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phylophe · 3 years

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Dragon Age Hell

Over the past couple of months I’ve played through the entire Dragon Age Series (I’ve started playing Dragon Age: Origins years ago but never completed the playthrough). While feeling a lot of feelings I thought I’d transcribe all my epilogues for my canon world state.

British English spelling so I can read more easily.

Dragon Age: Origins

Warden: Lear Cousland

In the months that followed in coronation, Alistair surprised many by studying the art of governance and doing his best to rule the kingdom with a fair and even hand. He proved quite popular with the people, his humour and easy grace wining them over as much as his willingness to sneak out of the castle and mingle in the lower-class taverns on occasion.

Lear, as Alistair’s chancellor, was a regular face at court - at least for a time. Alistair deferred to his advisor’s judgement on most matters, and when the king travelled away from the capital, as he did often, he was more than willing to leave the throne entirely in Lear’s hands.

Rumours that the Urn of Sacred Ashes had been found, and that it was used to heal Arl Eamon of his poisoning, circulated in Ferelden in the months following the darkspawn defeat... slowly, at first, and then with growing frequency as the grand cleric failed to deny them. Once the Chantry made several attempts to verify the rumours, however, there came an official decree that no resting place for the Ashes had been found. If the Urn of Sacred Ashes was in those ruins once, it was no longer.

Following months of effort, the tower of the Circle of Magi was finally cleansed of the last spirits to slip through the Veil. No further abominations were created, and First Enchanter Irving was pleased to declare the Circle safe. All that could be saved had been.

With the slavers shut down in the Alienage, the lot of the city-born elves improved for a time. The new king even named the local elder to his personal court - a scandal amongst the humans, but a sign of new hope to the elves. Shianni continued to be an outspoken member of the Alienage community, and in time became the new elder. That outspokenness earned her frequent trouble, but served her people well.

Arl Eamon returned to Redcliffe, beginning the long task of rebuilding. He found the village already bustling and eager to leave behind the memories of those terrible nights facing the undead. Connor was sent off the study at the Circle, and considering his earlier experiences, he excelled in his training and easily passed the Harrowing to become a full mage. At his father’s urging, Connor accepted a position in Tevinter to undertake formal study of the Fade.

Bevin, Kaitlyn’s young brother, eventually grew to become a famous adventurer in his own right. One of his favourite stories to tell companions was how, as a young lad, he met Lear, who used his father’s blade to save Redcliffe and then passed it back. The tavern in Redcliffe village, now run by Bella, was renamed “The Grey Warden’s Rest”. It echoes with tales of how the hero of Ferelden saved the village and healed Arl Eamon with the Sacred Ashes of Andraste. Few believed that such tall tales could possibly be true.

The Dalish elves prospered after the siege at Denerim, having earned much respect for their part in the battle. For once, human lands welcomed the wandering folk. The new keeper, Lanaya, was respected both amongst the Dalish as well as in the Ferelden court. She was a voice of reason, and other Dalish clans would turn to her to help resolve disputes with human folk. In time, many of the Dalish clans moved to the new land provided for them in the south near Ostagar. Wary of their human neighbours, however, tensions soon rose again... and only Keeper Lanaya’s leadership kept peace alive.

In Orzammar, King Harrowmont found himself in a protracted battle against Bhelen’s rebellion that left him unable to gain the stability he needed. The clan lords objected to many of his measures in the Assembly, and only his efforts to increase the dwarves’ isolation from the surface met with any success. In time, Harrowmont’s health began to fail. Some claimed it was poison, while others said it was a flagging spirit. Either way, after a protracted illness, the king finally passed away. The wrangling in the Assembly for a successor began almost immediately.

Brother Burkel’s new chantry in Orzammar drew a surprising number of converts among the dwarves. They quickly attracted a great deal of anger from more conservative quarters, and before long the Assembly severely restricted the Andrastians’ rights. Brother Burkel resisted, and was slain while being arrested during a peaceful demonstration in the Commons. The Assembly claimed this was an accident, but news of the resulting riots reached the Chantry on the surface, where the Divine even contemplated a new Exalted March.

The dwarven mage, Dagna, ultimately completed her studies at the rebuilt Circle Tower. Eventually, she published a comprehensive theory of how lyrium vapours relate to the supply of magic. It gained a great deal of attention.

