perfectallkill: (life is 아름다운 galaxy)
Rumi ([personal profile] perfectallkill) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-09-03 12:04 am
Entry tags:

we were lightning from the start

To say Rumi is displeased to be in Darrow would be a vast understatement. It helps more than she can say to have Mira here, too, even if they've yet to find any sign that Zoey is in the city with them. It would just be a lot nicer if they could simply... go home. As far as she can tell, though, everything she was told is true. Until this city lets them go, they're stuck here.

She dragged her feet through the first week or so of her stay, but reuniting with Mira has at least helped her accept that they're going to be here a while. It doesn't keep her from resenting the very idea of it, but there's no point living like they're on tour or something. If she has her way, their time here will be brief, but refusing to settle in won't help her. She has money from the city and there's no reason not to use it for whatever little things she needs — clothes, groceries, notebooks and pens.

Though she initially tries to talk herself out of anything bigger, she gives up in short order, stopping by a little music store to buy a used guitar. She can live on ramyeon for a week or however long, but if she has to go another two weeks without making any kind of music, she'll probably go insane, so this, too, counts as a necessity.

Truthfully, when it comes to being an idol, she's been incredibly lucky. She recognizes that she's had it way easier than most. With Celine raising her, her mom's legacy, the knowledge that her place in a group was guaranteed, she never had to contend with the stress other trainees felt, wondering whether or not she'd ever get signed. It was always just a matter of waiting until Celine had the right trio, that's all. She knows people talked about her because of it, that there are still plenty of antis who call her a dozen, but she doesn't let that bother her much. She knows the truth of her talent; she's seen it for herself in lines of shimmering blue and gold written across Seoul. Her voice is one thing Rumi is confident about.

Because her place in Huntr/x was sealed before the group even had a name, let alone other members, and because Celine was so focused on shooting them straight to the top, they skipped a lot of the coming-of-age rites other rookie groups go through. And Rumi's not going to pretend she wishes they'd struggled. She's thankful their path was a flower road from the start. Even so, the fact that they never had to do busking was a little disappointing. The closest she ever came was an episode of Begin Again. It's not the same.

She sets up on the boardwalk, just her and her new-old guitar, a cheap mic clipped to her hoodie. She just wants to keep it simple: a folding chair, set up in as shady a place as she can find on the old wooden path. There are a couple bottles of water tucked behind the chair so she can stay hydrated and a speaker behind her guitar case where it's laid on the ground. Other than that, it's just the way the strings feel under her fingers as she starts playing familiar songs.

Back home, she rarely even got to do covers. Celine was so precious about their image. Here, there's no one to remind her to go over her choices with the team and strategize, picking songs that won't cause any negative sentiments or comparisons, steering her away from music by her contemporaries or hoobaes. It's just Rumi, singing what she likes, though she carefully chose a handful of songs in English, since that seems to be the language most Darrow residents speak.

Ooh, no matter what, you got me,
I got you, and I wouldn't want it any other way
Ooh, no drop of doubt, I know deep down that
We'll make it through
Just like we always do


She focuses on the music, her eyes almost closed at first, but she knows by now — call it instinct or training — how to work a crowd, and a crowd is undeniably beginning to form. She stops playing long enough to get them clapping rhythmically along, diving back into the warm notes of the chorus, her voice rising sweetly over the sounds of the crowd and the waves. One song becomes another and another, and for the first time in longer than she cares to think about, the music is just... music, stripped of all the responsibility it's had to carry for so long. That she's had to carry. By the time she finishes up, the sun is starting to set, and Rumi feels lighter than she has in a long, long time.

[ Come find Rumi somewhere on the Darrow Boardwalk! Either find her playing or wrapping up or say she took a break to get a snack, whatever strikes your fancy/is most accessible. I threw together a playlist of some songs that she might play, so feel free to say it's any of these in a very stripped down acoustic rendition. The one used in the post is "I Got You" by Twice, but anything goes, so if you'd rather your pup come across her playing, e.g., Taylor Swift's "Cruel Summer" instead, have at it. And if you haven't yet heard her sing, here's a link to "Golden," one of her group's singles in canon. Set to any point on Wednesday. Open until this says otherwise. ]
number1_himbo: (Default)
Luther Hargreeves ([personal profile] number1_himbo) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-09-01 02:35 pm

(no subject)

It's a lovely day on the cusp of autumn, warm but not quite hot, a cool breeze, the sun bright.

