#also think long and hard before posting your face or any identifying tattoos or features

[bittsandpieces]

Hi Bitt! You absolutely don't have to answer this, it's not really your usual asks, but do you have any advice for anyone who's thinking about starting an nsfw blog? You seem awesome I hope you have a great day!

I think my most important piece of advice is to be selective about who you let follow you, because it will 100% influence the experience you have. one of the main reasons I require people to have their age in their bio isn't because I need to know what age they are (obviously people can and will lie on the internet), it's to see if they a: actually looked at my blog in any detail, and b: if theyre willing to respect a very simple boundary. before I set that as a limit, I was getting horrible anon hate, asks detailing things I clearly said were hard limits, people trying to trigger me on purpose. now that I've gotten much more particular about who I let follow me, that harassment has dropped down to like... one shitty ask ever other week.

I block people who post stolen porn: if they don't respect the consent and copyright of those people, I can't expect them to respect mine.

I check who people are following when I can, ESPECIALLY daddy dom blogs, because an alarming number of them are actually pedophiles (I say this not in a kink shaming way, I have a daddy kink myself, but a really scary number of people are following underage girls sexual accounts. I report all of them every time)

i check for political posts as well, I don't want conservatives following me given that I'm a queer disabled nonbinary former sex worker and politically speaking they would want me dead, no matter how sexy they think I am

but the most important piece of advice I can give is this: have fun and do what you want. it's your blog, it's your body, you're an adult (at least you'd better be) and you are the ultimate athourity on what you do with your time on the internet and on earth.

[ransomedrogue]

okay so I finally made one of these to participate in the rewatch. just figuring it all out now that fic is finally ready to post. hopefully there will be a scene per episode but no promises!

###

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

1.1

She had finally had enough.

After dozens of questions and just one response, the nameless woman tore the sensors off her fingers and called the whole thing to a halt. She didn't know anything, yet she knew that this was pointless; and that she was done being a specimen, letting these people do whatever they wanted to her.

"I want to speak to someone in charge," she stated once more, more fiercely this time.

She felt better just having made the demand. And at least it made something happen; the man with the machine left and she was alone for awhile, her head full of the same sorts of questions the man had just asked.

Who was she?

What had happened to her?

Why the tattoos?

But she didn't have any answers other than the one she'd offered the man with the machine. Her mind was still a complete blank and the stark interrogation room just made the woman feel small and anxious about everything she didn't know.

She was clearly under suspicion but she didn't think she'd done anything wrong. Her only memories were a blur of being naked and yelled at, shaking under a thousand lights. Then there was the onslaught of tests, being dragged around like a rag doll as her brain tried to catch up to what was going on.

Finally, the door opened again and she looked up to see a different man walk in. This agent was bearded and a bit stern looking, but when he got closer she thought his blue eyes seemed sympathetic. Yet she still wondered what he was going to demand of her, if he was going to be as pointless as the last guy.

"I'm Special Agent Kurt Weller," he said. "I'm the lead agent on your case."

The memory-less woman felt a flash of satisfaction, realizing that her demand had been met. But that was quickly washed away by the flood of questions rushing through her mind.

She asked him the most important ones - if they knew what was going on, who she was. But, frustratingly, the agent didn't have any answers for her. Instead, he told her that they hadn't been able to identify her through any of the usual means, despite all the testing they had done.

The woman was disappointed but not surprised. Somehow she'd known that it wouldn't be that easy - someone had gone to a lot of trouble to do this to her.

She was surprised though, when the agent asked her if she recognized him. Especially because he seemed a little uncomfortable with the question himself; sounding as if he was unsure how to even ask it.

To her, the question was absurd. Hadn't she made it clear that she didn't know anything or anyone?

"I don't even recognize me," she replied.

That's when he dropped the first real bomb in her relatively short memory, causing a seismic shift in her understanding of the situation. Telling her that he might somehow be familiar to her, even though he didn't know her. Because his name was tattooed in large print across her back.

Even without much context or experience, she'd come to understand that the tattoos which covered her were not at all normal and a major part of whatever was happening to her. But all of the ones she'd examined were just random patterns and pictures. Nothing nearly as obvious as the huge letters stamped across her back.

The woman started to panic, questions and anxiety flooding through her. How could it be that she knew him well enough to have his name tattooed on her and he didn't know her at all?

But the agent had asked her to try to find some familiarity in him and he had asked kindly, without making it a demand. Which, at least, was different than anything that had happened since she woke up in a bag, without a single memory in her head.

She reached out cautiously, putting one hand on his, then lifting the other to his stubbled cheek. The idea of touching someone else, instead of being the one touched - even that was something new. The agent looked uncomfortable with the situation but let her continue her exploration of his features until her fingers drifted over his eyebrow and he finally flinched.

Disappointingly, her hands didn't know him anymore than her mind did. There was nothing but a total blank as he pulled her hand away, looking a bit embarrassed at having just been examined so intimately.

"Anything?" he asked.

She told him no and could tell that he wasn't surprised. Though he did still look a little flustered at what had passed between them and switched straight into Agent-mode when she asked what would happen to her next.

He said something about releasing photos of her to the media to try and gather tips about who she could be. Which was, even to her, pretty obviously the next step in trying to figure out her identity.

But she was starting to understand that there weren't likely to be any easy answers. Clearly, the agents weren't going to quickly identify her and bring her home to her family. Which then made her wonder what was going to happen to her now that the FBI finally seemed done with their questions. How long was she going to be stuck in that sterile room?

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean what happens right now? I don't have anywhere to go."

The agent looked surprised at her question, as if just realizing her situation. The nameless woman tried not to feel so vulnerable, even though she was completely reliant on people with unknown intentions. It was hard to hold it together though when she was so alone and adrift, without a single memory to tether herself to. Lost and detached from anything; born into a world of people that only seemed to see her as a dangerous commodity.

Suddenly she felt completely drained, both physically and emotionally exhausted from her nightmarish experience. She wanted to curl into a corner of the cold metal room and shut her eyes until someone could help her, tell her who she was. But she was at the mercy of this agent, with no idea what she was allowed to do in this strange existence.

Agent Weller gave her a worried look, as if he could feel her need bleeding through her words. Then he pulled out his phone and started sending typing some messages, groaning to himself as he received a response he clearly didn't like.

"We're working on finding you a place to stay but it's not going to be ready for another hour or two. I'm sorry ma'am, but you'll have to wait here until it's all set up."

The woman shuddered, hating the thought of being stuck in that room alone with her thoughts for another minute, let alone two hours. Her mind was a swirl of endless questions, the kind that led straight into despair. She wondered how to tell the agent that she was going to lose it if he left her there but then felt pathetic just thinking about admitting it.

The woman started to panic as she realized again how little control she had over her situation. The agent could leave her in that room for as long as he wanted to - she had no reason to trust what he said. Even though she wanted to believe he would help her, she'd also been quite irritated by the way the FBI had treated thus far.

But just as her thoughts began to spiral out of control, Agent Weller surprised her by reaching over and taking her hand in his. In fact, the agent seemed equally befuddled with his own action, frowning down at their enjoined hands before looking up at her in concern.

His next words were a miracle though, as if he were reading her thoughts. For the first time in her short memory she actually felt seen, despite all the previous examinations.

"Hey. Do you want to get out of here?"

Maybe she hadn't recognized him, maybe she never would. But he had understood her need and she was immensely grateful for that.

She needed something to hold onto. And maybe, just maybe, that something was the stern-but-gentle agent who was still nervously squeezing her hand.

###

His Jane Doe was about to lose it.

Even without knowing her at all, Agent Weller could easily see the anxiety take over her body after he told her about the delay in finding her accommodations. Which made a lot of sense as soon as he realized how long she'd already been in rooms just like that one, getting bombarded with tests and questions that she had no answers for. Not to mention the situation she found herself in - alone in an unfamiliar world with no memories or sense of self.

What didn't make any sense was the way Weller automatically reached for the mystery woman's hand, curling her fingers into his palm in an attempt to settle her. Despite her physical examination of him, there was no reason to think she would invite his touch. Also, it was most definitely not amongst his usual tactics. On the contrary, Weller was normally quite reserved with his manners, careful to maintain appropriate contact in all of his interactions, especially when it came to gorgeous victims in his cases.

But she was panicking and looked like she was about to crumble into herself. The terrified look on her face was breaking his heart and Weller suddenly realized that he'd just condemned her to more hours in that sterile room, with the intense lighting and distinct air of criminality. No wonder she looked so on edge, about to teeter into an emotional abyss.

Shit, he thought. He should have considered her prior experience before telling her she had to remain in interrogation like a prisoner. Not that there were a lot of options for what to do with her until the safe house was cleaned and ready. But he had to do something to resolve her obvious anxiety. Even if it meant breaking his usual rules.

"Hey. Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, the thought tumbling out of his mouth before it was even fully formed.

But any regrets about his impromptu offer were instantly pushed aside by the spark of hope his words elicited from the woman's troubled green eyes. She looked at him with a heady mixture of surprise and relief that filled his chest with sugary satisfaction.

"Where would we go?" she asked, still wary but already visibly calmer from his suggestion.

Damn, he hadn't exactly thought that far yet.

There certainly wasn't protocol for a situation like that, so Weller just did his best to think about what he would want after being cooped up in windowless rooms for an entire day.

"Outside?" he suggested. "We could go for a walk."

Her eyes flickered nervously again, then brightened with hope as she nodded shyly.

Weller felt extremely pleased with himself, far more than he should have been, as he led the tattooed woman out of the interrogation room and into the elevator. He really should have been formulating a good excuse for what he was doing but instead Weller just texted Mayfair a brief update that did not explain why he was personally escorting their asset outside the building until her safe house was ready.

The benefit of having a superior that trusts you, he thought wryly.

But then, more soberly, Weller reminded himself that he only held that trust because he never did stuff like that. He was always sure to play within the rules and, therefore, his word held a lot of weight with Mayfair.

Again he asked himself what the hell he was thinking. He'd known this woman for less than a half hour and his usual rock solid professional boundaries were already wavering.

But there she was, standing rigidly beside him in the elevator, chewing her lower lip nervously. Weller tried to convince himself that it was all just because she'd needed help and he was wired to protect. Though he'd done the job long enough to know that his near instantaneous attachment to this victim was more than that, something he'd never experienced before.

Inappropriate conduct Weller, he silently scolded himself, in a mock military academy tone.

But then the elevator reached the ground floor and Weller glanced over at the nameless woman, who was still obviously tense, her eyes flickering up at him hopefully. Quickly he shrugged off the mental reprimand; when he looked at her, there was no doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing, even if it wasn't exactly consistent with protocol.

His thought was further confirmed as they approached the exit and she became visibly calmer, even offering him a tentative smile as he led her out the door, his arm hovering protectively behind her back. Then, when they stepped outside the building, she turned her eyes towards the street and took a deep breath in, wrinkling her nose a little at the odorous city air.

Weller grinned at the mixture of joy and relief on the woman's face as she stared wide-eyed at her surroundings; first taking in all the people on the street before looking up at the skyscrapers in awe. He let her just stand there and take it all in for a moment before gently directing her towards the closest green space he could think of, a small park in amongst the concrete jungle of lower Manhattan.

