One could never really understand the thoughts of a person, not even those who wore their heart out on their sleeve. Yoona was no exception to this rule. In fact, the girl was rather unpredictable and adventuress. Perhaps in front of the camera she was called an angel, but behind scenes, her manager would call her a trouble maker. Not because she pulled pranks or got into a lot of trouble, but purely for the fact that whenever he let her out of his sight, she was gone. She would wander off aimlessly, getting distracted by anything that peeked her interest in even the slightest of ways. Today, was no different. After the morning shooting was over and the director called for lunch break, the girl didn’t sit down with the others to eat and share a few laughs. Instead, she started walking towards the street, gazing into the shop windows as she passed them. She was about to give up, seeing as none of the shops interested her, until her eyes fell upon a pair of red doors. It was as though the doors beckoned for her to go inside, so she did. The fragrance of the book store soon reached her nose, causing it to tingle slightly in delight. “Ah, h-hello?” she called back to the other voice.
The shop was one of the few old and traditional shops around in the area. The modernisation having taken it’s toll on the more old shops around. But for decades he had kept his shop the same, maybe out of nostalgic reasons but also due to the simple fact that he liked it this way. The floor let out it’s customary creak as she stepped into the silent shop. Looking up Won Bin offered the female one of his small customer smiles. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you need help.” With that having been said his head dropped down to the newspaper in his hand. Thus once again silence fell over the old book shop, the only sound being the creak of the floor and flipping of pages. Yet this was his favourite part of it in sense. Absolute silence, something to read and a cup of coffee. While others willowed away behind a desk and a computer Wo Bin enjoyed leisurely days running his own book store.
The book he received as a Christmas present didn’t last for very long; although he enjoyed the pictures and idle text running from each tattooed page, Gongchan managed to finish the story within a matter of hours. His eyes repeatedly scanned and examined the drawings, engulfing himself into the prose for some time before desiring the urge for more books.
It wasn’t until he wandered the streets of the city that he stumbled upon a store nestled within a neighboring area. He approached the doors— with the Christmas gift still in his possession— and slipped inside, the scent of biblichor infiltrating his nostrils. The robot’s head snapped in the direction of the male as he was welcomed, returning the greeting with the bow of his head. “Good afternoon, sir.”
As the robot scanned the various isles of books, arranged by topics and authors, a wave of confusion fell over him. Gongchan glanced up and took note of the employee who fixated his attention on the book in his possession, wandering towards the counter were he sat and leaning against the island in curiosity.
“…What are you reading?”
It took him a second to realise he had suddenly been called sir. No matter the title he was no longer used to be called as such. It had been far too long since many people, or many at that persisted in such courtesies. He arched an eyebrow but let it go and focused back on the paperback in his hands.
He imagined the young boy would wander around for a while. It seemed most people that entered his store found themselves a bit at loss and allowed the store to pull them in until they no longer were. And thus hearing the young boy’s voice call out to him caught him by surprise, but not a surprise that showed on his stoic face.
“…What are you reading?”
He glanced over the counter at him, before putting the book down while keeping on finger between where he had left of. “A book called 1Q84, by Haruki Murakami.” He placed a card between the pages and turned the cover towards the other, as to allow him to see it. “This is book three of a total of three.” He nodded to his own words before handing the book over to him. “Ever heard of the author before?”
[♔] She smiles at the greeting from what seems like the only other being in the store and bows her head as recognition, though her eyes linger for a second too long, taking in the chiseled jaw and wide eyes that make up the handsome face she’s blatantly staring at now. Her orbs flicker elsewhere and she focuses on her task for the day, slowly walking down aisles of bookcases. Small, graceful fingers flutter along endless spines of books and she finds herself at peace. Some of the literature are in different languages she’s never tried, but even those books seem to bring her serenity. Maybe it was just the overall aura of the building or the fact that she’s surrounded by a burdensome number of books, but whatever the source was, the small smile on her tinted lips won’t leave.
After what seemed like hours, she has a stack of books in her hands and that curve on her lips still in place. The choices she made today are quite standard: classic novels in both Korean and English to help her study for any trips she might make abroad. Her trip to the cash register is short and she makes the best of it by wandering her gaze to the four walls of the enclosed space, inspecting the colors of the interior and what the source for the cozy feeling might be. She decides that ultimately, it’s the shopkeeper that applies the mood around places like these and ah - speak of the devil. She meets him face-to-face and offers him a brighter smile, setting the eight books down on the wooden counter with an exaggerated heave.
“Nice place you got here. I really like everything about it. Especially the variety of titles you have, along with the languages. Hard to find English books off the internet and stuff,” she mumbles. Her confidence isn’t quite as high as it was just seconds ago and her cheeks have a red dust to them as her eyes drop to the long fingers that possess the stacks of paper now. “How long have you had this place?”
His head lifts itself up as a prickling feeling spread across his face. With an eyebrow arched he glances over to his customer, but it seemed she had already been swept up into the atmosphere of the store. And she was hardly the first to be. Amongst the many people that had come here over the decades there were plenty that had allowed themselves to be taken over by curiosity in this shop. It had the feel of an old and serene time in the past, in stark contrast to the modern and busy world outside. Something that had only been increased over the last few years.
Yet through the modernisation West of the Moon had kept it’s creaking floor and dust filled old books that were the thing that perhaps made the shop keeper feel so at home. It was quiet, and he was able to do his favourite pastime while in fact working. An excuse to not wallow in his apartment day after day and willow away. As peaceful as his exterior was, an unreadable facial expression and jet black hair, the torment weren’t normal. But nothing about him would let on to that. And so he sat there, day after day flipping the sides of a book with a slender finger.
