Post by Nyeo Son on Jun 14, 2019 14:48:35 GMT -5
The car ride in Nyeos New Bentley Flying Spur back from the arena is quiet; after pulling the car out of the park Namjoon presses a button to open the bar in the backseat for his boss. But Nyeo just waves it off, and Namjoon presses it again, taking the hint.
Namjoon: So… You wanna talk about that interview?
Nyeo: No Namjoon, I do not, I want to go home and celebrate my victory with alcohol, music and girls.
Namjoon: ...and some b-
Nyeo: You finish that thought and I just might do what I did to Tsukiko, to you!
His tone of voice makes it crystal clear that it is not an idle threat, Namjoon is many things, but none of them are a fighter or an idiot. He has many painful memories of times when Nyeo challenged him to a fight over some slight, always equally clear that a no was not an option, and always ending with him coughing, trying to get his breath back.
Namjoon: You know I wouldn’t care, right?
Namjoons voice is barely a whisper, Nyeos answer just a hiss.
Nyeo: No, I didn’t.
A long silence stretches between them
Nyeo: But that doesn’t change anything, does it?
The question is clearly rhetorical, less clear is what exactly Nyeo means.
Namjoon: No, it doesn’t.
This party is a bust, not that the music is bad, or the alcohol has run out, or the girls are in any way defective; of course not, Nyeo knows how to organize a party. In fact, everyone else seem to be enjoying the party. All apart from Nyeo and Namjoon. To be fair, Namjoon looks like he wants to be having fun, but is refraining as an act of solidarity with his friend and boss.
He follows the intermittently scowling young man, always ready to rescue him whenever a conversation goes beyond the 15 seconds which Nyeo can maintain his pleasant mask. After about an hour of this power fantasy-esque torture, Nyeo signals Namjoon closer to him and speaks into his ear.
Nyeo: My office, now.
He then turns on his heel and stomps towards a dark, wooden door, his assistant hot on his heels.
Namjoon catches the door as Nyeo all but slams it in his face, walking in and around his desk, sitting down with a glare.
Nyeo: I need you to draft up a tweet throwing an appropriate amount of shade at Jack, no need to point out why, a general diss will do.
Namjoon: Hyung, I really don’t think-
Nyeo: I don’t need your amateur LGBT counselor shit right now, make the tweet!
Namjoon: I use my veto!
Namjoon knows that he’s damn close to the edge, not only did he neglect using any honorific when in a formal setting, but he also raised his voice. He quickly flips open his phone and begins tapping.
Nyeo: You use your veto!? I have half a mind to send you back out-
Namjoon shoves his phone in front of Nyeos face, on it is a video from a very familiar nightclub. The NeuroDancer is filled to the brim, and the crowd are chanting something to the slow beat of the music.
“Nyeo! Nyeo! Nyeo!”
The DJ, clearly playing up to the crowds enthusiasm, shouts into his microphone.
DJ: Alrrrright gang, give it up for The prodigal Son, the red in the rainbow, and my boss! The Red-headed slut, Son Nyeo!
Whoever is working the lights deserves a damn raise, as the flicker into solid red as the crowd lets out an incoherent scream of praise before the music overtakes them and the dancing resumes.
The video starts to loop but Nyeo reaches over and turns off the screen. Namjoon is respectfully silent as his boss sits, eyes closed, thinking.
Nyeo: Don’t make that statement, it seems the interview only made the cult following grow ever more, even if it is… different from what I planned.
Namjoon: Of course, hyung.
Nyeo: Thank you, Namjoon.
Namjoon: Of course, hyung.
Nyeo offers a weak smile, and Namjoon does his best to return it, unsure of how successful he is being.
Nyeo: I have some good news for you.
Nyeos change of subject is a blatant attempt to sweep the awkwardness under the rug, but Namjoon is more than willing to accept it.
Namjoon: Good news?
Nyeo: Yes indeed, it’s something I think will make you very happy, might lessen your workload a bit to split it over two people.
Namjoon: You mean-
Nyeo: I do, Hobi and Tae are both coming to join our little American expedition.
Namjoons enthusiasm falls for half a second halfway through Nyeos sentence, but it’s quickly picked back up at the second name.
Namjoon: That... that is great news!
Nyeo: Yeah, I thought you’d like that…
He really was quite sure even before he saw the reaction, the young man taehyung was to Namjoon what Namjoon was to Nyeo. A personal assistant, specifically one very adept at handling computers.
