One way or another, Jihoon would get his way, and Woojin finds it less stressing to just go along with his whims. “I’ll have to borrow this guy for a while,” he says to the other members of the dance team, with a smile that Woojin would even classify as nice if he wasn’t already aware of the hidden meanings that every one of Jihoon’s smiles hold. “But when I get back, he’s going to be someone new.”

“Are you taking him to a plastic surgery clinic?” Samuel asks, eyes wide.

Woojin uses his free hand to slap a palm over his face, groaning in embarrassment. Why is this his life, again? He’d lament over needing better friends, except he’s not sure what Jihoon is, hovering between the line of acquaintanceship and friendship in a way that he can’t quite figure out.

“Nope,” chirps Jihoon, unshaken by the remark. Woojin wishes he had that kind of composure with his own actions—he still thinks, mostly in the middle of class, if he really hadn’t forgotten to turn off the oven. “You’ll see.”

And, in the end, they do see. Jihoon isn’t a terrible acting coach, considering that was Woojin’s first experience of being actually taught by him instead of blasting music through the phone, and he explains things so clearly that Woojin wonders if he had a mentor of his own; except, that’d be ridiculous, because if he did then surely he would’ve been a performer instead of staying backstage. Even within the fifteen minute timespan he takes to work on Woojin, Jihoon all but barks out the imperfections within his posture and expressions, and by the time Woojin re-enters the dance club’s room, this time as the greaser Kenickie and not outcasted rebel Park Woojin, he finds it outstandingly easy to act, like Kenickie’s a part of him instead of being just a name, repeated countless times, on a piece of paper.

“You did great,” Jihoon compliments him once Woojin’s gotten down from the high of being Kenickie, and he has to blink a few times to remind himself that he isn’t an actual Grease character and is instead a normal high school student, but Jihoon smiles knowingly, like he knows the exact train of thoughts that Woojin’s having. If he did know—Woojin wouldn’t be surprised. “Like I said, you’ve got potential.”

‘Yeah.” Woojin laughs, and it’s euphoric as it is shocked. “I have potential,” he repeats the words in a daze, but can’t fight away the stupidly wide grin that breaks out on his face.

“And don’t you let any of it go to waste,” mutters Jihoon, so softly that Woojin barely picks it up. When he turns to ask what the other had meant by it, Jihoon’s already turned to get his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. “I’ve got to go home. I’ll see you.”

Jihoon has taken three steps when Woojin catches up with him, his own bag haphazardly thrown over the crook of his neck. “I’ll walk with you!” he volunteers himself, and while Jihoon never pauses his steps, the curious tilt of his head speaks loudly enough for the them to hear. “You’ve helped me a lot today. Even though I didn’t want to, at first,” he mumbles, shamefaced. “Besides, maybe you’d like the company?” Woojin meant that to be a statement, he really did, but at the sight of Jihoon’s limpid eyes, it slipped into a question.

He’s not taken aback. He’s not.

“The company could’ve been better,” teases Jihoon, faking a high-pitched whine, eliciting nervous laughter from Woojin. “But I guess you’ll have to do.”

Woojin’s not saying there was a moment before, but if there was a moment, then the statement had been enough to shatter it into little pieces strewn across the dirty high school floor. “What do you mean I’ll have to do? I’m perfectly fine company!” he defends, half-serious, knowing that Jihoon’s joking—but at the same time, he might be serious, and Woojin wouldn’t have known any better: he hasn’t known Jihoon long enough to recognize when Jihoon’s messing around and when he’s not. Even when he’s gotten to know the other more, Woojin would still have lingering doubts on Jihoon’s readability; the boy puts up a wall between what he shows and what he’s thinking of so strongly it’d put swindlers to shame.

“Are you, really?” Jiho.on scrutinizes him, taking a break of a few seconds from staring ahead. It doesn’t result in serious injury, though that could be attributed to the fact that the path they’re taking doesn’t have sudden turns or sudden appliances. Woojin and his previous misfortune of once hitting his head on lockers twice in a row can’t relate. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Oi, Park Jihoon.”

Jihoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he wheezes through his chuckles. “Oh, we’re here.” His tracks falter as the sight of the doorway looms ahead, the school gate a whole twenty steps from the immediate exit. (Woojin knows this because he’s counted it before; why? He doesn’t even remember, though he’d reckon it was boredom.)

“I’ll see you, I guess.” Woojin raises his hand in a wave, but instead of nodding, or even waving back, Jihoon looks at him quizzically. It sends a wave of unease down Woojin’s spine, like there’s something he’s missing. Is he supposed to smile?

“What, you’re not going to walk me all the way to the gate?” that’s what Jihoon says instead of goodbye, and Woojin feels his heart skip a beat—he wasn’t expecting that.

“Oh, I didn’t think—”

“… Woojin, stop.” A hand stops Woojin’s own from clambering to tie his shoelaces, because if he’s going to walk Jihoon all the way to the gate then he’d have to retie them, considering they’ve fallen loose at some point. He meets Jihoon’s face like this: the both of them stooped down, a smirk that reeks of amusement standing too close to the awkward, downturned pull of his mouth. “I was kidding. I can walk myself back.”

“I’m still not used to you,” admits Woojin, surprising himself with the courage he wrenches to help him not flinch away when Jihoon peers in. “I mean—I get that you might be the type to joke around or something with your friends, but we’re barely even civil, and—”

Jihoon puts his hands up in a universal signal for Woojin to quiet down, but Woojin has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing when Jihoon falls to the ground at the loss of balance that his hands had brought. “I know you want to laugh,” he mutters, and stands up from his spot on the ground, wiping away the dust that’d clung onto the bottom of his pants. Woojin follows suit, stretching his knees back to its standing position, sighing at the relief it brought. “Woojin, I’m going to make this blunt.”

“Um.” Woojin tries not to feel nervous, not that trying automatically translates to succeeding. “Okay.”

“Messing with you is fun.” Jihoon shrugs, like he hasn’t just made a statement that’s frozen Woojin’s stature. “I’ll stop if you want me to, though.”

“Is this like, a friendship thing?” Woojin manages to say through his nearly frozen tongue, and something that feels a lot like hope makes his chest warm. “Or am I reading too much into this?”

The louder, more realistic part of Woojin is skeptical of it being anything but the latter. Gaining two friends in the span of a few weeks seems to be too good for Woojin, because even having Guanlin stick around seems like nothing short of a miracle. Having Jihoon becoming his friend could even seem like too much; just last week, they barely talked, but if Jihoon finds himself comfortable enough to pull small jokes with Woojin, then—

“It’s a friendship thing, I guess.” Jihoon smiles, and he doesn’t know how much the words mean to Woojin, who’s beginning to feel the start of a wide, reckless grin. “Are you okay with that?”

“Did you even need to ask?”

At the wavering of Jihoon’s pupils, alongside the repeated opening and closing of his mouth—like he has something to say, but just doesn’t know how; apparently, he did.

“I am,” Woojin assures, and this might be the happiest he’s looked in front of Jihoon, but now he has another friend. And friendship is fragile: one wrong move and he could find himself returning to his friendless disposition, and even if he was used to it before, now he’s gotten used to the banter, the smiles, the chatter that constant company brings. What’s terrifying is how he doesn’t know if he could ever go back—doesn’t know what would become of him if Guanlin (or now, Jihoon) decides to step away from his life, leaving Woojin all alone, back to square one. It’s not dependancy. Woojin functions well enough without his friends, but they still mean something to Woojin, maybe lesser than the extent of what he thinks of his mother, but certainly enough for him to care about them more than he cares about himself. (Is that healthy? He has the feeling it isn’t, but by now, Woojin never thinks twice about putting others’ happiness above his own.

In Sejeong’s words, he’s only three steps away from being a martyr, but the last step for that is dying, and she’d pull him back from the jaws of death if he ever so much as thinks of doing that.

“Are you sure?” Jihoon’s mouth twists into something that isn’t a frown, but isn’t a smile either. “No take backs,” he warns, but Woojin doesn’t even have the mind to think about taking the words back.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Woojin’s never done this before, but he gives it a shot; raising his hand in a fist, holding it expectantly in the air, until Jihoon gives in with a sigh, bumping it with his. The notion is far from grand, and it’s simple, maybe even listed amongst the most basic forms of friendship, but Woojin smiles, anyway; it makes his chest feel a little lighter when he spies the semblance of a smile on Jihoon’s chapped, but somehow, still pink, lips.

“See you tomorrow?” Woojin has the feeling he’s sounding way too hopeful, but Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind, if the casual nod is anything to go by.

“Yes. I’ll see you.” Jihoon waves at Woojin one last time before he leaves, never looking back. If he did, then he might’ve seen Woojin standing still in his place, never moving a single inch despite the ticking clock (there are dishes to clean and clothes to wash and hang to dry, after all), watching Jihoon’s retreating back until he disappears from Woojin’s line of sight.

Why was I even staring at him? Woojin finds himself questioning, but the answer is right there, niggling the back of his mind, stubbornly unspoken.

NOW PLAYING: Track 4 of CD 2 — The Middle.

On the following day, Jihoon begins to sit with Woojin and Guanlin during lunch. Their table is far from crowded, considering it’d fit five people at the very least and they’re only a trio, but with Guanlin adamantly squishing himself next to Woojin like a territorial puppy, therefore leaving Jihoon to sit across them with dry amusement showing all over his face, it might as well be a party.

“So he’s friends with us now?” Guanlin’s been playing with the food on his tray with his plastic fork for nearly five minutes now, eyeing Jihoon like he’s a threat to his and Woojin’s friendship. “I was never informed.”

“Maybe that’s because you literally just got back to school after taking a break for a couple of days?” returns Jihoon, smiling wryly. “Nice to have you back, Guanlin.”

Guanlin’s eyes narrow in further suspicion. “… Thank you,” he says warily, and points his index and middle finger simultaneously at his eyes before facing them towards Jihoon. “I’m watching you.”

This is getting ridiculous, Woojin decides, and brings down his own palms to lower Guanlin’s raised fingers. “Guanlin, stop it,” he sighs, trying not to let the younger’s wounded look get to him. “Just because I’ve found another friend, doesn’t mean I’ll forget about you all of a sudden.” Admittedly, the words are more embarrassing said than thought, and Woojin refuses to look up from his plate of pudding (at least, it looks like a pudding, he hasn’t grown the balls to actually taste it) after he says them. Still, an unusual silence blankets around the table, and when he finds the courage to look up, both Guanlin and Jihoon are staring at him; the former in wide-eyed respect, the latter like he’s about to laugh his ass off at any given moment.

“Besides,” he tries not to stutter, and succeeds, mostly, “I think you’d like Jihoon.” He’s actually not sure of that theory at all, but might as well say it, considering his words have the potential to weigh significantly on Guanlin’s overall image of the other student. “He’s…” Annoying but somehow easy to get along with, most of the time? “Jihoon’s eccentric.”

“Eccentric.” Jihoon raises his brows, high enough they disappear underneath his fringe.

“What, you’ve got a better word?” Woojin retorts, shoving a spoonful of his salad into his mouth. At the stale taste, he tries not to spit it out, and mostly succeeds; only choking and looking like he wants to barf when he swallows it down, maybe, but none of it are catered off his system. So, there’s that, at least.

“No, I guess,” sighs Jihoon in defeat, right before fixing Guanlin a slight grin. “You should listen to Woojin. He thinks you’d like me.”

Woojin rolls his eyes. Of course. “No need to be condescending about it either, Park.”

“Who said I was?” Jihoon fakes an affronted look, going far enough to stick a hand over his chest as his face morphs into that of good ol’ scandalization. “Park.”

“Okay, stop it,” protests Guanlin, as if he hadn’t been the one to voice his suspicions less than five minutes ago; either way, not so long ago that Woojin’s plate of pudding is still untouched, and he doesn’t have the urge to take even a small bite of it—maybe he’ll just give it to someone who does, but then again, both Guanlin and Jihoon have taste. “If Woojin approves of you, then I guess you can’t be that bad,” he admits grudgingly, corners of his mouth weighed down by a deeply set frown. “But I still don’t trust you.”

“Never asked for your trust.” Jihoon salutes, completely off-handed, and out of context it would’ve made Woojin to scratch his head. “The two of you are coming to practice after school, aren’t you?”

Guanlin nods fervently, and his tray shakes at the jittering of his legs. “Of course! I missed a day or so, but I’m not going to miss any more.” His lips set off into a determined purse—Woojin smiles fondly at the sight. “Did I miss anything important, though? Woojin hasn’t told me.”

“Hm.” Jihoon’s brows furrow, and he begins to twirl his fork around the soggy pasta that’s only half-eaten on his plate. “I don’t know if this would count as important, but it’s… a little worrying, I guess?”

For some reason, Woojin doesn’t have a good feeling about this. The pudding that suddenly wiggles in his plate agrees, too.