He’s taken out of his reading habits as the customer from earlier places eight book on his counter. “It serves right to have good contacts.” He offers her a small smile, one of the rare ones contrasting to his previous facial expression, as she praised the old store. “Many years.”, he replied not wanting to state the real time. Afraid it would garner attention he did not need. Reaching out he turns the stack of books to be able to read off the spine of them and counting up the total cost.
Though her own persona which dwindled upon the remnants of her own thoughts as she chose that moment to wander almost aimlessly. Books were a tragic creation in which their writers chose that moment to etch thoughts and desires upon pages in which their own thoughts inevitably consumed them and only pinpointed and written within the duration of their own reality.
There was a visible pause as black cladded pumps now stood to a standstill, the owner of the very Louboutin’s paused to linger upon a series of books that stood in silence, seeking to be purchased.
Inhale.
Delicate digits that curved upon the very spine as the blade ran across the newly designed paperback cover, pausing once more before those dark obsidian orbs pulled away – along with her attention to the sound of an unrecognized baritone voice that echoed in her own ears.
/“Welcome.”/
As simple as a welcome was and perhaps in his nature something that now became of a custom to those who worked in retail; questioning and almost amused to the very manner in response to such a mundane and monotone.
Exhale.
Air that expelled through ruby red tiers and later brushed the lock of hair behind her ear with her free hand; cocking her head in one direction; eyes officially peeling away from the cursive script of the title before those emotionless features shifted in response.
“Ah, thank you.” A reply so simply as she acknowledged the coffee bearer. His very features recognized by her own memory and new found amusement. – yet visibly she was still quite stoic and calm.
Her own calm mannerism ever so evident in her cool response; she truly was very impassive.
“I have a question, good shop keeper.” Her voice quiet, though audible amidst her state of mind. “What would you recommend a politician? Perhaps a dictator? Something not of a best seller and something known to some I’d hope. Anything… interesting?”
Though her voice was audible, the sound itself that refused to match her own vocals. Scratchy and hoarse though her elegant features refused to suit such a songstress; she was the sea witch after all.
He could faintly remember having seen her face somewhere and somehow, but where? The Fable couldn’t really say. Instead, as she seemed to have her attention elsewhere, he sat down on his chair waiting for her to approach him. If even at all.
Then again, Won Bin was far from the perfect merchant. He had little to speak of in terms of social skills and he wasn’t a people’s person at all. Yet he managed to keep the book shop up and running, something to him as well sometimes seemed as a miracle.
“Ah, thank you.”
He nodded in response and picked up his cup of coffee. And at first he was sure she wouldn’t ask anything further. Or perhaps that was the only thing he had managed to read off her face, although wrongly. But so be it, he was after all a worker under the customer service, supposedly. As she called out to him, in a voice that did not match her looks in the slightest, he couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow.
“A politician or dictator?”, he paused, allowing the thought to be mauled over in his mind for a bit. Indeed what would one recommend to someone with only knowing the fact that the person was a person of powers, so to say. “That highly depends on the person.” He began and took a sip of his coffee. “I can think of several, one being The Grapes of Wrath.” He set down his cup of coffee and folded his hands together as he leaned over his wooden counter.
“Are you thinking of something in particular or are you simply curious?” he asked plainly, taking this time to look once more over her visage. Had become a tad senile or did he simply just not know who she was? Probably the latter he figured and awaited her answer, there wasn’t anything in particular to do besides such.
❝Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting. Please don’t forget about me.❞
The story goes that Tinker Bell was a tiny, little fairy residing within Neverland and a mender of kettles, and pots, and pans as well as being the infamous companion of Peter Pan, the boy who could fly and remained forever young. However, Tinker Bell’s story doesn’t begin there, nor is that where it ends. Over time, Peter Pan has forgotten all about his faithful fairy friend and, as war broke out across the lands, they were torn from one another’s sides as well. Now, after taking on another form and the name Kim Minseok, Tinker Bell has wound up in the word of the mundanes - the world of the humans - in search of the boy who refused to grow up. Will you aid in the search?
ofoblivion-blog1 asked: There was no indication that she would appear on his counter until suddenly her body was there dressed in brilliant purple only offset by the blonde hair she'd chosen to receive in this strange world of unnatural coloring. That flash of the grin upon flesh colored lips was just as easy as the tone in which she spoke, crossing one leg over the other as she faced him. "Wonbinnie~"
Had he not been a man of silence and relaxed days, he would have found the particular day unbearable to live through. But then he was, a silence he lounged in and felt at ease with. With a long sigh he leaned back against his chair with his coffee in hand, simply enjoying the bliss of it all. But good things always come to an end, this time in the form of the Chesire cat herself. He wouldn’t deny her sudden appearances caught him off guard, somehow they managed to that every time she decided to stop by. Arching an eyebrow he turned towards her in his seat. “I do believe we talked about that nickname, Carmen.”
At times he has to remind himself that, yes, he does indeed run an establishment. An establishment that seems to be increasing in popularity recently and guests keep coming in. “Welcome.” he calls his customary greeting as three youths come in almost at the same time. He glances up at them briefly before they seem to be driven to opposite sides of the store and his head drops back down to the newspaper before him.
You know what I think..(/he taps his finger against his chin, humming thoughtfully) You’re mad because I’m youthful and you—well I could play connect the dots with the wrinkles on your face.
“I seem to recall we went over this once where you lost face.” He simply arches an eyebrow and picks up the newspaper in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be a good boy and go help your mother make dinner or something.”
