when: 𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖣𝖲𝖳 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖮𝖲 | 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾 from: MAI, the hanged man to: BO, the worm —( @wrvtchedhearts )

the chaos itself does not seem to bother her as much as it probably should. they knew this would be happening after all, and when the air clears, the dust and ash have settled, she will readjust, recalibrate, with the dead hand, with her friends. but right then, as they are quite literally locked in, she figures there is nothing else she can do but 'mingle' with the people she is with. mai nurses a drink as she saunters between the people, the stoneage staff, the investors, greeting one person and then the next, stopping every once in a while to engage in 'pleasant conversation'. it's then that she spots a face she had not seen before, and makes her way to them, one carefully crafted eyebrow rising in curiosity. "hello there." she begins, voice soft, and holds out a hand. "i don't think we met before." it's more of a statement than a question: mai does not forget faces very easily. "i'm mai kimura." there is no tackling on the titles afterwards, she is not the one to like her words to speak for her. "and you are ? are you an investor ?"

when: 𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖣𝖲𝖳 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖮𝖲 | 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾 from: MAI, the hanged man to: AMAHLE, the false god —( @eatsgod )

red-soled high heels click on the marbled floor, two hands wrapped around a pair of crystal champagne flutes. one of them is full, untouched, while the rim of the other is smudged with red lipstick. mai is wearing a backless piece, white silk contrasting against her skin, dark hair undone, brushing her shoulders as she walks. she has done her share of entertaining the investors so far, the carefully constructed smiles, the way they look at her wide-eyed, the back and forth of compliments and veiled persuasions. a girl can only take it so far before she needs to take a break, wanting to spend time with the one her eyes had been following all along that night. she spots her across the venue, imperceptibly fastening her steps now that amahle doesn't seem to be talking to anyone. there are many people here that would want to steal her attention any second now, and when there is a window, she is adamant about not missing it. "darling—" once she is within her earshot, and hers only, she purrs, holding out the champagne flute, a mischievous smile on her lips. "you don't seem to be enjoying yourself..." which is, understandable, considering everything going around, though it does not mean mai does not want her to smile nonetheless. "what can i do to change that ?"

Heartbreaking 

it's — insanity. if siwoo had to chose one word to describe it all, it would be 'insanity'. his hands shake as he makes his way through the hallways, to downstairs, to follow on his hunch when - from the corner of his eye, he sees ... a ghost. that's all it must be, his mind playing tricks on him. a mirage, nothing more, nothing less. his steps freeze in mid-motion, and he stares at a faraway wall, trying to wait for the image in his peripheral vision to vanish. it won't be the first time his mind has played tricks on him — and it can't be- why would he even be here ? in this chaos, nonetheless ? then the voice comes, warm, unlike the heat of the desert, the dust that clings to his skin. the voice brings so much more in its wake, his head snaps back to where it came from. "atlas ?" a single word carries a plethora of emotions, shock, longing, disbelief. a part of him assumed atlas would be out there as well, further cemented by the fact that he met daniel a few weeks ago, after years of separation. but to see him here ? of all places ? he has grown older, in a way that siwoo himself has- yet the reality hits his face unkindly, feet taking him to where the other is, to see for himself, to verify it really is the friend - no family- he lost so long ago. "is it really you?" there's something stuck in his throat, something that does not go away. the back of his eyes sting at atlas' words, that they tried to find him- just as siwoo tried to find them. "i can't — believe this —" another step closer, a trembling hand reaches out to touch the man's shoulder, hesitant but willing to pull him into an embrace.

closed to @rhapsodiq / siwoo & atlas / stoneage

"Siwoo?" His heart plummets to his stomach, the flash drive in his pocket feeling like an anchor.

He had parted ways with Dae-yoon only moments before at the sight of security, the contents of the database clinging to the edges of his mind like gauze caught in the branches of a tree. He hadn't been able to fully absorb Siwoo's entry, but the glimpses had been enough to ignite his fury, to set his blood boiling. He should raze this entire place to the ground, but there would be time enough for that later, after he had redistributed this trove of secrets to those who deserved to know, to hold it in their hands.

But the sight of the very person he'd been thinking of halts him in his tracks. Siwoo, now grown, full and realized, no longer missing—his heart swells, and a lump forms in his throat that refuses to dissipate. Yet, they had been slain all the same. Stolen, and reshaped.

