There was something about this woman that both seemed to settle the March Hare’s flipping stomach. Her words seemed comforting to someone who’d spent her time since arriving here in complete fear and curiosity. There was a familiarity to everything about this beautiful creature saying these peculiar things. Her very sentences and structure was so different than the world surrounding them. They seemed to match in their distance from this world. Though, the March Hare couldn’t place the finger of her mind on what exactly it was, and for this reason, she found herself curiously tilting her head from side to side as she shifted her weight.
A smile laced Yuri’s cherry lips as she bowed her head once in reply to the woman’s thanks. “Y-you’re very welcome,” She sputtered out, still a little light headed from her previous burning cheeks and forehead. She’d cooled down a little from the cold water still clinging to her hair in damp hugging grips. Her heart had also settle at a remarkable pace from just the quick walk to get the order.
Though, the woman’s next words set her heart thumping again. Her head started jumping with her conscience in chaos.
Don’t do it! Make up an excuse! No! Bad! Avoid at all cost.
This hare, however, never paid much attention to this voice in her head. Why should she. It couldn’t possibly understand that the woman sitting in front of her was obviously a very nice person. That voice had never met her, and the hare thought it was actually pretty rude of it to speak so ill of someone it had never spoken too before. She would have to remember to give that voice a stern talking to when they were alone.
There were too many people here for that, and she was obviously about to have a very interesting conversation.
“Why, of course, Miss… I’m sorry, but I didn’t learn your name yet. Will you tell me what it is, so that I don’t have to think of you as ‘Lady in the Purple Dress’ in my mind? It’s a bit of a long title to think up every time we speak.” She inquired, pulling out the wooden chair on the other side of the table before sitting down and placing the tray on a close parallel table. “I’m Yuri, by the way. It is, after all, only fair that I give you a glimpse at my name since I asked yours.”
Crossing one of her slender legs over the other, she leaned her back against the wood surface as she settled into her seat and rested her hands in her lap. “I’m not sure if my company is worth whatever you want to pay for it… In fact, I don’t even know the price of such a request. Though, I’ve been told that nothing is free. There is always a price. But, as I was saying, I don’t mind allowing you some of it. I don’t use my company much anyways.”
The clock in the corner of the room ticked again, but Yuri kept her attention locked on the woman in front of her. She would give it no more attention today. It had taken enough of her time today, and she would not entertain him any longer. Father Time could take a break, since she couldn’t exactly fire him. After all, she wasn’t the boss. Just a waitress.
She reached out to the tray and grabbed the other cup that she’d brought along, just in case the woman would like a clean one for later, and poured a fresh stream of tea into its center – enjoying the smell before knocking in a dash of sugar from the tea china in the middle of the table.
She really couldn’t ignore a tea party, could she? “Was there a certain conversation you wanted to have with me today? There isn’t exactly a menu for these types of things.”
It pays to be a paying customer. And it even tips when one is part of that certain tier of the social ladder where every action could go unquestioned, especially when done in the presence of ordinary comrades. She’d thank both the chef and the manager later, really, even sign their little gratitude wall to keep more customers coming. What she asked for was practically out of any sort of restaurant protocol, and she was ready to go out of her way and send a compulsion to this one’s bosses, but there was no need, apparently.People knew how to recognize fame and all its wonders in the industry.
Once the other was sat, Siyeon went on to daintily finish one of her tasty raspberry scones, smiling at the wonderful sensation it gave to her rather picky tastebuds. The crumbs were immediately washed down by a small sip of her earl grey tea, the sweet notes of bergamot tickling her nostrils as the warm liquid soothed her throat. Arranging a fashion show was not exactly an easy job, and despite being a Fable, Mundane necessities dictated a certain amount of workload before she could consider herself stressed. And stressed, she indeed was. Thankfully, she already got the whole show at hand. Maybe this girl could use some invites; Fables were more than welcome for flattering offers.
After all, who wouldn’t want an invite from the Mademoiselle herself?
"Ah, consider this as extra service." She mused, dainty fingers looping on the teacup’s handle, a delicate pinky raising up as she took a small sip from her tea. Chrome eyes met with the other’s own hues, her legs dangling a little as they crossed over the other, a folded arm resting on the edge of the table as she spoke. A brow was quirked at the other’s question on identity, yet she did not give the non-recognition much thought, she wouldn’t really expect a waitress to know the bigger names in the Fashion Industry. Managing a shrug, she sucked in her cheeks, before she spoke out a reply. "Park Siyeon. Though, more widely known as Mademoiselle Spica."