Nyeo: -but they won’t be here for another few days, so we might as well go enjoy the party.
Namjoon: Are we actually going to enjoy it, this time?
Nyeo returns his friends smirk, giving a quick wink.
The next morning is unpleasant, and Nyeo is very grateful for the time difference between Korea and the east coast, as it means he has several hours before his “morning” call with his father, the prime head of the H.S.S mob, Son Hwan.
He takes the offered hours to eat a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon which he cooks for both himself and Namjoon, he then nibbles a ginger and drinks a bloody mary. He isn’t sure exactly which one of these tricks actually works, but one of them does, and he’s not exactly willing to try it through the process of elimination. What he is sure of is that the three in combination does work to get the alcohol haze out of his head in time for the phone call.
*Click*
Nyeo: Hello, abeonim.
Hwan: Greetings, adeunim, congratulations on your stellar victory.
The flat tone of his voice does a very good job of communicating his insincerity, but that isn’t something that Nyeo can afford to acknowledge.
Nyeo: Thank you, the fight and fallout went entirely to plan, and I am already getting a large amount of people trying to join me, despite there not being an H.S.S branch in America yet.
Hwan: Really? There wouldn’t happen to be any common theme connecting these people, would there?
Again Hwans voice is flat, but it is very much obvious what he is alluding to.
Nyeo: You are referring to the interview.
Hwan: Why yes, son, I am indeed referring the the interview where an American degenerate implied that the heir to the H.S.S mob is a fucking homosexual, and it ended with his tongue still inside his mouth!
His father's anger comes seemingly from out of nowhere, but Nyeo is ready for it, already starting to think of what to say, but unable to finish piecing it together before his father lets loose another barrage.
Hwan: I have been lenient, I have defended your eccentricities to the other heads, even your ridiculous nickname. All because you assured me that it was part of a plan to build a “more modern image”.
He lets his mocking tone hang in the air, Nyeo has a thousand things to say, but he quite literally bites his tongue to keep quiet.
Hwan: But how on Earth am I going to explain my own son marketing himself as a fag to the American market?
Nyeo cringes slightly at his father's choice of words, and quickly realizes that it is time for him to speak.
Nyeo: You tell them the truth, wh-
Hwan: Which is!?
Nyeo takes a deep breaths, suppressing the “Which is that your son IS a fag” that threatens to escape his mouth.
Nyeo: Which is that appealing to a minority that perceives itself as separate from the rest of society is a good way to build a cult of personality, which is what I need to establish an American empire.
His father grunts, liking the sound of Nyeos logic but not quite willing to accept it.
Hwan: It’ll still be open season on critiquing me for your behaviour.
Nyeo: And you can respond as you always do, cutting them down for being unable to understand your sons innovative approach to the problem.
Hwan: Very well, but you better make damn sure your plan works, or I’m sending over people to watch over you.
Nyeo: I am already ahead of schedule, father; all is well.
Hwan: Good, I hope you make me proud, son. Do you have another yankee to fight this week?
The implication that his father is not yet proud with him is not lost on him.
Nyeo: Not a yankee, I believe the preferred nomenclature is Canuck.
Hwan: ...What.
Nyeo: A Canadian, father, and a rather stereotypical one at that: Rick Rage. He did very well as a part of his two man team on sunday. He ended up scoring the winning pinfall.
Hwan: What martial art is he trained in?
Nyeo: Ah… well. None, I wouldn’t think. He’s a fighter and a big man, but I don’t think he has any traditional martial arts practice as we would define it.
Hwan: Then what on Earth is the man doing in a fighting competition!?
Nyeo: You know that guy you recruited after you saw him in a barfight?
Hwan: Yes, I remember, he was a good man, could smash anyone talking back to me into the nearest wall with ease.
Nyeo: Yes, that is mr. Rage in a nutshell. A competent, well meaning fighter who is a spectacle to watch.
Hwan: A large strongman, then?
Nyeo: Very much so, but not as slow as you could imagine or hope.
Hwan: Do you know what happened to Kyowon-ssi?
Nyeo: He’s dead?
Hwan: Yes, he angered the father of your friend Hoseok.
Nyeo: Hobi’s dad shot him?
Hwan: Not shot, no. He challenged him to a fight, avoided Kyowons wild swings for the 5 minutes it took for him to get tired, then calmly proceeded to kill the man with his bare hands.
Nyeo: I feel I can understand the lesson to be taught here.
Hwan: Good, explain it to me.
Nyeo: Like when I was a teenager?