Although the Anvil of the Void was destroyed, rumours about its location crept into Orzammar. Years later, thanks to the defeat of the darkspawn on the surface, a few determined smiths managed to locate the Anvil’s remains. They examined the ruins of the Anvil, and, upon returning to Orzammar with their findings, convinced the Shaperate to attempt to recreate Caridin’s research. A new golem was created, bound with a spirit taken from the Fade. The golem immediately went insane, killing several shapers before it was destroyed. The research was branded excessively dangerous and sealed away. Whispers of its existence circulated throughout Orzammar, however, and demand among the smith caste to reopen Caridin’s research refused to abate.

As good as her word, Morrigan disappeared once the archdemon was slain. Some of Morrigan’s description was seen travelling alone months later, heading west through the Frostback Mountains... and she may even have been with child. There was no word of her after that. Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds was likewise abandoned. Once cannot help but wonder: Where did they go? What were their plans? What became of the child? These questions must remain a mystery... for now.

The companions who had travelled with Lear eventually scattered to the four winds, drawn either by personal duty or the call to further adventure. The Grey Wardens welcomed their hero back into the fold - even if the suspicions of those who wondered how Lear managed to survive were sometimes given quiet voice.

As the blighted lands began to heal and the Grey Wardens slowly rebuilt the order in Amaranthine, they discovered that the fight against the darkspawn was not yet complete. Although the hoard was routed and had dissolved upon the archdemon’s death, many of the more powerful darkspawn survived to organise roving war bands that preyed both upon the land and upon each other. These war bands spread havoc, and some even journeyed west into Orlais or crossed the Shining Sea by the Deep Roads. They proved incredibly difficult to wipe out.

But these are tales yet to be told. This tale ended when Lear sank his blade in the archdemon’s head and destroyed it forever. It was not the last that Ferelden would hear of him, however...

Dragon Age: Awakening

After the deaths of both the Architect and the Mother, nearly all the remaining darkspawn fled back into the Deep Roads. The raids on Amaranthine came to an abrupt end. Although some of the Architect’s disciples likely escaped into the Deep Roads with the rest of their brethren, they have - so far - shown no inclination towards vengeance against the Grey Wardens who killed their saviour. Yet the Deep Roads remain plagued by the darkspawn, and it seems certain that in time, another Blight will begin. The danger may have passed for now, but the cycle of the Old Gods continue.

The destruction of Amaranthine did not endear the Grey Wardens to the people of Ferelden. Although much of the citizenry wanted to forget the terrible event and get on with life, a small segment pledged to exact revenge against the Wardens. People whispered that the Commander of the Grey was trying to influence Fereldan politics once again, and suggested the burning of Amaranthine was a part of a larger plot to gain power. The rumours grew until, inside a year, a mob appeared at the gates of Vigil’s Keep. Although most of the rioters were shown mercy and survived the bloody clash, public opinion of the Grey Wardens turned sour for years, until the Wardens led an effort to rebuild Amaranthine.

The war devastated the farmholds of the arling, and the land would never truly recover from their loss. Most of the arling lay fallow, becoming a breeding ground for bandits and worse. Only the roads and the few scattered settlements could provide any safety in that abandoned region.

The annals of the Grey Wardens hailed Commander Lear’s defence of Vigil’s Keep as a crucial victory. The order’s more clever recruits often spent days studying the account in an attempt to understand the commander’s tactics. The Vigil became a trading hub that would eventually eclipse the city of Amaranthine, with traders reassured by guards continually patrolling the Pilgrim’s Path. But prosperity bred scheming and treachery between merchants and nobles, testing the commander’s patience for years to come.

Peace allowed the Wardens to replenish their numbers. Soon, Vigil’s Keep bore a capable army with Wardens at its core. From their ranks emerged new heroes to challenge threats to Amaranthine and all of Ferelden. Through taxes and levies, the Vigil was rebuilt. Years later, Voldrik Glavonak stood on the battlements and pronounced that the defences were acceptable. He would never speak more highly of any human engineering.

Some nobles claimed the Grey Wardens were involved in Bann Esmerelle’s disappearance on the eve of the final battle against the darkspawn. Dark whispers hint that a conspiracy to oust the Wardens from Amaranthine is still afoot. The Vigil’s soldiers, wearing the distinctive silverite armour that Master Wade crafted, came to be known as the Silver Order. Under the tutelage of the Wardens, the Silver Order developed into one of Ferelden’s most revered military forces, a lasting memory of the Vigil’s famous commander.

With Velanna and the Architect gone from the region, the Pilgrim’s Path began to see traffic again. The massacre of the militiamen and the merchants, however, led to hostilities between the neighbouring human settlements and any Dalish clans that passed by. One human villager soon kidnapped and murdered a Dalish child. The clans reacted by giving the Wending Wood a wide berth, but both sides know that at some point the elves will return for revenge.

