⤬ MARKET.

@Jung Taekwoon [ of course, of course! no rush, though- take your time. : ) ]

@[#HIATUS] Kiko Mizuhara [Of course, so shall I put a post in the hospital?]

@Jung Taekwoon [ i think we should fast-forward? since this scenario's been dragging a tad too long now. eep- it all depends with you, though! ]

@Kiko Mizuhara [It's the thought that counts and you replied so it's a win win situation- Also do we continue here? Or do we fast forward?]

@Jung Taekwoon [ reads '6 days ago' and screams at self, really- i'm extremely sorry for the late reply! ]

If looks could kill, the maddeningly-stoic stranger would've been dead by now. Kiko valiantly refrains from dropping the grip on her bags in favor of the man's neck the moment he fishes his wallet out and heads for the counter– all her efforts for nothing? She clearly underestimated his courage; while some others would immediately back down after a verbal war with her, this guy actually had the audacity to give her a smug look as he paid for the jar, as if she was just some kind of docile kitten! Scoffing, she watches him leave and merely nods at the apologetic smile the owner gives her before stalking off to another stall and buying a different jar of kimchi with a shake of her head, leaving the premises afterwards.

Kiko grumbles to herself as she stomps her way out to the exit, kicking a few pebbles here and there. "Damn bastard, taking my kimchi– who does he think he is, anyway?" She makes a face, mimicking the man's words, "'This is a public place and I will do as I please'– psh, does he think he's some kind of aristocrat!? What's with the formal language?" Finally out of the market, she shakes her head vehemently and immediately runs to a nearby lamppost, kicking it out of frustration.

Alas, it seems like she has a poor sense of judgment that day– for the moment her foot connects with the concrete, she stumbles over in pain, dropping a bag and leaning against the very same lamppost as she whines. "Ow, , Kiko– what the hell were you thinking????"

@Kiko Mizuhara Taekwoon had but time to waste on unnecessary bickering, let alone with a woman he'd just met. He was patient and slow to temper but her convictions were off putting. "I've got bigger things on my mind to think about than knowing if you or anyone else have to run errands or not, this is a public space and I will do as I please with the time that I have, now if you excuse me." Dismissing the woman with finality in his tone, Taekwoon walked past her, now on his way to the cashier to purchase the last jar of kimchi.

Feeling triumphant over said confrontation, he slid his hand into the depths of his pocketed jeans for his wallet to pay for the product, bowing slightly in the cashier's direction after he'd received the payment not casting a single glance in the woman's direction before he left the area. His mind trailing elsewhere as his hunger was ever present.

@Jung Taekwoon Patience has always been her strongest suit, but right now Kiko prays to every single otherworldly being up above to bestow upon her more of said trait; this man was infuriating as heck, and she honestly wasn't in the mood to be bickering with someone like him.

She scoffs as the man eyes her up and down, as if mocking her. "Don't go putting words into my mouth, mister," she says, her face accommodating the sudden downturn of the muscles around . "It has been everybody's business the moment you decided to hold the line, holding that very last jar. We all are busy persons who have errands to finish, yes? I believe I don't have to go into further detail as well." He was being a total douchebag, and excruciatingly so, that Kiko doesn't even bother with being polite– instead arching an eyebrow nonchalantly. Two can play this game.

What annoys her most is that she still has some paperwork to do, and although she's brought her pager from work with her, she doesn't want to risk having to go home with a beeping answering machine. The man is stalling and Kiko honestly would've been home if he just would make up his mind about the kimchi, damn it.

@Kiko Mizuhara The woman before him appeared ungraceful, im´polite and quite unlady-like; but he only seemed to follow suit with a calm demeanor although he was left in disbelief over her reasoning. Opinionative as if without a backbone, he studied her gestures, her lack of withdrawal during a confrontation. Was she careless?

Taekwoon cast his eyes down at her, an eyebrow raised. " Are you insinuating that I'm not going to eat this?" Although his expression was solid, the situation was comical as he rose the jar. "I don't have to go into further detail as to what I'll do and won't do; That is simply none of your business." the woman had a wry sense of humor if she thought her behavior would go unnoticed because of her looks, Taekwoon would let her know it wasn't a pretty sight.

With the time he had on his hands, he could've been on his way home but the woman's eagerness to take the last jar told him he was gonna back track for a minute or two.

@Jung Taekwoon She absolutely hated being scrutinized, and look at him– he's doing exactly that. Kiko stares back almost defiantly at the indifferent gaze the man gives her, albeit she can sense the distaste hidden within the depths of those brooding eyes. What, he didn't approve of her taste in clothing? They were merely fellow patrons of the establishment; they didn't need a dress code. Only modern society's s gave a damn about people's clothes. Not that the man was even dressed to a tee, anyway.