Hwan: Yes, I want to make sure you really do understand.
Nyeo takes a moment to gather his thoughts, before launching into his explanation, his voice devoid of emotion, he’s done this enough times that he knows that only the content of his speech matters.
Nyeo: His lack of disciplinary training from organized martial arts, coupled with his lazy and gluttonous ways, should make it relatively easy to make him winded if I keep my attacks conservative and bait him into taking stupid risks and going all out to take me down. His larger stature should make strikes to the knees and footing more effective than usual, including my low dropkick. My palm strike should render him unable to properly oxygenate his muscles, further exacerbating the stamina difference. Overall my fighting style of keeping light on my feet and going after vital targets should be the perfect counter to this type of opponent, just like how Hoseoks fathers discipline won over Kyowon-ssi’s attacks.
Hwan: Very good.
*Click*
Nyeo stares for a moment at his disconnected phone before slipping it into his front pocket and walking out of his office with an angry huff.
Namjoon: How was it?
Nyeo: It’s handled.
Namjoon: What’d you tell him?
Nyeo: It’s handled, Namjoon; leave it.
Namjoon: Alright, hyung, want to talk about your-
Nyeo: I just talked about my fucking match with my cunt of a father! I’ll fuck over the bastard in the same way I beat everyone else. He’s a fat fuck from Canada who thinks he can go from a mildly successful tag team to beating me, and I ain’t having that shit!
Namjoon: You don’t sound like yourself, man.
Nyeo: Well tough shit!
He realizes that he’s being unreasonable, of course he does, it’s not Joonies fault that Nyeo is the gay son of a homophobic mob boss, but he’s angry at the world right now, and unfortunately for Namjoon, he happens to be part of the world.
Still he does his best to calm down, still grumpily muttering under his breath.
Nyeo: ...better hope they offer maple syrup intravenously…
Namjoon chuckles earning a sharp glare.
Nyeo: Is my distress amusing to you?
Namjoon: Honestly? A little bit, yeah.
Nyeo: Yah, make me a drink, you brat. Otherwise I might decide to use you as a punching bag to get ready.
An audible gulp is heard, Nyeo is joking, Namjoon is pretty sure he is, but he is, as previously stated, far too smart to take that risk.
Namjoon: Right away, hyung.
Namjoon: So… You wanna talk about that interview?
Nyeo: No Namjoon, I do not, I want to go home and celebrate my victory with alcohol, music and girls.
Namjoon: ...and some b-
Nyeo: You finish that thought and I just might do what I did to Tsukiko, to you!
His tone of voice makes it crystal clear that it is not an idle threat, Namjoon is many things, but none of them are a fighter or an idiot. He has many painful memories of times when Nyeo challenged him to a fight over some slight, always equally clear that a no was not an option, and always ending with him coughing, trying to get his breath back.
Namjoon: You know I wouldn’t care, right?
Namjoons voice is barely a whisper, Nyeos answer just a hiss.
Nyeo: No, I didn’t.
A long silence stretches between them
Nyeo: But that doesn’t change anything, does it?
The question is clearly rhetorical, less clear is what exactly Nyeo means.
Namjoon: No, it doesn’t.
The rest of the ride is quiet, aside from Nyeos fingers tapping furiously at his phone, setting up a triumphant party to distract his thoughts from everything. Foremost amongst the ideas that he need to drown is a quiet, hopeful one: “Maybe I could tell him…”
This party is a bust, not that the music is bad, or the alcohol has run out, or the girls are in any way defective; of course not, Nyeo knows how to organize a party. In fact, everyone else seem to be enjoying the party. All apart from Nyeo and Namjoon. To be fair, Namjoon looks like he wants to be having fun, but is refraining as an act of solidarity with his friend and boss.
He follows the intermittently scowling young man, always ready to rescue him whenever a conversation goes beyond the 15 seconds which Nyeo can maintain his pleasant mask. After about an hour of this power fantasy-esque torture, Nyeo signals Namjoon closer to him and speaks into his ear.
Nyeo: My office, now.
He then turns on his heel and stomps towards a dark, wooden door, his assistant hot on his heels.
Namjoon catches the door as Nyeo all but slams it in his face, walking in and around his desk, sitting down with a glare.
Nyeo: I need you to draft up a tweet throwing an appropriate amount of shade at Jack, no need to point out why, a general diss will do.
Namjoon: Hyung, I really don’t think-
Nyeo: I don’t need your amateur LGBT counselor shit right now, make the tweet!
Namjoon: I use my veto!