It was quiet in the park, as quiet as his Jane Doe. She hadn't said a word since they left the NYO, though her body language had gradually loosened up during the walk. Weller wondered what she was thinking about but held himself back from asking. He wanted to give her a chance to decompress after everything she'd just been through, not make her feel pressured to talk.

They reached the end of the grassy area and, again, he wasn't sure what to do. There was still a lot of time to kill before they needed to be back at the NYO.

"Do you want to sit? Or keep walking?" he asked.

It was just a simple question, but Weller hoped that offering her a choice would give her a small sense of control.

He watched her think for a moment, tilt her head just so. It was almost impossible not to stare at the bird tattoo on her neck, watch the way it moved with her skin.

Having your whole body tattooed against your will was such an invasion he couldn't even begin to imagine how she felt about it. But Weller also couldn't help thinking about how aesthetically eye-catching some of was.

AKA, fucking hot.

The thought came to him completely unbidden, forcing Weller to take his eyes off her skin as he chastised himself strongly. Learning to stay emotionally detached from victims in his cases was one of the first things he'd had to figure out as a rookie agent. Nowadays, he didn't have problems with that anymore, except in cases involving little girls. But the woman beside him was making his chest ache with her innocent vulnerability and all Kurt could do was tell himself to calm the hell down and keep things professional.

"Let's walk," she finally answered, shivering a little as the sun dropped behind a building.

Weller realized that he'd brought her out in just a tank top and immediately felt like a total idiot. He hadn't thought to grab her a jacket because he'd already been flustered with his own actions and it had been warm out when they left the NYO.

Plus, it was odd having to dress an adult, he figured. Though he still felt negligent for not having thought of it earlier.

Taking off his suit jacket, Weller draped it over the woman's bare shoulders and she flashed him another thankful look. Idly, he wondered if she appreciated more than just the warmth of his coat - if she'd been feeling too exposed in just her tattooed skin. Especially after already having been scrutinized for hours by strangers.

They continued walking away from the park and Weller kept having to remind himself not to stare. But now it wasn't the tattoos that kept tugging at his eye; he just felt drawn to the woman in a way he couldn't explain.

Obviously there was the mystery of his name in large letters on her back. That would be intriguing in any circumstance. But it was more than that - for instance, he was out walking with her instead of tending to all the things he should have been doing. Which was definitely not usual Kurt Weller behaviour. He was known as a workaholic for a reason and set the example for his team to follow. So he should be at his desk, finishing up the paperwork for that raid in Kentucky and then catching up on this tattoo case.

And yet, there he was, strolling the streets of lower Manhattan with a memoryless stranger and all Weller was sure of anymore was that he needed to protect her. He had no idea what had happened to her, what her future held. But he was going to figure it out and help her not look so lost.

Walking in silence seemed to help calm her so they kept going until they were almost at the water, at the tip of Manhattan. Then, when they couldn't walk any further, they stopped, looking out over the bay.

Weller looked at his Jane Doe as she stood there, seeming adrift in her thoughts. Which wasn't surprising of course. She had to have so much going on in her mind, all that wondering about who she was and why this was happening to her. And even though he felt like he should say something to break the quiet, Weller couldn't think of anything that didn't sound stupid or insensitive to what she was going through.

While he was still searching for the right words, she turned to him, her expression suddenly anxious again. Then an onslaught of questions poured out of her like an emotional dam in her had finally been broken.

"What if I never find out who I am? Why this happened to me?" she asked.

"What if I never remember anything? And I'm just stuck with these tattoos and no life and no one who knows me? What am I going to do?

She was getting visibly agitated again, biting down hard on her lower lip. Her eyes were wide and scared, begging him for an answer.

Weller had the oddest instinct to wrap his arms around her from behind, hold her until she calmed. But of course he didn't actually do that, would never behave that way with a complete stranger.

Briefly his mind flashed back to the interrogation room, the way he'd automatically taken her hand to help settle her panic. Flushing with embarrassment at his breach of etiquette and the tingle he felt even thinking back to it, Kurt reminded himself that she was the vulnerable victim of a crime and he had to be extremely careful not to abuse his position of power.

Still, he couldn't help but stand right up beside her, close enough that her shoulder touched up against his. Weller told himself it was just to ground her with some human contact and remind her that he was there with her. Yet immediately he again found himself yearning to put his arm around her, and again he had to vehemently tell himself no. And then, somehow, as if he had no control over what was happening, his arm was draped around her shoulders, completely disregarding everything in his usual moral code.

She tensed at his touch and Weller cursed himself silently for whatever had possessed him to do it. But when he started to take his arm away, she moved even closer and leaned up against him.

"No, please don't," she said.

Well that sold it. Weller replaced his arm on her shoulders, wrapping his hand around her right bicep. He noticed that she was strong, seemingly made of muscle, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. Which won him an upward look and a timid grin that jabbed at his heart.

She still looked so lost and he didn't know what he could say to make anything better for her. But Weller knew that he had to at least try and alleviate her worries, make some sort of effort to show her how much he wanted to help. So he did his best to gather up some words, hoping that they didn't sound too trite.

"I know you feel very alone and scared about what's happening to you. But you're not alone, I'm here to help you. And I don't have any answers for you yet but I promise, if there's any way out there to figure out who you are, my team will find it."

His attempt at comfort was met with a furrowed brow and skeptical eyes. She obviously didn't completely believe him, yet she seemed content to stand much too close and Weller found himself rubbing her arm absently as she continued to study him carefully.

"You trust your team a lot," she finally said, in an unreadable tone.

"They're the best," Weller replied, with full confidence.

"Shouldn't you be with them? Figuring this all out?"

Weller froze. She was right, of course. He should be at the NYO, working on her case. Under no circumstance was his current behaviour appropriate.

Instantly he felt called out; completely exposed. The woman was looking at him with an unreadable expression, somewhere between a frown and a smirk. Part of him thought she was poking fun at him while the other part thought she was being seriously critical about his dedication to solving her case.

He was still speechless and trying to come up with a suitable answer when she surprised him yet again by edging further into him and tentatively resting her head against his shoulder.

"Don't look so worried. I was just kidding," she said.

"I know you didn't have to take me out here, I'm sure you have a million things to do. But thank you, this is exactly what I needed."

The look of gratefulness on her face was Kurt Weller fuel. He was a fixer; and at that moment there was absolutely nothing else he wanted to fix.

So, even if he hadn't found out anything about who she was, at least she was standing by the waterside, joking with him and no longer looking so terrified. In that way, he'd already won the day.

"I know I'm just another stranger but if there's anything you need I'm here for you," he said.

Again she didn't say anything for awhile, but seemed happy to just stand there, leaning against him. Then, just as he thought that she was done talking, she looked up at him with serious eyes.

"You're not a stranger. You're the lead agent on my case," she said thoughtfully.

"And we went for a walk together the day we met."

That earned her a full on grin, one that Kurt didn't see coming at at all. The firecracker that erupted in his chest from her comment was especially very unlike himself, far more emotional than he was used to feeling.

Which again told him that the situation was off, that he was acting bizarrely. But what was worse, he didn't care. Despite everything, Weller looked down at the woman in his arms and knew that he was exactly where he needed to be.

[two-plus-two-is-four]

The lovely @thelordofshadows suggested that I answered every question, probably after recognizing how hyped I was about Apaera, so here I go!

Answers under the cut because this is going to be a loooong post.

01. What is their favorite food? Overall, she prefers fruity sweets like baked apples. She especially likes anything cinnamon flavored. If desserts don’t count, then a fish stew.

02. Do they have a fear of an animal? If so, what animal? Not really. Unless the animals are corrupted somehow.

03. What do they wear to bed? Pants and a loose long sleeved shirt. Might layer a nightdress underneath for extra warmth.

04. Do they like cuddling? She’d be caught dead before admitting it to anyone, but yes and that says a lot.

05. Do they have a secret handshake with anyone? She prefers absurd questions or phrases, to identify people in disguise.

06. What do they look like? She has pitch black skin and hair. Her eyes have a silver iris and she is usually shrouded in darkness.

07. Do they like chocolate? LOVE chocolate!

08. What are their good and bad traits? Her good trait is her empathy, for most things living. Her bad trait is her stubbornness.

09. Do they have any artistic talent? Not quiet artistic, but she does know how to play a few melodies on the flute.

10. What is their favorite room to be in, in the house  they live in? The tallest part of the tower where she can gaze out from

11. Do they believe in luck? Yes, and she actually considers herself to be quiet fortunate. Lady luck isn’t always sweet to her, but she respects the ups and down as a bigger part of the chaos she thrives in. (As answered previously)

12. Can they do magic? Yes, she can cast the spells she’s blessed with. Usually illusion magic.

13. Do they believe in dragons? It’d be harder not to.

14. What is a pet peeve of theirs? When the person she is talking to vanishes.

15. What was the last thing they cried about? Besides from pain, the loss of someone important enough to stir up emotion inside her.

16. What is their sexuality? Generally uninterested, both sexually and romantically, so asexual aromantic. Before her transition to the being she is currently she hadn’t given it much thought.

17. Do they have a best friend? If so, who, and what makes them their best friend? Life long friendships are difficult for her. Besides the few she connects with during their life, probably someone with the same lifespan as her. A certain tiefling comes to mind.

18. Have they ever been in a romantic relationship? No, since her crush short of died, unfortunately. Her feelings are quiet numb either way.

19. What does their relationship with their family look like? Are they close? Distant? Ect. Her family by blood, she has long lost contact with. She doesn’t really recall them anymore, besides her little sister who she still thinks about from time to time. Her found family she is quiet close to, despite all of them having their own paths in life.

20. Do they have a pet? She had a few pets in their earlier years, but it was apparent to her that her lifestyle wasn’t really suited for an animal.

21. Do they have a familiar? Not for a while, no.

22. Are they a supernatural being? Yes, quiet a strong one too. A shadow.

23. How do they usually wear their hair? Short, with the sides shaved. Sometimes on a little horse’s tail.

24. Can they play an instrument? If so, what instrument and what can they play? As previously mentioned, she knows how to play the flute.

25. What type a high schooler are/were they? If she ever went to high school, she’d be a mix of a jock and a goth.

26. Have they ever been in a physical fight before? If so, with who? Who won? Quiet a lot, actually. Some she has won, some she has lost, but she survived all of them but one.

27. What is their favourite holiday? Midnight.

28. If they could have one wish, what would they wish for? Depending on her age, either for her soul to be complete again, or, after certain events, to aid a certain someone in which ever way they’d need, if you catch my drift.

29. Do they wants kids? If they already have kids, do they want more? She doesn’t want kids of her own, but she does like taking care of kids and spending time with them.

30. Do they have a job? She has worked quiet a few jobs here in there over the years.

31. Do they know how to drive? Like a cart? A carriage? Nope, but she can ride a horse.

32. Do they get stressed out easily? Quiet the opposite, if she is stressed out then shit are really going down.

33. Did they ever dye their hair before? If so, to what colour? Did they like it? As part of a disguise, perhaps, but never permanently. She didn’t really mind it.

34. Have they ever broken the law? Never, I swear to Cyric.

35. Do they own a plant? A little pot with a nocturnal lily.

36. Have they ever rode a horse before? Yup, in quiet a few trips.

37. What is their favorite gif?

Is there a reason for this? Yes, absolutely.