A few years after Kal’Hirol was emptied of darkspawn, Orzammar began sending expeditions to rediscover the knowledge of smithing that had been list within the thaig. Eventually house Helmi decided that Kal’Hirol was too important to be abandoned. At a tremendous cost of dwarven lives, they cleared the tunnels leading to Kal’Hirol of all darkspawn, making the road between Orzammar and the fortress safe again. Kal’Hirol was reclaimed for Orzammar, once and for all.

In time, the arling began to forget the tales of apparitions in the Blackmarsh, and ever so slowly, settlers drifted into the region. Scholars said the Veil was still thin and thus the area still dangerous, but the people only cared that there was no longer frightened whispers in the shadows. The village was slowly rebuilt. Twice the baroness’ mansion was rebuilt and occupied, once by a wealthy merchant and another time by an Orlesian mage. Both died mysteriously. Afterwards, the mansion was torn down completely and the site left untouched.

Anders remained with the Grey Wardens a few years longer, training the order’s next generation of mages. But when the Circle Tower called him to deliver a lecture on the nature of the Architect - much to the templars’ dismay - Anders told the Commander of the Grey that his time with the Wardens was over. Now that Anders was no longer a Warden, the templars declared him apostate and began a search. The closest they came to finding him was a rumour that he joined the crew of a merchant ship with a certain female captain.

Velanna never saw her clan again, but neither did she forsake her Dalish culture - nor her sharp tongue, nor her quick temper. After several years in the Grey Wardens, Velanna disappeared one day. Most surmise that she left for the Deep Roads to resume the search for her sister, but no one knows for sure.

Over the next years, Nathaniel dedicated himself to the order and to clearing the blemishes on his family’s name. After saving Teyrn Fergus Cousland from a bandit attack, a portion of Amaranthine was returned to the Howes. Nathaniel passed the holding to Delilah’s son, and when a new castle was eventually built there, a statue of Nathaniel was erected in its courtyard.

Once the darkspawn threat was ended, Justice left the Grey Wardens to pursue other injustices. Years later he appeared on the doorstep of Kristoff’s widow and, smiling, simply dropped dead. Aura finally had a body to mourn. If the spirit itself remains alive, it has not shown itself.

With the Mother dead, Sigrun seemed to lose her purpose. She withdrew from her friends in the order and spoke to them less and less each day. One morning, Sigrun was simply absent, her bed made and her trunk emptied. A young recruit who had been up in the night said she had left for her Calling, gone to finish what she started in Kal’Hirol.

Oghren continued to regale young Warden recruits with tales of his prowess in both battle and bed. His drinking games prompted at least one recruit to declare that she’d rather reattempt the Joining than lift another mug. Felsi returned to Vigil’s Keep several times to see Oghren, usually bringing their toddler as well. Oghren’s inability to act seriously wore on her, however, and her visits dwindled, then stopped altogether. If Oghren missed her, or his child, he never showed it.

As for the saviour of Ferelden, he did not remain as Commander for the Grey for long. The darkspawn were no longer a real concern, the Blight well and truly over. It was time for him to move on. Some years later, the saviour of Ferelden vanished entirely. Nobody knows for what purpose he departed, yet neither does anyone think his tale is complete...

Dragon Age 2

Champion: Giulle Hawke

Word of the slaughter spread quickly. The Champion’s name became a rallying cry, a reminder that the mighty templars could be defied. She had defended the mages against the brutal injustice, and many lived to tell the tale. The Circles rose up and set the world on fire.

More templars arrived at Kirkwall to restore order, but we were already long gone. We vanished into the hills, and circumstance eventually forced us all to leave the Champion’s side. Well... all of us except for Anders.

You still hear the stories of course. With each telling they grow, even if at the core remains the truth. A new legend had been born.

So that’s it. That’s the whole story.

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Inquisitor: Amur Trevelyan

‘Tis said that Corypheus woke after his long slumber and found the world gone awry. He fought to bring back those days of magic and shadow, to raise himself as a god, and set things right. Now we are left with a scar in the sky to remind us of what almost was. It tells us that a great victory against chaos was won, but left the world forever changed.

Consider the mighty Empire of Orlais, where Empress Celene remains on her golden throne. The civil war is ended, Gaspard is defeated, but it is said that Briala yet plots her return from exile. The empress now faces a war in the shadows. Elven daggers rule the night, and spies follow her every move. Fortunately for Celene, her gratitude towards the Inquisition has remained strong. Some claims she clings too tightly to the alliance - others know it is all that stands between her and defeat.