A perfect day, Luther decides, for some antiquing. Real, deep antiquing like he hasn't engaged in since-- well, he's not sure. Timeline fuckery and all.

Plenty of finds pop up at a local flea market, which just happens to be steps from an actual antique shop. A couple of cool lamps with stained glass depicting various colored bees, an old and military-looking footlocker, a mirror with a jet black surface, all of it very tempting.

He's not really looking for anything in particular, so much as he wants to examine it all, when he finds a sconce. The sconce, the one he'd been holding when their little Christmas road trip literally got shot to hell.

The same sconce that has dozens of identical brothers and sisters back at the house, dropped behind as they'd fled that day.

It looks undamaged, at least. That's good, only-- only he's not so sure he's undamaged. Luther takes a few shaky steps and then drops down on a bench that reverberates with the sudden weight.

"Haven't see you in a while," Luther murmurs, turning the sconce over in his hands. "You know, some people get boats," he adds, looking up briefly at the sky.

"Sorry," he says to the sconce. "You're just awfully heavy with old memories that may or may not have happened." The academy, sure, but what he's thinking about is those years squatting at the house, trying to rebuild.

Alone.

Luther's pulled from the little storm cloud of hurt and resentments by a voice.

"There it is! That suspiciously large man has it right ever there!" He glances up to see the woman, white-haired and decked out in one hell of a housedress, glaring. "You there, you! I had that picked out last Sunday--"

And it goes on for a while, Luther holding the sconce protectively to his chest, the woman yelling, and a harried sell coming to stand helpless nearby.


[Stop by and help Luther out, or don't! But please do. Open to all, a good time to meet him.]
ratherbebrave: (Default)
Hilde Lisko ([personal profile] ratherbebrave) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-08-30 08:18 pm

it's the fight of our lives but we'll stand up champions

Hilde doesn't think she has ever gone this long without reporting the news since she first began to write. It's been a self-imposed challenge for the last few months, a disclaimer on top of her website, the Darrow Digest, announcing a summer-long hiatus and that she'll be back in the fall. That time has almost come. Next week marks the start of school — for her, the start of high school — and her fourteenth birthday. Her intention has always been to get back to business as usual by then.

None of which is to say that she hasn't still been working. She has. That's the very reason for the hiatus in the first place. When she's actively reporting on current happenings or investigating older ones, she gets hyper-focused, tuning out any and everything else, often to the detriment of other aspects in her life. She figured out a while ago that the only way to get this other project done would be to give it that same attention; otherwise, it would just get delayed, pushed into the background, indefinitely. There will always be some news story, something different going on, especially in a place like this. For once, she has to let someone else handle it.

After all, this is worthwhile, too. Maybe the most worthwhile thing she's ever done, if she's honest with herself, or a continuation of it. What started as an essay for English class two years ago turned into supplemental writing exercises, which then turned into the crazy idea to do something more with them. To tell the whole story — of Richie Fife, of her dad, of Strata and her Pop-Pop and the Gillis family. How it became her story, too. She didn't even know about any of it until she was in it, but she would never have become the person she is if not for all of those specific, interconnected events, all those years ago. It might not have the weight here that it did back in Erie Harbor, but it matters all the same. And it's a story that deserves to be told.

So, these last few months, that's been her focus. Taking all of the assorted bits of writing she's done about it here, cobbling them together into some sort of cohesive whole, trying to update them to be half as good as her original investigative work was on it back when she was first uncovering those long-buried truths. The goal has been to have a completed draft of a book by the end of summer vacation. She's consulted with Mr. Hauser throughout, she's shared excerpts with Bill, asking for feedback, and with Gwenny, because she isn't going to not let her bestie read her writing, especially when it's basically consuming her life.

And, finally, she thinks she has something she feels good about. Something she might be able to submit to someone. A finished product.

As she looks at her laptop, where she's reread her own work for probably the trillionth time, she doesn't actually feel the sort of excitement or satisfaction that she expected to. Instead, more of a bittersweet feeling sweeps over her. More than anything, she wishes her dad were here to read it, too, or her mom and her sisters, or her Pop-Pop. She just has to believe that they would be proud of her. In a weird way, one she wouldn't know how to articulate, she's proud of herself.

For a moment, she lets herself just sit there at her desk, breathing in deeply. Then, determined to find that excitement if she doesn't come about it organically, she sends similar texts to some of the closest people in her contact list: I think... the draft is finished? What do I even do with myself? This is crazy! followed by a handful of emojis: a face with spiral eyes, confetti, another face with a hand covering its mouth, two red exclamation points.

