— mᵃʳᵏᵉᵗ

TAEHYUNG: CHECK.
SEHUN: CHECK.
EUNWOO: CHECK.
HOSEOK: CHECK.
MINGYU: CHECK.
WONWOO: CHECK.
JAIJIN: CHECK.

[part 3]

By the time he arrived at the collection of stalls, his mood had slightly alleviated. He was in New Orleans after all, no matter how little he cared about sightseeing, Eunwoo had still been drawn in by the foreign setting. It felt like a whole new world. It was completely different from back home, where he had spent all of his life in the suburbs of the capital before coming to the island. The island was still strange to him as well, but this was like he'd entered a movie. Perhaps it was the suddenness of his arrival here, that made everything so surreal. With a faint smile he stealthily stole an apple from a stall and hid in his hoodie as he searched for a stall selling something he could use as a weapon. His normally large eyes squeezed into thin lines as he spotted a lone, middle-aged man standing behind an array of kitchen appliances. It seemed his stall wasn't that popular. Taking care not to bump into too many people, Eunwoo weaved through the crowd and came to a stop before a few pots and pans. He'd heard that stainless steel was the best material for pots, but honestly he had no idea about things like that. Should he get something with coated aluminium instead? It was certainly cheaper. Then again.. cast iron had something.. rustic to it, it could not NOT be bad. Humming to himself in thought, the 19 year old picked up a pan and began to examine it. This action seemed to have surprised the vender as he gave the strangely clothed young man a slow once-over. Eunwoo was still wearing the hoodie and still had most of his face hidden after all. It didn't matter who looked, he was a suspicious character. And apparently, he had come to the market to buy a pan. The vender wasn't picky though, after haggling about the price for a while he sent the youth away with one of his cast iron pans and happily counted his earnings.

@mingyu k. 〈 kmin The city wasn't new to him, nor the streets but they were not familiar. He had been here two years ago and now looking back at it, it seemed like a new place as a lot had changed. He took his time taking in the old and new shops, a few people he recognized from last visit and many were new. When mingyu called for him, he gave the other his undivided attention and a snort followed soon. "last time I checked, I had no qualification in tour and guide language department though." It was light hearted , eyes almost disappearing behind his cheeks as the smile on his lips spread across. "Don't worry. Come in. I'm sure they'll give you lost and found department candies." With that wonwoo grabbed mingyu's hand with his good hand, pulled the younger to the front and stayed behind his back to keep his arm safe. "there's more than meets the eyes." Quitely mumbled out, guided mingyu further inside the the crowded shop, and asked the beautiful lady of the shop to use the restroom. Now, that wasn't new but that was how they do business, and even if it baffled wonwoo with the way things go around this place, work is work. Within seconds she gave them a smile, and told the numbers in a crafty way of giving direction to the locker. Thanking the lady, wonwoo pulled mingyu out to the street from the small crowd around the shop. "remember the number, mingyu. 213043. The code to unlock the locker." Wonwo was already following the guidance the lady told and soon at the end of the second block appeared two lanes, and he went to the first like told. The third building, ground floor, fourth room. The Las number was for the cubicle which they wouldn't be using figuratively. Inside the room were numerous lockers with locks and a few people minding their own business. Followed the instructions, grabbed the two duffle bags, courtesy of mingyu taking the two, they left the building, also s small note in wonwoo's hand that read 'Goon in the Magic.' oh.. it was clear their mission had started already.

[1/2]

[ 5 / 9 (been putting the wrong number this whole time ;;) anonymous ]

Tired - Jaijin is tired of these alleys throughout the city. What once was a fun maze has become a trap, closing in on all sides. (He's being dramatic.) There's nothing inherently wrong about the system, but Jaijin has become all manner of bored with the drab exterior of the multiple buildings. Rarely does he pass a window in activity, one such different case being a harsh yellow light accompanied by angry shadows. He ignored the yelling and the breaking bottles, favoring instead to keep his head down, shove his hands in his pockets and continue onward.

Another mouth, another light, but this time the smell of salt is less in the air. He's exited into an area further into the city, away from the docks and water. This much he realizes as he just stands there.

Lines of fruit stands parade up the street, ending quickly and breaking off into a slow intersection. The area is pretty much void of people besides the vendors, and the occasional passerby walking through to get to the other side. Jaijin decides it's quiet enough and enters the aisle of the market. He smells the air, tinged with citrus and rot, accompanied by an earthy scent one might expect at a graveyard. The lack of sounds helps to create an atmosphere of abandonment.

