( beauty , disgrace ) — double joining , o

[MINSUH.]

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( beauty , disgrace )

if beauty had a name, it'd be minsuh. her face is rounded , youthful. widened eyes nothing too short from a fawn. her lips are nothing short from the japanese maple cherry blossom tree, and her smile — her genuine smile — when you receive it, you better feel damned special because not many receive it. because despite her fragility by appearance , despite only being sixteen years young without much real life to live , minsuh was dangerous, and her loyal brother, haneul— her sworn protector— knew this.

it's hard to say what causes a clock to stop ticking correctly , much less a human. it could be environment , but minsuh — besides the obvious in an forsaken , damning world — had been lucky despite the circumstances. sure , her father had disappeared when she was only young. and yes , her mother died not too far afterwards , but it wasn't as if she wasn't left to defend herself. her brother. her perfect , and loyal , and preservative older brother , had been quick to take the parental role when it came time. even before their mother fell ill , he was someone who was willing to step in and care for minsuh despite her displeasure; this was normal for a teenage girl falling into womanhood, but she was anything but normal. maybe sometimes , it was just by birth. maybe sometimes , people were just born the way she was born.

she and her brother traveled a lot. from person to person , land to land , outcasts to the world. minsuh honestly liked it this way. she didn't like anyone else, and although she didn't often like her brother, she was used to him. he was someone familiar to her. when it came to other people , however, they were her next potential prey— what can i get from them? she wonders. what can i gain? otherwise , she was mostly to herself. sure , she could blend in when deemed necessary , but she doesn't want it to be necessary. her brother insists that it's better they be in a group , it'll help them stay alive. but she thinks they're doing okay on their own. they hadn't died yet, did they? if anything, the idiots who decided to take them in ended up with that unfortunate fate , their most recent similar. blood splatters on both of their clothes as proof , something that minsuh is upset about.

this was my favorite skirt. oh , well. maybe the next house raid would land her on the same pleasantries. but it's been awhile , and haneul hasn't really given her that option. he's been silent since the incident. although she insisted it was necessary , there'd been some skepticism that'd shadowed his eyes the moon passing over the sun. her own, beloved brother, not trusting her? she suspected it , but she hated to think about on whether or not that were true. they'd been together all of their lives , why would she ever lie to him ? that man had was a danger to her. was she not supposed to defend herself?

[size=9pt][b]"man , i am starving" the girl whines , rubbing her hand over her tummy to accentuate the emotion to him, lip forming into a pout. she would chew gum to distract her , but her jaws were growing tired from the workout and plus , she was only on her last one. that could be saved for another day. her legs also feel like icicles , but she wasn't complaining about that. the only time her brother had really spoken to her was to insist she put on pants of some sort. but she wasn't going to ruin the aesthetic. [size=9pt][b]"how much further, haneul?" sighing in exasperation , she twirls the steel bat wistfully in her hand.

( please wait for truce to respond ! then open to all. )

[truce.]

[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Beauty was a fiend. If one were to confront it, they’d likely be weak at the knees. Though, it certainly was not the sheer horror to induce a dead faint — at least not yet — but one which could convince one’s heart to pick up pace, pump blood a little harder, a little faster. The anxiety that slowly crept in, the sickening feeling in one’s throat. Beauty and fear were not dissimilar in the way they both invoked the same innate reactions, and it wasn’t too difficult to mistake one for the other. Stand in the face of beauty, and you might not realise until it was too late that it was in fact fear creeping upon you. Beauty was often inconspicuous in this way. It never demanded the most extreme of reactions, but a discomfort in existing in close proximity to it.

It knew how to restrain itself at the best of times and so nothing could or should be done to withdraw from the beauty and fear. As long as it existed, as long as it was alive, one would live with that same existential dread for the day that beauty could no longer curb its tolerance for a world so ugly. Only then would one truly see how beauty could mirror its environment to resemble fear more closely. Now, it was not a worry, but a clear threat for one’s safety. Suddenly, beauty was everywhere, seeping into every pore of the world around you and leaving no room for the rest of the world’s people. In this state, beauty would begin to destroy the life you once knew. Beauty could become ugly.

Dangerous.

Beauty could have the potential to instil a paralysing horror within. It could have both the motive and the drive to destroy another. And, what could be more beautiful and horrifying as Lee Minsuh?