Her eyes crinkled into little crescents as she answered, taking the other scone between her fingers to get a small bite. Solemnly, she chewed, thinking of a proper way to continue the conversation they were having, a proper answer to how they were going to start off. The Mademoiselle was a curious one, and she haven’t really met any people from the magical Wonderland before (except perhaps that Jabberwock whose head she cleaned up—or made others clean up—after that fateful beaheading), so an investigation was on call.
"Well, I do not know, really." Her tone had a certain purr to it, a habit she had carried even if she was a fox, yet foxes still purred when they were taunting, don’t they? The scone dangled from her fingers, her eyes piercing into the other’s own. There were slivers of colors on her form, an aura the Mademoiselle tried to decipher, and she could see she was quite calm despite the possible interrogation. Ah, Madness and its ability to keep anything calm, really. "But, do tell me a bit more about yourself, love. Tell me…" There was a sly glint in her features.
“What is your tale?”
in the mumble of a single sound from the lady’s mouth, he could feel a shiver run down the length of his spine. his right eye did a quick and impulsive twitch, his right hand moved to run down his left arm, supposedly to calm down his tension from the obvious fact that whoever this person is in front of him knew who he was. what he was. there was this coat of blatant knowing mixed in with her playful tonality, and that somehow scared him.
it was only then that he could gather the guts to raise his head, averting his gaze to whoever it was that seemed to look past the human visage of his. he took in her features, one by one, under the blinding lights of various colors that shone around them. after a few moments of an intent stare down from him through eyes that seethed with this natural yet unusual charisma, he finally recognized who it was— him. that fox.
a breathy and humorless laugh escaped his lips. he was rather surprised that she hadn’t payed a visit sooner to this prominent, spiffy bar that he had been working at for over a week, or two, now. unable to rake the proper words to enunciate from his mind, he merely hung his mouth agape while looking at her through a squinted gaze. her countenance was that of a beautiful maiden’s as of now, though. that was simply undeniable. in fact, there was this point of attraction— but then again, which male in the right mind wouldn’t be allured? perhaps, if not for the fact that he knew what she (—though in the back of his mind, he believed it would be most proper to address the fox as a he instead) was merely hiding under the mask of this visage, then he would have probably proclaimed his genuine thoughts of the lady being beautiful.
“Reynard.” the name flowed out almost effortlessly, without much of the usual struggle he experiences. it was always one of his very little amount of mischievous vices to get on this person’s nerves. he liked to think that they were friendly with each other to some extent, though there wasn’t much of an exchange of words between them. just the fact that he came across someone like him, a fable and under the adversary alike, in what he labeled his horrid place of work made him rid of that feeling of being alone, even if it was only for a short moment like so. lost in his mess of thoughts, he watched as she toyed around with the drink he had previously prepared for her, before actually taking a sip. hearing out her comment, he pulled his shoulders up into a brief shrug, then crossed his long and slender arms across his chest.
“Y-you could a-always get one… s-since he…” he trailed off, finding it frustrating how the rivulet of his words were stumbling upon every other word. instead, to get his message across, he gesticulated his hand towards the older man who he worked with, who was still obviously ogling her, before rolling his eyes. looking back at her, he offered just a small smile— a mere quirk of a corner of his set of thin and pallid lips— before again attempting to speak. “F-funny seeing you a-around here for t-the first t-time..” his leer widened, proud that he finished his statement on his own. with a quick raise of a brow, his expression became different from the usual; somehow, he looked a tad playful despite the usual dark look that he had on.
Siyeon tried her hardest not to burst in anger at the mentioned moniker. She could feel her fox-teeth protruding from her gums, really, her eyes hinting quite an annoyed glow when she had heard that this jumpy jabberwock had used that long forgotten name to address her in such a public place. Identity had never been a problem for her, really, each lifetime was akin to a piece of clothing she could peel off whenever the cycle ended. But the identity of the fox, the one that resounded with that blasted name—Reynard, my god how creative could you get? It practically meant “fox” in French—was something that was harder to throw away.
Yes, despite her actual inability to admit it, the lifestory of that poor peasant fox who was used and abused by a wolf still stuck. It wasn’t that much of a problem, really, she used the tale to fuel her ambitious rise towards revenge against everyone who wronged her—which basically included half of the population—against everyone who turned a blind eye to the suffering fox. But it wasn’t something she was exactly proud of, like an old skeleton in the closet that she would have wanted to bury six feet underground. The name was no more, replaced by countless evolutions in nomenclature, and to some citizens who were not as bright as she would have liked, the fox was presumed dead. Little do they know that he was alive and living quite well; the he turned into a lovely she, a renarde transformed to a beautiful femme.
Unluckily for them, the mademoiselle was out for nothing but blood. Their blood.