"Fuck, it's you, isn't it? Dae-yoon had told me you were... alive," the word feels foreign on his tongue. "But to find you here, at Stoneage. My God, I spent so long thinking we would never find you, Siwoo."

his slip-up is noticed. embarrassment flushes up his nape, heating up the back of his neck. while he did not try to hide it ( should he have ? ) he has been paying attention to pakorn during his visits to stoneage, at times when it was siwoo who helped him with augmentations, how he mentioned he didn't have the time to eat, how whenever asked, he didn't particularly seem to pay attention to take care of himself like that. have i unveiled too much ? stepped over the line ? he'd worry if he had more time to deliberate on the implications of their words. but as it is, the situation lets him tuck that into the back of his mind, to worry and fret over later when the time comes. his gaze is focused on the green cloth of the table and the contrast of the colors when a whizzing noise reaches his ears, and slowly, ever so carefully, he turns his head back towards him, confused as to what exactly it is that's making that sound. it's hard to decipher the source, though the very faint whirring of the machine, the flickering of light is spotted, and it doesn't take him long to realize it's an augmentation. how interesting, have never seen that before. he wonders what it exactly does as pakorn takes the cards in his hands.

he leans forward again to listen, and he deliberately tries not to mull over how close they are, how he is in pa's personal space. how he can see the perfections and imperfections of skin, where metal meets the tissue, the dip of his cupid bow, the way his lips curl into a smirk. it takes his breath in a way he should not allow it to, and if asked, he'll again say it's due to the nature of the game, nothing else — they have to be quiet ( with the patron undoubtedly glaring their way, though he cannot see it from this angle ). a gentle smile spreads across his lips at the words, and he shrugs, lips morphing into a pout as he murmurs. "i don't think most of these men deserve cookies in the first place." that statement is directed at one person in particular, though with how he has been told the game can turn into a bloodbath any second, it most likely applies to more than one person. "you can always... come visit. if you want uneventful days." this time his words are quieter, the flush on his cheeks still there. his gaze is locked on the fingers, the swift way they move with ease, and the butterflies in his stomach flit their wings faster at the admission he is welcome here. that pakorn does not mind that he interrupted a game of this scale. it makes him both undeniably fond, as well as content to be there, emotions he does not let himself fall into just yet, the voice in the back of his mind warning him again of the words prior.

a four-set match sounds... good. at least going off from the pleased way the man sounds. siwoo's hands raise over pa's arm in a quiet clap, clasping onto one another, his heart in his throat. the fool does not know the stakes here, does not know how much money those chips are actually worth, if there are other dynamics at play here. nonetheless, he knows who he's rooting for, and what the outcome is when ( not if ) he wins. the way pakorn flirts is as surprising as it is welcome. he had not expected this at all, and while a part of him vehemently questions if he's reading too much into this, that maybe this is just how pakorn is, it's impossible not to enjoy the moment. the way he is the center of his attention, the way he seems to want to win for what will come. this close, he can see the way both eyes are watching him, the intensity of his stare, it both makes him want to evade the gaze for how strongly it makes him feel, and another part wants to lean forward regardless of the outcome of the game; a conundrum he does not know the solution to yet. so, he stills, and there's the warmth of a breath on the shell of his ear, a full-bodied shiver through his frame. the double entendre is not lost, bringing another bout of a flush across his cheeks. "i think-" he starts, placing one hand on pa's arm across his legs, turning his head ever so slightly. "they will have to keep wishing if that's the case." only for you, i'm doing this only for you. if one is careful, it can be read between the lines. at the mention of something sweet, he swallows, tongue peaking out to lick over his lips that suddenly go dry, adam's apple bobbing up and down. you're showing your colors too much, it's crystal clear how much this impacts you — and he is not sure if he hopes these tells fall under the radar, or if pakorn actually notices them. "one more card. do you think we will win?" not you, we. it's almost done, so close that siwoo can almost taste it ( taste them ). it's quiet, and he holds his breath, eyes focused on pakorn and nothing else.

"do you now." in answer to the implication, despite how siwoo didn't make it into any kind of question. skipping meals. a cat-like huff, unlike him, emerges. remaining like he is sprawled when he is on high-alert. gazing at siwoo's neck. adding the blushing of siwoo's profile to the digital code marching through pakorn's wiring. and then when he leans back — something within pakorn could snarl. possessive, in a way. let them think whatever they wanted so long as it was correct, so long as it did not paint siwoo in a bad set of colours. ( then again, wouldn't all shades be beautiful? ) the patron to their right juts his chin; pakorn swipes the cards and shuffles through them. nothing close to an immediate victory, such as a royal flush, but he might be able to bluff it. if he drew — [ 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . . ] at this angle and closeness, siwoo will see it. maybe even hear it. another tiny, automated voice, whispering by the side of pakorn's augmented ear. he had taken one of the supplements before this game. honed into it. siwoo is so fucking distracting, enabling him to focus in multiple places. [ 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . . 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴. ] the pupil fans out, identifying the third card beneath the top as one he needs.