“Hyungseob hasn’t been performing like usual,” Jihoon spills, and sighs in something akin to frustration. “Woojin, do you know what I’m talking about?”

Numbly, Woojin shakes his head. “Um… no, I’ve never seen him perform before,” he says, quiet and subdued. Call him a bad friend, but he’s never watched any of Hyungseob’s productions before—although Woojin does know that Hyungseob is, arguably, the star of the theatre club, and shines the brightest when he’s on the stage. Maybe the latter is more of secondhand information than anything else, but Woojin has never doubted Hyungseob’s capability. He might not seem intimidating or particularly threatening, but there’s always been a fire in Hyungseob’s eyes that burns and courses blindingly.

If he’d been searching instead of just looking, maybe Woojin would’ve noticed the way the fire’s starting to burn out.

“I’ve worked with Hyungseob since middle school. This is the first time I’ve seen him so unenthusiastic about something.” Jihoon frowns, and the twirling of his fork slows down. “It’s just, weird, I guess. Usually he’d be bouncing off the walls about memorizing his lines or begging me to show him the sketches of his stage outfits, but he’s been quiet. Maybe there’s just something going on—like, too many assignments, or something.” But even through the spoken lies, Jihoon’s face made of contorted worry says it all; even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. “It’s been a busy start of the year.”

Even Guanlin, who’s usually the last to pick up on the atmosphere of a situation, realizes the worrying implications. He’s stopped bouncing his legs, and has begun to chew on his lip, the way he always does when he begins to fret.

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Guanlin asks, big eyes peering at Jihoon, who begins to look uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” Jihoon says, and puts down his fork. He smiles, but there’s no happiness in it, only a sad, lingering kind of sorrow. It sets off some alarm for Woojin, who begins to suspect that Jihoon might even be able to relate to Hyungseob’s current troubles, whatever they are—and the previous thoughts he’s had before suddenly seem less ridiculous than he’d initially crossed them off to be. “I really don’t know.”

NOW PLAYING: Track 5 of CD 2 — You’re the One that I Want.

The first scene they work on is the scene of Somi and Guanlin (as Sandy and Danny, respectively) at the beach, and Woojin is happy about this for a total of two things: the first is he’s absent from this scene, meaning he can spend the time watching them rehearse and get chewed out every few minutes after a mistake—that’s usually not even big, but apparently, Seongwoo is a ruthless perfectionist or something?—with the worry of himself getting chewed out still weeks ahead (he’s heard rumors of how Seongwoo can make them work on one scene for longer than three meetings, and that amount of dedication thrown into practice must be why the theatre is as acclaimed as it is). Second, it’s because he can essentially spend a few hours doing next to nothing, just sitting around and pretending he isn’t not paying attention to the spectacle shown at the front.

“There’s too little passion!” Seongwoo wrangles his hair out of frustration, and the two crew closest to him back away, cautiously. “I should’ve done a chemistry screening before the casting,” he complains to himself, groaning in frustration. “Somi, you have to at least sound like you’re in love! Guanlin, show more interest, what could be more interesting than her”—he points his finger at Somi, who’s rolling her eyes like this is regular behavior, which, it probably is—“that you can’t even maintain eye contact longer than three seconds?”

“Sorry,” Guanlin stammers, looking absolutely terrified. Woojin sympathizes, kind of, but he wouldn’t want to be in Guanlin’s shoes either.

“I’m not asking for your apology,” Seongwoo says, as if he’s talking to a child, “I’m asking for your reason.”

All of a sudden, the incessant chatter dies down, and everyone in the room places Guanlin in their focus. Woojin feels a little bad about this, considering how red Guanlin’s turning out of embarrassment, and wants to look away, out of politeness—but then again, it wouldn’t make much difference, so he forces himself to look on. His heart, however, pushes a silent prayer for Guanlin’s ability to form a coherent sentence.

“I’m not used to looking at strangers in the eye,” says Guanlin, so quiet that if the audience weren’t silent nobody would’ve heard it at all. “I’m sorry, I can try again.”

Instead of nodding or rushing Guanlin off to try again, Seongwoo sighs, and hangs his head low. “Why do I feel like the bad guy now,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what, why don’t you take five? If you’re not used to looking at strangers in the eye, then go and chat with Somi. Be… not strangers. Don’t tell me you haven’t at least done that.”

When Guanlin only ends up smiling sheepishly, Seongwoo’s mouth forms an incredulous ‘o’, plainly for the world to see as he’d already risen by then. “Yeah, take ten. Get to know each other. Ask about your favourite colours, childhood traumas, or anything. But when I call the both of you back, then you’d better have gotten closer, do you hear me?”

Somi raises three of her fingers in a lazy salute, drawling, “aye aye, Captain.” She slings an arm over Guanlin’s frozen shoulders, and drags him alongside her as they trudge down the stairs to access the ground from the stage. “You’ve heard the man, time to hear all about my childhood fears!”

Guanlin looks so bewildered that Woojin has a difficult time fighting away a fit of laughter, but the two of them are out of his line of sight soon enough, what with Somi being speedy in her retreat and therefore, by extension, Guanlin as well. Although they might not be visible anymore, Woojin can hear Somi’s loud voice going on and on about being chased by a clown in a McDonalds when she was five, and Guanlin’s quiet sounds of ‘oh’s and ‘really?’s; it is, at least, nice to hear Guanlin hasn’t fainted from the shock. Somi, after all, is a motormouth; Woojin hasn’t experienced it first hand, but she’s dropped by to the restaurant a couple of times, and whenever she had, literally everyone in the vicinity could hear about her stories.

That’s probably how Woojin has known about the McDonalds clown story for a while, now that he thinks about it.

“Woojin, get up here.” He jolts in his seat at Seongwoo’s sudden prompting, and glancing at the ground, Seongwoo’s waving his fingers at Woojin, almost impatiently. Scratch that almost, actually—definitely impatiently, if the way he’s begun to point at his wristwatch too is of any indication.

There’s really nothing good that can come out of this, but Woojin fight the urge to run away, and clambers down the steps. At some point, one of the other students had given him a pat on the back, whispering, “good luck, man.”

Would he have said thanks if he’d known who it was? Yeah, probably, but he didn’t; too busy in his attempt to simultaneously distract himself from what would almost certainly be his imminent premature death, and steel himself for the worst.  (Multitasking isn’t one of Woojin’s best skills.)

Standing in front of Seongwoo, no matter how little the height difference between them is, does a fine job at making Woojin feel small in his skin. Maybe it’s the cutthroat confidence carried by the older, or maybe it’s because Woojin has an ingrained fear of him now (along with pint sized admiration, not that he’s admitted that out loud), but whatever the case is, Woojin is intimidated as hell, and Seongwoo doesn’t even blink.

“Let’s have you run a few lines,” he announces, but instead of smirking or doing whatever else that Woojin would’ve expected him to do, he smiles, warmly, at that. “Jihoon told me you’ve improved. I’m looking forward to see it.”

In the background, someone begins to whistle, and Woojin would cut off his own leg if it were anyone but Jihoon.

“Okay,” Woojin says, because it’s not as if he has much of a choice in this matter. “Let’s do it.” He rubs the palms of his hands together, hoping, almost achingly that he’s making a good show of confidence. (Because, really, who’s he fooling? He’s anything but.)

“How about running the same lines as before?” Again, Woojin doesn’t see another option, so he resigns himself to nodding, only able to hope it won’t end up as big of a failure as it was before. “Alright, go up to the stage. Hyungseob, you too.”

Hyungseob, who’d been sitting at the front row, seemingly absorbed in his lines, nods his acknowledgment and places down his script. He doesn’t even look shaken, but then again, it’d be odd if he was—Hyungseob’s been in theatre for such a long time that even Woojin doesn’t remember when he first started.

“You can do it,” Hyungseob cheers on him as he breezes past Woojin, and somehow, gets to the stage before Woojin does. Woojin, who follows Hyungseob’s lead, smiling for the smallest reason—Hyungseob cheered him on, and if Hyungseob believes Woojin can do it, then Woojin has to succeed, doesn’t he?

(And, succeed he does.)

Unlike the first time, Woojin finds it easier to say the lines, and not just recite them; he finds it within himself to embody the character he’s playing, forgetting, even for only two lines, that he’s not Park Woojin—he’s Kenickie, and he’d better play a pretty damn convincing Kenickie, if he doesn’t want any of the effort he’s put in this to go to waste. Although Hyungseob never breaks character, after they’re done successfully maneuvering through the whole scene—instead of barely scratching the surface like last time—he looks at Woojin with no little amount of astonishment, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Great job,” he mouths, discreetly flashing Woojin a thumbs up with his arm still lowered by his side. Woojin sees it, though, and he smiles—big enough that his snaggletooth shows, big enough that giddy exhilaration threatens to rear its hold on his composure.

“Wow.” Seongwoo’s claps resonate through the silent theatre, and Woojin finds his smile shrinking, nervous about the thoughts that he might have. The large grin Seongwoo sports, however, is giving him the inkling that maybe, he doesn’t need to worry so much over this.“ Jihoon wasn’t lying. You’ve improved. There are still some things we can work on,” he admits, and during any other occasion Woojin would’ve turned this to the moment he’d resort himself into a nervous breakdown, but he’s just so happy that none of his hard work went to waste that he barely reacts. “But, we’ve still got the time for that. I knew Jihoon would’ve helped.” Seongwoo’s smug smirk that reeks of superiority says it all: I told you so.

Woojin finds Jihoon’s eyes in the crowd. On the surface, he seems relatively unhinged, his face stuck in the half serious, half amused expression that always seems to stick onto it, but when Woojin peers closer and tries to find a spark of something, he can see the smallest hint of pride gleaming in his eyes.

NOW PLAYING: Track 6 of CD 2 — Slower Than Ever.

Sejeong is making a big fuss out of nothing.

(Okay, so, maybe not nothing: Jihoon’s coming over in a little less than fifteen minutes, considering they’ve already agreed to the time and place for their next acting practice, and Jihoon’s given Woojin so much help that referring to him as ‘nothing’ feels… plain wrong.)

“You’ve never told me you had a boyfriend,” she accuses, a pout sticking out petulantly on her lower lip. “Honestly, I thought you would’ve at least asked me for advice before asking someone out—you were the one to ask him out, didn’t you? Also, another thing I’m surprised about, is how it isn’t that Taiwanese friend of yours. He’s pretty cute, you know. Clings to you like a puppy.”

“Guanlin?” Woojin splutters, because the image of him and Guanlin dating is, while not necessarily detestable (he has eyes, and just like anyone else with eyes, he can freely admit that Guanlin is handsome, though more on the cute side of the handsome spectrum), it still isn’t something he’s even considered. But it isn’t as if Woojin has ever imagined dating anyone who isn’t Ahn Hyungseob—the only exception to that would be Wonder Woman, which is a few steps over the impossible: she’s fictional, and even if she wasn’t, why would a superhero date someone among the likes of him?

Sejeong rolls her eyes in good nature, and nods slowly. “Yes,” she stresses the word, rolling the syllable over her tongue in the manner of someone talking down to a child. “Guanlin. You don’t have to sound so surprised, you know. I was counting on it happening sooner or later, but I guess I was wrong,” she sighs wistfully, and looks into the distance. Woojin cranes his neck just to see what she might be seeing, but he can only see the empty parking lot.

“It’s really not what you think,” Woojin still tries, for a reason he doesn’t exactly understand. It’s probably futile, now that he thinks about it, and he might’ve just wasted his breath—but then again, there’s no way to go but down from this, and the least he can do is at least try to set the record straight (pun unintended); with the keyword being strongly emphasized on ‘try’. “We’re just friends. And this isn’t my boyfriend coming over!”

“You’ve never had anybody coming over before Guanlin,” Sejeong sniffs, adamant on staying true to her incorrect theory. “And you’ve never talked about this guy before—just suddenly said, completely out of nowhere, that he was coming over! Doesn’t that sound fishy, even to you?”

“Well, I mean—wait, even to me?”

At his late realization, Sejeong laughs at his face, breathy cackles rapidly coming out of her mouth. Woojin groans, pressing his forehead on the counter, and it doesn't help much—though he can’t see what’s happening now, he can still hear the laughter, and that’s all there is for him to know Sejeong is, arguably, having the time of her life at the expense of his embarrassment and misery.

He’s brought out of his self imposed brooding when Sejeong pinches the shell of his ear, resulting in an undignified yelp. “Oi!” Woojin hisses, but when he picks himself up, Sejeong is looking past him, something calculating in her expression. “… What’s going on,” he warily begins, but when he turns to look at the door, then everything makes immediate sense.

Jihoon, in all of his bespectacled and outrageous fashion (outrageous is Woojin being nice about it) glory, is standing by the door, a laptop bag clutched closely to his chest. He’s looking around the interior, mouth closed and eyes continuously darting, remaining unassuming even when Sejeong says, loudly enough to be heard by the entire restaurant (judging by the sudden stares and glares directed at them), “you sure know how to pick ‘em, Woojin!”