Namjoon knows that he’s damn close to the edge, not only did he neglect using any honorific when in a formal setting, but he also raised his voice. He quickly flips open his phone and begins tapping.
Nyeo: You use your veto!? I have half a mind to send you back out-
Namjoon shoves his phone in front of Nyeos face, on it is a video from a very familiar nightclub. The NeuroDancer is filled to the brim, and the crowd are chanting something to the slow beat of the music.
“Nyeo! Nyeo! Nyeo!”
The DJ, clearly playing up to the crowds enthusiasm, shouts into his microphone.
DJ: Alrrrright gang, give it up for The prodigal Son, the red in the rainbow, and my boss! The Red-headed slut, Son Nyeo!
Whoever is working the lights deserves a damn raise, as the flicker into solid red as the crowd lets out an incoherent scream of praise before the music overtakes them and the dancing resumes.
The video starts to loop but Nyeo reaches over and turns off the screen. Namjoon is respectfully silent as his boss sits, eyes closed, thinking.
Nyeo: Don’t make that statement, it seems the interview only made the cult following grow ever more, even if it is… different from what I planned.
Namjoon: Of course, hyung.
Nyeo: Thank you, Namjoon.
Namjoon: Of course, hyung.
Nyeo offers a weak smile, and Namjoon does his best to return it, unsure of how successful he is being.
Nyeo: I have some good news for you.
Nyeos change of subject is a blatant attempt to sweep the awkwardness under the rug, but Namjoon is more than willing to accept it.
Namjoon: Good news?
Nyeo: Yes indeed, it’s something I think will make you very happy, might lessen your workload a bit to split it over two people.
Namjoon: You mean-
Nyeo: I do, Hobi and Tae are both coming to join our little American expedition.
Namjoons enthusiasm falls for half a second halfway through Nyeos sentence, but it’s quickly picked back up at the second name.
Namjoon: That... that is great news!
Nyeo: Yeah, I thought you’d like that…
He really was quite sure even before he saw the reaction, the young man taehyung was to Namjoon what Namjoon was to Nyeo. A personal assistant, specifically one very adept at handling computers.
Nyeo: -but they won’t be here for another few days, so we might as well go enjoy the party.
Namjoon: Are we actually going to enjoy it, this time?
Nyeo returns his friends smirk, giving a quick wink.
Nyeo: Didn’t you hear them? I’m the red in the rainbow, I have to be good in a party.
The next morning is unpleasant, and Nyeo is very grateful for the time difference between Korea and the east coast, as it means he has several hours before his “morning” call with his father, the prime head of the H.S.S mob, Son Hwan.
He takes the offered hours to eat a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon which he cooks for both himself and Namjoon, he then nibbles a ginger and drinks a bloody mary. He isn’t sure exactly which one of these tricks actually works, but one of them does, and he’s not exactly willing to try it through the process of elimination. What he is sure of is that the three in combination does work to get the alcohol haze out of his head in time for the phone call.
*Click*
Nyeo: Hello, abeonim.
Hwan: Greetings, adeunim, congratulations on your stellar victory.
The flat tone of his voice does a very good job of communicating his insincerity, but that isn’t something that Nyeo can afford to acknowledge.
Nyeo: Thank you, the fight and fallout went entirely to plan, and I am already getting a large amount of people trying to join me, despite there not being an H.S.S branch in America yet.
Hwan: Really? There wouldn’t happen to be any common theme connecting these people, would there?
Again Hwans voice is flat, but it is very much obvious what he is alluding to.
Nyeo: You are referring to the interview.
Hwan: Why yes, son, I am indeed referring the the interview where an American degenerate implied that the heir to the H.S.S mob is a fucking homosexual, and it ended with his tongue still inside his mouth!
His father's anger comes seemingly from out of nowhere, but Nyeo is ready for it, already starting to think of what to say, but unable to finish piecing it together before his father lets loose another barrage.
Hwan: I have been lenient, I have defended your eccentricities to the other heads, even your ridiculous nickname. All because you assured me that it was part of a plan to build a “more modern image”.
He lets his mocking tone hang in the air, Nyeo has a thousand things to say, but he quite literally bites his tongue to keep quiet.
Hwan: But how on Earth am I going to explain my own son marketing himself as a fag to the American market?
Nyeo cringes slightly at his father's choice of words, and quickly realizes that it is time for him to speak.
Nyeo: You tell them the truth, wh-
Hwan: Which is!?