in the bluff, he accepts the cards. flips them over. "...hm." discards the one on the left. he lets himself be distracted. two other hands will take those cards on the draw deck & leave the one he wants. "i like uneventful days. i never have 'em. some shit always is going down when i'm not looking. meanwhile you go to your office and take your cookies in. maybe you should bring them here next time. work their magic like you work yours." one card taken. the gravitational pull towards siwoo's chest is too strong to resist. he glances away from the game, looks directly at siwoo. "almost there." his mouth trembles into that knowing smirk. his iron-clad hand flicks the cards between each finger. is he showing off? maybe a little. "i still can't fucking believe you find the time to bother to come here. you wanna see me more often? i'm sold."

second card taken. in the midst of the distraction, and drunken opinions, pakorn is light & quick. snatches up the third card, flecks it into his deck. "and. a four-set match. unless somebody has a royal flush..." his smirk widens. another hand folds, an acknowledgement of loss with a face buried in nicotine-stained hands. the mound of chips widens like a great jaw. but there's only one heat he really feels. one rush. "you better be ready. you're gonna be the new lucky charm everybody will want." he gauges siwoo's reaction. ( maybe he shouldn't be like this to him. fuck. it's no secret he flirts constantly. has no qualms about taking things off the table. he doesn't want it to be like that. and yet he can't make him leave. don't leave. ) "too bad for them." he plunges forward. he has never walked backwards, not since he first died. "and great for me. i like sweet things." in a sense, he has already won. leans on that arm across siwoo's legs to put his mouth to the shell of siwoo's ear: "can't wait to taste them."

fingers tap on his thigh, the other arm tucked under his armpit. he fights the urge to fidget further as he watches the visitors. this was supposed to be a regular night — they have events all the time, where they entertain, showcase their projects, and convince the people of the worth of their company, what they have achieved, what they can achieve. while nonsensical, a part of him feels guilty that they are going through this on a night when the stoneage team is supposed to be the hosts. their guests were supposed to be safe — and they will be safe, he consoles himself. the security is top-notch, and it is exactly why they are told to stay put, to stay inside no matter what. the idea of amahle telling a bedtime to all of them story puts a smile on his face, albeit subdued, given the situation. "yeah... i suppose they might bring out cots. i doubt anyone will be able to rest though..." the words linger in the air, eyes sweeping over the room crowded with terrified people. the next question is not one that he expects, and it twists something in his chest, threatening to bring up something buried, something he has not thought of in a while. his expression grows tight, lips pursed, before he does his best attempt to school it neutral. "you could say... i was allowed to have them." after losing their parents, technically, all they had was sleepovers in the car they hid in. "it's been a while since i last had one." teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he tries to steer the subject away from himself. "so, you have never had one before?"

`　　　CLOSED　　▸　　siwoo ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎/‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ @rhapsodiq　.

the snake at the bottom of the cash pit, scales sparkling against every ounce of liquor-clueless attention. so high above the city that mindlessness feels perfectly safe, retreating into this warm bubble of free alcohol, compliments, coaxing. it would be pathetic if he, despite his position within the den, didn't also feel the allure made possible by his own wealth. but he simply has far more to do than he's capable of here — can feel flickering life through the thick glass, and time slipping.

checks his watch. " will they bring out cots, do you think? amahle can read to them. dans la lumière de la lune, un petit œuf repose sur une feuille ... " smiling mouth swallows a mouthful of mezcal and sweet vermouth. " were you allowed sleepovers as a child, siwoo? or was your mother as maudlin as mine? "

what kane knows so far about all of this is limited to what they had seen with the detective on the television, added to the fact that his penthouse has a quite decent view of the city. yes, there are fires all around; the flickering of lights are most likely gunshots, the ambulances and car accidents are scattered through the streets. even then, it is hard to realize the extent of it, and to hear elio just as confused ? impacted ? about all of it, flips another switch in his brain. "shit." is the eloquent response, one far removed from the carefully constructed image of dr. kane iona. however, that's not the person he is right then, he is the underboss of the burning gods, who has a metaphorical bomb on his lap. a hum leaves his mouth as assent, though frustration still bubbles under his words. "yes. it must be." and they should have known. what kind of bosses are they if they do not know when an apocalypse like this is brewing under them ? "and we will figure it out." it's a promise, an oath. "let me know if you have seen anything suspicious. even if it might not seem to be the case, let your intuition decide."