Why.

“Jihoon!” Woojin yelps, feeling the desperate need to say something along the lines of ‘don’t listen to Sejeong she’s all about delusions!’, but decides that isn’t worth it, considering Sejeong has the ability to deprive him of her sandwiches for the remainder of the week, month, or maybe even year. The horror. “I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly,” he says, after taking a glance at the clock on the wall, indicating Jihoon’s arrival at least five minutes earlier than their designated time.

Either Jihoon hadn’t heard what Sejeong said or he’s easily ignoring it, because he freely laughs, and approaches Woojin with brisk, purposeful steps. Woojin knows why he’s walking so quickly when he settles the laptop bag on the counter with a groan, and morphs his expression into one of sympathy. “Were you holding onto that all the way here?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says breathily, and takes a few moments to stretch his arms around. “It’s all good, though. My house actually isn’t too far away from here—my laptop’s just way too heavy.”

“What model is it?” Woojin tries to make a concrete shape out of the bag, as if it’d give him the answer to his question. It doesn’t.

“Um,” Jihoon utters smartly, unzipping the bag and taking out the electronic device with his palms, slick with the sweat that comes from having them clenched. The model is familiar enough to Woojin, who’s seen his fair share of laptops from his laptop hunting days at least three years ago, but Jihoon’s laptop model, while old and most likely heavy as fuck, is still better than the secondhand excuse of a laptop Woojin has underneath the blankets in his bedroom. So. “It’s this.”

Woojin doesn’t make a pretense of inspecting it when he already knows what it is, so he nods, nothing resembling a proper expression alighting his visage. “That’s cool. So, what did you want to do today?”

Jihoon opens his mouth to answer, but any noise that comes out of his mouth is drowned by Sejeong’s loud, interrupting cough.

“I think introductions are in order,” Sejeong says in a warning tone, which isn’t really threatening as much as it is teasing, and Woojin wonders why he likes her so much when she’s practically bound to keep pulling this kind of shit whenever more of his friends come over to the restaurant. (Which, he thinks, is kind of surreal: before Guanlin, he didn’t even have a friend from school to drop by, and now, he’s got two. Maybe even three, in the future, if things go okay with Hyungseob.)

“Oh, right.” Woojin rubs the back of his head, meeting Jihoon’s curious gaze with a resigned, almost apologetic one of his own. He’s sure he’s never going to hear the end of this from Sejeong until the day he gets an actual boyfriend (or girlfriend, gender doesn’t really matter to him)—and wouldn’t that be the day, meaning, the day that’ll never come?—and the last thing he wants is to get Jihoon dragged into the mess, too; but Sejeong’s a woman on a mission, and he’s more afraid of the consequences that’ll have if he doesn’t introduce them than what will come once he does. “Jihoon, this is Sejeong, she’s my…” Woojin struggles to find the proper word amidst Jihoon’s raised brows and Sejeong’s half smirk, half smile. “She’s one of my closest friends. And Sejeong, this is Jihoon, a friend from school.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Jihoon!” Sejeong sweeps in for a loose hug, effectively startling Jihoon into frozen submission. It doesn’t last long, however, because she pulls back just as fast as she leans in, leaving the recipient of the hug to blink, almost dazed, as if wondering, did that even happen?

“Nice to meet you too,” Jihoon responds, and wears a smile, though it’s more weak and confused than anything. Woojin pities him, if only a bit. “Woojin didn’t—”

“Didn’t tell you about me?” guesses Sejeong, receiving a subtle nod from Jihoon’s end. “Don’t worry, he makes it a habit to not tell his friends about each other. I didn’t even know about you until he mentioned it to me this morning.” She shoots a pointed glare at Woojin’s direction, and Woojin shrinks away, wishing nothing more than to merge with the wall right now. “The both of you are here to work on something, right? Don’t let me keep you.”

Fast as he can, Woojin grasps Jihoon’s wrist, and leads the both of them away from the commotion that is Kim Sejeong. He can hear her laughter from behind, as well as Jihoon’s small noises of confusion, and forces himself to focus on nothing beyond the road that leads the both of them to the living room. (This is when he wishes a back entrance, or any other entrance that immediately leads to the ‘house’ part of the building rather than only the restaurant, existed—maybe one day he'll have it built, when he has enough money to do something like that.)

As soon as the both of them are in the same room as Woojin’s favourite couch made of worn leather and years of use, he closes the door behind him with a kick of his legs, and tries not to fumble under Jihoon’s stare. He’s not flustered, he’s just… just, a bit taken aback, that’s all. Dealing with Sejeong tends to do that to a person, no matter how many years of experience Woojin has under his belt.

“The two of you aren’t alike at all,” Jihoon finds himself saying, and Woojin smiles faintly.

“Yeah,” he easily agrees, and takes a seat on the couch. Jihoon follows, plopping down next to Woojin almost awkwardly, hands propped on his knees. “So, what did you want to work on today?” The change of subject is appreciated enough by Jihoon, considering he beams, bright enough that Woojin feels the need to shield his eyes. (He doesn’t.)

Jihoon manages a chuckle, but it’s not one that leaves Woojin feeling assured, per se; it’s more of a chuckle that gives promise of something torturous to come, and it sets Woojin on edge, almost effortlessly. “We’re going to work on your physicals!”

What. “But, we’re acting, what does physicality have to do with this—”

Without any shame whatsoever, Jihoon presses his index finger over Woojin’s lips, and all Woojin can think of is, holy shit, when did he get so bold? But then again, Jihoon’s always been bold (or maybe more along the lines of unpredictable), and Woojin was just never close enough to notice. Now, however, is a different story altogether.

“You’re going to have to do stunts, and dances. Having a good physical form is the basic necessity of scoring a decent role,” explains Jihoon, and okay, Woojin gets it now.

But, still: “I’m a dancer. I’d like to think I’m in good shape.”

“Oh, right.” Jihoon blinks, but shakes himself out of it, and winds up grinning from ear to ear. “There’s always room for improvement! Now, drop to the ground and give me fifty pushups.” Seemingly out of nowhere, he digs a stopwatch out of his pocket, and before Woojin can register it, has clicked at the top of the object, starting the countdown. “Come on! We’ve only got four minutes and fifty seven seconds left!”

At the end of it all, Woojin’s panting heavily and he’s sweating enough to drip onto the floor, which is disgusting, but then again, it’d be impossible not to sweat: Jihoon’s idea of physical training is doing fifty push-ups, or sit-ups, or any other move within the span of five minutes. If you fail, you’ve to start all over again, only this time, with the addition of ten more. It’s hell, and it’s excruciatingly painful to both Woojin’s pride as a man and his muscles, because he can tell he’s going to wake up with sore muscles and nowhere short of feeling like literal shit.

“You are,” Woojin manages to gasp out, limbs spread all over the carpet and his body temperature feels too hot, even when the air conditioner is cranked up to its highest setting (and it’s ultimately going to be his fault when the room smells like sweat instead of air fresheners, but, whatever), ignoring Jihoon’s almost calculative look as the other stands over Woojin’s collapsed form. “A nightmare.” 

“I’m an effective nightmare,” Jihoon corrects Woojin, pocketing the stopwatch and bending his knees to further seal the distance between the both of them. It doesn’t do much, considering Woojin can barely claw a hand at Jihoon’s face (and Jihoon can evade it with the movements of someone who wasn’t put through rigorous training, unlike Woojin), but it’s still something. “I thought you said you were in good shape?”

Woojin manages a groan. “It doesn’t mean I’m athletic enough to do all of that, what the hell. Besides.” Woojin props himself into a half-sitting position using his elbows, and levels Jihoon’s stare with a ferocious one of his own. Their noses almost touch, so Woojin scrunches his. “What kind of stunt requires that kind of athleticism?”

Jihoon, unfazed by the proximity (Woojin, who’s now realized how close they are and is currently trying to force away a tomato red blush, wishes he could say the same for himself), shakes his head sagely. “You never know. Actors can get themselves into difficult situations—it’s a tendency, I guess.”

Something about the way Jihoon says it makes Woojin feel as if Jihoon had experienced something like that himself, instead of being a spectator, as it would’ve been considering his position that requires him to stay backstage. There’s just a knowing look in Jihoon’s eyes, starlike in quality now that Woojin can see them up close (and it’s always nicer to see them like this, instead of the passing stares he always gets whenever they cross each other in the hallways), and behind it, he can see traces of sadness, as well. Woojin might not be the best in social situations, but he can untangle emotions from others easily—at the price of often unable to figure out what is it that he himself is feeling, and often, not knowing what to do with the knowledge: but this is different, or at least, that’s how Woojin wants it to be.

He’s friends with Jihoon. He can help Jihoon with the sadness, and it’s a privilege that he’s never had before.

(And somehow? The prospect of it is more daunting than it is appealing, but then again, changes, when they are great, never come easy.)

“Speaking from experience?” Judging by the way Jihoon’s expression freezes up, as if clogged, Woojin figures, a little too late, that he should’ve been more cautious when approaching the subject. Regret sinks onto his stomach, and it only deepens when Jihoon unbends his knees, and moves further away from Woojin. Creating distance between the both of them, a stern and silent reminder, for Woojin, that with someone like Park Jihoon, this won’t be easy. Hell, maybe it shouldn’t have been worth mentioning—it could’ve been a trick of the light, for all he knows.

When Jihoon finally says something, he cuts through the silence like a very sharp knife, looking at the coffee table instead of Woojin—or anywhere near Woojin, which, Woojin’s not going to lie, stings; even if only a little. “What experience? You mean staring at actors getting into messes while I sketch my designs?” Jihoon sneers, and it doesn’t look ugly, that attributed to the fact that it’s Park Jihoon sneering and Woojin doubts Jihoon could do anything to make his face, traditionally handsome and maybe even pretty, look hideous.

(Cringeworthy, maybe, but never anywhere close to ugly.)

“Sorry.” Woojin’s not sure why he says it, but if it’s enough to get Jihoon to look at him again (and it does), then that’s a good thing, he surmises.

“It’s alright.” Jihoon’s stomach rumbles at that exact moment, and he places a palm over his stomach, rubbing it in big, jagged circles. “I’m hungry. You’ve got a restaurant, right? Feed me,” he orders, and Woojin, shaking his head in exasperation, barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “That’s the least you could do to repay my acting lessons.” He opens a palm at Woojin’s direction, looking like someone who’s asking for money, and Woojin scoffs.

“You’re still paying for your food. It’s called a business for a reason.”

Jihoon pouts. Woojin can’t believe himself when he dares to think that the sight of it isn’t something he completely abhors.

It’s… actually kind of cute. In a weird way, because there’s no other way for him to consider Park Jihoon pouting as something cute. Cute is reserved for things like kittens and Ahn Hyungseob, not Jihoon.

As if he’s ever going to admit it.

NOW PLAYING: Track 7 of CD 2 — Go the Distance.

Guanlin is too young to have a boatload of regrets. He’s barely even sixteen, and he still has his prime years way ahead of him: it wouldn’t make sense if he finds himself clouded with the weight of past decisions or having his choices come back to spur him away from sleeping at night, but, if there’s something that he finds himself doubting from time to time, it’s his own ability to command the stage.

Before he received the leading role, that had never been a problem. Guanlin was someone who stayed behind the scenes. The most he did to make himself shine was through a mathletes competition, and even that was when he still lived in Taiwan, way before he moved to South Korea—here, he didn’t even have an extracurricular activity to note, and he hadn’t been planning on making the best out of his high school years (and how could he, when he was practically assaulted with comments regarding his accent or his lack of noteworthy Korean skills nearly every day?) up until Woojin happened. Woojin somersaulted into his life, dragged Guanlin away from the wretched clutches of being bullied by knocking some sense into the bully himself, and while Woojin is adamant, never tiring of repeating that Guanlin doesn’t owe him anything, there’s something that Woojin doesn’t seem to understand:

When Guanlin sets his mind to something, then there’s likely nothing that can draw him away from the decision. Woojin might think Guanlin doesn’t need to repay his good deed, and maybe this is a matter of cultural differences that cause a difference in upbringing and, eventually, ideology, but Guanlin knows, with a certain kind of madness that only comes from being too sure about it all, that if Woojin hadn’t been there, things would’ve gotten worse. He hates it—hates thinking about the ‘what could’ve beens’, but in a situation like this, it’s more difficult not to consider the possibilities than have them dangled in front of him whenever he finds himself devoid of any other thoughts.

“You’re getting the lines right, and that’s good,” Seongwoo is saying to him, and Guanlin forces himself to keep everything else at bay, to simply focus all of his attention onto the older man as he goes on with his harangue. “But you lack the passion behind it. I can see that you’re trying, and that’s good, but you’re not trying hard enough.”