"Are ya lookin' for something, boy?"

Jaijin is startled out of his thoughts by an old voice, turning to face the source - an old hag with a red cloth tied around her head. The rest of her clothing speaks of another time, a checkered dress with long sleeves and a dark apron. In response to her question Jaijin merely shakes his head to convey he doesn't understand the language, but nears her station with a small curiosity.

"How can you be so sure?" she asks, smiling with what she has left of her teeth, somehow still filled with mirth in this ghostly part of the city. "You think your own feet brought you here, but it could have been the wind." At this she plucks a bright green apple among the red, holding it up in a shaky hand. It ends up falling from her frail fingers, bouncing among the other fruits before landing on the sidewalk, rolling past as a breeze begins to pick up. "See? Life, is a game of chance. Are you in control?" Jaijin listens, all the while his eyes follow the apple as it stops in the groove of a water grate, dirtied by the road. "Or is it some bigger force? Tell me!" Jumping at the sudden exclamation Jaijin looks back at the woman, only to have a piece of folded paper shoved into his face. He watches her carefully before reaching up to take it, beginning to unfold it before she yells again. "Not now!" Assuming she told him to stop he slips the paper into his pocket, and at this the woman leans back into her booth. "I have the feeling you'll need that later. Now, shoo!"

He doesn't have to be told twice, quickly escaping down the road at her shooing motion until he leaves the market behind. On the corner Jaijin pulls the new paper from his pocket, unfolding it once, then twice, and realizing that it's not just a piece of paper, but a business card.

'WITCH DOCTOR
xxx xxx xxxx
xxx xxxx street
new orleans, la 70115'

Looking back towards the direction of the market Jaijin wonders why she gave him this. He had no need for this supposed witch doctor. Hell, he could barely even understand what the card said. Flipping it over, as if he could understand it better, his eyes fell on a small map printed on the back.

Well, it seems like he's going to make a visit.

@wonwoo j. 〈 jīn |SH| Mingyu couldn't help but eye down the other, he really was not a morning person. He then glanced down at his own clothes realising that he spent little to no time in organising his outfit. It was just a thin sweater and a pair of pants that were comfortable but not exactly the best when it came to keeping people warm. "Ah- well...i don't want to waste your money so I'll pay for everything and I'll try not to take too long when we buy some better clothes but only if it's not a bother to you." Mingyu answered back in a rather hushed tone, the streets were still busy, not as much as last night, but people gathered around and still celebrated the day away.

Suddenly Mingyu burst out into laughter as he watched Wonwoo trudge along the wrong way, which in his books was one of the funniest things he had seen in the morning. He flashed a bright grin at the other and his heel to walk in the right direction that led to the cafe. "Keep up with me, you'll get your coffee soon I promise." Sooner or later they had met this mysterious man, received all the details and even though Mingyu stayed silent as the two friends exchanged conversations with each other, there was someone new he had just met who seemed trust worthy enough. He strolled down the sidewalk and watched the keys in Wonwoo's hold jingle with every step he took.

Luckily the market wasn't too far from the location of the cafe. The only problem was that this very market was incredibly popular and more people kept on coming to buy the cheapest deals they had everywhere, presumably from all the parties that had been going on. "Seems like this is your department, I'll have you do the talking because I know I'm going to get lost here." Mingyu chuckled under his breath though deep down he knew that at some point, he was bound to get distracted and wander off somewhere. "I think that's our man." He pointed straight ahead at large stall, thousands of fruit hanging off the edge and the occasional person who attempted to steal a quick bite. This place was hectic and Mingyu wanted to leave as quickly as possible, with a quiet sigh he walked forward towards the stall.

[ Part 2 ]

One of the most mandatory procedures of executing an assassination was making sure that his tracks would covered, and that he was never found out. The disadvantage of carrying out his mission in such a familiar city was that there was a chance someone would recognize him. So to ensure that didn't happen, J-Hope was heading to the market to purchase a disguise. Thanks to the festival, several costumes and articles of clothing were on sale, which made his task that much easier.

The main question, however, was what was he going to disguise himself as. So far, the plan was to take his Master down while he was "relaxing" at his nightclub. Nightclub with Master meant es; J-Hope knew from experience. The thought was there, but really, he didn't wish to go down that path. Terrifying and traumatic didn't define that experience enough. But so far, he was out of ideas. That was the problem with J-Hope — he didn't know how to think for himself. Give him a target and instructions, they'd be executed with perfection. Tell him to think for himself, he was a lost duckling.