dressed   in   suit   and   tie,   elio   was   at   the   stoneage   investment   party   before   he   had   received   orders   to   retrieve   the   underboss   of   the   burning   gods.   a   gathering   of   decadence   and   oblivion   while   chaos   ABLAZE   their   surroundings.   “   i’ve   never   seen   anything   like   it,   ”   he   admits,   gaze   flitting   towards   kane.   and   he   has   seen   quite   a   lot   in   his   lifetime   —   years   of   violence   by   his   hand,   corruption   devouring   from   the   inside   out   snuffed   out   by   a   single   bullet,   stoic   to   even   the   most   gruesome   outcome   of   a   fight   …   but   never   so   much   disorder   in   such   a   wide   expanse.   but,   hey,   he   thrives   in   an   environment   needing   to   think   on   his   feet,   hone   in   on   sanguinary   instincts   instilled   in   him   decades   ago.   “   this   has   to   be   a   distraction   for   something   much   bigger   …   much   more   sinister.   ”

kane iona is one of the three people who can waltz around the anunnaki building in this manner. the card holder clipped on his waist is perhaps unnecessary as the security personnel all around stand up straight at the sight of him, enact their best to be picture perfect, eyes staring at the walls, anywhere but the man himself. it is not as if kane would speak to them directly save for a directive or two, though there are stories that echo between the marble walls of the building, of how people get mysteriously fired for the smallest of reasons, for looking at a shareholder the wrong way, or wearing their shirt with a button missing, or wearing a tie in the wrong shade of blue. his expression is impartial, guarded, and neutral all at once. intimidation exudes from him nonetheless as the sound of his dress shoes reverberates through the large halls. he is in his dark suit, one that is rumored to be the only attire he wears, at least in public. it's part of the image, his publicist says, to radiate professionalism, honesty, integrity, and all that. it's also easy to wear basically the same fucking thing every day. if one looked at his walk-in closet, they would be surprised by how many shades of blue, black, grey, and maroon there can be in the world, but there are hundreds — all tailored perfectly to his size, with matching accessories, ties, and shoes, ready to go. it's a materialistic, superficial world, and the image of kane iona is carefully constructed. so is millicent's — which brings him to the content of the interview he had watched, the one that he thinks can be heard through the door of the cfo's office. she had handled it well— of course she had, it had been her expertise all along, it was her who thought him how to hold himself in public these days. times were ever-changing, so were the latest trends, whims, and wishes of the public. many called him an old man, playing a game he should have quit ages ago — but he has been proving time and time again how wrong they all are. on the topic of millicent's interview, the tone of mr. schott had rubbed him off the wrong way as he had listened: how convenient would it be for him to suddenly switch sides — and kane had more than enough resources and people to sway people's minds with a snap of his finger. it would be handled in due time, with delicate care, in a situation far removed from them. he was sure the next time, the man's tone would hold support for her in the place of the previous malice— undoubtedly through his own 'change of heart'- no other reason. it is surprising to find the door open as he walks inside, expression shifting into something more relaxed when she enters his line of sight. a tilt of his head, a ghost of a smile playing on the corner of lips. "is that the way you greet your father ?" a 'tsk' falls from his mouth, though it is clear he jests. his feet take him to the bar first, and he fills his glass with macallan before sauntering to her desk, sitting on one of the chairs across her. it is rare these days that he treats himself to his vices, alcohol being the primary one. it is unhealthy after all, though if he cannot enjoy a glass every once in a while, with his god-daughter nonetheless, then there is no use to all of this power and wealth. the notion of his beauty sleep pulls a laugh out of him, eyes meeting hers as he takes a long sip of the drink. "i am sure i can manage." though she is not far off the mark: sleep is tied to health in ways many people ignore, kane is very careful about his time resting, the rem cycles, the perfect amount of sleep to make sure he is on his best the day after. but forgetting all of that, he is here for another purpose. call it an instinct, a hunch, or a father's intuition, he feels as if something is wrong. "i am here for something else." the words hang in the air, inquisitive eyes search her face. god, she looks so much like malvina, the memory of her ( and what he has done ), almost makes him avoid her gaze. the keyword being almost — he continues to meet her eyes. "is everything... alright with you?"

concatenation.