38. Do they get along with others easily? Yes, when she doesn’t tease around and poke at them

39. Do they have any tattoos? Not yet, not against it thought. Perhaps once she finds something special enough to her.

40. If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly? Her eyes, the whites are actually black while the silver iris has a purple tint to it. Other than that, her nails, which she uses as a martial art’s weapon. Like claws.

41. What is their favourite breed of dog? All dogs are good dogs, but if she was to pick one, she’d go with something fluffy, like a samoyed or a husky.

42. Do they live with anyone? If so, who? She used to live with the people that trained her, then those that she trained. Monks and other shadows.

43. Where is their dream vacation? Somewhere across the great sea. Exploring is an acceptable vacation activity, no?

44. Do they know more than one language? Other than common, she speaks halfling and dwarvish. Over the years, she has also picked up thieves’ cant  and hand cant

45. Are they a quick learner? When survival depends on it. Though her wits are sharper than her memory.

46. Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win? Contest for worst sacrifice ever?

47. If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with? If the world was to end in 24 hours, that means someone’s plan went terrible wrong, so naturally, she’d be by someone’s side, trying to stop the world’s end.

48. What does their room look like? Unmade bed, desk filled with papers, pens, ink bottles, a half melted candle. Lot’s of clutter, spell components everywhere. Cloaks, hats and boots, all organized neatly in some corner along with other equipment. Little trinkets with emotional value pilled up high next to the gear.

49. If they could have an extinct animal for a pet, what would they have? Not an extinct animal, but she wouldn’t mind a pseudo-dragon.

50. If they got called out by someone, what would they do? Admit her mistake an try her best to correct it as soon as possible.

51. Have they ever shot a gun before? Prefers crossbows.

52. Have they ever been axe throwing? A few times, not their weapon of preference.

53. What is something that they want but can’t have? Her feelings to be returned by their crush and her soul to be whole again.

54. Do they know how to fish? Yes, she finds it quiet relaxing.

55. What is something they always wanted to do but too scared? Confess, though it wouldn’t make any difference. She is convinced that he already knows.

56. Do they own their own baby pictures? Nope, but she has an idea who would if she ever wanted them.

57. What makes them standout among others? The shadows leaking from her skin. Now if we are talking about other shadows, her empathy.

58. Do they like to show off? Perhaps..

59. What is their favourite song? Choir Noir - Shadow Moses Beneath the Mask (Cover by Adriana) Leonard Cohen - You Want It Darker

60. What would be their dream vehicle? Doesn’t really have one, teleporting through shadows is fine with her.

61. What is their favourite book? Lot’s of favorites over the years, couldn’t really name one.

62. Who, in their opinion, makes the best food? Anyone willing to cook instead of spawning food with magic.

63. Are they approachable? It depends on what she is doing at the time, but most times, yes.

64. Did they ever change their appearance? She sees no point to it, besides disguises.

65. What makes them smile? Hanging out with humans, listening their tales, about their lives, their every day worries. Old friends.

66. Do they like glowsticks? .. Doesn’t need the light exactly.

67. What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile? Dogs.

68. Are they a day or night person? Night person. 110%

69. Are they allergic to anything? Nightbringers and all other worshipers of Shar.

70. What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them? Her unbreakable will and the tendency absolutely wreck havoc where that is needed. To be sacrificed to a cruel god who feeds of your pain and misery and at that instance decide that instead of caving in your misery, you will instead become the worst sacrifice they’ve ever received by laughing at their face.. Idk man, I think that takes some balls. (As previously answered)

71. Who is their ride or die? Again, a certain tiefling comes to mind.

72. Do they currently have a significant other? If not, are they going to get one later one? I mean, a girl can hope.

73. What attracts them to another person? Freedom, knowing that the people around her will never hold her back.

74. Who is one person that can always make them laugh? Drasek Riven, he doesn’t even have to say anything. He can just be there.

75. Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home? Yes, not a fond memory of hers’.

76. Who would be their cuddle buddy? Whoever would be brave enough to recognize that she is actually touch starved.

77. Who would cheer them up after a long day? Usually, she is one to stay alone, so when she is in need of company, she’ll just start up a conversation with a stranger.

78. If they had a nightmare, who would they run to? By now, she is used to nightmares, but if she could, her brothers and sisters are who she’d go to. She wouldn’t say anything, their company is enough to calm her most of the times. When not, meditating in an empty dark room usually helps calm her down.

79. What object to the care for the most? It’s not the object it’s self but the information in it. A small book with maps of all the places she has visited.

80. Do they like other people’s children? Yes, love to hang out with them and love to look after them. The little sprouts are really entertaining.

81. How would they react if someone broke into their home? Three stunning strikes? They are bound to fail at least one. Questions will be asked afterwards.

82. Does anyone make them have butterflies in their stomach? Nope, surely not, she is a coldblooded thousands year old being. Of course, there is no one in this plane that makes her feel that way.

83. What is something that they are good at? Taking care of others, listening, paying attention to their reactions.

84. What is their neutral expression? A little scary, but she usually smiles.

85. Do they like to cook? For herself and for others.

86. What is something they can’t leave home without? Her mask.. Even if worn around her writs, she still needs the security of being able to cast spells.

87. Who is someone that they rely on? The asshole who gives her her spell slots.

88. Do they liked to be tickled? Hard pass. Dislikes when people touch her out of the blue.

89. Have they ever been a sword fight before? Is it considered a sword fight if she wasn’t holding a sword?

90. What is a joke that they would find funny? -Then perish- jokes.

91. Do they have a place that can go and turn off their brain? Usually any room without much light, otherwise, a closet will do.

92. What was their childhood like? She doesn’t remember a lot of it, but she know she was happy. One of her few memories is of her and her little sister playing explorers in their mother’s garden. The years after turning to a shade she also considers a short of childhood or at least teen hood as she had to readjust and find new balances in her life. It took her a while to figure out how to care for people again when she could hardly feel anything, but little by little she managed to give up her spite. Those years were the roughest for her.

93. What are they like as an adult? After her second “puberty”, she learned to be quiet more free spirited, relaxed and easy going thought with certain events that happened in her life span, her spite towards a certain group of individuals reignited.

94. Do they take criticism well? Most of the times. She wants to generally improve herself.

95. Have they ever jumped out of a plane? Well.. Not a plane, no. But I can imagine her jumping off of a floating city.

96. Who do they like to make jokes with? The bastard that gives her her assignments.

97. Have you ever drawn them before? If you are comfortable with it, would you post a picture?

[davidquigg]

This is a short story I declared finished almost seven years ago. I dredged it up accidentally on Saturday morning by plugging “Canon AE-1″ into my Gmail’s sent messages.

I still like this story and care about it but nonetheless have shown that I’m capable of forgetting it exists, so I’m posting it here to give it a chance to go play outside.

SOMETHING ABOUT AIRPLANES

Draw her face.

Or his.

Yes, yes, you're not an artist.

Fine. Shut up.

Just try.

Try because I want you to know what I came to know only a few hours ago.

Start simple. Get paper. Get a pencil. Sketch the shape of her face. Don't overthink. Let's stipulate that this will not be art.

Just sketch.

You're paralyzed, obviously. I had the same problem. This is what it feels like when you start to know what I came to know only a few hours ago.

Go on. Sketch the outline of her face. It's just a shape. This could be middle-school geometry. I mean, you've got to know the shape of her face. You've thought of her at least once today. Because today is either a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, and whenever it's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, you think of her. So you've got to know the shape of her face.

This is when you'll be tempted to screw this all up by cheating. Log the fuck off Facebook.

You don't get to look at that little thumbnail photo she posted to her profile. You don't get to look at it because it's cheating. You also don't get to look at it because you promised yourself you wouldn't look at it. She's not even your Facebook friend. And you've supposedly come to realize that there's something unseemly about clicking on the profile of one of your seven mutual Facebook friends and then clicking through to see their friends just so you can scroll down and smear your screen with nose grease because you're crowding in close and then closer to her thumbnail photo. Look at it this way: If she lived next door to a friend of yours, would you contrive to visit that friend's place just so you could look out his window and into hers? Don't answer that. I'm liable to hate you for your answer. Or I'm liable to hate myself less. I'm not interested in hating myself less. I'm not interested in you hating yourself less. I'm interested in you knowing what I came to know only a few hours ago.

So sketch. It's hopeless. I know. Let me save you some hours. Draw an oval. Any oval. Does the oval look exactly like the outline of her face? No. Obviously. But it's a start. Darken the inner edge of the bottom of the oval. Does the oval look more like her? Less like her? Adjust accordingly. Keep darkening inner edges. Keep assessing. Keep adjusting. Somehow you will eventually end up with a shape that seems surprisingly right.

Now pick a facial feature. Maybe eyes. You're not an artist. I know. Neither am I. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because I just need you to point to the exact spot inside the oval where her right eye should go. You've got to know that, obviously.

It's hard. But you got the face shape eventually. Or you think you did. So you should try. Just point to the spot. Just point. With the pencil. If I managed it, you'll be able to manage it.

But did I actually say that I managed it? I'm pretty sure I didn't say that. I didn't say it because it didn't happen.

Try to realize what this means and let it really sink in. Try. I say "Try" because you're not going to realize what this means. What you're going to do is wonder what this means.

You're going to wonder what it can mean that the same brain that can picture Jay Fucking Leno or Don Fucking Knotts or Angelina Jolie or Justin Fucking Bieber is only capable of rendering her as some smudge in a haze of longing.

She accused you once of just loving the idea of her. But nobody had ever been more real to you, so the accusation seemed ridiculous. And now this.

You have never had a sewer rat lick you with the ardent, rhythmic persistence of a family dog. But just the thought nauseates you, and rat-lick nausea's back-of-the-throat scuttling is what you feel now. Without knowing why. Without really knowing what this whole Leno- Knotts-Jolie-Bieber-her syndrome adds up to. Knowing, though, that it is something novel and morale-wrecking and mercilessly survivable.

Everything seems to be mercilessly survivable. This, for example. It happened years ago, when I could have drawn her face. It is happening years ago, when I can draw her face. It is happening.

She has found me out. Or thinks she has. She does not see me seeing that she is setting a trap. She is among the new CDs. In the D section of the shop. I look away.

A moment before, she did something to a copy of Something About Airplanes. I don't know what. But it doesn't matter. I'm assuming it involves some kind of subtle identifying mark. If I wanted to avoid getting caught, the specifics of what she'd done to the CD would matter. I don't want to avoid getting caught.

What she is doing now is an equal mystery to me. As I said, I have looked away. This is not an easy thing to have done. She has made a starer of me. I am not a starer. I could have been. I would have been. But back when my unfurling teenage libido threatened to ruin me, Andrea Zilpop sat me down on a humming Kenmore dryer and made me watch "The Tao of Steve" on the TV/VCR her parents had installed in their laundry room.

Andrea had seen the movie at work, which for her in those days was Rain City Video in Fremont. She hoped the movie might somehow trump my testosterone and allow me to remain someone she could bear to stay friends with. Her plan was not crazy. There is, I dimly remember, some learn-a-lesson section of the movie. But that is not the lesson I learned. What stuck in my brain instead is one pillar of the obese, irresistible protagonist's mantra of seduction: "Be desireless."