The Grey Wardens of the South slowly rebuild in the months following the events at Adamant. They declare it time for the Order to emerge from the shadows, to join the rest of humanity in fighting their ancient foes. Rumours abound that they severed ties with their leaders at Weisshaupt, and that a bitter war now rages between them. What becomes of Hawke is unknown - save that all news out of Weisshaupt soon ends. Does the sudden silence indicate a battle within... or something far worse?

One month after the defeat of Corypheus, the Chantry names Cassandra as successor to the Sunburst Throne. Given the name Divine Victoria, she immediately enacts reform: a new Templar Order, and a new Circle of Magi. The Seekers of Truth are rededicated to their purpose of protecting the innocent. A proclamation of support for the Inquisition is issued, recognising its service to all of Thedas. Despite her popularity, the new Divine’s reforms are seen by some as going too far.

The Inquisition’s mages - the former rebels led by Grand Enchanter Fiona - are left with a choice. In the end, they refuse Cassandra’s invitation to rejoin the Circle of Magi and instead reform the College of Enchanters as a new order. The College, they say, will allow mages of the South to gather in peace and seek new solutions to age-old problems. From the beginning, the College and the Circle have clashed - and some fear it will lead to a new war of the mages upon themselves.

And what of the Inquisition itself? Its military might has grown, now rivalling that of kingdoms. Fear of the Inquisition’s army has become the true source of its power. I leave Skyhold now, knowing that power will continue to grow. The Inquisitor is a symbol to many, a leader of the changing world order. To others, he has become a target. They linger in the shadows, waiting for their day to come. When it does, the Inquisition shall stand ready.

Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser

Over the next several months, the Inquisition carefully gave over many of the duties it had held. As the Divine’s personal guard and peacekeeping force, the Inquisition shrank to a more manageable size. Many who had served went home, though the remaining force was still enough to give pause to any who might threaten the Divine’s plans. Those who served the new Inquisition were tested and checked thoroughly, in the hope of ferreting out any more spies within its ranks.

With the Dragon’s Breath disrupted and any hope of a swift victory dashed, the Qunari retreated back to the North. Few knew what debates were waged in Par Vollen, but not long after the Exalted Council, the Qunari launched new attacks against Tevinter. Their aggression caught the already unstable Imperium off guard. Tevinter was soon mired in a war many feared would spread across Thedas.

Cassandra continued her reign as Divine Victoria, rebuilding fractured alliances and settling the Inquisition into its new role as her personal guard. Her efforts were successful, and - for a time - southern Thedas saw peace. Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order would guess.

Some believed that the end of the Inquisition as it had been heralded the destruction of the fledgling College of Enchanters. Having clashed with the Circle, the College now found itself without support against the newly elected Grand Enchanter, Vivienne. Fortunately, Grand Enchanter Vivienne grudgingly agreed not to destroy its terrified leaders, as a personal favour to Divine Victoria. The two institutions settled into an uneasy coexistence across the South, vying for power.

Leliana continued to act as the Inquisition’s spymaster in its final months as an independent organisation. During this time, she shared many of her responsibilities with her most trusted agents, including Charter, Rector, and Harding. Many believed that Leliana feared what lay on the horizon and was grooming successors in anticipation of the challenges ahead.

Sera left the Inquisition with scarcely more ties than when she began, disappearing back into her confusing weave of favours and friends. After seeing the world brought to the brink by arrogance and pride, it was a blessing to return to normal - however strange a normal it might be. With frequent visits to her Widdle, of course. Perhaps most unnerving was Sera’s standing offer to the Divine: “When the nobs piss about with your left hand or right, call on Red Jenny to give them two fingers.”

Varric took up the role of Viscount and, with the help of his friend Hawke, rebuilt Kirkwall’s damaged infrastructure. Under his rule, the city-state finally resumed its place as the major trade hub of the Free Marches. He continued to ignore all mail from both the Merchants Guild and the Prince of Starkhaven.

With the Inquisition in its new role, the Bull’s Chargers returned to taking jobs throughout Orlais and Ferelden. Fighting demons and clearing out the remains of Venatori forces, the Iron Bull did his part to restore order to Thedas.

After the Inquisition transitioned into a peacekeeping role, Cullen continued to serve as commander of its forces. Under his leadership, the Inquisition protected the Divine’s interests while enforcing new standards of security. Cullen also expanded the Chantry’s treatment for templars whose minds were taken by lyrium, as well as those who wished to cease lyrium usage. And as chaos reigned in the North and threats to the Divine lurked in every shadow, Cullen remained ready to serve.