Not trying hard enough. How hard is Guanlin supposed to try, then? He wants to say something. Wants to mention the lack of sleep he's been getting, wants to mention the stress the memorization has put his mind under, taken it on a toll; but he bites his tongue, and forces himself to nod, because Guanlin signed himself up for this. He should've known the consequences from the beginning, and he's not sure if he even has any right to complain—being able to score a lead role in his first production should be something he's grateful for, but instead, here he is: tired, stressed, and maybe a little bitter.

"I understand," he says instead, no matter the other sentences that linger on his tongue. "How do you think I could improve?" Being a proper, civilized student is more difficult than Guanlin ever thought. He has a newfound respect for those who can handle the harsh criticism thrown at them with a smile; Hyungseob, for one, appears to be good at that, though he'd peg it's due to the experience.

Seongwoo frowns, and rubs his thumb over the non-existent cleft of his chin. Maybe it's a side-effect of watching John Travolta and the very, very existent and apparent chin cleft that he has. Or maybe it's just a habit and Guanlin's being ridiculous about all this because he's petty. "I'd say keep practicing, but this is more of a matter regarding how you practice, and not how long." Out of all the things that have come out of Ong Seongwoo's mouth, this is, surprisingly, pretty wise.

"Then what do you suggest me to do?" Guanlin's trying not to sound as peeved as he is, truly, but judging by the amused look on Seongwoo's face, the effort might be more futile than anything. "I... I just don't know why you're still set on me being the lead, when it's already been a little over a month, and you've already seen that I'm just not that good." Because he's a teenage boy and teenage boys have a tendency to get embarrassed when they're telling the truth in a manner that's nowhere short of earnest to the person who's causing the problem, Guanlin blushes, and has to force himself not to stare at the ground.

He half expects Seongwoo to laugh. Say a word or two to brush off Guanlin's worries. What happens, however, is different: Seongwoo smiles, and it's full of understanding, and it only serves to deepen Guanlin's blush. "I've seen your potential, Guanlin. You could be even better than this if you'd just... let go." At the scrunch of Guanlin's nose, Seongwoo chuckles. "Sorry, that wasn't the best expression, was it? I'll be honest—I'm terrible at heart to hearts, you could ask my boyfriend that if you need further confirmation, as long as you don't tell me I'm the one who admitted it myself, and. I've never gone through what you're feeling," he continues, blunt and unrelenting in his approach to the matter. "I'm an acting prodigy. I've always been good at this.

Guanlin's not sure if he's supposed to feel better or worse by the pep talk, but, keeping in mind Seongwoo's prior warning of being terrible at heart to hearts, he finds that it's now easier to take all of this with an open mind. Seongwoo and being emotionally available might not make a good match, but Seongwoo and forcing himself through something that's obviously uncomfortable and a subject he can't necessary relate to just for the sake of getting a point through to his students, works much better than the former assumption.

"But I've been in the theatre industry for a while. Long enough to encounter my fair share of different people." He grows a smile; and it's fond, almost reminiscent, and Guanlin wonders what he'd be seeing if he could see what's going on inside Seongwoo's head right now. A tangle of memories, or maybe a list of names rapidly going through his head; perhaps something else entirely, too. "You're not the first person I've met who doesn't know what to do with their potential.

Was that supposed to be inspiring, or offensive? "Er," Guanlin mumbles instead, because saying 'thanks' to that sounds more like he's being self deprecating on purpose. Moreover, he's just confused, and he's not sure where exactly Seongwoo is going with this. He's unpredictable, and Guanlin likes things better when he can predict them—maybe this is something he's gained from all those years of viewing things from a more technical aspect, as someone who dabbles in the field of mathematics more than the arts, and in the world of numbers and technicalities, he's always liked things better when he knows he can figure them out in a more concrete sense. Seongwoo is none of that. The easiest way for Guanlin to describe Seongwoo in two words is art personified, and Guanlin's not sure how he's supposed to deal with that.

"Just as I've met them," Seongwoo carries on, completely ignoring Guanlin's subtle interruption, "I've also seen the way they've dealt with it."

"And how?" A pause, and Guanlin manages to strangle his willpower into continuing, "how do they deal?"

Seongwoo's smile is secretive. It doesn't make Guanlin feel comfortable at all. "All of them have different ways of dealing, of course. Everyone is different, aren't they? This applies to stage actors as well!" he sings the last few words, and hey, his singing voice isn't bad. Then again, that should've been expected: Seongwoo is, after all, a theatre actor. He must've had a few musicals under his belt.

Guanlin is nothing but blunt, and he's tired of having to find things between the lines, so he doesn't manage to find any constrain within him. He can't decide if that's a good thing, or a bad thing, but it's not as if he's been decisive enough on a noteworthy edge lately. Last decision he's made without any further questioning was repaying Woojin, and after that, everything's decorated with incessant question marks. "Am I supposed to gain anything from this, or?"

For the first time in their conversation, Seongwoo's more dramatic side as a theatre teacher returns with a splendor, as he gasps dramatically and has a hand clutch over his heart. On his visage is a wounded expression, and Guanlin does his best not to scowl. He's never been good at masking his emotions, though, so while he doesn't necessarily scowl, his poker face is enough to send a blast of (metaphorical) frost right at Seongwoo's nose.

"Young Guanlin, you're wounding me with your lack of faith in me," he sniffs, and does Guanlin bat an eye? No, not really. "Considering we're still in the early stages of preparation, and your best buddy Woojin has someone helping him, I've decided that you're going to have a mentor as well!"

This is either going to end up on a splendid note, or it's going to leave everything burning in chaos with hellfire. He can feel it in his bones.

"Who's going to mentor me?" Guanlin asks, warily. He'd be more enthusiastic if he knew for sure that the person who's supposed to mentor him in the future wouldn't be as, uh, extreme as Seongwoo. But, he doesn't.

"I know a lot of people." Judging by the amount of followers Seongwoo has on Twitter (Guanlin woke up one day to the surprising notification that his teacher had begun to follow him, which, okay, was weird and all but he'd been more floored to see the thousands of people following Seongwoo, making his fifty-six followers seem like nothing), Guanlin doesn't have any doubts about that. "Who would be a good mentor for you?"

... You're the one who suggested I get a mentor in the first place, Guanlin thinks, resisting the urge to slap his palm on his face.

"Ah!" The gleam in Seongwoo's eyes is saying he's just gotten a breakthrough, and Guanlin gulps down his nervousness. "I've got just the person. Have you ever heard of Kang Dongho?"

Well, from his few hours spent watching the TV channels when he has nothing to do or when he's just in the mood to procrastinate, Guanlin doesn't know a Kang Dongho, but: "I know a Kang Hodong…?"

Seongwoo barks out raucous laughter (barks, because there's really no other way for Guanlin to describe it without any of it losing its original quality), doubling over, and his laughter's loud enough to echo in the empty biology classroom they're using to practice after theatre hours are officially over. Speaking of theatre hours being officially over, it seems like it's getting late, judging by the dark, almost orange yellowish light that manages to filter through the creme curtains, and Guanlin needs to be getting home soon before the streets become too terrifying, the shadows too long for him to walk through the road without getting his imagination in places where it really, really doesn't need to be.

"Good one," Seongwoo wheezes, still trying to control his laughter. "But I wouldn't recommend you to say that in front of him—I mean, you definitely could, but that's your choice. I'm just trying to coerce you into making wiser life decisions."

"I wasn't really planning on saying it to him anyway," Guanlin says, because he isn't the type to do so. Even with Woojin, he doesn't find himself joking around too much, though he can figure that some of it's attributed to the fact that joking in Mandarin is a lot easier than joking in Korean, but it isn't as if Woojin's Mandarin is good enough for them to have a proper conversation in. (And, no, just repeating things like 'what's your name?' and 'good night!' don't really count.)

"You're no fun." Seongwoo pouts, and Guanlin just really, really wants to go home. "He's a famous rising theatre actor, known for his vocals! He does the musical genre pretty well, but not better than me." Guanlin just manages to stop himself from sighing. "As I was saying, though, he owes me a favor, and what better way for him to repay it than teaching one of my students?"

"I guess."

Seongwoo frowns, and means to give a fist at Guanlin's shoulder, but Guanlin barely avoids it. "Sound more enthusiastic about it, won't you," he says—Guanlin doesn't. "I'll have to make the call later, but I'm fairly confident he'll be up for the job. Stay behind after practice tomorrow."

Like he doesn't already, Guanlin notes, thinking back to all the times he's stayed behind after everyone else has gone home just to get some more hours of practice with Seongwoo. He doesn't want to complain too much about it, though, even if said practice takes away some time for him to play video games after school, or hang out with Woojin, because he knows why it's necessary. It doesn't mean that Guanlin has to enjoy it, however, because practicing with Seongwoo is literally just running the same lines over and over again, being evaluated and scrutinized for his every gesture, and going home with an empty stomach and matted down pride.

"Okay, I got it. Can I go home now?" Guanlin sneaks a look at the clock on his lockscreen. It's nearing 6PM, and he has a chemistry test to worry about for tomorrow. He hasn't studied at all, which is his own fault, but he needs to make up for his lack of studying, somehow; his mother made him promise for his grades not to slip even when he busies himself with theatre, and if there's something Guanlin dislikes, it's going back on his own word. (Maybe that's why he's so adamant on trying his best for his role, no matter how much the process tires him, and makes him the weariest he's been since practically forever.)

Seongwoo waves him off. "Sure. Be sure to get enough rest, alright? Wouldn't want you to get sick during practice."

That's the reason why Guanlin has started taking vitamins, even if it's the kind that's likely to be made for kids (it might be for all ages, and when he was at the counter, he'd lied and said he was buying it for his younger sibling—plot twist, he's the youngest of his family!), and the vitamins help. They manage to be enough for him to still be able to practice acting, study, and function without having to devour caffeine on a daily basis, so. It works.

(Guanlin comes home to piping hot soup for dinner, cooked by his older sister, and that's better than any kiddy vitamin he can think of.)

NOW PLAYING: Track 8 of CD 2 — Just U.

In a way, Seongwoo envies his students, but at the same time, the last thing he wants is to go back to the days when he hadn't received his degree in acting, and has to go through the excruciating process of having to do college applications all over again. He misses the youthful aspect of acting (not that he isn't youthful now, because he isn't even thirty and as far as actors go he's undoubtedly on the younger side of them), and by that, he means this: he misses the days when he'd been in high school and practicing for productions that, while not necessarily unserious, doesn't have the kind of nerve-wrecking pressure that official productions tend to give someone.

The most stress he'd ever received from a high school production was that one time when he nearly set his own costume on fire, and he'd received an earful from the head of the production as well as the costume director (to this day, Seongwoo still has nightmares of Kahi's wrath, because god damn that shit is terrifying at the very least, and blood curling at its best), but aside from that, the rest of his high school theatre life was smooth-sailing. Some of it Seongwoo attributes to the glaring fact that he makes things smooth-sailing, the way things always are when you're talented and good looking and people would be damned if they wouldn't give you an easier ride through life. Most of the 'difficult theatre' stories Seongwoo has aren't from himself, but rather (and namely), from his friends: if it's anything short of perfection, Seongwoo can't exactly relate, because his horror stories mostly stem from his conscience and worries of not being able to live up to expectations.

It's not necessarily something he flaunts, however. Seongwoo practically thrives on the image of him being some kind of visual god who's all rounded enough to be an acting legend in the future, and insecurities don't have a place in the image that he's built for himself. The only people aware of that side of him are his parents (because could you ever really hide anything from your parents?), his boyfriend (not his first boyfriend or significant other, but certainly the first one he's taken seriously enough to open up to), and Kang Dongho—out of these three, the last one was honestly a complete and total accident, because Seongwoo and Dongho were never exactly what one might consider as close friends. Some people would've even considered them as rivals, what with Dongho always being a step ahead of Seongwoo when it came to musical productions during high school (there's a reason why Seongwoo is stuck with the roles of Shakespearean protagonists and Dongho's always received the cooler, more modern roles like Tony from West Side Story) due to his superior vocal skills that Seongwoo was never quite able to surpass.

At some point, Seongwoo considered the both of them as rivals too, at least, until they stopped being 'rivals' and started being proper colleagues; a duo to be reckoned with, capturing the hearts of the audience and achieving the most out of their thespians from high school, the both of them getting accepted into different universities in the same field of study, and eventually parting ways on a note much better from what they'd started with.

"You've got that look on your face."

Minhyun's index finger rests on the tip of Seongwoo's nose, almost poking it but not quite, and Seongwoo's eyes flutter into focus. The both of them are curled up on Seongwoo's couch, a movie that Seongwoo's stopped paying attention to serving more as background noise than actual entertainment, and Minhyun's glancing at Seongwoo with a kind of perception that Seongwoo's never seen anyone else have.

(He's totally not biased, by the way. Totally, definitely, not.)

