2025-08-12: Are You Alive
- Log: Are you Alive?
- Cast: Myunghon Yeo, Tsumugi Kujaku
- Where: The Peacock Silk
- OOC Date: August 11, 2025
- IC Date: June 24, 2012
- Summary: Myunghon pays a visit to the Peacock Silk, having survived difficult battles at Kaneshiro's Palace, and finds a kindred spirit in the purveyor of the establishment, Tsumugi Kujaku.
<Pose Tracker> Myunghon Yeo has posed.
Myunghon Yeo has an appointment at the Peacock Silk today.
Having been certified as a welcome guest to the prestigious Shimokita boutique, they've come into contact with a request for some tactical tailoring. And thus, they're here, five minutes early as is fashionable (because while Myunghon Yeo appears as much the natural opposite of Katsuya Suou, they're more alike than they'd like to admit in some regards). Not on the topic of teleportation, though.
Regardless -- they glide in effortlessly through the front door, not dressed in their blood-soaked Angura Kei fashion as they were dressed last time, but in their more typical dress suit and pants combo, all monochrome, with a loose tie around their collar. There's a suit jacket, and draped on their shoulders is a longer black coat, which... looks like it's seen a little bit of damage, with curious burn and slash marks.
The bandages, of course, are all still there -- covering half their face, including their right eye socket, along with their neck and wrists all the way to half of their palms.
They're also carrying an attache-case, which has strong Cognitive echoes from within, if one were the sort to be attuned to that kind of thing.
"Good afternoon," Myunghon calls amicably. "I believe I have an appointment with Kujaku-san...?"
<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
Good afternoon. I believe I have an appointment with Kujaku-san...?
What greets Myunghon Yeo as they open the luxurious doors of Peacock Silk today is silence.
It's stark, the change from the first time Cardboard Dragon's proprietor was here; where there was a steady influx (and outflow) of foot traffic at the boutique's grand event, today? Today it is utterly, almost eerily empty. No Pernelle and his grandiose peacocking that only a peacock could truly do justice. No loud and punkish enthusiasm from Saika. Not even Yanagi's bubbly-blunt cheer is there to receive Myunghon as they step past the precipice.
There's no one.
For a few moments, it looks like a beautifully bleak ghost town, and one might even begin to wonder if they're even open at all, were it not for the unlocked door--
"I believe you do."
Until that distinct voice, deep but smoothly straddling an androgynous line with silken flair, greets their ears, warm yet noncommittal.
It comes from above: Myunghon need only look toward the stairs leading towards the shop's upper levels to find them, every click of heels on wood helping to herald their arrival. Today's outfit is a skew of crisp professionalism, a white button-up buttoned up all the way to the very last button providing a sleek silhouette accentuated by the black underbust corset that complements it. This, combined with the knee-length black skirt, slit at the right side for range of movement, might give the impression of conventional sophistication --
if it weren't for the steel-heel boots and - very professionally - shredded black stockings they wear, as if in direct defiance of the crispness of their top. Probably deliberately.
Tsumugi, it seems, spares no effort when it comes to preparing an ensemble.
That's not, however, what they're interested in. As they descend, fingers gliding along the stair's railing, that bright green gaze of theirs is focused squarely on Myunghon -- in particular, the case they've come with.
And the state of that overcoat hanging off their shoulders.
Black brows half-hidden behind bangs lift just fractionally.
"Ara. And it looks like you've brought me something fun."
<Pose Tracker> Myunghon Yeo has posed.
No peacock? And here they brought snacks... alas. They had meant to also say hello to Saika, who they didn't have much of a chance to speak of as well, and that Yanagi was certainly very interesting -- perhaps their paths will cross sooner than they expect. But the silence almost feels...
... good?
It feels good. It feels earned. Most shopping avenues have some kind of music on loop from partially hidden speakers, the eternal damnation of elevator and easy listening, and the ambient chatter and noise of people walking, people browsing. They're not surprised by this presentation -- they lift their head up and witness Tsumugi's descent. Myunghon might be a decent dresser, and they keep their clothes meticulous, but they don't swim in haute couture -- and they're always living that monochrome life. By comparison...