Dorian returned to Tevinter to take his father’s place in the Magisterium. As rumours flew about the Imperium’s infighting, Dorian was spoken of often as a voice of resistance against corruption. Along with Magister Maevaris Tilani, he formed a group called the Lucerni to restore and redeem Tevinter - a fight many thought hopeless. Those fighting by Magister Pavus’ side noted that he kept in constant communication with the Inquisitor via message crystal. Whether for vital information or for moral support, these talks seemed to give Dorian the strength to continue his fight.

After the Exalted Council, Thom Rainier bid farewell to his friends and went to Weisshaupt fortress to pledge himself to the Grey Wardens for good. While he was rarely seen in the years that followed, some said they encountered Rainier in far-flung lands, their accounts always similar. Rainier carried out the duty of the Wardens, but always found time to help others along the way. Sometimes he served as a shield for the defenceless. Other times, he spread simple cheer among children with gifts of small, carved toys.

After easing the Inquisition’s transition into the Chantry, Josephine returned to Antiva and her family. Thanks to the Inquisitor’s help, the Montilyets were once again permitted to trade in Orlais. The next few years were a busy time, as many ships with the Montilyet crest were built and set sail again from Antiva’s harbours. Soon, Rivaini pirate captains with an ancient feud against Josephine’s ancestors took to the seas, determined to rekindle the rivalry. Apart from Josephine’s sister, Yvette, nearly eloping with a dashing pirate prince on one occasion, Lady Montilyet took the development in stride.

Cole took to the road with Maryden to find a new life and a new way to be human. Wherever Maryden went to sing, people found old pains eased and hearts made happier... even if they don’t understand why.

After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor’s story about Fen’Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf’s forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned.

BONUS! Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser Post-Epilogue Scene

“Maintaining the Inquisition, even as a peacekeeping force, leaves us vulnerable to agents of the Dread Wolf...”

“But also gives us the strength to respond.”

“We will need to be careful.”

“Solas knows everything about us. Who we are, how we work, our strengths and weaknesses...”

“Then we find people he doesn’t know. We will save our friend from himself... if we can.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #I pretty much marathoned the entire series #looking at all this together gives me more questions #what happened to the Silver Order #how's the deal with the anvil going in Orzammar #how are all my companions who survived doing #WHAT'S GOING ON FOR THE HERO OF FERELDEN #WHERE IN THE WORLD IS SOLAS #I have a problem with not hating Problematic Hobo Apostates™ as much as I maybe should #that and I guess Giulle was in love with her respective PHA #and Amur is just a fkin softie for anyone with the slightest shred of humanity #oh I guess I should tag #spoiler

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dreamscript · 7 years

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the normalcy of thieves: 1

As a con artist, Jungkook can never stay put. He also can’t help but feel giddy when he receives a call asking for help with orchestrating a large-scale con against some of London’s top executives.

Four people. One city.

As if he needed any more reason to leave.

while this is no longer a collaboration between me & @inktae , I still want to extend my gratitude to mari for helping lots with this fic and encouraging me to write it.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 (soon)

6.8k words, con artist au, jungkook/reader

// Madrid, Spain. June 28th.

The man inspects the flat screen TV with the utmost scrutiny, his beady eyes tracing over the jet black frame, following the edges of the sleek screen. Jungkook can almost feel him salivating. “How much did you say it was?” the man asks.

“205 euros,” Jungkook replies. “For a lightly used, completely functional, Samsung HDTV. And it’s one of the newer ones, too.” He shifts the TV slightly to the side. “Look: it’s got the incredibly thin design, and if you look up the model online, you’ll see that it’s got almost unparalleled black levels and clarity of sound.” He gives the thing a light pat. “So?” Jungkook looks at the man expectantly and smiles in the most business-like fashion that he can manage.

The man doesn’t match Jungkook’s smile and instead chooses to frown. “So why’s the shit so cheap, then?” He crosses his arms and tries to pin down Jungkook with a look.

Jungkook simply grins even wider. “Did you forget? All of the goods in this truck, they’re all so cheap because--” he pauses for dramatic effect, leaning over the truck counter, “--they’re stolen.” He straightens back up. Smirks.

The man seems to recall why he’s here and takes a moment to mull over Jungkook’s offer. One, two, three. Four seconds pass. Jungkook’s never had an issue with patience, but right now he’d very much like to get this exchange done and over with.

“Alright,” the man says finally, sighing. “I’ll take it.”