Being desireless has worked. So I have stuck with being desireless. In every way.  I do not, for example, stare.

As I said, I have looked away.

I do not want to be looking away. My face tingles from the perverseness of looking away from Mali. Mali may be her real name. Or it may not. Maybe her east-of-the-mountains parents named her Molly and she has moved to Seattle and become Mali. I don't care. This isn't about her name. This isn't about her Value Village clothes. This isn't about her piercings. This isn't even about the seemingly extravagant breast tattoo that reveals its topmost sliver whenever she interrupts her clack-clack-clack perusal of our latest used CDs and arches her back.

I am an expert on what this is not about.

I balance a stack of CDs on my left palm. New CDs. Not truly new. Used, in fact. But new to us. Willy bought them. Sam priced them. Now I'm stocking them.

Somewhere in this stack is Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I know this because an imaginary Jeff Tweedy has been singing my favorite track inside my brain from the moment I picked up the stack. "… Tall buildings shake / Voices escape singing sad, sad songs …" Jeff just sang that.

Imaginary Jeff.

When I'm stocking, there is always a song in my head. And sometime during the course of stocking, I always discover that the disc that holds the song has been in my hands all along.

Somewhere in the stack. This has stopped freaking me out. It has stopped seeming mystical, beautiful, impressive, oppressive.

Someone is moving into my peripheral vision. Closer. Closer. Whoever this is, they are not Mali. Even out of the corner of my eye, the blur is all wrong. And they're getting close in a looming, intrusive way she never does.

"Uh, have you heard if …" He does not pause. The elipsis is mine. Because, hell, I just have to interrupt. Here, at least.

Even if not in real life.

Because it's so obvious what's going to happen here. It's time to play Stump the Record Store Guy. And, yes, I'm human. I'm stump-able. But not by this guy. I can tell that from his blur. I don't even have to look over at him. I can also tell his question is not real. He doesn't want an answer. He wants me to know that he knows stuff that he assumes I don't know. Fine, I'll let him talk.

"Uh, have you heard if Andrew Bird is going to put out a live CD of his '05 show at Doug Fir Lounge? I think it was like April. Yeah, April 9th. Best show I've ever been to, dude."

No it wasn't, I want to say. Because this guy was not at the show. Don't ask me how I know. I just do.

"Yeah, they say …"

This is the sure tipoff that all this comes directly off the Web. Which is cool. Just be straight about it.

"Yeah, they say it was his best performance ever of that Happy Birthday song."

This is nonsense, of course. I don't claim to know when Andrew Bird's best performance of the song happened. But I do know that he performed a purer, better version in Amsterdam nearly four years earlier.

"Man, I'd give anything to hear that show again," he continues.

This is where I almost snap. I want to tell him to go back to www.archive.org/details/ abird2005-04-09 if he wants to hear the show so badly. Because we both know that's where he heard it in the first place. Not live.

This guy is talking over imaginary Jeff Tweedy's singing to involve me in his charade of self- esteem building. I want it to end.

"Let's check something," I say, smiling as I lead him nowhere near the Andrew Bird section and straight to the Andrew W.K. section. I paw through the discs, looking in vain for a recording on which Andrew W.K. performed in Portland under the name Andrew Bird.

He snorts. This ingrown hair of a man snorts. He's not even going to call me out on my error. He knows he knows more than me now. This is all he came for. He can tell himself that this is why he buys all his music on iTunes. He's smarter than all of us. Nothing for him to learn here that he can't learn by consulting John Cusack's iTunes Celebrity Playlist and clicking "Buy All Songs." I mean, John played a record-store owner in a movie. So if John recommends fifteen tracks and two of them are by Gnarls Barkley, then it must be for a good reason. Right? Right.

"I'll take it from here," he says, shaking his head.

Good.

"Uh, OK?" I say, feigning bafflement. "Let me know if I can answer any more questions." This all feels so good. The hollowness of his swagger washes away all my annoyance. Stuff like this is what I'd miss if I quit. And Mali. I'd miss Mali, obviously.

She is finished with whatever trap she was setting for me in the New section. Unless someone else with a fake question intercepts me, I am about to be standing shoulder-to- shoulder with her in Used. She does the back-arching thing. I'm way too far away for a glimpse of tattoo. But still. Still.

I would pay to have someone competent take my picture right now. Because I sense that I have never looked happier. And I'd like to know what this feeling looks like. I'd like to hold a print of this moment in my hands when I'm very sad or very old.

Mali is doing something with her eyebrows. She is acting. It is bad acting. Bad, adorable acting designed to convey concentration. She is flipping through discs in the catchall section where we indiscriminately file all bands that start with D.

She exhales loudly. Loudly and adorably. Crap, I am so not desireless.

"Hey, Hilliam," she says, looking up while still doing the frustrated, focused thing with her eyebrows.

I should explain that I was Willie before I started working here. Willie Hill. But Willy already worked here. So I couldn't be Willie at work. When I refused to be Billy or Will or Bill – Will Hill?! Bill Hill?!! – it was Evan who cracked himself and everyone else up by blending my given name and last name. Hilliam. I'd become Hilliam. And that's who I am. Here in Ballard, at least.

My parents hate it. Obviously. But they live in Wallingford. In Wallingford, I'm still Willie.

"Hey, Hilliam," she says, doing the eyebrow thing. "I've been wanting Something About Airplanes. For weeks. Does anybody ever bring that in used or do people just hang on to it?"

"We see it sometimes. In this town, there's always at least one person swearing off Ben Gibbard."

"For serious?"

"You'd be amazed."

"Oh."

"Last week. No, two weeks ago. Dude comes in. He's got an empty kitty litter bag that he's filled up with every Death Cab record, every Postal Service record. He's got All-Time Quarterback. And he's growling."

"Growling?"

"Well, words. But he's growling the words," I say and yell out "Travesty!"

Sam is closest. He yells "Travesty!"

Willy hears. He yells "Travesty!" He pauses, stomps his foot, and hollers "Unconscionable!"

"Unconscionable!" Sam yells.

"Unconscionable," I tell Mali.

"Is there more?" she asks. "I don't want to clap between movements."

"But you do want to clap, right?"

"I want to know what's unconscionable."

"And what's a travesty."

"Yes, a travesty, too."

"'Cupid.' The guy downloaded some unreleased solo tracks by Chris Walla. On one, Walla covered 'Cupid' by Sam Cooke."

"Travesty!" Mali says.

"You've heard it?"

"No," she says. "I'm just being cooperative."

"Right."

"Active listening."

"Right."

"Anyway …"

"Anyway," I say. "This guy hates Walla's 'Cupid' cover so much that he decides to sell everything ever touched by Walla or by people who touched Walla."

"So you've got his copy of Something About Airplanes?"

"Never at the end of the month."

"What?"

"We sold it almost right away."

"Oh."

"We'll get another."

"OK, well, can we do the thing again?"

"Of course. I'll call you if we get it in."

"Used."

"Right. I'll call you if we get it in. When we get it in."

"Used."

"Used."

With everything but her arms, she moves to hug me. It's a kind of lurch. You can't hug without arms. So we don't hug.

"You're the best," she says instead.

I love that she knows what I'm about to do. I love that she set a trap. It hasn't occurred to me that she might find this whole thing creepy.

I mean, how can it be anything but endearing to discover that the guy at the record store perpetrates a lovelorn fraud every time you mention a CD you're hoping to find used? It will go like this: 1) Hilliam retrieves a new copy of the CD Mali wants; 2) Hilliam pays for this new CD in cash; 3) Hilliam removes the CD's clear wrapping; 4) Hilliam buys the CD back for the shop, screwing himself out of about ten bucks because the CD is now, technically, used; 5) Hilliam waits seventy-two hours before calling Mali to say that the CD she wanted has miraculously appeared.

Fifty-some hours later, she calls the shop.

"Hey," she says, sighing.

Just that. She's never called before.

"Mali?"

"Uh, yeah. Does that junkyard phone have caller ID?"

"I recognized your voice," I answer unstrategically.

"From me saying 'hey'?"

"You sighed, too."

"Shit," she says, laughing. "Am I the Sighing Girl of Ballard or something? Is this how everyone thinks of me?"

"Not that specific. Sighing Girl of Seattle is what people tend to say."

"Smartass! … Want to meet up for a cigarette break?"

"You smoke?" I blurt, glossing over this unprecedented non-retail-related overture and fixating on the seeming impossibility that a smoker could smell as nice as she does.

"No."

"Then why are we meeting for a cigarette break?"

"Don't you smoke?"

"Not since high school."

"Oh, I just figured all you guys did. The shop smells a little like my grandpa's overcoat."

"Noooooooooooooo," I say, as if this truth stings badly.

She laughs. But this moment is slipping away. I slap at my pockets. I detect packaging.

"Lemonheads!" I say.

"What?"

"I've got Lemonheads. We could do …"

I'm looking around to see if anyone is within earshot.

"Do what?" she asks.

"Sorry, we could do a Lemonhead break. Are you down?"

"Lemonheads? Hell yeah, I'm down," she says. "Meet me like halfway?"

"Halfway like skatepark halfway or like kitchen-store halfway?"

"Kitchen store," she says.

We hang up.

The little guitar riff that opens "Portions For Foxes" is chiming out of the shop's speakers.

This is a coded message. What we mean when we play this song or any of the ten other tracks on Rilo Kiley's 2004 release is that we knew the sound of Jenny Lewis singing long before a National Public Radio review of her solo album introduced her to the ears of every amiable Dockers-wearer within range of Terry Gross's voice.

I yell to Willy that I'm going on break. He looks quizzical. So I pantomime smoking a cigarette. His eyebrows rise, signaling comprehension, and he waves goodbye. I walk out, striding west on Market just as Jenny Lewis sings me a warning: "the talking leads to touching / and the touching leads to sex / and then there is no mystery left."

This is not what I want to hear as I walk to meet up with Mali, hoping that the talking will lead to touching and the touching will lead to sex. Not what I want to hear at all.

So, reflexively, I play a song in my brain. Not just any song. And not even a whole song. Just the opening lyrics to a song from Jenny's bandmates' side project: "Well she gets real mean when she's drunk. / And she finally fell asleep and I'm glad. / She said, 'The only way you got as far is you did / is 'cause of me. Your songs suck.' " I've always wondered if those lyrics are about Jenny. Now, for convenience, I've decided to decide that they are definitely about her. I willfully black out the second verse where the mean drunk – whoever she is -- recants and apologizes.

Heedless now, I walk past the shoe boutique that used to be a rubber-stamp store and the booming restaurant/bar that used to be a failed restaurant.

No song plays in my head now. A rare relief.  I hear a Vespa start. I hear a clang. It's the type of clang made after a successful wallop of one of those smack-a-lever-with-a-hammer contraptions they erect in the feats-of-strength section of county fairs. This particular clang is synchronized with the Walk part of the mid-block Walk/Don’t Walk indicator. With its blessing, I now cross Market.

Continuing west, I pass the kids' boutique Mon Petit Shoe that used to be a friendly, long-in- the-tooth toy store, the yoga studio that used to be a Hallmark shop, the furniture store that used to be a competing record store, and the Puerto Rican restaurant that used to be an Australian restaurant that used to be the eastern part of the now-shrunken kitchen store.