Tsumugi's fit certainly is striking. Much like last time, there's an underlying canvas of impossibly smooth, elegant sophistication in understated, professional tones -- but there's just enough *accent* in the transgressions from professionality that makes it really pop.
"Kujaku-san. You look as stunning as last time," Myunghon admits, perhaps referring to how their outfit last time was more akin to what they're wearing now -- while Myunghon themself was dressed more femme the last time. "Perhaps I should consider some highlights, from one enjoyer of monochrome to another...?"
That's the vibe they get, anyway. Myunghon loves black and white, it goes with their pale, sickly skin, their ashen-white hair, even their gray, almost filmy eyes.
But Tsumugi points out that they brought something fun, and Myunghon perks up as they gently set it ontop of a nearby counter. "Ah, you can sense them?"
They open it with some aplomb, and the Cognitive energies flow stronger. They are *strange* pieces -- the blue sash from the demon Take-Minakata, a seemingly dusted security guard cap that belonged to one of the Security Shadows...
And a small dagger that distinctively fails the usefulness of being a dagger, because instead of a blade, it has a solid-gold Yen symbol, one inch thick, with no cutting edge.
"My establishment can do little with these, unfortunately. But from what we spoke of last, you have great interest in these... Cognitive Spoils, as I understand it?"
<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
It's interesting.
The Myunghon of today is so very different from the Myunghon of yesterday if one were to go purely by looks. It's familiar, the way they so smoothly skew the lines between one gender or the other. Kindred spirits, wasn't it?
But that's just what earns the small, understated smile that touches lips that go unpainted today. It's not what sparks the curious look in that vivid viridian stare; no.
What's interesting is the things that are the same... like those bandages.
"A single splash of color can make change the entire statement of an outfit," is their little aside to Myunghon as they talk on matters of monochrome. They descend the last step, head tilt owlishly to the right.
"Like a stain of scarlet in a sea of white."
A second passes. They consider.
"Sassy-san seems to have a good grasp of that. What a curious person he was."
The mass of whites and blacks suit Myunghon, though. It's like a revenant has made itself comfortable in Tsumugi's boutique, wearing death's black shroud (now with real cognitive yakuza damage!). It's an idle thought that occupies Peacock Silk's owner on their languid stride towards the counter. Tsumugi can sense them?
The tall tailor's only answer is that shallow smile of theirs as they hop on the counter's edge, plant palms on glass, and lean towards the right, a motion that sends them quietly looming over the top of the case to stare at the contents within. That this might also bring them into Myunghon's personal space seems to make no nevermind to them -- their intent stare is settles squarely on the case's contents as Myunghon explains.
Asymmetric locks of hair frame their face like a shadowy shroud as they consider Myunghon's spoils of (cognitive) war.
"Your establishment," they echo back, thoughtful. They do, indeed, have interest in what's in that case. -And- Myunghon's own business. But first and most importantly--
Green eyes tilt from case to customer.
"Your coat is telling a story. Did it suffer for your spoils, Myunghon-ssi?"
Like Yanagi, Tsumugi seems blithely to forego the formalities of family names. Just...
In a way tailored to their current clientele.
<Pose Tracker> Myunghon Yeo has posed.
A part of winning the game of fashion is to make it look effortless. Even if the reality is that it's harder to do just that. What does it mean that they're hewing femme today, and chose the LaForet special that they wanted on a whim? They'd discarded that part of her, they thought, but it comes back sometimes. Other times, as has been seen, they've just been sitting in their binder and no shirt because they've eschewed the binariness of their gender all too much.
But perhaps that, in itself, is the journey, to skew the lines and keep playing with one marker over another, like drawing a red string and pinning it to multiple pins. So while Myunghon doesn't visibly show it, there is something like relief in knowing that Tsumugi also skews gender lines, in just their two meetings.