She closes her computer, puts shoes on, and goes outside, a smile beginning to pull at the corners of her mouth as she makes her way out to the sidewalk and begins walking. There it is, the enthusiasm she's looking for, a slow-creeping giddy feeling. "Oh my god," she says to herself, quiet but audible, cheeks flushing as her expression brightens further. "Oh my god. I think I did it."

[ Timed to Saturday afternoon-ish, or whenever! If you know Hilde, feel free to have received an excited text, but whether you know her already or not, it's a great time to come across her. ST/LT always welcome, open until this says otherwise. ]
shieldmaiden_rohan: (i would see you smile)
Eowyn of Rohan ([personal profile] shieldmaiden_rohan) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-08-27 08:30 pm
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(no subject)

August 17,205:

Eowyn and George have a conversation about horses, injuries, and their dislike of cars. It's pretty much adorable.

[ HERE | ongoing | none ]
gallowseyes: (Shock)
gallowseyes ([personal profile] gallowseyes) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-08-23 01:33 pm

(no subject)

George can't honestly remember a time when he'd been this happy. Maybe he'd come close, some days, in France -- once he'd really understood what he was there to do, and given himself over to it? Or there had been days at court when it had been less of a struggle to stay in James' light, and he'd been able to relax, and enjoy the life that he'd bought for himself. In Darrow, though, things are simpler -- he works, sometimes, playing cello or the viola de gamba that he'd found in a dusty corner of a music shop and scrimped coins to buy, and he rides, and he has friends, and someone who shares his bed, and...

Some days it feels like a perfect kind of life.

A few days after his second birthday celebrated in Darrow, he finds himself in a bookstore, browsing the shelves. He finds himself drawn to the history section, idly scanning the spines for titles that suggest events that he might be familiar with. He's just put back a volume about the wives of Henry VIII when he sees them, two books, side by side: The Scapegoat: The Brilliant, Brief Life of the Duke of Buckingham and, next to it, The King's Assassin.

He takes the former, leafing through it. It's a lot of information to take in. Duke, not Earl, beloved of Charlies as well as James, married (with children) to Katie Manners, of all people. He remmebers her from childhood, and always thought that she was dull, and weird. Children. Whispers that, along with his mother, through malice or misadventure, that he'd had a hand in the death of the King, of James in 1625, which was only eleven years after he'd left Perth, and found himself in Darrow.

And then he sees it, in black and white: Minutes later, he was dead.

Shit. Shit. He flips back a few pages, increasingly agitated, and finds the date. 23rd August, 1628. He'd been thirty five years old. Less than ten years older than he finds himself, standing there in a different world entirely.

So why does it feel like the world is suddenly caving in? The book still in his hands, he sits down, heavily, on the floor in front of the shelf. It feels like his bones no longer wish to do him service. The world spins and, suddenly, he can't do anything but put his head between his knees.

ooc: George has just found out that a) historians believe that, wittingly or un, he had a part in the death of his lover, James I and b) that he was assasinated, aged 35. He's not taking it well. Witness his breakdown or find him on the street afterwards. If your pup has knowledge of English history OR has read The Three Musketeers, they'll almost certainly have heard of The Duke of Buckingham.
hismelody: (joochan_087)
Song Sihyun ([personal profile] hismelody) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-08-21 05:27 pm
Entry tags:

can't not think of all the cost

Dated March 23, 2025:

In his other hand is the sheet music, and he doesn't know if he wants to hold it to his chest and treasure it or tear it into pieces. Even if he did know, it wouldn't be his decision. Jae had too many of those stolen from him already anyway; he isn't going to be the one to take another one.

Following the arrival of some familiar sheet music, Sihyun and Jae-eun talk about what it means, and Jae has some big feelings.

[ HERE | ongoing | probable mentions of past violence and/or self-harm ]
nextchance: (003)
Jyn Erso ([personal profile] nextchance) wrote in [community profile] thecityneversleeps2025-08-21 05:20 pm
Entry tags:

like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass, like the bonfire that burns

Dated August, 2025:

And she wanted this to be fun. They both hadn't had enough room for that in their former lives, and something they were doing in service of their own living space (she couldn't call it her home, almost as if superstitiously not wanting to jinx anything, but it made her feel warm all over every time he did) should be enjoyable, not a chore or a slog.

An errand to pick up supplies for ship renovations leads to an unexpected detour to part of Jyn's past.

[ HERE | ongoing | pg ]