Millicent's office at Anunnaki Pharmaceuticals ;  ━━━━  Manhattan, New York. for @rhapsodiq // 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀.

❝ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑! 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑! is it true that there has been a burgeoning question of leadership in the company amongst you & your older siblings since your mother had officially stepped down a year ago? ❞

THE THING ABOUT MILLICENT EISHER, whose silhouette has shadowed the television screen with a practiced vulnerability, whose RUTHLESSNESS will one day strike it with stunning tyranny, is that she is always living a truth.

Even now, withdrawing a cigarette from its pure gold art deco case & setting it against the cupid's bow of her lip as she reviews her earlier press conference from the perch of her desk, she watches as she leans in to a statement that should've stabbed an icepick of fear into her heart for someone KNOWING, with a sincere hike to her brow. ❝  i don't know about that. here at anunnaki, we focus on always operating in a polished and professional manner. the support between all of us is very prevalent. ❞ Her televised self says. There's none of Malvina's canary-catching coyness in the way she replies.

There's no game to be in on.

You're well-practiced — have  your  own rules  to  fit  into  the  system  of  safety ;  you  know  how  to  wear  the  right  thing,  to  never falter in your reactions,   you  can  curtsy    &    smile    &    play  up  to  the  game with the best of them.

❝   perhaps you should learn  to  pay  attention to the right things instead,  mr.  schott.   ❞      Millicent  snares  at the reporter  in  the  center  lens  of  her  stare.    Her  gaze  is  a  STEEL  PIERCE  set  behind  the  careful  art  of  mascara’d  lashes  lined  to  perfection.   A  poised,   painted  lip  curls  around  her  next  comment  as  it  leaves  under  a  rehearsed  emphasis.      ❝   what  we’re  doing  here  is  very  important.   ❞  

In  a  showman’s  flourish,   she  flicks  both  hands  out  to  the  cameras.      ❝   we  are  one of the largest pharmaceutical companies worldwide    &    who  better  to  represent  the  future  than  us,  no?   ❞    the  plasticine  smile  straining  at  her  lips  says  there’s  no  room  for  disagreement.    When  Millicent  speaks  again,  her  voice  dips  its  register  like  she’s  speaking  directly  to  the people watching.     ❝    i  can’t  see  any  reason  why  you  wouldn’t  want  to  be  a  part  of  that.   ❞

Millicent turns it off, sighs & swerves in her chair, overlooking the city's skyline. This  hour  of  the  night  is  dipped  in  silver  shades  of  blue    &    so  her  rich  hum  runs  indigo  with  its  assent.  It’s  a  typical  winter  evening  replete  with  a  thick  fog  rising  up  from  the  ground  hanging  under  the  moon’s  dutiful  watch.   She thinks: a  cut  between  the  shoulder  blades  is  a  lesson  to  be  learned  to  always  watch  one’s  back,  to  never  feel  a  depth  of  TRUST  to  the  point  where  vulnerability  is  on  display  to  receive  the  deep  sheath  of  a  sword  between  its  slats.

She  has  the  ENTIRE  WORLD  at  her  fingertips    &    endless  hours  to  peruse  it.    Her  mind  is  more  than  a  lockbox  of  all  the  information  pored  over,   more  than  all  the  moves    &    twists    &    insults  thrown  that  she  used  to  ingest  only  to  learn  how  to  mock  her  own  body  into  the  fray.    Millicent's  flippant  fingertips  bat  at  the  air  in  a  simple  gesture  that  begs  the  question:    could she have done better?

It's not a inquiry she is given the chance to further deliberate when she makes note of footsteps echoing against the marble floors of her office. Foolishly thinking she had been the only one around, she'd left her door open.

❝   kane. ❞   She turns to face him, a  lacquered  nail  tips  the  finger  that  holds  the  cigarette   & taps at the end of the ashtray.   An elegant,    one-two  rap. With her left hand, she reaches for the drink she'd made herself some time ago. ❝   shouldn't you be at home getting your beauty sleep? ❞  

something sits heavy in the bottom of his stomach. their sigh only weighs it down further. at times siwoo can be perceptive and other times oblivious — which way the pendulum swings depends on the occasion. social cues ? they tend to go over his head. people ? he is much better at figuring out, or so he believes. his friends ? is where he thrives; their ticks and tells, what they like and what they hate, the way they have their coffee in the morning, how they like their lunch, it's all embedded into his memory — and eve is ( used to be ? ) someone he calls a friend. the cold shoulder stings all the worse because of that, that eve, genuinely does not seem to care or want to be even near him anymore. and he has to know why, to learn and fix what he has done so terrible to cause it all. but knowing they actually mean five minutes, he knows he has to be brief. "okay- yes- sure — thank you—" his nervousness is easy to spot from a mile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. silently grateful there are no investors around. "i just — i want to know what i did — i must have done something, for you... for you to avoid me like this —" a shorter intake of breath, one hand goes up to his hair, running through the strands. "i am sorry i upset you— and i- i need to know what i did so i can fix it — and- apologize for the right thing—" he knows he is getting pent up, hands at his sides, nails digging into his palm. "please, eve — tell me."