"Very true," Myunghon ponders. "What colours would work, I wonder... perhaps that is something to speak to with Yanagi-san, when she's around."
Tsumugi brings up Sassy-san, and it takes a moment -- before they can't help but snicker. "... ah. Suou-san, is it? Yes, he is quite the sharp dresser, I thought so as much when I first met him. He is an endearing and curious bundle of contrasts."
He was dressed in a cat-print yukata then, Myunghon??
But it is true that the monochrome look carries with it a sense of finality and death. Myunghon in so many ways appears as if they could have been a cleaned-up corpse from a horrible accident that took away half the presentability from their body and was put in a suit for the funeral rites, for people to sob and lament as they lie there, half-present, out of a coffin. It isn't just for looks -- Tsumugi can note how the bandages hide deformity and damage and scars underneath, just from the shape of the skin.
That Tsumugi pierces their personal space doesn't seem to bother Myunghon visibly -- though close enough now and Tsumugi can note they're playing with scents again. Top notes of Lily of the valley, much like last time -- Yanagi's comment left an impression, perhaps. Whether it's because they're comfortable with it or because they have enough spoons left is up to interpretation.
But then Tsumugi speaks of their coat, and their address...
There is something like a glint of pleasure in Myunghon's eye. For a moment, they wonder if they speak Korean. Perhaps it's just a kind little note of personalisation, to make a guest more welcome.
"Ah... indeed. I fear this one may have experienced its last," Myunghon answers Tsumugi as they inquire about the coat. "It is why I'm here, in fact. There was quite a lot more... conflict of interest than even I anticipated." Between So-young's awakening and the ambush with Strega...
"There are two articles of clothing I'm interested in discussing with you. The first is, of course, the matter of the coat."
<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
A person must be bold, to wear a cat-print yukata. Confident. Daring, even! For who but the but most daring could wear something like that and make it seem sharp?
... Orrrr they might just be Katsuya Suou.
"She'd love that," is Tsumugi's off-hand comment on the matter of Yanagi. "Sa-ya has an eye for color."
They consider Myunghon for a moment. As if assessing.
"'A defiant spark in a guttered pit,'" they suddenly say with that calm, disaffected certainty.
"That'd fit you. See if she can find something like that."
It's not a particularly specific suggestion, but at least it is evocative.
Whether that choice of honorific suggests deeper knowledge of the language or a choice to appeal to Myunghon -- Tsumugi doesn't see fit to expound. Just as naturally as they offer it up do they move on, one especially long leg crossing the other at the knee as Tsumugi makes themself a pinnacle of languid comfort on that countertop, as if it were their personal and unorthodox throne. Slender fingers - nails painted a dark matte green - hook the top of the case to turn it about, intent to pluck it up and usher it into their lap as Myunghon speaks.
"Lily-of-the-valley," they note almost idly at the end of their counterpart's explanation. The non-sequitur comes as they take hold of that Security Shadow cap and holds it high to inspect it against the ceiling light. Lily-of-the-valley, the same note decorating those persistent - necessary - bandages the last time. Beautiful but deadly. Yet also, in the language of flowers...
"Do you have something to find happiness in, despite the conflicts of interest?"
'Return to happiness.'
"Or maybe because of them."
It's a musing that Tsumugi seems content to leave at that; almost immediately after, they're returning the mask to the case and taking hold of the top of it, to lean over the edge and perch their chin squarely between those rows of slender fingers. Two articles. The coat, of course; Tsumugi offers a little nod of assent.
"Of course," they say. Black brows climb a fraction of an inch. "And the second?"
<Pose Tracker> Myunghon Yeo has posed.
"Sa-ya..." Myunghon keeps a note of that nickname. Not that they'd try it on Yanagi herself the next time they met -- though they have an inkling they wouldn't mind, given how quickly she just jumped to yobisute the last time, but they haven't been in the business of nicknames for a while. It feels too close... too personal. They have a habit of keeping everything at arms' length, even when they're holding hands.
"Hmmm. A guttered pit..." Myunghon chuckles richly. "I like the way you play with words... Tsumugi-ssi."