Jungkook beams. “Alright, I’ll have my buddy here package the TV for you, and he’ll give it to you around back,” he says. He gestures to Jin, who’d been standing in the back of the truck during the entire exchange, and was now just making to haul the TV off to the side. “Your total is 205 euros exactly, no tax.”

“Take cash?”

“Oh come on, you know that’s not how we do business here in the underground. Bitcoin or bust, ya hear?” Jungkook lets his smile falter a bit and slides his Bitcoin info over to the man. “Can’t have the bank teller giving me funny looks or street dwellers trying to rob me.”

The man makes a gruff sound and then pulls out his phone. “Fuckin’ hell. Fine, take your damn Bitcoins. Miss the old days when cash was king.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, checking his new balance. “Don’t we all. Pickpocketing was way more fun back then, I’ll tell you. You could at least make a game outta that stuff, see who could snatch the most cash. Nowadays you just grab a debit or a phone and that’s it. I swear, some people make it too easy.”

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ life story, thiefboy.”

Jungkook merely chuckles and holds his hands up in surrender.

After pocketing his phone, the man goes around back to watch Jin shoving the TV haphazardly into a large cardboard box with bubble wrap and foam.

“Careful with that, ladyboy!”

Jin looks up briefly, nods, and then returns to packaging the TV, this time a bit more slowly. By the time he finally finishes shoving the whole thing into the box, Jungkook has come out from the dealer truck. Together, all three of them--Jungkook, Jin, and the buyer--help heave the box into the man’s unmarked car, grunting and panting.

“Thank you for your business, sir,” Jungkook says, wiping his hands down his dusty slacks. The man gives him a tight smile and slams his car door shut. The engine comes to life. He zooms down the street.

Once he’s completely disappeared from sight, Jungkook immediately bursts into a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach. “That--that--he just--oh god,” he says, unable to contain the giggles.

Jin, on the other hand, looks still unsure. “Um, so, are you sure about this? I’m actually really surprised that he didn’t notice.”

“What, that it was an oven door?” Jungkook’s hysterical laughs reach new levels. “People can be stupid at times. But also we’re good. I really gotta commend you on that extra little flair you did at the bottom--oh, and the matte black paint you used for the screen. That shit looked super real once you’d finished.”

“Thanks,” Jin says, sounding pleased. Also kinda worried. “Um, but, when he finds out, won’t he like, call the authorities or something?”

Jungkook manages to stop laughing, turning to look at Jin with a knowing glint in his eye. “And that--” he says, ambling over to the curb. He slumps down heavily on it. “--is the true beauty of it all.”

“Uh?” Jin eyes him warily. He’s still standing, with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Can you grab me a coke or something?” Jungkook says, briefly deviating from the conversation.

“Um, sure,” Jin says. He disappears for a moment and comes back with two coke bottles. He hands one to Jungkook before sitting down next to him. “So what is the true beauty? This whole thing is flying way over my head.”

“The true beauty,” Jungkook says, “is that if he ever tried to report us, he--well, he couldn’t, because then he’d get himself in some deep shit too. ‘Cause we--I--told him that the ‘TV’ aka the oven door was stolen. And like, sure, he didn’t actually get what he was paying for but he still showed that he was willing to pay the money for it. He’d have to first admit to the police he had intent to purchase stolen goods. Which is, obviously, illegal.” He snaps open the coke and takes a swig. It fizzes on his tongue delightfully.

“I--I see. But how can you be so sure that him and whatever gang he may be affiliated with won’t come back to hunt your head?”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, turning to look at Jin with a glint in his eye. “I’d like to see them try. People back at home don’t call me Cheshire for nothin’, you know. One moment I’m there, the next I’m gone. Poof.”

Jin shakes his head. “Man, you con artists--crazy, all of you.”

“Says you,” Jungkook retorts. “You’re the guy who likes to manipulate others’ emotions to get what you want. You’re basically a con artist yourself.”

Jin wrinkles his nose. “Well, what I’m doing isn’t exactly illegal. Most of the times, at least. It’s not my fault that people like the way I look that much. On the other hand, what you’re doing is, and like, almost always is illegal.”

“Yeah, yeah, legal, illegal, whatever,” Jungkook says, waving his hand in the air. “You talk like either of us actually have regard for the law.”

Jin laughs. “Alright, so you got me there. But shit, man, the lives that you guys lead are kind of weird. And all the different locations?” He frowns. “Dunno--it just seems to strike me the most.”