"My god, what century do you reside in?” Despite the sweet smile plastered upon her ethereal visage, her anger could instantly be felt by the intensity of the sound of her glass hitting the marble counter.The Mademoiselle wasn’t exactly one who could hold in her temper well, especially to those who had an inkling of who she was. Was this Jabberwock living under a rock? No one used the name Reynard anymore, especially in front of the fox herself. Unless of course, a death wish was in check. “That name has been dead for more than three hundred years. Replaced by countless of monikers that even the most skilled of scribes cannot even dare to record.” Her expression went stern, breathing in a small sigh as her chrome eyes leered at the other. “And in this lifetime, the name is Park Siyeon. Mademoiselle Spica to you.”
In order to calm herself down even for just a teensy bit, the Mademoiselle brought the frosted glass upon her lips, taking a larger sip of the sweet drink the other had expertly made. “My god, if you did not make quite a good cocktail, I would’ve charmspeaked you into doing something awfully sinister.” Her mutters were dark, and her eyes surveyed the darkened room yet again, checking the site for more familiar faces. The bar was a go-to for famous individuals like herself, yet the hype seemed to have died down quite a bit, and they were starting to let in lower class Mundanes just to get an aura of fullness. Disgusting, she thought to herself. If one thing was worse than ordinary Mundanes, these were the less than ordinary ones. The thought made her feel sick in her tongue, a natural reaction to Mundanes who were not in her plate, and she had to nullify it with yet another swig of her drink.
"This isn’t really my usual hangout. But my favorite bar is closed for renovations, and I didn’t really want to drive for so long." The Mademoiselle frequented a shadier, less famous bar down the street, one that was filled with independent performers who were trying to make a living. It was shabbier compared to the luxe surroundings in this haven, but the music was quite a hundred notches better. Nothing from the Billboard’s worst in techno, just real music surprisingly made by real mundanes. "But I may pay another visit. especially if your little guards would actually try to keep this more…exclusive.”
A digit ran its length around the rim of the near empty glass, her eyes trailing the slow movement as her expression slowly drooped to some variation of bored. The crowds were getting rowdy, and the dancing was starting to take place, and soon enough she may have to endure being pulled to the dancefloor by a filthy mundane who wanted to land himself in the tomorrow’s frontpage. “I DANCED WITH A DESIGNER" the headline reads. "AND DAMN SHE COULD PACK A KICK.” followed the subtitle. She chuckled at her own thought, before she caught herself in the act of spacing out and immediately tipped her head up to gain back her attention span. “Apologies. The wit gets overactive. But I may say no to the flaming shot. Didn’t really bring a driver. Unless of course I find someone to slave around.”
A scoff escaped her lips, before she tipped her head back to finish the glass’ contents. “Another.” She ordered, lips pursing out ever so slightly as she let out a small breath. Her tolerance was high compared to most Mundanes, yet she wasn’t risking another driving accident with her dearest Audi R8. But hey. When worse comes to worst, she could always charm her way into getting a makeshift driver. Now, do Jabberwocks know how to drive? “And that stutter hasn’t been fixed, I see.” A commentary from the practical queen of eloquence. “You know there are therapists for that kind of problem. Unless of course you find it cute, some people do.” She managed a shrug, her tongue clicking inside of her mouth as she thought. “But the cute little stutter doesn’t really match the dashing dragon, now, would it?”
“I’m tired of these stupid voices in my head. Telling me what to do and when to do it.”
-Cho Kyuhyun is the name. In all honesty, just looking for a few friends. Hopefully you don’t mind that sometimes I talk to myself, scratch at the wall, and talk to my imaginary friends. If you don’t mind that at, let’s try to be friends.
Like/Reblog | Independent Role-player | AU | Para friendly | Literate.
“Once we were a thousand separate kingdoms, spread over a hundred magic worlds. We were kings, cobblers, wizards and wood carvers. We had our sinners, our saints and our blatant social climbers. And from our grandest lord to the lowliest peasant girl, we were from the most part, strangers to one another. And it took an invasion to unite us.”
“And here, united by our common enemy, we learned to set aside old grudges. We forgave our many grievances, to make covenant with each other. And now, predator and prey, prince and pauper, we are all of a single community allied in our undying memory of the Homelands and the unshakable determination that one we will return to win those lands free of the hated one.”
More information coming soon.
“The type you cannot afford.”
“Is that even a question? There’s a reason why I always bring a hand sanitizer along.” Her nose crinkled in disgust. “Filthy little bags of mortal flesh and blood. Ugh. Distasteful.”
“Witchery is such a dirty word. I prefer cunning.”