And thus, taking that step, no matter how terrifying it is, becomes all the more important, when you have to consciously do it. They're transgressing again here -- with names, against expectation of what's polite. It's another way of defiance, like the rips on that stocking, like the steel-heeled boots.
There's an ease in which Tsumugi continues from one topic to another, leaving one wondering. They do this really well -- it invites interest and curiosity in their intrigue. Nail art... they haven't played with that in a while. Perhaps that would be a part of splashing colour in themself again.
Then, as they inspect the cap, they speak of the scent Myunghon is wearing. Beautiful, but deadly. Poisonous, as Yanagi expressed it. Do they have something to find happiness in, despite the conflicts of interest?
"The lily-of-the-valley is considered an invasive species, and every inch of it is poisonous, as you mention, despite its fragrance and beauty," Myunghon muses. "Invasive, yet attractive, yet potentially deadly... these are the elements of Hope to me, and Rumourmonger Merry is in the business of embodying Hope."
They look toward their spoils for a moment, their eye glossing over for a bit. "Hope, not as a platitude... but as something persistent and worm-like. That is the seed of my Rebellion."
Of course, hope blossoms brightest when one becomes a martyr. Does it not embody the way Myunghon so often looks like half a corpse, then? To be invasive and disharmonious is to be uprooted. The nail that rises is nailed down. Yet... that could describe many of them, does it not? The Peacock Silk has seen it fit to transgress in many fashions as well.
But what of their second request?
Myunghon comes a little back down to earth from being more dramatic with how they express themselves. "Khm," they clear their throat. "I was wondering if you tailor... chest binders here. For myself, but also..." They press their long, bony finger around their chest.
"And this likely against the rules, knowing what I know about how you select customers, so feel free to strike me down, but there is a youth I know that could use such articles of clothing as well. They currently use bandages. I'd like to see them not crush their ribs before they grow to adulthood. Leave the bandages to the entombed, I would say," speaks the half-mummified person.
<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
I like the way you play with words... Tsumugi-ssi.
The corners of of Tsumugi's lips curve upward in muted delight.
Transgression. What is transgression, if not a line waiting to be crossed? Certainly, a horrible price could be paid for crossing it.
And a horrible price could be paid by never daring to step over that line even once. If life is just probability, if costs for actions are not a true guarantee... isn't there a certain thrill in throwing the dice? By any estimation, just a look at Myunghon - half-mummified and wrapped in funerary vestments - would be all one needs to think that they had paid some terrible price for some line crossed.
"So your Hope seethes throughout a garden, strangling out every other sentiment in its spread?"
And yet here they are, crossing lines all the same.
"Mm. I like that. I hope I can see it with my own eyes some day."
Why wouldn't Tsumugi be pleased with that?
It's true -- Peacock Silk's pernicious purveyor seems to almost glide from one sentiment to the next, quietly directing the flow of a conversation by only indulging in a topic for as long as it seems to interest them. Understated as it is, they don't seem to try to hide that fact, either; as if, perhaps there was no point in being coy about the things that fascinate them.
For example -- those bold-but-brief moments of theatrics from Myunghon. Or even...
And this is likely against the rules...
... the way they make that second request, not for themself, but for someone outside the realm of Tsumugi's interest.
"..."
Bright green eyes watch Myunghon impassively from beyond the horizon of that opened case as the rumormonger explains what they need. Bindings, for someone woefully unfamiliar with the proper materials for such a thing. The way Myunghon talks about them, Tsumugi gets the impression of someone who doesn't belong to their world; someone who doesn't see the reality they both see. And yet, Myunghon asks all the same.
Leave the bandages to the entombed, I would say.
"Hmm."
Silence reigns for a long time between the two of them, as if Myunghon's green-eyed companion was a natural weaponization of the economy of words. It drags on until--
*click*
the sound of that case shutting intrudes upon the quiet like a sudden pronouncement.