When Eve was first created, they found themself drawn to human emotions. Maybe it was because they were programmed to replicate the way humans lived and worked, or maybe it was just fascination at the life that thrummed beneath their veins and how it was a stark contrast to their wires and mesh. No matter the reason, that fascination drew them to SIWOO KIM. They found themself hovering around the scientist, curious eyes examining his every move. They might've even considered him their first friend, but one day, something seemed to shift.

They couldn't place it at first, but something about the employee just felt... off. The emotions were still there, as were the conversations, but there was a certain spark that Eve lost. It felt like talking to a mirror, not a creature they wished to study. The feeling made them pull away, but they knew they couldn't hide from him forever.

They examined him as he approached them at the event. Their eyes shifted from him to the door, but a slight hesitation caused them to miss their window. Accepting that they couldn't sneak away, they settled for a sigh instead. ❝Fine, but you have five minutes.❞

"no, no, it's all good —" siwoo is quick to come to his defense, one hand going up as he shakes his head. guilt twists in his stomach at his mistake. truthfully, he has been busy, even more so than usual lately, but he also has been the 'little guy' once. he knows how difficult being a new person at a company can be, especially when you are trying to make your name in the world, doing your best to connect with those who are in higher positions than you are. "i'm sorry for forgetting, forgive me..." the words linger on, waiting for the stranger to grant him his name. it further makes sense that the man is working for amahle, for siwoo is sure he knows his interns quite well. "oh, how wonderful!" a genuine smile spreads across his face. if amahle chose him, that means he must have great potential. "what are you working on ? if you don't mind my asking." he leans forward, curious, passion for their work shines through. "do you like it so far ?"

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it, I’m just an intern. Sorry, didn’t mean to act all familiar,” they quickly said. Bo’s shyness was something he used on the regular, though the confidence shone through when he most needed it. Now it took a back seat, thinking up a scenario where they suddenly felt a little guilty for jumping up on Siwoo. He had to make sure that he didn’t sound too eager, but passionate was good enough. After all, he did have a passion for machines and coding. And it would be easy to convey that to anyone else. 

“I’m interning for Amahle,” he quickly explained. Though they’d never been introduced and Bo knew the scars on their face were memorable enough that people might recall them, he still sailed on that familiarity. Siwoo seemed like the type to be distracted by work. Too distracted to notice an intern. 

the scientist is grateful the stranger agrees his help, half-sure the other would keel over any minute now if he denied it. with the hand on his elbow, his feet take them to a nearby table, and once the stranger has sat down, siwoo quickly goes to his table to grab his bag, stuffing his notebooks inside before he returns. the chair makes a screeching noise as it's pulled to the man's side. "i know it seems like a good idea, but washing the augmentation with water is only going to irritate it further, believe me —" the words quickly follow one another, and he tries to find the needed item through the contents of the bag with more urgency now. "i know i had it somewhere here —" the irritation for himself blinks through before he lets out a triumphant "yes!" a hand holds out the artificial tear, basically an eye drop that he feels grateful to have it with him today. "this should help — i always carry some with me in case someone needs it."

Zakir attempted to blink, though his head did turn towards the stranger as he heard the noise. “Huh?” he asked. He had too much of a headache and was a bit out of it, but he wasn’t sure what didn’t make it a good idea. He also didn’t have the energy or focus to fight the suggestions, so when he felt a hand touch his elbow, he didn't have the power to push them away. “Okay…?” 

But he really wanted to throw some water into his face. Still, he walked along, and he sat down in the place he was directed to, before he got back to rubbing his eyes. The pain was back again, but it was mostly the itching and pain in his eyes. “I just have to splash some water on my face,” he suggested.

the enthusiastic tone is... suspicious, though kane will still bite. he has seen his fair share of law officers, police, detectives, prosecutors and so on, so forth. they all have their particular methods, veiled motivations, as well as different means of convincing, some more peculiar than others. kane is not sure what coen is up to just yet, though he suspects he will figure it out sooner than later. "how kind of you to drop by, then." it's the kane that the public sees, tone benign, beginnings of a smile on his face. "please, do sit." one hand gestures to the couch, then eyes meet the help across the room, and they come quickly to their side. "what can i offer you as a drink ? tea, coffee... something stronger if you are off duty for the night ?"