Kitchen 'N Things is closed for the night. Mali has not noticed me yet. Her face is pressed against the store's front window, peering at something green.

I find myself wishing I were famous, wishing some paparazzi would leap from the shadows.

Though I'm not smiling, I sense that I look as happy as I feel. Again, I wish for a photograph that I could hold up and compare with every future joy. Is this pessimism, optimism, premonition? I stop my footsteps and watch Mali for a good fifteen seconds before calling out her name.

She does not turn to me right away. She peers a moment longer, seeming to say a kind of goodbye to whatever merchandise it is that she's coveting.

"Ah," she says, instead of greeting me. "I love Kitchen Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Things."

I can't honestly tell if she's mocking the store's middle "'N" or cooing it like a loved one's nickname. I don't care. Either way, it strikes me as adorable. Anything she says drives me deeper in love.

"What were you leering at, lady?" I ask.

"Brushes. Silicone brushes."

"Don't you guys sell brushes?"

"Sure. Housewares. Aisle three. But not like these. Not silicone."

I don't know what to say. She goes on. Very earnestly.

"Plus, they're 100-percent recycled material. They're made from old fake boobs."

I nod without really registering what she's said.

"Are you serious?" I ask, regaining my common sense.

"Horribly serious," she says, giggling. "Dour. Humorless. Can't you tell?"

"Smartass," I say, reaching up and giving her left arm a gentle tap. "Let's get very, very serious here. How goeth your shift, fair maiden?"

"Goeth?"

"I don't know. I'm just making stuff up. How's your shift going?"

"Fine. The usual bizarreness. I just had two customers start bad-mouthing each other at the checkout. Freaks."

"What happened?"

"Well, we've got like two weeks left at the store before they tear it down to build the bigger, better store with the stacks of condos on top," she says, pausing to make some kind of crazy jazz hands that I take as a signal she finds the whole "bigger, better" thing to be bullshit. "Anyway, this woman pays for her stuff and starts chatting with me about where I'll be transferred during construction. Turns out, she knows my new store. I say that I've heard everyone's mean to each other there. She tells me, in this well-meaning-slash-excruciating detail, everything she knows about the nice people who work there. She also gives me advice. Career advice. Life advice.

Meanwhile, I'm ringing up some semi-older dude with a twelve-pack of Bud. The first woman does not stop talking. The dude keeps glancing back and forth between me and the woman.

Mostly, looking at me, though. Finally he leans in toward me and says, 'I think she likes you.' I pretend not to hear. Because like what, what am I supposed to do? Join in? Give him a little giggle? Help him slam this lonely, sweet woman who is so intent on being nice to me that she will not leave me the hell alone while I try to do my job? No. No. I won't. So I ignore him.

"And that should be the end of it. But as he walks past the woman with his beer, he says, 'Why don't you just leave her alone? She's not interested.' Now, the sweet woman stops being sweet. It's go time, man. She's like, 'Why don't you back off? Go home and drink your Budweiser and mind your own damn business.' "But she gathers up her plastic bags and heads for the door, where they go off on each other a little more. I manage to tune that part out. But now I've got the rest of the line to deal with.

The next guy is this mumbler. So, you know, he mumbles something. I say, 'What?' He says, 'I feel so low-maintenance all of a sudden' and glances over at Advice Lady and Budweiser Prick.

And, of course, he's low-maintenance by comparison. And that would have been totally great if he hadn't felt the need to point it out. Still, I say, 'You are low-maintenance and I appreciate that.' Luckily, he doesn't stick around to chat. He just takes his strawberries and his Odwalla and gets out of my life."

I tell Mali, "Oh my god. You're way too nice. I don't know how you can deal with people like that."

I say this. But it's not what I mean. I mean something more. I have a whole theory about this.

The theory goes like this: In all the world of retail, the most exhausting thing a woman can be is sexy and nice. Nobody girl-chats with mean and sexy. Nobody flirts with plain and nice. And pretty much every kind of customer just wants to flee from mean and plain. But sexy and nice? You get everybody. You get everybody who wants to see you naked. You get everybody who wants a friend. It is endless. And retail is already endless.

But I don't say any of this. Because what makes me any less weird than Mali's customers if I use her crappy-shift story as a clumsy excuse for telling her I think she's sexy? Better to impersonate a friend right now. Better to save telling her she's sexy for some dizzy, panting, half-dressed moment in our hypothetical shared future.

What words should pass through my lips if I manage to wipe away this smile? I simply don't know.

"You make me smile," I finally say since it is true.

"That's just because I'm too nice," she teases.

"No, it's in spite of that. Nice people make me frown. Every last one of them."

"Until now?"

"Until now."

"You're so full of shit."

I smile yet wider. She smiles, too.

This continues. Continues for longer than I want to document here, for longer than anyone would want to read. I remember every word, every gesture, every crumbly nibble of the cupcake we share down the street, every last expansion of my smile.

****

The film was trickier than the battery. My hands and the film and the inner workings of my neglected Canon needed to collaborate. They did, eventually. I thumb-flicked the lever to advance the film. I clicked the shutter release. Thumb-flick. Click. Thumb-flick. Click. Thumb- flick. I was ready.

The 16 I boarded is a southbound bus. But first it goes west. It drives along 45th until it reaches Stone Way. This is one of the vivid intersections of my acne years. Here stood the closest McDonald's to my house. It had a drive-thru. Very convenient. I knew people who went there.

But I disliked all of them. My loose confederation of friends always made the walk – and later the drive – east to Dick's drive in, where we could dine without the nuisance of chairs, tables, or even walls.

For reasons that seem, well, petty to me now, each of us would raise a middle finger whenever we passed that McDonald's at Stone and 45th. So the teenage me would have certainly flipped me off as the 16 turned left on Stone and I found myself missing the McDonald's and resenting the condos that had risen in its place.

The 16 goes south on Stone and jogs diagonally to the southwest before merging its way onto the Aurora Bridge. In some unremembered year when I was not yet a grownup and, therefore, still impressionable, a bus like this one fell from this towering bridge. A guy named Silas Cool shot the driver and then himself. I've harbored a gut-level uneasiness about this bridge and about people named Silas ever since. The closer I get to my own natural death the more it shames me that I don't remember the names of the murdered driver or the one passenger who died in the fifty-foot plunge.

This forgetting didn't trouble me at all that day on the 16. The uneasiness eclipsed all other thoughts. What power we all held. How powerless we all were. Any of us could pull a pistol and, for reasons known only to ourselves, change – or even end – the lives of dozens of strangers. There would be no stopping it. So I averted my eyes from the driver and from all the possible catalysts of my death.

I stared out the window toward the shrouded Cascades and twisted a ring on my AE-1's lens, compulsively changing the size of hole that light would pass through if I took a picture.

And so it is that my first shot that day was radically overexposed. The resulting photo – of the front end of a climbing seaplane that seems to just barely clear the bridge's railing – is more striking, more beautiful that anything I would have shot on purpose. I wouldn't know this until I got the film developed. Even then, I would need to shoot five more rolls before understanding the error that gave me this treasured image. It would take another dozen rolls before I could replicate the effect more or less at will.

I shot nothing when we passed the Space Needle. I shot nothing downtown when I got off to transfer to a 174. Nothing as we passed the home of the Mariners, the Seahawks.

I traveled with the camera pressed to my eye as we neared Boeing Field. But the overcast sky had suddenly switched from being a veil filtering the sun to being a shroud. This mid- morning dusk made the camera useless. Even using the widest opening in the lens, I would have had to expose the film to light for one-eighth of a second. Such a small sliver of a second is actually a long time in the world of photography. It is a fatally long amount of time when you're shooting from a moving vehicle. Unless you happen to know enough to pan the camera and keep the lens pointed toward whatever passing object you're shooting. That's when things can get interesting. Spectacularly interesting. But, as you may sense already, the only spectacularly interesting photographs I could make at this point were accidental.

So I'd only shot that lone photo from the bridge by the time the bus pulled over on East Marginal Way long enough for me to get off at my stop. This put me in the city of Tukwila, essentially across the street from the Museum of Flight. I intended to throw down the $14 to go inside. It was my whole reason for riding the bus this far. But I got detoured. In all my family and field-trip visits to this place, I'd never noticed that the outdoor airplane display was plainly visible – even to deadbeats standing outside the fence, especially to deadbeats with long lenses on their cameras. Turning my back to the wind, I removed my normal lens and replaced it with a zoom lens that allowed me to get closer to the airplanes without getting closer to the airplanes.

****

We are at Besalu. Mali and me. She got the table. I got the coffee and pastries. It's not busy. A rarity. And this is a relief. Because I didn't have to stress that we might have radically different approaches to getting a table in an overstuffed café. I'm of the laughably civil school of table- getting: literally, ask every person ahead of you in line if they need a table before taking one.

Mali might believe in the more standard, snake-a-table-as-soon-as-you-see-one-and-screw- everybody-else approach. If so, I am not ready to know this. I'd be willing to tolerate it. But unlike so much else, it's not the sort of thing I could manage to see as an adorable quirk.

"Oh, they look so good," Mali says, reaching for the plate of pastries that I'm just about to set down.

"You've seriously never been here?" I ask.

"No, this is my first time above 58th Street."

"Wow."

"Don't you ever have that? Streets you just don't cross? Whole parts of neighborhoods you don't bother to explore?"

I think about this. She talks.

"You think I'm lame," she says.

"No. Not at all. I was just thinking about what you said."

She nods.

"When I was growing up in Wallingford, there was this McDonald's …"

She is nodding furiously. I realize what's going on.

"Please, go ahead and start eating," I say. "You don't have to wait until I get done talking."

She smiles. Not at me. At her ginger biscuit. She takes a bite. She stops chewing, stops moving – the way you might if you were about to spit out something unexpectedly rancid. She closes her eyes. She swoons. Literally swoons.

"Amazing, isn't it?" I say.

She resumes chewing, swallows, reopens her eyes.

"Oh my god," she whispers, slapping the table with both palms and making Jurassic Park ripples in our coffees. "I could have kept that bite in my mouth for the rest of my life."

"Amazing, huh?" I say, realizing as the words leave my mouth that this is essentially the same thing I said less than a minute ago.

"Uh, yeah," she says.

She swivels, looks back toward the kitchen.

"Does he make these right here?" she asks, jerking her head toward a dark-haired man who's loading some kind of dough onto both sides of an ancient-looking scale. With a big knife, he slices a hunk from the left pile of dough and drops it on the right pile. The scale falls into balance.

"Yeah, him and two other people. But it's his place," I say.

"Would it be inappropriate to run into the kitchen and hug him?"

"Probably," I say, laughing hard until I start to wonder whether the little artistic venture I'm about to unveil would stand a better chance of shining in some other café, some place without its own resident culinary master.

I'd planned on offering Mali a taste of my croissant at this point. But that would be an impossible act to follow. I push myself. If I just say the words, I'll have to go ahead and do it.

"Hey, let me show you something I've been wanting to show you," I say, sliding a Ballard Camera envelope from the pocket of my jacket.

There are three more envelopes just like this one on my bed at home. They are thicker envelopes. This thinner one holds what I consider to be the eight presentable images from my four rolls.