"What look?" Seongwoo resolves to humor Minhyun, although he already has an inkling on what Minhyun means.

"The look where you're thinking about something too hard and it becomes more of a pain than it is a random thought," Minhyun says, eyes stern as they meet Seongwoo's lazy, near unfocused ones. "Tell me."

Seongwoo sighs, and smiles faintly. "I'm thinking about Dongho."

"Oh?" Minhyun quirks a brow. He sounds unamused, and it's only then that Seongwoo realizes how wrong it must sound, so he immediately crosses his arms together as an 'X' in front of his chest, shaking his head adamantly.

"Not like that!" he cries in protest, although it's drowned by Minhyun's laughter. Minhyun's probably enjoying every last second of it, considering it's not very often that Seongwoo makes a fool of himself and—ugh, who's he kidding, the two out of ten times that Seongwoo manages to pull something stupid, it's always with Minhyun. "I've told you about Guanlin, haven't I?"

"Raw potential, doesn't know what to do with it, probably needs a lot of help if you want to make the Grease production at least halfway decent?" Minhyun jots the words together, and Seongwoo nods, resisting the urge to grin because those words are exactly the ones he'd used to describe Guanlin. Minhyun's just quoting him. "Yeah, I remember him. What's he got to do with Dongho?"

"Right now? Absolutely nothing." Seongwoo figures he should just continue if he doesn't want Minhyun to look so dryly unamused. "But, I'm thinking of getting Dongho to help him out. I mean, he needs someone who can teach him how to use that raw potential, and my potential's always been... polished."

Minhyun sighs, and rests the palm of his hand on Seongwoo's knee. "You're full of it, Ong," he murmurs, but the smile he wears is enough to show he's not exactly agitated by it. They never would've gotten into a relationship if Minhyun wasn't able to deal with Seongwoo's general personality, but somehow, Minhyun is able to tolerate Seongwoo and keep him in line, when needed. It's almost magical. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Have you called Dongho? Last I heard, he just finished his shows for Gone With the Wind."

And, a fact that Seongwoo's neglected to mention: Minhyun also knows Dongho, because the both of them went to the same university, and technically, Dongho's known Minhyun longer than Seongwoo has. Is probably closer of a friend to Minhyun than Seongwoo was before they dated, too, but that's a different story consisting of a musical club and other mishaps that Seongwoo still needs the full details of, to this day.

"I'm thinking of calling him now," he announces, and scrolls through the contact list on his phone until he finds Dongho's number. Dongho's contact name on his phone is 'dongho boy', complete with the emoji of a tiger, and he might've been slightly drunk while saving the number on his phone and never bothered to change it after, because honestly, he's not wrong. He taps on the button featuring the phone, signaling call, with no hesitation, and waits for the other to pick up. Meanwhile, Minhyun's taken to tapping on the speaker option, because obviously, if Seongwoo's going to talk to Dongho, Minhyun's going to make sure he gets a few words in too; sometimes, Seongwoo even wonders if Minhyun cares about his group of friends more than he does with Seongwoo. (The answer to that, however, is that Minhyun cares for them both on equal ground. It's just easier to care about his friends because they aren't as difficult and infuriating as Seongwoo, which, you know. True love, and all.)

Four rings in, Dongho picks up, and the speaker crackles for a moment; it makes Seongwoo wonder if Dongho's outside, where the wind seems to be strong, at the given moment. "Hello?" A crackle follows, but Seongwoo doesn't need to strain his ears to listen, and he only turns up the volume.

"Dongho!" Seongwoo greets, loud enough that Minhyun jerks away from him with a dirty glare. Sorry, Seongwoo mouths, much to his boyfriend's apparent bemusement. "Hey, buddy, how've you been doing?"

"I've been alright." Dongho's voice is almost quiet compared to the background noise, and Seongwoo hears the telltale noise of a car's honk. He imagines Dongho to be at the park right now, which kind of serves away from his notice because he doesn't know why someone would willingly spend his time at the park at night when it's cold and the best thing to do is snuggle up and maybe watch a movie and fall asleep in the middle, but just because he and Dongho are friends, doesn't necessarily mean Seongwoo understands him down to the T. "Seongwoo, you don't do social calls," Dongho cuts to the chase, something Seongwoo can't say for himself. "What's going on?"

Seongwoo aims an affronted glare at the phone. Dongho can't see it. "What are you saying? I've done social calls before."

"Yeah. You mean the time you called me just to lie to our old high school teacher that you weren't coming to her wedding because you had diarrhea?"

Not one of Seongwoo's greatest moments. He winces, and Minhyun's shoulder shake with silent laughter. Seongwoo's embarrassment is Minhyun's joy.

"Alright, that was one time," he meekly defends himself, resisting the urge to bring up one of Dongho's less than savory moments in retaliation. That, Seongwoo knows, wouldn't help him with his case at all; he might be difficult, but he isn't socially averse. "You caught me. Dongho, I've come to bargain." Seongwoo tries to slip in a reference to a movie he watched a while back, but judging by Dongho's momentary silence, the other likely doesn't get it.

"Fine, I'll bite. What do you need? Also, is Minhyun there?"

This is the time Minhyun takes to make his grand entrance into their previously two-sided conversation: "Dongho! I was wondering when you'd notice."

On the other line, Dongho chuckles. "Figured if Seongwoo was on the line, you'd be, too. You should consider giving him more space," he jests, and Minhyun looks three seconds away from taking the bait to stir up some more conversation, and while Seongwoo usually wouldn't mind that, right now it'd just draw the topic away from what Seongwoo really needs the conversation to be about, so he chooses that moment to interject.

"I'm going to need you to teach one of my students."

For the first few seconds, all he can hear is the sound of Dongho breathing, and it's enough to drive Seongwoo nearly into asking if the phone line hadn't suddenly malfunctioned in the middle. But, when Dongho laughs, almost incredulously, that's when Seongwoo knows his request had been delivered well enough. "You're their teacher for a reason, Seongwoo. Why would you need me around?"

"Because I feel like this student of mine would be more of your specialty."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dongho doesn't sound offended. Only curious, the way Dongho tends to be, though most people would grasp confusion on his face as something more sinister; it can't really be helped, considering Dongho is someone who seems very much intimidating at first glance, but Seongwoo knows underneath the tough first impression, he's really not scary at all. Even Minhyun would scare Seongwoo more, although that might be because Minhyun is the one who has the authority to make Seongwoo sleep on the couch.

"It means, he needs a mentor who knows what he's going through. Remember when you just joined the theatre?"

Dongho groans. "Yeah, it was a nightmare. You've got a mini me running around?"

He tries to merge Guanlin and Dongho's face together in his head, and succeeds enough that Seongwoo laughs, much to Minhyun's affronted look and the noise of questioning on Dongho's end. "Sorry, sorry," he says once he's calmed down, and rears himself back to the topic at hand. "I wouldn't really call him a mini you, per se, but the both of you have something in common. You've both got a lot of potential. Difference is, you know what to do with it, but he doesn't," Seongwoo admits, and maybe he'd been a little reluctant in mentioning Dongho's potential, but it's not necessarily difficult. There's not enough bad blood between him and Dongho anymore for him to have to force out a compliment when it's due.

Dongho is silent, and that silence is enough to get Seongwoo to consider the possibility of Dongho saying no. For Guanlin's sake, he hopes the other would agree. "You owe me," he reminds, voice soft, but hopefully audible even through the abundance of background noise on Dongho's part.

"I suppose I do," Dongho says, and Seongwoo bites back a grin. "I'll help you with the kid. I don't have anything to work on right now too, so you've got the timing right, for once."

"Great!—huh, for once? What's that supposed to mean?" he demands, and Minhyun doesn't bother to hold back his laughter this time, freely expressing his amusement to the point he burrows his head into Seongwoo's chest. (Is Seongwoo complaining? Hell no.)

"Nothing," Dongho tries to pull this off as innocent, but Seongwoo knows better than to trust him, no matter how plain he might sound. He's an actor, for goodness' sake, faking emotions like that should come as easily as a breeze. "Call me back tomorrow, I can drop by in town on Friday. Bye!" He hangs up before Seongwoo can get another word in, and Seongwoo's left staring at the phone in his hand, a little bereft, but definitely not in a bad mood because of Minhyun's close proximity. If there's something to keep him away from a childish mood, it's always Minhyun, because he has that grounded quality to him that manages to root both himself and Seongwoo firmly on the ground.

It's kind of a good thing.

"You didn't speak a lot to Dongho," he finds himself saying, once enough time has passed since the phone call ended for the movie to progress to the credits, and Seongwoo realizes just how little he paid attention to it. He can barely remember the beginning, much less the plot.

Minhyun yawns. "Yeah. I figured I could call him later to catch up, you probably needed that conversation more than I did."

Seongwoo's eyes form half-moon crescents as he smiles widely, enough for the lightbulb that shines over them in the room to seem dull in comparison. "Aw, you're invested in my kids too, aren't you?"

"Since when did you start calling Guanlin your kid?" Minhyun sounds amused as he says this, but the question does have some weight to it, considering Seongwoo's rarely found himself actually referring to any of the theatre kids, whether they're Guanlin or Hyungseob or even Doyeon, as 'his kids.' At some point, he must've grown some kind of attachment, because apparently, spending too many after hours with high school students tend to do that.

"Since now, apparently," he easily surmises, much to Minhyun's apparent exasperation.

"One of these days," Minhyun starts off, and shifts into a more comfortable position, with his legs draped over the arm of the couch and the back of his head firmly positioned on Seongwoo's stomach. "You're going to bring one of your students home and adopt them as your kid. And it's going to bring you into a lot of trouble with their actual parents," he predicts, and it's as horrifying as it is startling that Seongwoo can actually see some of that happening. When did he turn so soft, is the question that he should be directing to the universe.

All Seongwoo says is: "I have a feeling you might like Woojin. He's... definitely something."

NOW PLAYING: Track 9 of CD 2 — Fake Happy.

Woojin sits in a circle with Guanlin on his right, and Jihoon on his left. It's not a big circle, but it's roomy enough for him to stretch his legs, which, is something he deserves after the dance practice Seongwoo put him through. Modern dancing and musical dancing are two different things, no matter how much Woojin tries to incorporate some of his style into the choreographies, only to be apprehended by Seongwoo for taking too much creative freedom.

That's bullshit, because creativity's supposed to be free, and Woojin doesn't see the point of limiting someone's creative freedom: but arguing with Seongwoo is only going to end in him losing, eventually, because the older is too stubborn for Woojin to deal with. So, he ends up sucking it up, and throws himself fully into the choreography and refrains from adding little twists that makes the dance his own. It's terrible, and Woojin would rather suffer three hours of Justin Huang rather than having to dance something without him being able to make the dance his, and the only reason why he hasn't called it quits is because of his mother. (And Guanlin, to a lesser degree. There's something new about the way Guanlin practices now, and Woojin's not the only one who's noticed, judging by Seongwoo's hidden smiles and the way some of the other members of the club regard him with more respect compared to before.)

If only he wasn't a momma's boy things would be simpler for Woojin, but then again, that'd only happen in a parallel dimension that's too foreign from his own.

"How are the costumes?" he asks Jihoon, who's been too invested in his sketchbook to contribute anything to his and Guanlin's conversation about the upcoming Justice League movie. Woojin can't deny that he wants to see what Jihoon's drawn: Jihoon has, after all, seen Woojin showcasing his talent, while Woojin's barely had any occasion to see what Jihoon can do.

Jihoon draws his eyes away from the book, and clenches his hand into a fist around his pencil when he forces himself to stop drawing. He hums. "They're going alright. We've still got six months to prepare, and I'm nearly done with all the designs."

Unsure how to carry on that conversation (give him a break, it hasn't been that long since Woojin's been forced to become more socially inclined), he nods. "Oh."

To his credit, Jihoon keeps a straight face. "Are you upset?"

"What?" Woojin frowns. "Why'd you think that?”

"You've been staring at Seongwoo like you want to kidnap his firstborn," Jihoon answers, on a dry note, smirking when Woojin's stunned into speechlessness. "For all your improvement, you're still bad at masking your emotions, you know." The words could sound insulting had they came from anyone else, but considering it's Jihoon, Woojin doesn't find himself feeling slighted. Only caught red handed in his dislike.

Seeing no point in denying what's obviously there, Woojin explains: "I don't like how he's forcing me from adding my own touch to the dance. I mean. I'm a dancer before I'm an actor, and that just... sucks," for a lack of better word.

Jihoon looks at Woojin with something that's not completely unlike understanding. "He has a point." Before Woojin can let out a word of protest, Jihoon's quick to continue, "look, the others aren't as good dancers as you are, even without you adding your own flair to the choreography. Also, what you want to add to the dance might not be in line with what the character you're playing would do—and I can see why Seongwoo would think that, because I don't think they'd invented that popping move you kept doing, back in the 70s."