As the young man strolled down the rainbow-coloured streets, he couldn't help but wonder when was the last time he really enjoyed himself. Here, parents with their kids, couples with their significant other and the occasional loner were here for a simple purpose: wipe their minds clean of any worries for the next couple of days and simply enjoy themselves. A small pang of envy blossomed in J-Hope's usually pure heart. But that followed a sense of determination, because he was this close to achieving something similar to these people. All that was obstructing him was the biggest bridge he had yet to cross. Past the bridge lay a world unknown to him: the world of freedom. It was simultaneously exciting and nerve-frying. J-Hope's immense desire to create a new life for himself, however, was far stronger.

On his "leisurely" stroll, J-Hope came across a shop. Not a simple shop. No, this one was.. different. The only thing that indicated its contents, although effectively, was a cartooned . Not many brain cells were needed to process the purpose of this store. In spite of the obvious nature of this stall, however, J-Hope entered. A bell tinkled to notify his arrival. "Welcome," purred a female voice from behind the counter, cerulean blue eyes trained on him like a hawk. J-Hope gulped quietly. This was going to be a pain.

An hour later, J-Hope found himself practically scrambling out of the store, cheeks flushed to mimic a tomato. In his hand was a black plastic bag, containing articles of clothing and other "miscellaneous" accessories that he had always seen, occasionally adorned, never owned. J-Hope wasn't going to own these for long either, but the mere fact that it was his for the moment was shudder-worthy. Wanting to waste no more time, the assassin briskly made his way back to his hotel, praying the blood had settled down from his cheeks. Embarrassed was an underestimate.

@jeongguk j. 〈 jeon |H| TAEHYUNG: CHECK.
SEHUN: CHECK.

[ 2 ] The scent was driving him insane.

Fresh produce, lining stalls upon stalls of vendors. Food lining the streets. Jewelry accompanying people’s hands, necklaces adorning their necks. They were selling them. Offering them to the people that pass. But he was only focused on the food. His stomach clenches in pain as his eyes wander over the ripe melons before him, landing on the starfruit that was off to the side. His fingers go to pluck it but there’s an angry yell.

His hand pulls back quickly as another comes down, cracking through the air as the palm hits the wood that was where his hand once was. “Ya ain’t got no money!” The woman accuses with an eye bulging at him, sending fear straight through his body. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand at all. He only had about three years experience of English, and his was broken at best. He already had Japanese and Korean under his belt, how could he take a third? It was impossible when he already had so much going on in his head.

The woman was screaming at him, face an angry red - more pigmented than his hair, more mottled. Stretching out over her cheeks and down her neck. Spreading like the plague along her collarbones and down a sternum that looks too frail, too saggy on her form. “Ya ain’t got no wallet on ya! How ya gonna pay!? Get outta here-- in’ prick! in’ filthy foreigner! Think ya ‘ken feign yer not knowing any spick of English at me?!” She spits, and he’s stumbling away from her stall. “Learn some english and then come back, ya fairy! I don’t want ya here - we don’t sell to you.”

He had money on him, folded tightly and kept in the sole of his shoe. Safe between the lining of his sock and the nice adidas’ he wore, but the woman was blinded by something.. Taehyung’s head fell down, chin tucking to his chest as he scurries as quick as he could from the market. He didn’t understand a word she said, but that didn’t stop the pain from flowing through him at the blatant disrespect. The close mindedness of someone that didn’t want anything to do with anyone that would insinuate change in their own world.

His fingers curl into his hands, fists forming and nails biting beautiful crescents against his palm. He didn’t know whether he was more upset over her, or the near constant flare of fire that flowed through his leg. WIth each additional pressure added to his left side, it felt like he was going to burst. His shoes scuffle tiredly through the puddles that were left from the New Orleans shower that was thrown throughout the day, looking at his expression and noting how .. False he looks.

