#( — filed under: xiuying. )

[lupusxdei-a]

@obciidian​

Oh and one more thing. I suggest you drop that stinky attitude when you go find her.

Pff. He did not have an attitude �� though come to think of it, when was the last time he’d been invited by any one of his obnoxious coworkers out for a drink or a dinner? One, two...five...Eight weeks ago? Eight seemed about right, if he had not skipped over any number of days. Then again, that was the desirable outcome, was it not? Fend them off with huffs and puffs and a long face that told of nothing other than boredom that they made him feel. The subjects of their conversations, the sound of their laughter, the unintelligent jabs at one another, the condescending tone used against juniors and sleazy comments towards random women were all tortuous - scraping at the back of the warlock’s head, begging for release. And so it came to a point where it was either his attitude to scare them away or scrape their heads in a very literal fashion.

Fine. So he did have an attitude - but Ayre the Elf was wrong. It was not stinky, it was calculated, and he was not dumb to want to scare away or anger the one person that seemed to be eligible for his final goal. As he waited shrouded in darkness, perched on his motorcycle, helmet over the head to hide his face, Soohyun could feel his entire body break into pins and needles of excitement and anticipation; his heart skipped a beat the moment he even considered the possibility of the witch named Xiuying agreeing  to help him slay Belphegor.

No matter how positively pumped he’d been for the moment of...truth, Soohyun began to hesitate as soon as he discovered the witch’s flower shop. It had been at least half an hour since he’d parked his bike nearby; it had been thirty minutes of staring and analyzing, of seeing who would come and who would go, of counting how long someone who might have gone in stayed. Eventually, when the ache in his body to move became unbearably, just before he became all unsettled and jittery, he removed his helmet, ruffled the raven-black locks of hair and then got off. One breath, two breaths. The helmet was stored away and he walked towards the flower shop, an almost military-like march, shoulders straight, his head held high, his breathing under control. The fists, however, curled and opened every dozen of seconds or so, the only indication of the nervousness that had started to creep in. If she refused, he wouldn’t exactly be at a disadvantage, but if she accepted...It would all be over sooner than he expected when he’d welcomed this year.

Two breaths. He pushed the door of the shop open and looked around. “Hello,” he uttered in a half questioning and half-declarative tone, waiting for a response.