"Come on. What is it?" she coaxes, noticing the hesitation I thought I'd managed to hide.

I've given a lot of thought to what comes next. Just hand her the envelope? No, seems almost apologetic. Hand her the images one at a time? Too controlling. Instead, I've decided to lay the images out. Three columns of two, topped by the remaining two photos. Why? Don't know. But this is what I've decided.

I put down the first two pictures. A smile – so full, so deep, so reassuring – takes over Mali's face. It animates me. I lay out the six remaining photos with the flourish of an overcompensating tarot reader. My chair is now meaningless. I am an idiot marionette, dangling, waiting for her reaction.

She's deliberate. Each image gets a long, careful look. I become aware that I'm sweating. I breathe fast. Then faster.

Please. Say. Something.

"Did you download these?"

"No," I say a bit too enthusiastically. "I took these."

"Who did you take them from?" she says, holding a hand to her aghast mouth.

She is messing with me. She knows what I meant. I know she is messing with me. I know she knows what I meant. But I am so keyed up that I start to defend myself.

"IdidnttakethemfromanybodyI," I blurt.

She lowers the hand from her mouth. It has been hiding a smile, that same smile. I breathe again. I am ready.

"I took these," I say. "With my camera."

She stares at me.

"You've never told me you were a photographer."

"I'm not."

And I take a deep breath because I'm about to flay myself.

"There's something about you, Mali. You just make me want to make things."

She squints at me.

"To create things, you know. For once. Instead of just talking shit, you know."

She squints tighter. The eyes close now. But a tear leaks from each eye.

Her left hand slides across the tabletop. I put my hand on top of it. We stay that way. While I'm not totally sure what has just happened, I know that it is powerful, and I sense that it is powerfully good.

****

Arranged in the same pattern but in a different order, the photos are now Scotch-taped to the wall next to Mali's futon. I wake to find her looking at them.

"I have a new favorite," she says.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, this one," she says, jerking her head in the direction of all of the photos.

She can't point. Her arms are around me, encircling my left shoulder, my neck, my right armpit. We went to sleep this way. I can't decide what would mean more to me: us having held this position all night or Mali having chosen to recreate it as soon as she woke up. This is another one of those endearing-either-way choices.

"I'm sorry, Armless Lady," I say, straining to kiss her neck. "I'm having trouble seeing where you're pointing. You're going to have to describe your new favorite photo."

I am expecting it to be that first photo I took, the one of the seaplane cresting the Aurora Bridge on its takeoff from Lake Union. Its accidental overexposure makes it unique among these eight photos. Also, I'm disinclined to admire any photo that I made on purpose. I still feel incompetent. Incompetent but strangely helpless to resist the urge to keep creating. So my camera is here by the bed. There's a new roll of film in it. The camera has a self-timer. I could set it on Mali's bookcase and photograph us right now.

I don't.

I didn't.

I never did.

She releases her hold on me and slides her left hand down my chest. She retrieves my right hand, brings it to her mouth, and kisses it before delicately folding everything but my index finger in toward my palm. She guides my hand until my index finger is pointing squarely at the blurriest photo of the bunch. Shot from below and slightly off to the right, it shows the nose and two cockpit windows of a commercial jet.

"Really?!" I marvel.

"Yeah. It reminds me of a clown's face."

"Hmmm," I say and then stare at it until the plane's nose becomes a clown nose and the two windows of the cockpit become the clown's eyes. "OK. Yeah. Clown face. Got it."

We're quiet until I say, "It's funny. You can't see it in black and white, obviously. But the part that looks like a clown nose was painted a total clown-nose red.

"I believe it," she says.

Her arms are back around me.

"I have to say, I'm surprised that's your favorite. You seriously like it more than the really similar one that's in better focus?"

"Seriously. That one looks like a plane – not a clown."

"Didn't realize you have such a thing for clowns."

She laughs, gives me this tender headbutt. I expect banter along the lines of "Well, I'm lying in bed with a clown." But she must not want banter. So I retrace our conversational steps.

"I'm trying to figure out what it means that I set out to take pictures of airplanes and your favorite airplane picture makes you think of a clown."

"Don't think about it too much," she says. "The clown thing is just a tiny part of it. I'd like it without the clown thing. What I like most is that the picture looks like a mistake."

"You like it because it looks like a mistake?"

"I like it because it looks like a mistake. But mostly I like it because I don't think it's really a mistake. Of all of these, it's the one that looks most like you were pushing yourself, reaching for something. And I guess only you know if you actually reached what you were reaching for. But whatever. I like that you trusted me to look at it. I like that you trusted me to see past the blurriness."

"I almost didn't show you that one."

"And maybe that's what I mean. This is the one that stopped you. This is the one where you needed to decide what this was all about, whether you were going to show me some flawless, boring-ass pictures or whether you were going to show me you."

"What's weird to me," I say slowly, "is that I'm showing you a me that didn't exist a week ago."

"Well then maybe what you're showing me is us."

It is a flat, detached, factual statement. I try to catch my breath.

I can't.

I couldn't.

I never could.

[stardustocean-archive]

Character Questionnaire

Okay, I’m just filling this for myself and posting it so I can find it easy in my tags in case I need it for references. This is for the story I’m writing with a friend so just don’t pay attention to it :p

Full name

Jeon Hyosung

Preferred name/nickname

Aliss (Stage name) 

By her boyfriend: Hyosungie, Love

Otherwise, she doesn’t really have other nicknames

Generally referred to as

Hyosung, Hyosung-ssi, Manager, Eonnie

Appearance.

FACECLAIM: 

SEX: Female HEIGHT: 160 cm WEIGHT: 47kg (103 lbs) BUILD: Kind of thin but toned.  HAIR: Long (layers, about mid-back) brown and wavy. Usually styles it with a middle or side part. While she lived in L.A. she had it around shoulder length and bright red. She changed it to brown after a... zipper accident. Her natural color is black SKIN: She is very pale and her skin is smooth and soft. She takes very good care of her body/skin EYES: Dark brown eyes. For a while she wore contact lenses in some dark blue or green/grey. She has a very intense gaze but not in a negative way. It really makes you feel like she is listening intently when she looks at you. She has long eyelashes and was very lucky to be born with double eyelids and not feel like she had to get surgery. MOUTH: Her mouth is a little on the bigger size. Her lips aren’t too big but they’re not too thin either (slightly plump). Her teeth aren’t so white that it looks creepy though but she had always had good hygiene so she had good, and good looking teeth. When she smiles, or laugh, her gums are obvious.  NOSE: Small, straight nose. HANDS: Her hands are small and feminine with always perfectly manicured nails. Pale and soft with smooth skin. But surprisingly strong. FEET: Small bony feet with mostly smooth skin but a few scars near her toes and Achilles tendons from the few years of dancing in very high heels. SCARS: The ones on her feet and a small scar on her right shoulder from being  cut with a piece of broken glass during a fight with a girl in a bar CLOTHES: As little clothes as possible! Ah! In the summer, she loves very short shorts and tanks or short and light summer dresses. Skinny jeans with tucked in loose shirts. Short skirts and blouses. She traded her overly worn Doc Martens for heels. Yes, unless she really doesn’t feel like it, she wears heels all the time. OTHER FEATURES: She has quite a big chest and it sometimes makes finding bras hard. She has a big peonies tattooed on her left thigh. Under her right boob, she has “Curiosity often leads to trouble” in black ink. And on her right nipple, she has a small piercing.  OTHER NOTEABLE FEATURES: The only apparent piercings she has are her ears but she only has her lobe. 

Speech.

VOICECLAIM: About the same as Jeon Hyosung, but a little more raspier. ACCENT: She has an accent when she speaks English. VERBAL TICKS: She says “oh my god” in English, whether she is speaking English or Korean. LANGUAGE: She’s a native Korean speaker but she is perfectly fluent in English. ARTICULATION: She is usually very good at explaining things if she knows about them. If she is uncomfortable or shy, she might stutter a bit.  EDUCATION: She doesn’t use a lot of big words and she can swear a lot. Especially in English. But she can be quite eloquent if she has to. The few big words she knows, she likes to use them when she can. LAUGHTER: She laughs a lot and loud too. She is very expressive when it’s time to laugh and has to put her hand in front of her mouth a lot of the time GRUMP: She’s not the grumpy type unless a situation or a person really irritates her. Like a delay at the airport for a long flight, being stuck in traffic after a long day of work. She can be rude with overbearing people too.  BREATHING: She’ll sniff clothes if it’s something she didn’t put in the hamper and want to wear it again. She’ll groan if she is failing at a new pole figure repeatedly. Usually she has a good cardio but if the activity is too intense, she could be gasping or/and trying to catch her breath.

Mannerisms.

FACE: Normally, her face is more like a poker face or looks serious. She is good at faking a smile since with her previous job, she always had to appear happy and appealing. She might have a small smile when she’s walking and she is in a very good mood. She also smiles if she interacts with customers. HANDS: She doesn’t have a lot of mannerism. But if she says no, she will point a finger up and wave her hand in a ‘no’ manner.  LEGS/FEET: If she’s impatient, she might tap her foot but that’s about it EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: She will show to others two emotions: anger and happiness. She is alright with smiling/laughing when she’s happy. If she is angry, she can yell and throw things. She has gotten in physical fights before.  HABITS: If she really likes a song, she might dance to it or clap her hands. If a song has a more sensual beat, she will definitely start swaying her hips.  POSTURE: She always stands straight. Except if she’s somewhere waiting on something/someone, she will lean against a wall or something else.  WALKING POSTURE: She walks straight and either looking right in front of her or looking down at her phone. SITTING POSTURE: She had the habit to sit with crossed legs when she was in the U.S so it has stuck with her a lot. She either sits like that or with her legs stuck together and a little to the side. Especially if she’s in public and it might not be too well received and since her short skirts wouldn’t be longer than knee-high, her tattoo could be exposed. PERSONAL SPACE: She has her bubble and she respects other people’s space. If she’s close to the person, she won’t mind a bit of physical contact. So unless she has a reason to be in your space (or you in hers) it’s a no-no. It’s not that she’s good at noticing people’s space, but more that she would rather not get into them unless they make the first step. SPACIAL AWARENESS: She’s usually very aware of her space and surroundings. She might have a clumsy moment here and there.  But those moments are rare. OTHER: N/A

Health:

DIET: Back in the U.S, she had a fairly balanced diet, usually high in proteins and carbs because of her job requiring a lot of energy from her. Her being back in Korea, means she adapted herself to her native food. She’s a good cook but she doesn’t like to cook just for herself. So she tends to often eat out before going home. Also, she likes spicy food a lot so if she’s not cooking at home, she’ll eat some noodles or some stew. Her favorite thing to spoil herself is fries with mayo. She doesn’t eat much junk food per say but if she’s been too busy and forgot to eat, which can happen sometimes, she will quickly grab herself a quick something, usually, whatever is on her way home or eat some ramyuns. SLEEP: She’s never been someone to sleep a lot. She likes it but 6-7 hours will usually be enough for her to feel refreshed. Back in L.A, since she worked at night, she would often sleep from 5am to noon, then take another nap later in the afternoon. Since she had a day job now, she goes to sleep usually late at night, around one or two and she will wake up depending on the time she has to be at work. Her sleep is usually good and she doesn’t remember her dreams much. That usually means nightmares too. But if she is very worried about something, she will have a hard time sleeping and she’ll have a lot of dreams that can wake her up many times at night. EXERCISE: The only work out she really does is her pole dancing. In L.A, she would pole dance at home and then at work. Is she had a pole at her current apartment, she would probably be practicing every other day too.  ACTIVITY: She usually have a good balance when it comes to that. She will work hard some days and take some more lazy days too. Whatever she does though, she always try to give it her all. CLEANLINESS: She showers every day. Brushes her teeth 2 to 3 times a day. As a stripper, her hygiene was borderline obsessive and she kept the habits of taking care of herself and having good hygiene. ODOUR: She likes soft scents when it comes to body wash or shampoo. Unless she’s doing a lot of activity, she doesn’t really sweat. She also has a couple perfumes that she likes to wear. One of them is Angel by Thierry Mugler that she wears often when she is with her boyfriend. MEDICINAL DRUGS: Other than some painkillers, nothing. NARCOTICS: She has smoked weed a few times, took speed once and snorted cocaine once back when she was in L.A. She hasn’t used any drugs since she moved back to Seoul. ADDICTIONS: N/A ILLNESS: N/A INJURIES: N/A PARASITES: N/A OTHER: N/A

Personal.’