Kiko's not gonna lie, though– he could pass for a famous person, if she were to be honest; tall and lithe, he had wide-set shoulders even international runway models would die for. His cheekbones and jaw were both prominent, as if touching them would have the ability to give you a cut, naturally-pink lips set into a thin line. And that hair– what an atrocity. What grown man dons dirty-blond hair nowadays? He must be some sort of frustrated artist; otherwise, he just might be a crazy old chap.

"I don't suppose you own the shop to time my payment." She merely raises an eyebrow, both at the equally-cool voice and response, but boy, does she hate the undertone of arrogance in it. This guy probably has a way with words and must know how to use it to his advantage. Not to mention he's feisty, Kiko muses. Like a cat– he even looks the part. Overall, Kiko deems him a total prick. Yes, that's what he is.

"Oh, I don't," she replies, unfazed by the sudden proximity, and gives a nonchalant shrug. "But if you would be so kind, dear sir, you'd ought to be polite towards others who actually need that kimchi on their tables." She finishes, raising an eyebrow at him in a silent challenge.

@Kiko Mizuhara Deep in thought, he seemed to crave a seasonal side dish for supper, Taekwoon needed vegetables for a hearty winter soup and of those there were plenty; turnips, swede, fat carrots and bunches of cilantro. All that was missing from his list was a jar of kimchi but yet another shopper cut in front of him reaching in decisively. He took a step back and waited until they were gone, this wasn't something he liked to rush. With hands in the pockets of his viridian winter parka he walked up and down, looking at the prices as well as the varieties.

Settling on the last jar, his eyes narrowed as he studied it's contents. 'kkakduki..' He had a preference for napa cabbage over diced radish but none were left, he could've made a decent trade with a fellow customer and if they had yet to comply he'd offer cash. Then again it was just a jar but he was distracted from his train of thought by a woman who seemed to be peering over his shoulder.

To describe his facial expression would be like describing a blank sheet of paper. He could have been in a coma for all the life his face showed.

Unphased by her snarky remark, the male turned. Eyes the colour of rich soil flecked with black locking onto the petite figure that was of the woman; She had fair skin and a delicate, wiry frame. She looked like some kind of model in a magazine ad, leaning against the banister of the balcony, staring off into the distance. Her hair was a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. How such a tint could play with the light, like peering at the sun through a jar of pine honey.

He leant closer, perfectly composed and uttered in an as a matter of fact tone " I don't suppose you own the shop to time my payment."

@Jung Taekwoon Kiko's always loved going to the local market.

There's something about the place that lulls her constantly-buzzing head into a quiet hum, something that makes her want to drown in the white noise that envelops her the moment she steps into the establishment. While the familiar cacophony of of the emergency room she deems conducive for work, the dynamicity of the sounds in the market actually feels... homey. Not that she misses home, no, that's the last place she ever wants to go back to– it's the cozy kind of homey, the kind that she has craved ever since she was a child, the one thing that her adoptive parents never quite managed to give to her. Kiko holds back the snort that bubbles up , hefting the bags she's carrying with one arm onto the other.

Offering a discreet smile to the vendors that greet her along the way, Kiko meanders through the packed crowd– another thing that Kiko likes about the market is the diversity, the sole realization that it isn't only her who's basically a foreigner in the very land she has grown up in. Tourists flock the different stalls on both her sides, some taste-testing the different street food, others taking pictures with homegrown Korean produce that couldn't be found in their respective countries. Biting back a grin of bemusement, she trudges her way to a certain stall– it's the one place where she buys her kimchi, and even the owner knows it. However when she gets a glimpse of said stall, Kiko sees only one jar of kimchi left (literally none on the shelf now; when did that even happen?), and it's in the hands of a guy who seems older than her by a few years, scrutinizing the label hard enough that he almost appears to be burning holes through the container.

Kiko decides to give him time, but after a few more minutes of tapping her foot against the concrete with the guy still not making a move, she taps his shoulder. "Um, excuse me– will you be taking that jar of kimchi or will you keep staring at it until the evening?"

@Kiko Mizuhara Taekwoon could never shop in the cool and perfect indifference of a supermarket, served by underpaid drones and into purchasing the over processed salty junk. What he couldn't get at the local market he just didn't buy.

Every Saturday morning he would drink in the colours, the aromas and the atmosphere like an elixir. He thrived on interacting with the stall holders, each one almost a caricature of bubbly friendliness. They knew him by his name and often had kept something back from the stall that they knew he would buy and he always did.

He weaved through the crowds, edging through the dense flow of people with his bags getting more full by the minute. The air was perfumed with produce, the ground was gritty stone and the air a perfect pre-winter chill. There was no irritating music, just a busker with a guitar. This to him was life, real life, not the sanitized pre-packed convenience world of individual yoghurts and personal cheeses.