That... actually makes sense. At any rate, Woojin can understand that more than the sparse explanation Seongwoo left (only a "you should hold back on the personal touches!" that did more harm than good), and not for the first time, has himself think about how Jihoon's turning out to be a better teacher than Seongwoo. "Oh," he says, feeling slack jawed. "I didn't really think about it that way, but, that makes some sense."

It perfectly makes sense, rather than just 'some', but Woojin doesn't feel like further stroking Jihoon's ego. In the words of a meme: not today, Satan.

Under his breath, Jihoon whispers something that suspiciously sounds like, "what would you do without me," and it takes all of Woojin's self control not to take the bait. Maybe that was just a figment of his imagination—it's the pressure getting to him, totally is.

"Hey," Guanlin breaks the flow of their conversation, but it isn't unwelcome. "Have any of you seen Hyungseob?"

Woojin tears his eyes away from Jihoon, and instead roams them over the room, trying to find a familiar head sporting neatly cropped hair. The closest thing he finds to that is the head of the lightning team, Joo Haknyeon, whose hair was actually the wild kind of curly until he had gum stuck to his hair and needed to have it cut just to remove it.

"Um," Woojin sounds, "I haven't, actually." A bit of him is disappointed for having Guanlin notice this before him, because he's supposed to be the one who has a crush on Hyungseob, but, no matter how much Woojin would rather deny this than say even a word of it, he hasn't been caught up with Hyungseob as much as before, lately. Again, this must be due to the pressure, which leaves Woojin with only the time to think about his acting, his mother (and by extension, the family business, because he can't neglect his main responsibility even after he's found himself busy with theatre), and everything else winds up falling short.

"You could try calling him," Jihoon suggests, fulfilling his role as the person with the most problem solving skills in their trio. "Don't you have his number, Woojin?"

"Don't I have his..." And then, the memory returns to hit him right in the face full force, and it's the one time he found himself having lunch with Hyungseob together (alone, the both of them) for the second time, otherwise known as the last time he was able to get at least five minutes into a conversation with Hyungseob without being dragged away by Guanlin (or more recently, Jihoon), and was somehow able to save Hyungseob's contact into his phone. He might've been a blushing, stuttering mess at the time, but that's... pretty much the closest thing Woojin has ever had to a romantic success, so that's got to count for something. "Oh. I do."

Guanlin has a big, loopy smirk on his face, which translates to nothing well for Woojin. Most he's going to get out of this is embarrassment and a blush that'll cause his face to resemble a tomato. "Ooh, his number. Are you guys texting?"

Woojin really, really misses the days when Guanlin had been too quiet to tease him, because back then, he'd seemed like an angel and he shouldn't have taken those days for granted: now that Guanlin has Jihoon around to influence him, he doesn't doubt that some of Jihoon's cheekiness must've rubbed off on him, and the result is... this. It's not necessarily bad, or at least, not as bad as the master himself (namely, Jihoon), but, still. Guanlin's undergone some character development, to say it in the words of someone who's been hanging around passionate theatre kids for the past month or so.

"No," Woojin denies, and he can feel the heat emanating from his cheeks. The matching grins worn by Jihoon and Guanlin suddenly look sinister, and Woojin wonders if he can find better friends, and scratches the thought away almost immediately. They're his only friends, if he isn't counting Sejeong and his mom into the mix, and it isn't as if beggars can be choosers. "I... actually haven't texted him anything," he warily admits, and immediately becomes the recipient to a glare from Jihoon.

"You had the opportunity to text your crush, and you haven't said anything? What are you?" Oh, and Jihoon's now aware of his crush on Hyungseob too, if that hadn't been obvious enough. Guanlin's shit at keeping secrets, and Jihoon caught on approximately three days and four hours after he'd begun to be included in their little circle of friendship. At least Jihoon's better at keeping his mouth shut than Guanlin, though—while Guanlin coughs enough to be mistaken as sick whenever the three of them are in Hyungseob's presence, Jihoon doesn't let out any obvious signs that Woojin likes Hyungseob, and if there's something that Woojin would prefer Guanlin to learn from Jihoon, it's that.

"Nothing's ever going to happen between us, alright?" Woojin scowls, and although the words hurt, considering they're coming from himself, it's the truth. He's not good enough for Hyungseob, who deserves someone better than an outcast like Woojin. "Get your heads out of the gutter, honestly," he grumbles, but forces himself to click on the 'call' button anyway, amidst Guanlin's whooping and Jihoon's knowing smile.

He's doing this for the team. It's not some kind of selfish desire, and even if it was, Woojin's worried: this doesn't have anything to do with his big, gay crush on Ahn Hyungseob.

Hyungseob turns out to be one of those people who like to set a song as a custom dial, because right after Woojin's phone connects to the network, his ears are attacked by the chorus of a familiar girl group song, one that was a trend what feels like years ago. He's just about to sing along when the song ends and Hyungseob picks up, which is fortunate timing, because he doesn't have any doubts that Guanlin and Jihoon would record his singing and spread it to the entire theatre crew.

"Hello?" Hyungseob doesn't sound as bright as usual, on the other line. There's a withdrawn, almost tired quality to it, down from the way his voice sounds to the slow direction his tongue takes to utter the word.

"Hyungseob, it's Woojin," he introduces himself first, because he's not positive if Hyungseob's saved his number the way he's saved Hyungseob's. "I noticed you didn't come to practice today. Are you sick?"

He didn't stutter through any of the words: if there's a reason for Woojin to be proud of himself, that's that, because that feat is more difficult than you'd expect, especially with Hyungseob's voice sounding so close, literally pressed to his ear. (Even if he's not stuttering, his blush is definitely deepening.)

"Oh. Woojin!" Hyungseob's exclaiming the sentence, sure, but he sounds like he's forcing himself to; that's much more worrying than it is relieving. "I'm okay. I'll go back to school tomorrow, don't worry. You didn't have to call me," he says, and Woojin swallows down an outburst of questions whether Hyungseob's state of mind: is he as okay as he says? Is Woojin wrong to be as concerned as he is?

"Alright," he bites out, because no matter how much he wants to talk more to Hyungseob, something tells him that this might be a subject best left for a real life confrontation. Woojin can play the waiting game. "Why didn't you go to school, then, if you're not sick?"

Hyungseob answers, of course. But, when he does, all the warmth (that was barely there in the first place) is stripped from his voice, leaving his timbre with a cold edge to it, and that's enough to leave Woojin feeling as if he'd made a big mistake by asking the question. "I'd rather not talk about it. Goodbye, Woojin." The line goes dead before Woojin can say goodbye back to Hyungseob, and Woojin's left with the terrible feeling of remorse over his own words, and the curious peering from his two friends, who hadn't heard anything Hyungseob said because Woojin didn't place the call on speaker mode.

"He says he's okay," Woojin repeats, almost mechanically. "He'll go back to school tomorrow."

On the following day, Hyungseob does come to school, but when Woojin tries to approach him, Hyungseob often finds a reason to avoid him. When he doesn't, Hyungseob breezes by, carefully evading Woojin's shoulder when he walks past him; when he does it, sometimes it's right after Woojin's called for his name, and that leaves Woojin feeling more hurt than the cold, last words Hyungseob had given him over the phone.

More than all of that, however, Woojin feels something beyond something merely inflicted onto himself. He's worried for Ahn Hyungseob, but the prospect of being able to do anything to ease that worry is bleak, with Hyungseob pushing him away no matter how many times Woojin spends the day trying to catch his attention—an activity that forces him to summon the courage he's previously barely been able to collect for a single interaction, and by the end of the day, Woojin's just restless, and maybe sad, but he can't find it within himself to feel even the mildest trace of anger.

NOW PLAYING: Track 10 of CD 2 —I’ll Make a Man Out of You.

When Seongwoo first threw the idea of Guanlin having his own mentor, like Jihoon and Woojin, he'd imagined his mentor to be someone who, more or less, resembled Seongwoo. He isn't sure how that idea came into fruition, but it did, and Kang Dongho is actually nothing like how he'd imagined his mentor to be like.

The first thing that sets him entirely apart from Seongwoo is the intimidating impression he gives. Seongwoo, in Guanlin's humble opinion, more or less throws off the vibes of someone who's good at something and knows he's good at it; might come across as a little cocky, and probably is, but for good reason. The first impression isn't something that's necessarily false, either, and the only thing that tends to change after you've hung around his company for a while is the fact that you know he's more embarrassing than he looks, and has the comedic sense of a gagman (albeit, a good looking one.) Kang Dongho, on the other hand, looks like he eats fear for breakfast, and from that fear, manages to have an aura accumulated from it.

He'd be lying if he said he was shaking in his boots, or anything, but Guanlin's first impression of Dongho is that he's scary, and almost definitely rougher around the edges than Seongwoo is, with his cookie cutter grins and more or less polished, devilish smirks. But, if he's close enough with Seongwoo to owe him a favor, then Guanlin figures he's not as bad as he seems—therefore, pushing away the fear for wary apprehension becomes an easy enough task, and he's definitely having a better time adjusting to Dongho's almost overwhelming presence than the other theatre kids, who'd practically shaken their pupils the moment Dongho started talking with a straight, less than amused face.

"I'm supposed to take you under my wing?" Dongho's placing Guanlin under his scrutiny, and with the sharpness of his stare, Guanlin gets the feeling that he's being inspected, every last bit of him, starting from the untamed mane that is his hair (he did brush it this morning, but it tends to get out of control fairly easily considering how much he musses it), to the plain sneakers he'd put on this morning.

Guanlin's glad he's not terrified of Dongho (would he have been able to push away the fear of the unknown a few weeks ago? Probably not, but people grow, and Guanlin certainly isn't an exception to it), because that's what makes it so easy for him to match the older's stare without flinching. "Yes, sir," he responds, remembering to sound as formal and upright as possible. He might not be scared, but he still knows his manners. "I'm Lai Guanlin." Seongwoo's already introduced the both of them to each other prior to helping some of the others with their acting, but Guanlin doesn't find any harm in making a reintroduction, notably introducing himself instead of having himself being introduced by someone else.

Dongho, apparently having found whatever he'd been searching for (and he draws this conclusion after seeing Dongho withdraw his scrutinizing stare, instead opting for a smile that actually looks natural instead of fear inducing), nods in acknowledgment. "What are you having trouble with? Seongwoo's already told me the general gist of it, but I'd like to hear this come directly from you."

He's having trouble with a lot of things, actually, and Guanlin almost wants to say that he might want to sit down for this, except he's not comfortable enough with Dongho to joke around with him yet, and doesn't want to create the wrong sort of impression. "The passion, I guess? I mean. I know the emotions are in there somewhere, but I don't know how to apply them correctly. It's like there's... a cap? And it's blocking the right kind of... emotions, from pouring out."

The look on Dongho's face is contemplative, and Guanlin shuffles his feet together quietly, because he doesn't want to interrupt the other's thinking process; Dongho's helping him out, and Guanlin just wants to be as cooperative as he can to ensure he won't be wasting anyone's time. He likes to pride himself on being self aware enough, particularly, for things concerning himself and other people.

"I think I understand what you mean," he says, at last, and the smile goes from not intimidating to something kind. It floors Guanlin, for a lack of better word, and when Dongho smiles like that, it melts away all of Guanlin's previous expectations on him being anything but nice. "Before we start anything, though, do you want to know why Seongwoo chose me to teach you? This might be all we talk about today, though, and could leave the actual lessons from tomorrow instead of now," he warns, and Guanlin nods anyway. He isn't in a rush; they've still got some time to go until the performance, and Guanlin's rushed into enough things that starting something off slowly almost sounds like a refresher course.

"I've got the time."

Dongho sits down on the floor, cross-legged, and gestures for Guanlin to sit down, too. "It started when I was in middle school..."

NOW PLAYING: Track 11 of CD 2 — Disappear.

Woojin receives the invitation to go to Jihoon's, for once, instead of hanging out at an empty classroom or Five Parks, a few minutes after the both of them are done with the day's worth of practice. It's a Saturday, and while they usually don't practice on Saturday, it's apparently a monthly thing, because now a total of two months have passed and they only have four months of preparation until the big event—Seongwoo wants to get as much extra training as possible, and thus, taking away at least six hours of their weekend. Woojin doesn't really want to complain, however, because while he has six hours of break taken from his, Guanlin has even more, and Guanlin doesn't even say a word of protest. He's the one who's undergone the most changes, in Woojin's fair opinion, and even though he's already changed before, now he's become even better under the tutelage of one of Seongwoo's friends; the one who seems scary and intimidating, but Guanlin assures is really just a fluff ball stuck in the stature of someone who doesn't seem like a ball of fluff.

Woojin has his doubts regarding the validity of that information, but considering he hasn't actually interacted with Seongwoo's friend and Guanlin seems to spend more time with Seongwoo's friend than he does with Seongwoo (the only times Guanlin's with them is during run throughs, and other than that he's dragged off to have individual coaching like the star of the show he now is), so his opinion barely counts against Guanlin's personal experience.