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT?: She is rather outgoing but she keeps to herself. She doesn’t like to share her personal life with people but she is a good listener and she is good with people. OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: If she had to be one of them,  she would definitely be an optimist. She doesn’t have any delusions though. She tends to see things the way they are and hope they will be alright.  GENDER: She is female and really loves being a woman. SEXUALITY: She is definitely heterosexual. She doesn’t have any sexual attraction towards women or any other gender than males identifying as male. She has kissed a woman before and didn’t enjoy it at all. ROMANTIC: She’s not the most romantic person. If someone’s being too romantic, she will wonder what they want from her. But to her defense, she’s never had a partner who showed much romanticism until she met her current boyfriend. She’s learning with him how to explore what it is to be romantic and to appreciate a more gentle side of her. She currently doesn’t think about marriage or kids as she thinks she is too young to think about that and has too many other things she wants to accomplish before she thinks of starting a family. MEMORY: Her memory is good. But if something is trivial, she will easily forget about it. She doesn’t like to think about things that don’t really matter and she likes to focus on the present. PLANNING: Planning is a not a big thing for her. She’s a rather impulsive person who will often make decision with how she feels at the moment.  PENSIVE: Although she isn’t the planning type, she thinks a lot. When something is on her mind she will ask herself a lot of questions. If it’s more related to her that is. When it’s related to others, she’ll think for a moment then finally talk to the person about it. She’s curious and just doesn’t like to dwell on things for too long. INTUITION: She’s impulsive and curious so she tends to make bad decisions at time. But she’s also rather lucky so things usually turn out for the best. PROBLEM SOLVING: Yet another thing she is learning. Being in a serious relationship is forcing her to work on fixing issues instead of running away from them, which is usually the one solutions she uses when things don’t go her way. GOALS: She doesn’t really have any serious life goals. But she puts different short-time goals on her path. Like getting a car, becoming a pole teacher. If she really had one life goal, it would be to know that in some way, she did make her parents proud. She just wants to feel like she lives her life to the fullest. INSECURITIES: Like everyone else, she’ll have a bad day and feel off. But it might be something like her weight or a zit coming out. She’s confident and loves her body and she knows that deep down, she is a good person who can do great things.  ACHIEVEMENTS: She learned how to pole dance like a pro in a matter of a couple years. She discovered it and absolutely fell in love. It made her want to improve and get her figures and combos perfect.  ANXIETY: Worrying about someone she loves and cares deeply about. It’s a bit of a new feeling for her because even when she was rather broke and couldn’t pay rent, she wasn’t feeling anxious about it: it’s just money and money can easily be found. The one thing that worried her the most was when she was in L.A and stripping. She didn’t want her parents to know where the money she was sending them was coming from because she knew they would not approve. But now that that life is behind her, she doesn’t care anymore. OVERWHELMED: She’s had moments in her life that she did feel like it was too much. Like when her ex sexually assaulted her. It was the drop that spilled the cup for her. On top of all the things that were happening in college and at home, the one person she thought she could trust acted in a manner that hurt her so much she packed up and left her country to get away from everything.  SELF-HELP: Usually, she runs away or drink. She’s slowly learning not to avoid and drown her sorrows. COMFORTS: Warmth. Her boyfriend’s arms and hugs. Talking with her bestfriend. BAD HABITS: For a while, it was lying. Toward some people, she still do it but her boyfriend and best friend are the people she is the most truthful to.  PHILOSOPHY: Just to live in the moment because life is too short to feel miserable. TRIGGERS: Someone taking her keys and certain small attentions

The Past.

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: Up until she was a teen, she had a good relationships with her parent. Then she noticed how harsh her father could be with his words sometimes. Her parents are also more on the traditional style and she is not fond of a lot of traditions. She turned into someone who rejected a lot of things from her culture and it created a lot of arguments with her parents. SCHOOL: Elementary school wasn’t too bad. But in high school, her grades slowly started to deteriorate and in college, although her grades weren’t bad, her skipping classes a lot resulted in getting suspended. ADOLESCENCE: Ah, Hyosung’s puberty was difficult. First of, she started getting a bigger chest so it made her ballet get harder. It also attracted attention from girls (jealousy from a lot of them, which was which it was hard to have girl friends) and from the boys as they started seeing her as a woman. Plus she started getting very interested in them so she was more interested in going out and seeing guys than focusing on her grades. She wanted to be an adult fast and struggled with a lot of disobedience with her parents. Maybe she watched too many American movies and TV Shows.

LEAVING HOME: Leaving home was the result of being overwhelmed. She ran away to the U.S, to live with an uncle and his son for a while, to try to get away from everything that didn’t work out for her in Korea. She wanted to become an adult and she became one fast because of the weight of responsibilities. She ended up leaving her uncle’s house after a few months to live with a roommate. They lived together for a little over two years until she moved back to Korea.  FURTHER EDUCATION: She did some English studies in college but was suspended after six months for skipping classes too often. Resuming her studies was in her plans but she actually enjoyed her stripper job so much that she decided to wait a little longer. FIRST JOB: Her first job was selling record at a store in Koreatown in Los Angeles. It was owned by her uncle and she loved it. She could sit behind the counter and read books and was also discovering a lot of music that wasn’t easily available in Korea.  LIFE EVENTS: Seeing a ballet concert on TV. Her ex sexually assaulting her. Her cousin trying to touch her. Meeting her bestfriend at the record store. Meeting Sanghyun.  WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: The sexual assault by her exes and the fight with her current boyfriend. BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: The confession of love with her boyfriend. The day she went to meet with Sanghyun when she was back in Korea. LESSONS: Everything can be good or bad, it’s just a matter on how you look at it. Being too curious about something can sometimes screw you up. It really pays well to be honest sometimes.   LOOKING BACK: She wouldn’t change a thing. Even her bad experiences lead her to become the person she is today and she loves her life. BUT she wouldn’t quit pole dancing after getting her management job. She misses it and that’s why she’s looking into getting back into it.

Relationships.

FAMILY: Even if she doesn’t have the best relationship with her mother and father, they are still her family and she wants to make them proud. But, the people she loves the most that she consider family are her bestfriend (Mitsuko) and her boyfriend. Back when she was a stripper, her family were some of the people at the club who were tight and took care of eachothers like they were all brother and sisters.  FRIENDSHIPS: She easily makes acquaintances but she is only really close to a handful of people. She is always looking for loyalty in people and she doesn’t feel like she finds a lot of that in most people she encounters. Loyalty, honesty and having a good heart.  FRIENDS IN NEED: If you want advices, you might want to look somewhere else. Hyosung doesn’t feel like she’s good when it comes to making important decisions. You want to chose between two pair of shoes, sure. But you want to know if you should dump your boyfriend or not? Unless you’re in a seriously abusive relationship, she won’t know what to tell you. She’s not the right person for relationship advices for sure. NEEDING A FRIEND: Hyosung doesn’t reach out to people a lot. That’s why Mitsuko worries about her all the time. She knows Hyosung hides a lot inside and doesn’t talk openly about her feelings. She also knows that Hyosung wouldn’t directly ask someone for help. Need help opening a jar or moving furniture, sure. Help with her own problems? Not really. That’s why when Hyosung suddenly asks questions, Mitsuko gets very worried something’s boiling inside. Hyosung just lets thing go and usually hope for them to fix themselves and it doesn’t always work that way. ANNOYANCES: Usually, her reactions if she’s annoyed are to groan or rolls her eyes. With her partner? She tells them to leave or gets angry. It all depends on the level of annoyance it is though. ROMANCE: One thing she is picky about: loyalty. She can tolerate a lot of things but she would dump a cheater without thinking twice and she would regret nothing. Also, she likes someone who stands up for her. She likes to know she is worth a fight and that her partner will protect her. Don’t think she’s incapable of defending herself; she’ll punch and get into a fight if needed. But she likes to know that the guy she’s with will be taking her side and won’t let someone hurt her. MARITAL PROBLEMS: She’s been lucky that there hasn’t been much problems in her current relationship so far. But in the past, she would get pretty heated and mad and yell and throw things if there was something going wrong. ADVERSARIES: Cheating, someone who doesn’t trust her, being too jealous. Friends are relatively the same. Someone who is showing too much jealousy turns her off, whether it’s toward her or even that person’s significant other or someone in their life. Being a hypocrite. She hates when people pretend to be her friend only to backstab her. ENEMIES: An abusive person? Someone who really hurt someone who is precious to her. Anyone who wouldn’t respect her boundaries (no means no). She’s not really the type of make enemies but in the past, when she was a stripper, she had a few jealous girlfriends of customers attacking her. STRANGERS: She’s is usually a nice person who’s polite and cares about giving a good impression. But if you are just a stranger passing by, it could also go the other way where she just doesn’t care and will do as she pleases. She’s thoughtful of her surroundings though. She wouldn’t behave in Seoul, with let’s say, her in-laws or her boss the same way as she would in L.A with her stripper friends or her boss at the club. FUN STUFF: Swimming, shopping, going to the movies, eating out. For a while she really liked parties and going clubbing but since moving back to Korea she hasn’t done much of it. DATING: Movie nights, making out. With Sanghyun, she actually enjoys sex. In her previous relationships, it was all parties and beach and clubs and she was trying as much as she could to avoid sex as to her, it was a chore and she enjoyed making out way more than the act itself. Things change when you’re in love. Now she likes taking walks, shopping, watching TV and movies, cooking for her significant other, intimacy and just sitting in the studio to listen to what music he’s coming up with. BEST FRIEND: Even if she’s currently miles away, Mitsuko is her bestfriend. They facetime almost once a week and keep eachother up-to-date as much as possible with what is going in their life. She has never had another friend she was closer to than her. LOVE: Sanghyun. She didn’t believe much in true love until she met someone who, although was so far off from the guys she usually dated, revealed himself to be the best thing that happened to her. He makes her want to become a better person. WORST ENEMY: N/A RESPECT: If you become her enemy, she probably just doesn’t care enough about you to respect or disrespect you. You have become irrelevant to her and she doesn’t give a shit what you do with your life.