“What’s wrong with Madrid?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Madrid, don’t get me wrong. It’s nice and all, but Amsterdam? So much better. I’m used to it. I know the city, I’ve lived there for a while, it’s practically synonymous to ‘home.’ Like, sure, I’ll spend a few more days in Madrid, but by the end of the week you can bet that I’m on the first train back.”

“Really? Are you telling me that you plan to stay in Amsterdam?”

Jin levels a look at him. “Yeah. Not everyone’s like you, in a different city every week. Or month, or however often you change. Last time I heard from you, you were spending the evening in some penthouse over in Monaco, and now you’re working the alleys in Madrid. There aren’t a lot of people who would enjoy moving around and not settling down in one stable place for more than a few months.”

“Whatever.” Jungkook shrugs. Jin’s no fun, as always. “In any case, how was it today?”

Jin purses his lips.

Jungkook goads him on, if only for his own entertainment. “Come on, it’s got to feel nice--hell, maybe even a bit refreshing, god forbid--to be doing something else for a change.”

Jin sighs and takes a sip of his coke. ��It’s all fine and dandy, but I’m not that much about all those high risks. One day of this con artist life’s enough for me.”

“Once again--”

“You know what I mean,” Jin says.

Jungkook chuckles and knocks him playfully on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah.” He finishes off the coke and tosses it in a nearby trash can, gets up off the curb with a sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go inside and recount my balances. Phone’s still charging ‘cause the battery is a piece of shit.”

Jin gives a hum of acknowledgement and nothing more as Jungkook unlocks the back doors and climbs inside. He reaches over to where his cracked iPhone 5s lies on the counter with the battered charging cable still stuck through it. Without even needing to really look at his Bitcoin balance, he knows the amount isn’t as much as he’d like or really be comfortable working with and he frowns. These days, he’s making a lot less through the white van speaker scams in Madrid than what he was doing before in Paris and Monaco.

It’s expected, yes, but still the disparity is a bit unsettling.

And yet on the other hand, no matter how good the money, he can't seem to stay in one place for too long, feeling it absolutely nerve wracking to be doing the same job for any longer than he wanted to. So he was out of France in no less than two months; hours of grueling train rides with no definite destination in mind later, he found himself in Spain.

It’s been two weeks since his arrival and already Jungkook can conclude that Madrid isn't quite as bad as some of the other cities he’s been to; it easily tops many of his other destinations. The city is fairly well kept--or as well kept as any major city can be. The public transportation’s cheap. The premieres are quite stunning, though he has yet to actually get inside one.

The backstreet locals he’s encountered so far aren't bad either. Already, he’s managed to con a few--with relative ease, to boot--into buying some dirt-cheap speakers for inflated prices. And, of course--he flicks a finger down his screen, grinning--he can’t forget the “flat screen TV” he just sold to his customer.

A breeze gusts by. Jungkook leans slightly forward and sucks in a breath of city air.

// London, the United Kingdom, Great Britain. July 17th.

There’s a knock on the door. Although it’s muffled, he can clearly hear someone calling out his name.

Jimin snaps out of his daydream and spins around, tearing his gaze away from the London skyline. “Yeah? Come in.”

The door slides open smoothly and his secretary gives him a tight smile, meeting his eyes with her stony, professional gaze. “You have a meeting.”

“Oh--right, yes, sorry. Taehyung, was it? From Sight Security Group?” He gives a sheepish smile and runs a hand through his hair.

“That’s correct. Shall I bring him in or do you require more time?”

Jimin looks over his desk, checking all the files that have been laid on it. What was Taehyung here to discuss again? Was it about the--oh, no it was about a possible merger of some sorts. He chuckles inwardly to himself; there’s a 90% chance the deal would be a no-go for him. He’s got what he needs. “You can tell him I’m ready.” He gives his secretary a smile and she nods. The door clicks shut behind her.

Not a minute later, Taehyung is stepping through his office door, smiling brightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park,” he says, extending a hand out to him. When he’s close enough, Jimin rises from his desk to give him a firm handshake.

“Likewise,” he replies.

// Berlin, Germany. September 3rd.

“Should I stop here?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Jungkook carefully steers onto the side of the road--a not so legal move, but he’s never cared that much for the law anyway--and checks the meter. “That’ll be twenty euros exactly.”

The man hands him the money and Jungkook hesitates, a brief moment of debate over whether he should exchange the bills or not.

“You gonna take it or not?” Maybe not. He’s made enough money off of his earlier patrons, and conning more than three a day can get a bit risky.

“Yeah, sorry.” Jungkook takes the bills and carefully counts them out. “Alright, have a great day.”