"You want me to come over now?" Woojin tries to digest Jihoon's offer, because he's literally worn down with enough sweat from choreographies to last him a whole month, and he probably smells bad enough that Jihoon's maintaining a safe distance from him, even taking out a tissue to shield his nose from Woojin's stench. "But, I smell." A lame excuse, but it's still an excuse.

"I can handle that." Can he, really? Woojin feels the need to challenge that statement. "Besides, I've got some cologne in my bag, and you're... obviously going to have to wear that before stepping foot inside my turf." He wrinkles his nose, and Woojin sighs.

"I haven't gotten permission from my mom, though." It's a lot lamer when h e says it than when it's still in his head, but Woojin usually has shifts on Saturday, and it isn't as if he can just blow them off to play hooky with Jihoon.

"Already taken care of it," Jihoon says, digging his phone out of his pocket just to show Woojin the text he'd changed two hours ago with Woojin's mother. Woojin, instead of mulling more over how prepared Jihoon is, wonders more on how exactly Jihoon even got his mother's number. "Come on, it won't take long. Two hours, at most."

Woojin fans himself with his hand, and wishes the air conditioner was cranked up, before remembering practice is over and the air conditioner's already turned off to conserve energy and help lessen the school bills. "What are we going to do, anyway? We've already practiced," he whines.

Jihoon is amused. "We could hang out like normal friends do," he says dryly, before resuming to sigh. "If you're not up for it, though, I guess I can't force you."

Woojin narrows his eyes. "I don't know what you're trying to play at, but, you know what? Fuck it, I'll come over," he accepts the offer like that, taking Jihoon's bait like a moth to flame. "How are we going to get there?"

The answer to that is walking, which makes today more physically training for Woojin than almost every other day with the glaring exception of the one time Jihoon forced him to undergo actual, hell-like physical training, and he winds up glaring at Jihoon through it all: it's a little anti-climatic because Jihoon's probably two seconds away from laughing at Woojin's misery the entire time, considering while Woojin was busy with choreographies and run-throughs he was sitting idly while giving the finishing touches to the costumes. Unfair, probably, but not uncalled for.

When they finally arrive at Jihoon's house, Woojin needs to take a few moments to take in the sight of it, because it's located at the suburbs and a firm ten minute walk from the school, but it's big, white, and adorned with more windows than Woojin can count: it looks like something out of a stock image for the search of 'modern rich person house', and to some degree, it makes Woojin feel small about his own house. His place isn't small, nor is it necessarily shabby; he'd even go so far to say it's a pretty nice house, albeit not the most conventional design, but when pitted against Jihoon's house that, honest to God, seems more like a mansion—it's a lot like comparing an ant to a boot.

Snap out of it. You can't compare your house to Jihoon's, your circumstances are completely different, Woojin forces himself to think, and while it's not the fastest process, some of the insecurities begin to ebb away to something that isn't unlike acceptance. Your mom was able to make do with what she had to provide you with something that not everyone can have—it's not like Jihoon's house, but the least you could do is to be grateful for it.

By the gate (there's even a gate, but Woojin can't find himself to be surprised at all), there's a buzzer, and it brings Woojin to the memory of the fancy mansion from The Princess Diaries. The thought of that also manages to get him into conjuring the theory of Jihoon secretly being a prince of an obscure nation, and while the thought of it is entertaining and Jihoon does have the looks to be a Korean Disney prince, the only thing Woojin can see Jihoon being a prince of isn't a nation, and rather the prince of (lowkey) brats.

(Feel the love, Jihoon. Feel. The. Love.)

The gate swings open by itself, and while Jihoon walks through the entrance with the ease of someone who goes here every day, Woojin finds himself constantly looking at the ground, yelping whenever he nearly hits the grass that's trimmed so neatly it'd bring his neighborhood park's to shame. When they reach the door, Jihoon opens it himself, and Woojin swallows down the shock that he doesn't have a British butler like Alfred from Batman to do that for him.

"Only people living here are me, my parents, and the security," is what Jihoon says as he pushes the door open, practically reading Woojin's mind. "The cleaner comes every day, so does the gardener, but they don't live here. Dad's got some kind of paranoia about being murdered by his servants." At Woojin's affronted look, he's quick to add, "he's a mystery novel writer," like that explains the fear.

In a way, though, it does.

Woojin would've taken more time to observe the architecture of the living room and all, but Jihoon wastes no time in leading the both of them to his bedroom, which is on the first story, and the view is right across the swimming pool. Jihoon's room itself reeks of sleek simplicity, though, with the pristine windows, the too-tall roof, and the mattress that's almost flatly connected to the floor: it also smells like automatic air freshener, the kind that you'd usually find in mall bathrooms, and Woojin thinks of his bedroom that smells like leftover pepperoni pizza and kind of wants to cry.

"I have to go change first, but make yourself at home," Jihoon's quick to say, fixing Woojin with a nod before he scurries over to a room that's probably a walk-in closet, because what the hell. Jihoon could come out and say he's got a mini theatre in his house and Woojin wouldn't even bat an eyelash, at this point of time. He has seen too much, to be frank.

(When he manages to get a quick look at the room Jihoon opens the door to before having it slam right in front of his face only a few counts later, he does see that it's a walk-in closet, and it's filled with so many mismatched clothes that it causes an eyesore. Oddly, though, Woojin isn't revulsed, and even finds himself jotting down the details of the neon sweater that assaults his eyesight, as quick as it is to disappear from his sight, with something akin to fondness.)

Since Jihoon, the master of the house and the apparently rich enough to buy Woojin's life, was the one who told Woojin to make himself at home, then who's he to turn down the request? It's not like the opportunity for Woojin to visit a place that's nothing short of swanky comes every day, and he might as well make the most out of it without intruding himself too much. Might be more difficult than it sounds, but Woojin can make it work; he tends to find a way to make everything work when he puts his mind to it, the same way practically everyone else can. (With the notable exception of getting himself through Hyungseob's façade of being fine when he really isn't, and the reminder of that manages to sober himself from the slight daze that'd been clouded over Woojin's in-built sense of reality that'd gone haywire the moment he'd stepped foot inside Jihoon's house that's more like a mansion. Reality check, right.)

First and foremost: Woojin starts with the easiest thing to do, which is to look at the memorabilia on the wall, and he starts from the poster that'd been hung up right next to the door. It's a poster of Wicked, a musical, and it's signed by the actors of the original play themselves; while there's a worn quality to it that comes from years of existence, surprisingly, none of the edges are torn, only slightly crumbled the way things evidently turn out to be. It's in great condition, and Woojin gets the mental image of Jihoon cradling it like it's his own baby—when that happens, he snickers, because it's so Jihoon of him to be protective over the things he holds dear.

Other than the poster of Wicked, Jihoon also has posters of a few other plays, ranging from newer cult classics like Hamilton to something as old as Cats. (The only reason why Woojin knows the order, kind of, is also because of Jihoon, who'd been largely responsible in providing Woojin with a list of musicals along with the years of their conception.) Woojin had known that Jihoon's interested in theatre, enough for him to stick around since the beginning of his high school years and even through middle school, but what he'd been unaware of was that it's deep enough for him to collect official merchandise of it: that doesn't mean it's something unwelcome, though, because Jihoon, who's seeming more and more like a fanboy the more posters that Woojin inspects, only serves to grow more human in his eyes, for having his fandoms just like everyone else.

(Also: Jihoon likes to poke fun at Woojin for collecting action figures ever since his visit to Woojin's place, and at least now Woojin has something to fire back with.)

Once he's finished inspecting what was probably every poster that Jihoon has hung up on the walls (maybe it takes slightly away from the clean minimalism Jihoon's architect had been aiming for, but Woojin finds that it adds character to something that otherwise would've been clinical and maybe even hospital room-like), Woojin's attention is drawn by a shoe box, red and almost plain seeming, that's rested on a wall counter placed directly above Jihoon's bed. He approaches it, and, realizing that Jihoon's probably still in there somewhere finding the perfect outfit (he's learnt better than to verbally question the other's more... questionable fashion decisions), takes off the lid, holding it in his left hand as he studies the contents held inside the shoe box.

(Later, Woojin will learn that the shoe box, while innocent seeming, isn't unlike the pandora's box; one that'll spur chaos, but at the same time, the events that follow never would've happened had he not done The Thing.)

He's met with pictures, old and maybe not as well kept as the posters on the wall but it's certainly not dusty, and the edges are worn the way a picture would had it been held too much by someone, and what takes him aback, however, isn't the state of the picture; it's what's inside the picture, and Woojin drops the lid of the shoebox onto the mattress once he realizes that it's pictures of Jihoon.

The first one is the oldest. Jihoon looks like he's six years old, and he's on stage, dressed in something that makes him look like a lost boy. Directly behind it, Jihoon looks slightly older, maybe eight years old, and this time, the costume he's wearing resembles an archer. On the third picture, Jihoon's grown into more of the features that scream it's him, notably the eyes, and he's ten, wearing something so stuffy it makes Woojin have difficulty regulating his breathing. The fourth picture is the last, and it looks the most recent, with Jihoon appearing like he's at least twelve, or maybe thirteen, and the way he's styled rings warning bells in Woojin's head, because he knows that outfit, recognizing it as (a much younger version of) the lead in The Phantom of the Opera.

Everything makes perfect sense, now. The way Jihoon teaches Woojin with a method that comes as easily to him as breathing, the way he can speak of the woes of an actor with a kind of understanding that someone who only works on stage costumes shouldn't have.

"Woojin, what are you doing?"

He's shaken out of his revelation when the man himself comes out of the walk in closet, and when he meets Jihoon's eyes, he can see a swirl of conflicting emotions, but most of all, panic, and (this is what makes Woojin uncomfortable enough to gulp), betrayal.

But, no matter how much Woojin wants to keep staring at the pictures and to further let the truth sink in, he doesn't have the time for that; the more seconds pass with him gaping at Jihoon like an idiot, the more time Jihoon has to kindle resentment for Woojin, and the thought of that stabs at him more than it should.

"You—Jihoon—you were an actor."

Jihoon doesn't snap at him the way Woojin half-expects him to do, and somehow, that makes Woojin wish he'd done that instead of the alternative. Jihoon smiles at Woojin, but it doesn't have any happiness in it, only a kind of snideness that Woojin knows he deserves, but at the same time, doesn't want to face himself to it.

"Yeah. I was." Jihoon doesn't bother to deny it. The both of them know the pictures are enough proof to state otherwise. "Are you going to tell the entire school about it?"

Woojin splutters. "But, I don't understand—the last one was from middle school, and some people are bound to know about it."

"My last performance was during the first year of middle school. On the first play. Barely anyone remembers, and even if they do, most people didn't know my name." Jihoon pauses, glancing at the fallen lid, and Woojin takes it as a reminder to pick it up from the mattress, and while it doesn't undo everything he's seen, he still closes the box, and carefully pushes shoebox back in its previous place. "What, are you going to start asking me about why I stopped?" To be honest, he does, but he gets the idea that might not be the wisest thing to do, as of right now. He's barely threading wisely, and the best thing Woojin can do in this situation, he figures, is to shut up. "Honestly... don't. Just go home, Woojin."

"But—"

"Please."

"Alright." And, before Woojin leaves the room, not knowing if this is just him leaving Jihoon's house or if this is going to end up as his exit from Jihoon's life, he forces himself to smile, despite the aftermath of his actions that only serve to make Woojin want to curl into a ball on the floor and question himself how he could've been that big of an idiot instead of doing something that's now threatening every bit of friendship he's worked for with Jihoon. "I'm sorry, Jihoon. I really am."

Even as Woojin shuts the door, Jihoon never answers.

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Ellis Watts III→ Aldis Hodge → Jackal

→ Basic Information

Age: 99

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: December 25th

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Religion: Christian

→ His Personality

Ellis Watts is a workaholic. He has spent the entire duration as head of the Jackals looking for ways to better the clan and push them into more prominent positions within the city. This includes heavily encouraging the jackals in his clan to pursue a degree and better themselves intellectually. He also serves the citizens of Chicago as the City Planner. He has been making significant efforts to improve the quality of life for both supernaturals and humans. He is very dedicated to his work and responsibilities and does not falter in his duties. He is disciplined, often working nights and weekends until a project is seen through to the end.

However when Ellis relaxes, he does so in style. He loves expensive clothes and timepieces, nice cars, and excessive hobbies. Since he could get his hands on them, he’s loved anything with a motor: cars, motorcycles, and speed boats. Only recently has he begun to tackle the skies. It was a 95th birthday present to himself, and he’s almost put enough hours in to finally obtain his license to fly. He also enjoys spirits, and has begun making his own wine. This harkens back to his youth filled with mild over indulgence and a desire to escape.