Lee Haneul was a man. No defining qualities which separated him from the rest. A normal man who was trapped in a life he didn’t belong in. This life was nonsensical and extreme, where only the bravest of souls could withstand the trepidations along the way. Not normal Haneul with the shaky hands and the indentations on the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat on his face. Father left when they were only young, and mother died not long after, plunging Haneul into a premature life of parenthood. He did all he could to provide for Minsuh, shelter her from the storm of life outside.

What had he done so wrong?

Every step bore the weight of his own guilty conscience, questioning every move he made in all of his years of raising Minsuh. The wintery chill tore at his skin as each forceful step ploughed through the thick snow, but inside his blood boiled with a hidden resentment towards himself. Towards his sweet, innocent sister who had just committed murder. Haneul didn’t know whether the tremble through his body was from the cold or from the horror, but he could bet that it was an excessive amount of both compelling forces at once. His face may be stern but glazed eyes were the windows to his weary, conflicted soul. Minsuh was just a little girl, not a crazed killer; he’d try to do all he could to deny the glimmer of pleasure in her eyes.

Haneul would clench his jaw so hard that he could barely return any of Minsuh’s questions or statements. Perhaps a few, monotonous one-worded answers here or there, but nothing more than that. He lowered his head for a moment, wanting to retch once more at the arterial blood that splattered across his clothing. His head was spinning. Haneul whipped his head up again, quickly using the back of his hand to wipe at his nose before he listened to Minsuh’s carefree comments. Really? How could she feel nothing at all?

❝ We’re almost there, I think. ❞ He uttered the longest sentence he’d said since they began this trek uphill, but Haneul was not ready to make that a normal order just yet. Instead, head throbbed at the tightness in his jaw again, the overwhelming sensation that he was a prisoner trapped inside his sister’s secret. Whether it was denial that she could ever possess such darkness or it was the fact he’d sworn to his late mother on her deathbed that he’d spend every waking moment of his life dedicated to protecting Minsuh, he could no longer tell. But, it was needless to say that this secret that he’d keep for her was driving him mad.

// open for replies now!

[LI-SANG.]

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a pretty face is nothing more than a mask.  it's something that pyrrhic had to learn early on: beauty was never surface level, but neither was it deep in the most cliche sense.  the nicer the features, the more eye catching the outfits, the more secrets lay within.  his brother had been rugged, handsome, fierce, magnetic.  pyrrhic is gentle, silken, blooming, calculating.  his looks had long since become his spear and shield, attacking and defending as he saw fit.

coming across the siblings, he already knew that a cog was out of place. 

he descends the very hill that they are scaling, movements fluid and sure as he retains his footing and spins and makes an arrow dance across his fingers. unlike the day he arrived, he has a few more layers on, dark coats and a mask to drive out the chill winds that whistle in his ears.  long strands of hair fly free, though the rest remain caged in intricate braids, reminders of days long lost when he needed to play the role of the dutiful heir and host of whatever meetings were being held.  there's a wavering gentleness to his form as he halts in front of the siblings, effectively acting as a border between them and the shelters that lay beyond.

pyrrhic's gaze is sharp as it tracks over minsuh first, running over her appearance, her demeanor, her countenance.  his own features pinch almost imperceptibly at what he sees, what he thinks he recognizes.  there's a darkness lurking just beneath the surface, a shadow that he knows all too well.  beneath the cover of the mask, he frowns.  quietly, he shifts his attention to haneul, appraising him in the same, languid, way he had his sister.  in haneul's tired eyes, he uncovers more of the mystery, stores away any bits of information he can before forcing himself into a position of impassiveness.

there's a moment in which he seems almost unsure of his position, as if he's straddling some invisible line where either side spells danger.  he shifts his weight about before finally settling down, shoulders turning in slightly as his gaze moves to the sky to track the slow circles of a bird.  he's not comfortable, but he knows better than to look too closely at the strangers before him.  the spinning of the arrow ceases, only to be replaced by a fidgeting motion - his fingers dancing over the wooden shaft and tugging at the feathered end.  "business?" he finally asks, raising his voice in a pitch that comes across as forced and unfamiliar, a kind of jump that gives the impression that pyrrhic has only ever spoken in whispers.

the word crumbles like a sugar cube towards the end, and his gaze returns to the two once more as if to assure himself that he had been heard.  in place of the sharpness are pools of watery and detached curiosity.  the sting of winter worked to his advantage, providing him ample opportunity to bring tears to his dry eyes.  he can feel the dryness of it upon his skin, knows that the bridge of his nose is turning red, and vaguely wonders how minsuh hasn't succumbed to the dry bite of the territory yet, not that her companion was in much of a better state.

cosmyn