And then there was a new scent, more inviting, more calming. Quieter as he gets closer and the light of the diner is like a God sent gift bestowed upon him. He’s gripping the railing and pulling himself in, listening to the welcoming ‘ding’ of the door.

part 2


He wasn't thirsting after this mans blood to safe the lives that mattered to him, he realized when the man turned to the right and vanished into a hotel a couple of streets down from where Sehun was staying the nights in New Orleans. No, a voice inside of him said, he was craving this kill because he had thought about it so many times while sewing someone shut again after this butcher had done some work. And tonight, he would break a promise and probably an arm or two, spilling blood for the first time in five years. And he would enjoy it, he decided as a smirk slipped onto his thin lips, making his eyes turn dark while he rounded the corner, the hotel and the man slowly growing smaller behind him. And even though he was still dragging his leg behind him, there was the slightest of spring in his steps as the plan began to form inside his head.

[] part 4 of Shixuns journey


part 1

The apple in his hand was cool, the paring smooth against his skin as he cradled it in his palm. The market was almost empty in the morning following the parade, most of the people wandering around between the stalls either elderly, or families with their children, doing their grocery shopping. It was as if the city had been wiped clean after the night of celebrations that would continue as soon as the sun climbed a little bit higher into the sky. But for Sehun, this was the perfect time of the day. He had made his way back to the hotel straight after the meeting at Cafe Du Monde, smoking his last cigarette on the tiny balcony attached to his room shortly after midnight. He didn't need much sleep, but he had tried to get as much as he could, the pain in his leg subsiding a little bit as he was able to stretch the muscle out, rubbing ointment into his skin to ease the burning of his bone beneath the tendons and flesh. The surgeon was sure that the aching would return as much he would walk again, the long periods of walking and standing putting too much of strain on his old injuries. A price he was willing to pay. He had made his final decision.

The air felt nice out here today, cleaned from all the sweat and the stench of too many people gathered at one place. It was innocent and nostalgic, walking along the aisles between fruit stalls and people pushing strollers. If not for his stiff leg, Sehun might have been able to blend in, but where the people in the streets had stared and whispered at him the night before, the people on the market ignored him, or simply nodded at him politely as he passed them, sometimes even muttering cheerful "good mornings!" to him.
If only they knew, why he had come here. Sehun paused at a bigger stall selling flowers, bending down to smell a bouquet of white roses, eyes scanning the area behind the market booth. It was easy to spot the single man paying for a bunch of oranges a couple of feet away from him, clad in a thick leather jacket and worn out jeans, eyes tired from a night without sleep. Sehun knew it. He rarely ever slept. And it was only adding to Sehuns advantages. While he had remembered all the people around him - their names, their habits and ranks in the Triads - this man had never even bothered to remember Sehuns name, no matter how many times he had dragged a nearly lifeless body down into the surgeons basement, either to have them butchered or stitched back together. While it had riled him up back then, he was thankful for it now.
And he was thankful for the entirely oblivious way the man was cutting his own path through the market, swinging the plastic bag containing the oranges by his sides. Without the pain in his leg - which still didn't make much sense to him. Why now? - it would have been easy to follow his target without stirring much attention. Like this though, limping and slow, he needed to depend on the others absolute inobservance.
He couldn't kill him in broad daylight and yet he couldn't risk to lose him now. Not when the streets were about to fill with people again, the first bars opening already and flooding the air with music once more.

And so he didn't have a choice to follow the former thug, observing his habits in the city and finding a way to catch him alone. It was easier said than done, though. While the man was so oblivious to Sehun following him that he could have bumped into him at full speed, other people weren't. He was soon laden with plastic bags overflowing with fruit and freshly baked break, weighting him down even further and putting more and more strain onto his bad leg the more steps he took. He couldn't lose him. Not now.
There were no second chances in this scenario and Sehun knew that. There never were. He had done enough observations to be aware of that and the slender scalpel in his pocket was his insurance in case things went downhill. It wouldn't be ideal, but Sehun would take what ever he could get. A knife in the throat was just that: A knife in the throat. It didn't matter how or when, not to the black haired surgeon. There was no reason to pretend, to arrange a victim as artfully as he could so *they* were satisfied. If only he could... his fingers were already itching for the blood of this murderer, of this man who had no mercy in him, no compassion for those who needed it. He had been one of the worst, Sehun remembers as he slips around a corner, dumping some of the plastic bags to lose weight and move more quietly. Beating up the under his care so badly, Sehun had given new faces to them every other month to cover up the damage done by fists, baseball bats and sometimes even bottles that had nearly separated flesh from bones when they had shattered in fragile faces of delicate women. If he were out on a mission for revenge, this man would have been on the top of his list, if he was being honest with himself.

OPEN.