"You've provided me some interesting materials to work with; if you tell me where you got them, we can consider that payment for the coat. You can lay out whatever you hope to see with it -- if the coat is sentimental, we can work with it as a base, or making something wholly new for you," they say first and foremost, as if they hadn't even heard the second request. Yet...
"We do take referrals from valued clientele." Or at least Tsumugi does. As of this exact moment. "You can send them to me. But first, I'm curious."
The case is set aside, with the weighty -=whud=- against glass coinciding with the heavy -=CLACK=- of steel heels on wood. Tsumugi is tall, those heavy-duty heels pushing them a healthy few inches past six feet; it's a fact drawn into sharper relief as they lift a hand, intent to press their index finger to Myunghon's chin and urge it just slightly upward --
"How did you get those bandages?"
To get a better look at the entombed's ceremonial wrap.
"Every time I look at you, I wonder... Are you alive, Myunghon-ssi?"
<Pose Tracker> Myunghon Yeo has posed.
There was a Myunghon, two years ago, who thought in such terms. The prices for doing -- or not doing. Everything was calculated; the cause and effect, the price and gain, what is sowed and what is reaped. And in life, they discovered that there was a dirty path to what polite society could very much consider 'success'. A life full of wealth and no risks, if they said the right things, pushed the right buttons with the right people. Their father made that all incredibly possible with the meteoric rise they afforded them.
It also convinced them they were no longer human.
"People often underestimate how powerful the learned helplessness that invades their daily life can be," Myunghon expresses in turn. "Like the stain upon that Angura dress on the other day, a bloodless Hope can never hope to have anything than be co-opted."
But Myunghon did give their request -- and perhaps that is in itself a transgression too far. Would the purveyor of the Peacock Silk find it amusing, or are their rules strict? Myunghon watches those bright green eyes, finding something... difficult to read, indeed -- they're no stranger to how intense eye contact can be, and yet at the same time, there's something enthralling about them. It invites them to wonder what their past could be. They've entered a garden that could strangle them, but how beautiful and deadly everything is.
Myunghon's eye, in turn, is singular -- the other, if it even exists, is hidden behind those bandages, and with how those bandages concave... no, there's nothing underneath there. Their eye is gray, somewhat filmy, perhaps, but there's more passion behind it than someone might expect of a person like Myunghon, who likes to present themself as mysterious and grandiose.
Part of awakening to the Will of Rebellion is wearing that passion someplace, even if they have to deploy deception.
Such is the case as they lean forward, encroaching further upon their personal space. Myunghon is tall, at 175cm -- 5'10" -- but Tsumugi is even taller, even without those sharp, weighty heels upon the wood. Their hand is drawn, and touches their chin, urging them forward--
--and the seemingly wicked smile just creeps from ear to ear as their gray eye gains a dangerous glint. The chaos, within their passion. So, those are the terms of their price. The location of the Palace, and something deeply personal.
"Do you know of Palaces? These materials come from the Palace of one Junya Kaneshiro, Yakuza oyabun. He has a wonderful little flying Bank in the midst of Shibuya," Myunghon answers, their voice a little lower, their eye a little more lidded as they're drawn forward by their finger, lips pursed gently.
That wide, dangerous smile softens ever so slightly as the second question is asked. If they look at them, they wonder... are they alive? Or are they a walking corpse?
"There is a melodramatic tale behind these that I think would be better told in a different setting," Myunghon seems to block and push away at first. But then: "The architect of the Great Surrender shall confess then. And as to your actual question..."
The Great Surrender is the term the media converged on to describe a massive scandal that happened to one Frey Pharmaceuticals and Health Ltd. at around the time of the Great Recession, two years ago and some change. One of the most powerful international corporations at the time, the wildfire that sparked bright from the embers of the leaks made the company poisonous almost overnight, and heads rolled, and the corporation collapsed.
There are also rumours that Frey is involved with a secret government conspiracy, the New World Order, but that's just conspiracy theory talk, isn't it? Just like how the 'Great Reset' conspiracy theory.
ningen shikkaku
"I was long ago disqualified as a human being, Tsumugi-ssi."