What a swanky place. A small, fleeting observation before being promptly discarded. Then he's met with a new face, but one with potential to memorize if the impromptu visit isn't met with hellfire and venom.

Not everyone welcomes a detective on their doorstep. And honestly? He can't blame them.

But it seems like this one does. And for that, Coen ambles his way in with a million watt grin. "Kane!" No subtly hidden here. Just an unmistakable boost of confidence like they've been friends for ages. "Happened to be in the neighborhood— thought I'd drop by and see how things've goin'."

the blood on his hands sticks to the cigarette. he holds it between his lips as he retrieves his handkerchief from his suit pocket, trying to wipe some of it away. it's not a successful attempt, though it stops his fingers from sticking when he inhales the next drag. pierce quit smoking ? "good for you" he muses, genuine. stuffs the pack in his pocket again. "sichuan ? oh, it has been a while." the enforcer groans at the idea, hunger hitting him more now the image of their dinner is visualizing in his mind. the adrenaline still high in his veins, his feet take him to the car. "wanna go to the same place as last time ?" one last drag of a cigarette before he throws it on the ground, crushes it under his sole. "we might need to go to the gas station before though —" a vague gesture to his clothes will probably be enough of an answer. he keeps extra shirts in the trunk, so he'll quickly slip into that when they make a stop next.

It’s familiar, that. In more ways than one, he’s seen the same destruction dealt by others. By his own very hands. Pierce knows that he, too, is capable of such devastation and it scares him. Deep down, it’s always scared him. Even when such rage can be deemed necessary— he always comes out of it shaking. Struck cold with a certain kind of numbness that inly drives that fear even further.

So he avoids it when able.

Doesn’t let himself be influenced by proximity. Especially with one as capable as Xiang. Pierce knows he’d be called for if necessary, but things hardly ever get that bad with him. And this time is no different.

He looks over at the exit and almost winces at the clatter of metal. Almost, but doesn’t. Just as he almost accepts a smoke, but shakes his head instead. “Gave it up a while ago,” he says with a polite yet passive shrug, “but you know what I haven’t shaken off? That Sichuan cuisine.”

he nods, shoulders relaxing imperceptibly at the positive answer. his steps are quiet as he follows the man, though the enforcer's still careful of his surroundings, on high alert with what's looming in the shadows. faces he has never seen before flit through the corners of his eyes, no doubt armed — but, bullets do not work here. there's a different language. it has always made xiang uneasy. oddly, he thinks he'd prefer his chances outside. the question comes not as a surprise, the cut through the small talk is perhaps something the demon is grateful for, having never been the one for words. "everything's... fine." at least on his end, on the terrors end, it's all fine. it's not what he came here for. "i do not come here for business. i wanted to ask something personal, i suppose." it makes him uncomfortable enough to avoid the man's gaze before he's resolute again. "do you still... take young ones in?"

Straight to the point, of course. He wouldn't expect any different from Xiang, but curiosity does pique like a spark to dry tinder. "A few, yes," he responds in turn, pleasant-like. Though the thought of being truly alone is near laughable. There are eyes and ears everywhere within the premise, but Seojun still leads them into his office where seclusion can be granted if need be.

"Everything alright?" Ideally, a bit of small talk would come first — it has been some time since they've spoken. But business first. There's no sense in delaying whatever news brings the like of Xiang to his lobby.

now that is a loaded question and a half. one that xiang doesn't care to answer or elaborate. though it does get his gears turning, for he hasn't spared a thought too long about this particular habit before. does he sleep with the same person more than once ? rarely. sometimes. it depends. certainly not with him again, he thinks idly. the demon does not like when people stick their noses to where it doesn't belong. especially when it's about his personal business. anyhow, there isn't a clear-cut answer either way. it all boils down to the whims and his wishes for that particular night. though he assumes that won't get the curiosity off of bo's face. he decides to settle with an answer that's somewhat true. "you could say that." there, done. hopefully there won't be any more questions regarding this topic. "is it good enough?" a raised eyebrow, he takes a sip of his americano before humming. "your turn to answer now." ghost of a grin to turn the mirror back, he wonders how bo will take it.