Nyeo takes a deep breaths, suppressing the “Which is that your son IS a fag” that threatens to escape his mouth.
Nyeo: Which is that appealing to a minority that perceives itself as separate from the rest of society is a good way to build a cult of personality, which is what I need to establish an American empire.
His father grunts, liking the sound of Nyeos logic but not quite willing to accept it.
Hwan: It’ll still be open season on critiquing me for your behaviour.
Nyeo: And you can respond as you always do, cutting them down for being unable to understand your sons innovative approach to the problem.
Hwan: Very well, but you better make damn sure your plan works, or I’m sending over people to watch over you.
Nyeo: I am already ahead of schedule, father; all is well.
Hwan: Good, I hope you make me proud, son. Do you have another yankee to fight this week?
The implication that his father is not yet proud with him is not lost on him.
Nyeo: Not a yankee, I believe the preferred nomenclature is Canuck.
Hwan: ...What.
Nyeo: A Canadian, father, and a rather stereotypical one at that: Rick Rage. He did very well as a part of his two man team on sunday. He ended up scoring the winning pinfall.
Hwan: What martial art is he trained in?
Nyeo: Ah… well. None, I wouldn’t think. He’s a fighter and a big man, but I don’t think he has any traditional martial arts practice as we would define it.
Hwan: Then what on Earth is the man doing in a fighting competition!?
Nyeo: You know that guy you recruited after you saw him in a barfight?
Hwan: Yes, I remember, he was a good man, could smash anyone talking back to me into the nearest wall with ease.
Nyeo: Yes, that is mr. Rage in a nutshell. A competent, well meaning fighter who is a spectacle to watch.
Hwan: A large strongman, then?
Nyeo: Very much so, but not as slow as you could imagine or hope.
Hwan: Do you know what happened to Kyowon-ssi?
Nyeo: He’s dead?
Hwan: Yes, he angered the father of your friend Hoseok.
Nyeo: Hobi’s dad shot him?
Hwan: Not shot, no. He challenged him to a fight, avoided Kyowons wild swings for the 5 minutes it took for him to get tired, then calmly proceeded to kill the man with his bare hands.
Nyeo: I feel I can understand the lesson to be taught here.
Hwan: Good, explain it to me.
Nyeo: Like when I was a teenager?
Hwan: Yes, I want to make sure you really do understand.
Nyeo takes a moment to gather his thoughts, before launching into his explanation, his voice devoid of emotion, he’s done this enough times that he knows that only the content of his speech matters.
Nyeo: His lack of disciplinary training from organized martial arts, coupled with his lazy and gluttonous ways, should make it relatively easy to make him winded if I keep my attacks conservative and bait him into taking stupid risks and going all out to take me down. His larger stature should make strikes to the knees and footing more effective than usual, including my low dropkick. My palm strike should render him unable to properly oxygenate his muscles, further exacerbating the stamina difference. Overall my fighting style of keeping light on my feet and going after vital targets should be the perfect counter to this type of opponent, just like how Hoseoks fathers discipline won over Kyowon-ssi’s attacks.
Hwan: Very good.
*Click*
Nyeo stares for a moment at his disconnected phone before slipping it into his front pocket and walking out of his office with an angry huff.
Namjoon: How was it?
Nyeo: It’s handled.
Namjoon: What’d you tell him?
Nyeo: It’s handled, Namjoon; leave it.
Namjoon: Alright, hyung, want to talk about your-
Nyeo: I just talked about my fucking match with my cunt of a father! I’ll fuck over the bastard in the same way I beat everyone else. He’s a fat fuck from Canada who thinks he can go from a mildly successful tag team to beating me, and I ain’t having that shit!
Namjoon: You don’t sound like yourself, man.
Nyeo: Well tough shit!
He realizes that he’s being unreasonable, of course he does, it’s not Joonies fault that Nyeo is the gay son of a homophobic mob boss, but he’s angry at the world right now, and unfortunately for Namjoon, he happens to be part of the world.
Still he does his best to calm down, still grumpily muttering under his breath.
Nyeo: ...better hope they offer maple syrup intravenously…
Namjoon chuckles earning a sharp glare.
Nyeo: Is my distress amusing to you?
Namjoon: Honestly? A little bit, yeah.
Nyeo: Yah, make me a drink, you brat. Otherwise I might decide to use you as a punching bag to get ready.
An audible gulp is heard, Nyeo is joking, Namjoon is pretty sure he is, but he is, as previously stated, far too smart to take that risk.
Namjoon: Right away, hyung.