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Head of Clan Jackal and City Planner

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: High end watches and Fast vehicles

Two Dislikes: Idle hands and People who ride their brakes

Two Fears: Failing at leading the Jackals and Heights

Two Hobbies: Boat Racing and Wine Making

Three Positive Traits: Responsible, Disciplined, Ambitious

Three Negative Traits: Work-Obsessed, Superficial, Stubborn

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ellis Watts II (Father): Ellis did not have a very strong relationship with his father, contrary to everyone in their pack. They were not very affectionate towards one another and often got into spats. Though it appeared that Ellis Watts II was handing his son the keys out of respect, in reality he left out of spite. They didn’;t have any other contact with one another for the rest of his life.

Lucretia Watts (Mother): Lucretia was old, much older than Ellis’s father, when they mated and died while Ellis was 30. Ellis was close to his mother, and she instilled many of the mantras he repeats and follows to this day.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None.

Romantic Connections:

Mary-Alice Lewis (Ex Girlfriend): He met Mary Alice when he was away for school. Too many things were trying to work against them, and when he asked her to come back home with him, she said no. He still thinks about her often and has thought about trying to see if she was still with her clan.

Miriam Vance (Ex Girlfriend): They dated in the 1970s for a few years. He was just getting in the meat of his political career and she wanted lots of children immediately. They parted ways and last he knew she moved to San Francisco.

Platonic Connections:

Sarah Harris (Best Friend): Sarah has been one of his longest friends and is often the person to call him out. He is the Godfather to both of their daughters and spends most holidays with their family.

Zack Harris (Best Friend): Zack is his most trusted confidante. They throw ideas around, playing with possibilities, before eventually bringing it to Sarah who helps make the idea possible.

Shannon Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Shannon since she was born. She’s a mini-Sarah through and through and he has recently begun training her to begin as a liaison to the pack. With the new influx of supernaturals that may come due to the University, Ellis wants to be ready.

Zelda Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Zelda since she was born. She was always a very independent child, taking the harder and often more daring road. Despite Sarah’s surprise, he saw Zelda forming her own path long before she finally told her mother she wasn’t going to school. He has her placed in the water department.

Odell Rella (Friend): Ellis brought Odell on as 3rd about 9 years ago, after he returned home from going to college and travelling the world. It’s a perspective that Jackals don’t often have and he values his input because of that. He’s still an idiot, but he does a good job as 3rd.

Seth Allen (Curious about): Seth is somewhat of an enigma to Ellis, Zack and Sarah. He is wild and difficult, but the strangest thing is that he doesn’t really act like a jackal, or at least not like anyone in Chicago. He loves being shifted and running in his shifted form. Seth also seems somewhat uncomfortable with the family dynamics that most of the clan has. Ellis has been mulling over their new addition a lot, and has even gone on a run with him in shifted form to see if it’d shed any more light.

Vee Armstrong (Employee): Vee has shown her work ethic since she was in college and Ellis took notice. When Sirius proposed getting a Human Shifter elected with the jackal’s help; Ellis knew she’d be the best person to get them there. So far she’s impressed him, and the early polls indicate Fischer will win.

Leon King (Friendly): Ellis knows of Leon through his work with the kids. He increased general activity and helped spearhead a childhood activity project that got kids moving.

Clara Fields (Fellow Council Member): Ellis doesn’t often talk to Clara, actually avoids it when he can, but they’ve known each other for a long time and he respects her work ethic.

Isaac Baker (Friend): Ellis has liked having Isaac on the council. He’s smart and isn’t weighed down by a century of baggage like the rest of them. They occasionally go to sports games together.

Chris Bialar (Work Associate): Chris came to him a year or two ago to suggest creating a University for the supernatural community. Clan Cat was experienced with the education side of things, while Clan Jackal could encourage the permit and general bureaucratic business along. Before their business venture Ellis thought he was an arrogant asshole, now he’s an arrogant asshole with a plan to get more Jackals to the city.

Nick Hamelin (Fellow Council Member): He and Nick are on good terms. The rats don’t invade any areas they shouldn’t and in return they don’t try to keep too much from them.

Percy McCormick III (Fellow Council Member): Ellis is fairly neutral about Percy. They’ve never really hit off, unlike him and the Fields, and it’s not something he’s interested in trying to start.

Greer Finley (Work Associate): Greer is the 2nd of the Cats and is spearheading much of the project on the Cat’s end. He tends to work with her on projects to avoid putting her and Sarah in the same room.

Amaria Crais (Work Associate): Amaria is the main liaison between the Cats and Jackals for the University project. He finds her much easier to deal with than Greer.

Asa Fields (Old Friend): He hasn’t spoken to Asa since he has been back, but the two would occasionally meet at parties around the city. He’s interested in seeing how he’s changed over the years.

Sirius Cobic (Business Partner): Sirius proposed the idea of getting a supernatural to the top of the Chicago government about a year and a half ago. They need someone with real power to rule and a human shifter would be the only one who could make it. Together they developed a plan, and are currently seeing it play out.

Hostile Connections:

Russell Jordan (Concerned about): Russell quickly shut down many lines of connections that had existed between the hyenas and jackals since they’d arrived. He claimed it was to unify the clan under new leadership, but they haven’t opened back up.

Alan Thomas (Annoyance): He’s never seen anyone argue so much over building codes that have been public knowledge for years. Thomas takes any slow down as a personal offence and doesn’t care to restrain himself from throwing a fit.

Pets:

None

→ History

Ellis was born in Chicago to Ellis Watts II and Lucretia Watts. Unusually for jackals the pair married at quite old ages and Ellis III was the only child they ever had. Lucretia was showing signs of slowing down when Ellis was a young boy, so it was only a matter of time when she passed away. He was away for many of her last years, and when he returned from school she refused to shift back into her human form. Ellis spent much of his time shifted the last year of her life so they could communicate easier. When she finally died, he didn’t change for years. It was at this time of no shifting that Ellis discovered his love for fast machines; motorcycles, cars, boats, anything he could feel the exhilaration of. He also garnered some criticism at this time, specifically from his father who thought he was being frivolous and wasteful. This was the beginning of what would become decades of arguments between the two men.

They fought about him not using his degree or getting a useful job, about Elli II being inflexible and running members out of Chicago. This was all hidden from the packs eyes as their leader having the least happy family of all might cause an uproar in such a family oriented clan. The only members who were aware were Sarah and Zack Harris, his father’s seconds. Finally in 1941, after a particularly brutal argument Ellis II quit, told his son that he could burn the pack down if he wanted, but that he wouldn’t be around to watch. He packed up his things and left the clan to Ellis to rule, with the obvious assumption he’d fail. Ellis, like he did in many instances rose to the occasion. He hunkered down and learned everything: each pack family, who needed assistance, what needed to be done, where there were spots they could expand. It was Ellis who made the switch into the Government and slowly began securing good jobs with good pay for his people. He finally joined office himself once he was legally able to and has been City Manager on and off for many years.

After he switched into being a leader, he’s had a difficult time turning it off. It’s ruined any relationship he’s had, caused tension headaches and teeth grinding, and he rarely if ever takes a day off. He still maintains many of his hobbies like boat racing, wine making, and now piloting; but work and his clan is always in the back of his mind.

→ The Present

Ellis would like to find a wife and start a family. Sarah says it was his dysfunctional family life that’s scared him off. Which is partially true, but he’s worried that he’ll start slipping if he relaxes too much. He’s actually considered asking Sarah or Shannon to set him up, but he’s not sure that he is that desperate yet.

Ellis is also creating a University with the Cats. He, Sarah, and Zack have been in talks for about a year or so developing the idea, but they are going to break ground soon. He’s excited to have a new school for his Jackals to go to, as well as a new draw for the supernatural community. Another venture he’s taking on, though in a much more removed position, is the election of human shifter, Robert J. Fischer. It was an idea concocted with the human shifters to get a member of the supernatural community in the highest seat of power. Though the council previously ruled no species could be in the mayor’s office due to an unequal balance of power, Ellis knows they don’t understand the nature of modern politics.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Aldis Hodge  [1][2][3][4]

[idontneedasymbol]

12x17: The British Invasion

Well, that was definitely an episode that happened. Bucklemming live up to their reputation! Not going to do separate good/bad posts because seriously, the good won't take up that much room. To wit:

My favorite moment hands-down was when the boys are talking to Mick in the bunker, sitting on the table next to each other, and I literally started to say, "Well, you can tell they're not J2, because there is a good four inches of space between the--" and then Sam scoots over to lean his arm against Dean, because personal space is for people who don't have brothers or annoying Brits in their bunker.

Then adorably hungover boys, and I was momentarily insulted on behalf of Dean's poor belabored liver that he could be out-drunk, but then I read this headcanon courtesy of @mittensmorgul and love love love the idea that Dean actually has cut back enough for his tolerance to be down, and you know he's going to be annoyed by it until Sam points out that it's a good thing, really, dude. (I was a little raised-eyebrow that they'd both get trashed with Mick in the bunker, just seems off that they'd trust him that much. Am going to privately theorize that Sam didn't actually drink that much but then was up all night researching.)

They made Jared do a fake accent and it was as hilariously awful as anyone would wish for.

And finally, Eileen was around -- and survived! a Bucklemming episode! -- and it sounds like she's been keeping in touch as the boys both seem familiar with talking with her online and also Sam gives the best hugs, even in tragic circumstances, and has been learning more sign language. He and Eileen totally have a 'hunters with benefits' thing and Dean thinks it's cute and just aww awwww awwwwwwww. And she went to Ireland in the end so I'm hoping she'll be safe from any hunter purge (as it's the British Men of Letters and I imagine the Irish MoL are not letting those British bastards one inch into their territory...)

So there were things to like in the episode!

Then there was the rest of it (under a cut for those wanting to stay positive.)

To quote Cabin Pressure...SO BOOOOOOOOORED. How was the pacing this bad? The scenes stretched on forever, and so little surprising or interesting happened in any of them. The Crowley & Lucifer stuff is just awful, as they already exhausted the only possible storylines there -- either Crowley is getting one over Lucifer or Lucifer is getting one over Crowley, but they already did the bait-and-switch from one to the other, and now whichever way it goes, we've seen it. Move on, please.

Kelly Kline is sympathetic but not especially compelling. She's only been written by Bucklemming so she has no real character to speak of, except what the actress is admirably trying to bring to the role. Also having Dean abduct her was...I get why he did it, and having him and Sam then be understanding of her feelings is good, but the imagery of our hero strong-arming a pregnant woman, just, ugh, why?

I don't get the plan against Dagon. Or why there wasn't a plan against Dagon. Why did they take Kelly to a junkyard rather than a more defensible position? Or just follow her back to her place and ambush Dagon? Why are they all idiots? (I know, I know, a Bucklemming infestation is a terrible thing. They really need a repellent.)

Mary and Ketch was. I don't get it. Were we supposed to feel sorry for Ketch, who seems to have developed some real feelings somehow that aren't returned? Why are Mary's memories of John so distant? Does Mary have a soul? Seriously, she makes so much sense right now if she's soulless. Otherwise I'm baffled.

Lastly, Mick. Oh Mick. I may have cared about your death more if it wasn't painfully obvious from the start of your last scene, and then that scene went on for-eeeee-ver so that when Ketch finally shot you I was just glad it was over. (And am I forgetting something, or is this the first time the Men of Letters “Code” that Mick died for turned up?)

Otherwise...did they get Mick and Ketch's backstories confused? Because that story makes perfect sense for Ketch, and none at all for Mick. I complained about this already, but if Mick grew up on the street, why can't he talk to the rough & ready American hunters? If he went to a fancy academy as a 12-14 year-old, why didn't he learn to change his accent to fit in, as most kids that age can and do? If he personally murdered his own best friend, how is he so unprepared to deal with a few deaths at the hands of vampires? Why did Ketch have to remind him that people die?

What was the purpose of Mick in the end? He came around to the Winchesters in the end, and dies for it; but his death doesn't impact anyone else in the Men of Letters, and I don't think the boys are going to be that broken up about it, when they only knew him a bit and now are going to be dealing with surviving Ketch and co.

(I would love if Mick came back as a ghost...perhaps because, suspecting he might die, he secreted some object/bit of himself in the boys' bunker, with that in mind. It'd be a mildly interesting twist, but it's not going to happen.)

I'm also bitter about the handling of the BMOL, because their introduction set up some genuinely interesting questions about the ethics as much as the efficacy of hunting methods, and now all of those questions are swept away; it's now just, sure they have cool tools, but they also are homicidal assholes, so they're wrong. It's boring, and it destroys any sense of tension...not that they had much. Ketch killing Mick at the end was played as a dramatic moment, but it wasn't really; all it did is confirm what the audience has known since the premiere, when they kidnapped and tortured Sam -- these guys are bad news.

Oh well. At least the boys were cute and not painfully OOC, and no one I really cared about died. And we only have one more Bucklemming episode this season to get through. We can do this!