Interactions.

MINGLING: She has a bright personality and she’s usually good in social settings. But the fact that she doesn’t share a a lot about herself makes it a little hard for her to make friends. At least she gets along well with people. COMFORT LEVELS: She a curious person so she’s comfortable talking with them as long as the conversation doesn’t too intimate and about her. When people pry into her life or if it’s someone who she isn’t close at all to that ask her personal things, she will lie or avoid answering. PHYSICAL: As a stripper, she had to touch people. It was a way to charm them and get them to spend money. But as she doesn’t strip anymore, it’s a habit she is trying to get rid of. For comfort though, she could put a hand on someone’s shoulder. But she would rather not touch people unless she knows them well and is on a comfortable level with them. GROUPS: She’s completely fine in groups. She’s used to being the center of attention too. But she appreciates being alone with someone too. You share with one person in a different way than you would in a big group. OPENNESS: It usually takes her a while to open up to someone. But she’s had people with who the chemistry clicked fast and who she had an easier time to open to. That was the case with her bestfriend. As for her current boyfriend, she said a lot of stuff the first time they met and when they started texting since she didn’t think they’d ever see eachother again. But they fell in love and even though she has opened up to him a lot, she still has things she hasn’t talked about. Even when it simply comes to feelings. She can say “I love you” to him but sometimes she still feels shy to say it as it is a way to show a vulnerable side of her. GENEROSITY: If she’s shopping and sees something that reminds her of someone or that she knows someone will like, if she can afford buying it, she will. She likes to give small gift and to make the people she cares about happy. She’ll also do small attention for them: bring them food or water. She is very protective of her money though. She did give a lot to her parents but they never asked and most of it she gave it out of guilt for all the money they spent for her ballet classes and college. When it comes to receiving, she knows how to appreciate a gift. As a stripper, she received a lot of things: perfume, clothes (mostly lingerie), gift cards, flowers. She never expects anyone to give her something though. So she is very thankful of presents and enjoy them a lot. But she always appreciates a gift from someone she cares about more.   JEALOUSY: She’s never felt jealousy before. But if she was to be jealous, it would be of an ex-girlfriend of her partner if she judges that the woman is as pretty or prettier than her. Especially if they were still close. But close or not, she would ask herself a lot of questions (probably get upset and mad alone for no reason) and probably ask a lot of questions to her boyfriend too. She’d try to ignore the feeling and remind herself that he’s with her and not that person anymore but she would need some reassurance to let it go for good. TEMPER: She usually has a good temper and she can be rather patient. But some things can work her up in a matter of seconds. When that happens, she can explode right away. EMPATHY: She isn’t the most empathetic person. She can feel sorry for people and try to comfort them but she can often put her foot in her mouth. So she tries to go with how sometimes, what people need is just a shoulder to cry on and no words. Big display of tears can make her freeze and really uncomfortable.  AFFECTION: Boyfriend: texts, cooking him food, always clearing her schedule whenever she can to spend time with him when he’s available (it’s easier for her to take a day off than for him), sex, hugs, kisses, listening to him when he needs it, doing his laundry, etc. Friends: hugs and small presents and calling to know how they’re doing once in a while. DISTASTE: If she dislikes someone, she simply ignore them ETIQUETTE: In general, she’s a polite person. But she lived a while in the U.S and she might have picked up some habits there that aren’t well seen in Korea. She may talk louder than a lot of people or sit in a way that isn’t necessarily appropriate. She’s usually not rude but if she’s not happy with a situation, she might come off as so. RESPONSIBILITY: If she really believe that apologizing will fix the relationship, she will. When she fucks up, she usually can take responsibility for her action. But in the past, she’s had moments where it was easier to blame others than to accept that she was wrong. SELF ESTEEM: She doesn’t let anyone push her around. She stands up for herself and stands up loud because she knows her worth.  CONFIDENCE: She does want to make a good impression on people and she is always happy when someone thinks positively about her. But if they don’t, she doesn’t care. She can’t make everybody love her and she knows it so she would rather not care about it. HONESTY: Sometimes she has a problem when it comes to filtering her thoughts. She’ll say out loud what she’s thinking and for a lot of people, it’s not well received.  LEADER OR FOLLOWER: She is more of a leader. She’s often encouraging others to do things and push themselves. PARTY TRICKS: Is there a pole for her to do some tricks? Otherwise, not really. PRAISE: Accepting compliments are definitely not an issues for her. If people praise her too much, she might get uncomfortable though, and wonder if they are not making it up. But overall, she can take a compliment gracefully.  FAILURES: If there’s anything she does that annoy or irritate people it would be how she might seem like she doesn’t care about something when it’s all happening inside. Since she has a hard time expressing her feelings sometimes people might think she’s apathetic. CRITICISM: Her years as a stripper has made her a master when it comes to dealing with criticism. Men criticized her body a lot and she has learned not to listen to any of it. She doesn’t take criticism from “strangers” to heart at all. If someone she’s close to criticize her over something, she can get sad and will probably think it over for a moment before she confronts the person as she wants to understand. INSULTS: She usually shrugs off insults but depending on the mood, she could also just insult back. She’s feisty and she isn’t really scared of fighting. EMBARRASSMENT: The only things that embarrass her are when it comes to feelings or anything that is very intimate. Sharing her intimate thoughts can be embarrassing to her since she isn’t sure how well it will be received. FLIRTING: In the past, being flirtatious was almost a lifestyle as it was incredibly beneficial for her either in her job (more tips, more gifts) or in her everyday life (free coffees at the coffee shop, a free meal, skipping the line to get into a club). She doesn’t do any other flirting now than flirting with her boyfriend. It’s natural for her and doesn’t feel forced either, as in, not something that she does because he expects it from her. She just feels like it and it comes naturally for her with him and it simply feels awkward with anyone else. Unless it’s just for fun and her boyfriend knows about it. ATTENTION SPAN: She’s someone who can usually focus well on something. But she’ll have moments where she’ll get lost in her thoughts. Mostly when somethings is on her mind. Then it gets a little harder for her to focus and she’ll need to fix the thing on her minds before she’s able to give her all to something else. SITUATIONS: Her temper and lack of filter makes it that she’ll put oil on the fire sometimes. If an argument starts, she’ll raise her voice. If someone gets upset, she can go into defense mode.

Life.

CAREER: If you can call it a career. She is currently manager of a high-end cosmetic store in Gangnam. PROMOTION: She isn’t expecting to get much higher in ranks in her current career. Plus, it’s not really what she loves the most. Her true love is pole dancing and she is waiting for an opportunity to apply to become a teacher at a pole fitness academy so that she can, maybe in the future, open her own school. BOSS: Her relationship with her boss is all right. They have some time getting along when she asks for a day off. Since her work experience was in the U.S, she’s used to having more days off than what the usual Korean has. So to her, she should be working more hours than she does during the week. But since she’s makes good sales and has a great attitude at work, he has a hard time refusing her time off. DUTY: As a manager, she has to manage the human and financial resources of the store. Ensure the objectives are achieved, provide leadership and coaching. Prepare her staff for promotions and plan them. Ensure exceptional customer service and beauty advises and stay up to date with the new products. TECH: She hasn’t touched a computer since she was in college but she would know how to use one. She might need some guidance to do certain things but she’s not completely dumb when it comes to technologies. POLITICS: She tries to avoid most conversations about politics. She doesn’t know much about it and she just has no interest in it. When elections time come, she’ll try to follow a bit on TV so she’s not too clueless about what’s going and to help herself make a decision on who she should vote for but that’s about it. COMBAT SKILLS: She can definitely fight. She never learned or anything but haven’t gotten into a few feuds at the club when she was a stripper, and having to fend off some men off her, she has learned how to defend herself. HOME: She currently lives in a small studio apartment and her boyfriend has pretty much moved in with her. Since they share a space, she likes to keep it tidy as much as possible. There will be times where the area around the bed will be full of clothes and the hamper will be full. That’s when she’ll decide to do laundry. Dishes is usually done in the evening too. She’s not obsessed with tidiness. But she likes having a clean environment. It’s a good change with how messy her bedroom was when in L.A.  DAILY LIFE: She deals well with daily life. She’s also full of street smart and will usually understand what’s going on fast. INDEPENDENCE: Back in L.A. she was lucky to have her roomate when she lost a job. But she paid her due. She doesn’t like owing money to people so she will always try to find a way to have the money to pay her bills. Even if that means eating a potato for a meal. COOKING: She’s an all right cook. Not the best but her food is good. She just doesn’t like cooking if she’s alone. BUILDING: If she’s buying a new piece of furniture, she’ll be fine to put it together fast. But when it comes to small crafting things, she’s not just terrible at it, she hates it. CLEANING: Again, she likes a clean environment so she will usually keep her home tidy. But she’ll have days where she just doesn’t feel like it and can let, for example, clothes pile up. Never dishes though. SHOPPING: She loves shopping but she won’t spend a lot of money. So she’ll go and look at what things are in stores. But she’ll buy new clothes only if she really need it. She’s a sensible shopper. It comes from her parents and how they rarely had money to spend on impulses. DRIVING: She doesn’t drive but would like to learn and have her own car. FINANCES: She manages her money well. Her bills are always on time and she’s good at saving money. MARRIAGE: She’s currently not married and she isn’t really thinking about it. She knows she has a strong personality and that for a lot of men, it can be scary. It makes her wonder if she’s marriage material at time at all. She’s currently happy with how her relationship is going and she doesn’t want more. KIDS: She has no kids and she doesn’t know if she wants them. She’s only 24 and she believes she has a lot of time ahead of her to decide if she wants them. Plus, the subject has never arise with her boyfriend so she doesn’t even know if he wants them either. PETS: She would love a cat or a puppy. She loves animals and she currently has none. DEPENDANTS: Her mother has a lot of health issues and sometimes that makes her worried. But she doesn’t have to take care of her on a daily basis. She doesn’t have anyone who depends on her. LAW: Back in the U.S, she has tried different drugs, drank underage and took a midnight dip in a public pool at night. She’s never been arrested or caught though. COURT: She’s never been caught for anything so she’s never been to court. PRISON: Again, she’s never been to prison TRAVELLING: She’s traveled from Korea to Los Angeles and then back to Korea. Her family never had much money to travel. MEDICAL: Since she started being sexually active, she’s had regular checkups with a gynecologist and since her mother doesn’t have a good health, she’ll see a doctor if it’s really needed or once a year. She’s not afraid of the doctor, she just finds it annoying to go.  ILLNESS: She doesn’t have any mental or physical health issues known. WORRIES: She doesn’t have any worries in general. She’s peaceful when it’s time to go to bed usually. PEACE: She can do quiet and peace and she actually loves it sometimes. But she also likes to have music playing, even if she’s just lying in bed and reading a book. PARTYING: She used to go out partying a lot but she doesn’t do it much anymore since she moved to Korea. She can’t go to very crowded places with her boyfriend and she’d rather spend a quiet evening with him at home then go get sweaty in a club with random strangers rubbing themselves on her. HOBBIES: In her spare time, she likes to read, watch dramas and movies, (if she had a pole, she would pole dance a lot), going for walks and just whatever her boyfriend will want to do.