Bo’s eyes flickered over the other’s countenance as he spoke, with what little he said. He couldn’t help the curiosity, questioning what the other was thinking. Or if he was even. He smiled and then leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Don’t know, maybe I am.” Then they let out a short laugh. “Please don’t, I agree, plenty of fish in the sea, I’m just wondering. Honestly. If this is a rule of yours?” 

Leaning closer, he could actually catch more of the emotions written on the other’s face, not that he would understand them better, but he was enjoying this conversation. It was a challenge figuring this other person out. Usually he felt like the people in NYC weren’t as guarded as he’d been forced to be.

a roll of his eyes, a fonder one than he grants to most people. "i am positive there are other shrinks out there, this place is crawling with psychologists." which is, another reason he would prefer to get out of here. if asked, he'll say it's more due to the lack of alcohol and place for the crime-related talk he wants to have with virginia. on his feet now, hands in his pockets, eyes waiting for movement from their side. although he knows they are jesting, the tormentees do call sometimes when in need, on days xiang feels divine intervention could be a thing. everyone needs a good beating once in a while, particularly more so when they deserve it. "i promise i won't be needed by proxy tonight, and even if i am — they will have to do a raincheck." won't be the first time he doesn't have the proper time to give someone a taste of what it meant to mess with the terrors. leaning against the doorframe, the enforcer watches as virginia prepares, going through the methodical motions one by one. he leaves first, then waits for them to lock up before they walk down the corridor together. speaking of a hole in the wall, it's on the tip of his tongue to say he has more refined tastes now. but he holds it, the knee-jerk reflex to show and tell he isn't a stray on the street anymore is useless. he hasn't been that for a long time now. still he grins, shoulders moving up in a shrug. "let it be a surprise, mhm?" god knows there are thousands of restaurants in new york city. "i doubt you can guess it either way." outside the building, he opens the door for her. the quip regarding his unnoticed entry does not go unnoticed. "it is my treat. it will be a nice one, promise." it's said in lieu of an apology. once he is in the driver's seat, he starts the car.

"haven't you ever heard of being needed by proxy? surely you know that's how i feel about your bothering me on shift." the fidgeting commences into that boiling-over of energy. xiang, with no interest in remaining here much longer, galloping up from the chair like a horse from the tracks, like something to bet on. if the time came, virginia would bet on him. his imminence. his dark void of a gaze. "we could even say that your future torment-ees are those calling out for you in need." & there lies within: a darkness themself. a whispering of a nurturing voice in their ear. ( you just have to be fucking good enough for everyone, don't you. just have to blur lines everywhere that you put your dirty hands, don't you. can't just let a fresh grave lie, can you. look at you. the sorry state of you. how could you let this go on for so long. ) virginia clears their throat, placing aside work and its troubles. these whispers worsened during the spells of fatigue. that's all this was. fatigue. or being around a like-mind.

regardless, for now, they respect his request for talking later. arms through their jacket and a flipping off of the lights, the clack of their heels, the locking of the door. a removal of their glasses, placing it into their case, placing it into their bag. layers upon layers upon layering. a fine delicacy of dessert to be ripped to shreds by a knife far too sharp. later comes soon enough. "what hole in the wall did you have in mind?" that was the thing about xiang. he always had something in mind. something else to look forward to. something else to hunt down and tackle before it could escape him. something else he craved. yearned for. ( don't you know a fucking thing or two about the yearning don't you huh don't you— ) "god forbid you let me have the choice. i'm at your whims and your disposal." droll. not to let him forget that he barged in.

when: 𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖣𝖲𝖳 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖮𝖲 | 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾 from: XIANG, the demon to: GORO, the ghoul —( @gh9ul )

it's LOUD in a particular way the casino never really is. he is used to the chatter, the whirring of the slot machines, the click clacks of poker chips, the shutter-like noises from the card dealers — even the sudden celebrations and the yells of anger, those are familiar. this howling noise signals the chaos that has seeped into their territory. it makes him feel on edge, only subdued by the fact that he knows all of the terrors are safe for now. which brings him to the second conundrum: the battle royale. the intrinsic desire to fight, to bare your teeth and mark your territory. an idea forms in his head, though not yet realized when the demon makes his way to the ghoul, knowing he is around, the casino being his territory in many more ways than his. the office is familiar, and a part of him is glad to see him here, knowing he is also safe amongst the chaos that's going on. "goro." the enforcer starts, feet taking him to the large table, hands behind him in a show of respect, "are you good?" and then, curiosity takes over. "do you have any... plans for what's happening?"