#Black Sheep is notoriously good at hide and seek

[conundrumkrp-blog]

"Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

                    CANON: Stone                     FACE CLAIM NAME: Jung Taekwoon, VIXX                     AGE: 25

BIOGRAPHY.

第一

A handshake. That was all it took.

Jung Taekwoon does not forget easily. He does not forget the feeling of a cold, calloused hand firmly gripping his as they briefly rise before lowering once again and halting to a final stop. He does not forget the chilling and unreadable look in the aged man’s eyes as he straightened his crisp and pristine suit sleeve, perfectly round golden buttons gleaming in the ghostly blue lights of the meeting room.

“Pleasure doing business with you, young man.”

Yes, Taekwoon does not forget, most of all, how the hairs on his neck had bristled at the almost paternal tone, straight-lined mouth tightening even more than usual. There was something about learning how to snuff out an uprising from within, like extinguishing a candle before the flame wavers and spreads, chipping off bit by bit of wax. He did not stare. He did not glare. He just stared emptily ahead at coal black eyes.

There was no forced smile. There was no hateful scowl. Just a clear, soft voice.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Yang.”

第二

Taekwoon was a child born wrapped in silk and nursed with a diamond bottle. He was a child who grew up wearing golden bandages and with wounds dressed in finely crafted gauze. He was told fairytales of failures - the scum of society. He was told that people like that were worthless, useless. He was ordered to take heed as to make certain that he would never become such a filthy, disgusting monster like that.

Jung Taekwoon lives in a world of books and schoolwork, of finance and business. The first word he remembers uttering is “perfection”, and, as his father said, it would be his last as well.

(There was a time when he was not perfect. He knows this from the faded memories of choked tears and apologies torn out of his throat that hide in the shadows of his slumber. But father says that Taekwoon was always and will always be perfect. He would make sure of it.)

Even his mother, a fragile and delicate little thing, could only seem to allow him a gentle voice and gentle temperament, with two soft eyes of chocolate stars swimming in the milky way that were quickly shed with the hourglass, pooling into still and hardened orbs.

Jung Taekwoon was a man who never quite had lived his life, only simply stood there as a placeholder for his oh-so-highly-reputed father’s “equally successful heir”.

第三

He’s a puppet, an empty vessel of an empty predecessor full of empty money that no one can say for certain is living or deceased.

(Maybe he’s a bit of both. Limbo was always far more appealing than heaven or hell.)

Will-less, that’s what they called him. He moved and breathed, but he could never seem to look alive. No one bothers to learn about the man who was never given a single bit of space to dream, or feel, or love, or anything.

So why was he so keen on pursuing his father’s occupation? The man was long dead, and the broken little boy he had left behind was freed of his chains.

But iron is much stronger than it looks.

Sometimes he can feel the rust under his dress shirt slowly spreading further up his wrists, to his shoulders, to his neck, up, up, up…

The group of remaining followers, assistants, employees, interns, countless blank faces that he can never seem to remember were keen to keep him chained down.

(Funny how he could state exactly what he had done that day up to the exact second it occurred, but he couldn’t hold onto a face even if it looked him in the eye daily.)

An especially sharp man even pushes him to use the strings forcefully attached to his fingers for once, but Taekwoon only sees power as a nuisance and a sin derived from his parent, and quickly cuts them.

(Ironically, Taekwoon has footsteps that exude power, and a stature like that of a looming statue.)

He turns the strings over to the man instead, who tells him that “they’ll take good care of it”.

The next day, the building is filled head to toe with new and lavish furniture. Taekwoon only takes notice of the large fountain that makes its way into his office.

He spends the day watching the water pour out from the stone structure.

第四

He has made a mistake. A terrible, terrible, t e r r i b l e  m i s t a k e.

A pair of invisible hands make their way around his pale neck, slowly tightening. They leave familiar fingerprints, uncovering bruises from long ago that had faded.

Can’t breathe;

He doesn’t realize his own are filling the imprints until the ice cold touch of his fingers register in his mind, his breathing growing ragged, nails digging into pallid skin. Orbs of solid brown are a shade of dull black, trembling violently.

Like a small child, he cowers.

W H Y c o u l d n ‘ t h e B R E A T H E?

Heavy breaths turn into quiet whimpers, which slowly form into a slew of almost crazed mumbles, the most he’s said in weeks.

Failed. Failed? A Jung did not fail.

“I’m sorry father, I’m sorry, I’m sorryI’msorrypleaseforgiveme-”

And in his sorry state, he grasps for an excuse.

(He does not consider the true culprit. The man he had entrusted his power to had left to the airport just the night before.)

“Pleasure doing business with you, young man.”

And suddenly, a calm gaze becomes one of malicious intent to manipulate, a harmless tug of the sleeve becomes a satisfied and pompous display of power. Suddenly the older man is the spitting image of his father, and the unsettling and thoroughly perturbing fear in his insides is replaced by a burning and intense hatred. It quickly spreads through the unfeeling and easily impressionable child trapped in a man’s suit like a fire in a forest.

(In this irrational fairytale, he chooses the villain.)

The only thing one would see if they opened the door to the CEO’s office is the same, indifferent man in the same, indifferent leather chair

But there is an icy fire burning in his eyes.

第五

It remains until the day he opens the letter, and it remains as he stands at the bank of the lake, a new suit tightly fitting his torso and kept perfectly clean and kept.

Jung Taekwoon was not a failure, and he would never be one.

And if anyone said otherwise, well, he would have to have a few words with them.

PERSONALITY.

his appearance is like that of a diamond’s, unscratchable and unaffected by the world around it. always dressed formally, and with a perfect posture that keeps his handsome features unscathed and unchanged, he is a man of few words. the ceo of stone corporation speaks softly, and if you blinked, you would have missed it. similar to his father, he has little tolerance for petty drama and conflict. however, he does not keep a firm stance. he is called will-less behind the backs of his men; a single push is enough to move him more than a few inches. taekwoon is a sheep in wolf’s skin, and is notorious for always having the last word, but never saying the first, for he is what remains of a domineering father and a pushover mother.

somewhere deep down behind the unbreakable is an interior of glass that guards a confused child desperately seeking a source of guidance. the glass quickly shatters at the failure of his most recent business venture, leaving behind shards that pierce the boy’s skin and allow the anger that has been gathering ever since he was brought into the world to reach a boiling point, rendering him a silent and unstable timed explosive slowly counting down. he is not unreasonable, as the occasional outburst may make him appear so; he has a keen eye for manipulative personalities and duly has a penchant for maintaining an immunity to malevolence in the wake of the devastating occurrence - which brought him close to the brink of breaking.

but do not mistake resilience for strength. taekwoon lives in a shaky world and frequently bounces between stability and instability. he has a strong desire for success, and is ambitious beneath all of the cracks in the glued together glass enclosure of his heart, but it can fall apart as quickly as it is pieced together.

and when it does, it cuts.