The man grunts out a brief thanks, you too before slamming the cab door shut. Jungkook sighs and contemplates his next course of action: he could either continue working, or he could just call it a day and head back home. The car behind him beeps, prompting him to roll his eyes and pull away from the no-parking zone, out back into the road. The stoplight turns red before he can even consider speeding through it. He frowns.

Maybe he could just go home...

Suddenly, his phone rings, loud and annoying. Jungkook checks the number; it shows up as “Unknown.” How perfect. He takes the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jeon,” the caller says. The voice sounds gruff through the receiver, but it’s the familiarity of it that has Jungkook relaxing back into his seat, a grin on his face. There’s a stream of cackling static that Jungkook assumes to be a breathy chuckle. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Yeah?” The light turns green, finally. Jungkook speeds ahead. He drives straight past a pair of women with their hands up in the air, trying to flag him down.

The caller sighs. “It’s pretty complicated, but knowing you--I’ll try to get straight to the point. Okay, look. I’ve been trying to get this man’s money for the past month or so for various reasons--some are personal, so don’t ask--but this guy’s too damn cautious. He plays way too safe. It’s a wonder that he’s made it this far.”

“So I take it that you require my assistance?” At the intersection ahead, some reckless driver attempts a daring turn. Almost immediately, car horns beep, creating a raucous cacophony that has Jungkook pressing his lips together in disdain. “Is this going to be another one of your grand heists? Because as successful as the last one was, I nearly got--”

“No, no,” the man says, quick to cut him off. “Trust me, I’ve considered doing a heist against this guy, but I may as well march right over to his office and tell him that I’m going to steal all of his money.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook considers continuing down the street for another block, but at the last moment makes a left turn. More honking. Annoyed, Jungkook lets go of the wheel for a brief second just to stick his middle finger in the air. “Alright, so then, what are you proposing, hm?”

“I want you to orchestrate a con. We’ll split the money, of course. But before I ask if you’re in and give you all the details, I’ll just let you know that it’s going to have to be a pretty damn elaborate and well thought out con, if we want to get the amount of money I’ve been hoping for.”

“And what would be that amount?”

“Roughly 100 million pounds, give or take.”

Jungkook lets out a low whistle as he rounds another corner, coming out to yet another intersection, just less crowded. “Not bad. And pounds? You’re in London again, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? Some cities just hold more charm than others. Anyways, so are you in or not?”

“100 million pounds,” Jungkook muses. Outside, the sun is setting, and the city is bathed in a beautiful tint of vibrant orange. Money isn’t much of an issue for him; in fact, he’s got plenty of it. But 100 million pounds? He smiles. “I’ll take it. Fill me in.”

He also supposes a change of location wouldn’t be so bad. Berlin has entertained him long enough.

// London, the United Kingdom, Great Britain. September 6th.

The cool London air flutters through your papers--still warm and fresh off the press--as you hastily shove them into a folder. You tuck the folder into your bag haphazardly with one hand, trying to get all your shit together with your phone clutched tightly in one hand.

“So I’ve run and done all the reports you wanted me to do. That’s all, right?” Static cackles in cadence to the heavy breaths of the other end.

“Yeah,” you say. “Like the background checks, revenue...that stuff.”

“Mhm.”

“Okay, so anyways, tell me about the new team,” you say. “Who’s the project leader?” You zip your bag shut, slinging it comfortably over your shoulder.

There’s a hesitant intake of breath. More static. “Well, about the project leader…”

“Well?” You purse your lips together.

“Uh…”

The hesitation in the speaker’s voice is all you need to confirm your worst fears. Well, not your worst fears, actually. Just--confirmation.

“I have this bad feeling that we’re thinking of the same person right now,” you say, slowly.

“And I have this feeling that we are. It isn’t bad though. I mean, come on, why are you saying it’s a bad feeling? Aren’t you guys--”

“Are you serious right now though?” you hiss into your phone. “Of all people, you chose him as the project leader? Also, when did this happen? Because I was just talking to him last night and he didn’t tell me anyth--shit.” You narrowly dodge a lamplight. Oops. “And he didn’t tell me anything,” you finish.

The other end launches into a barrage of excuses, and you roll your eyes. “Okay, fine, yeah,” you finally snap. “Just--listen. I’m going to need those plans for our newest line of security cameras before lunchtime tomorrow so I can review them; make sure you actually include the notes on the program infrastructure this time, too. Oh--and don’t forget to get me that new book on the analysis of government surveillance over the years--what was it called again? Yeah--the one by Bernstein--yeah, yeah, that one. Actually, no, nevermind, I’ll just get it myself. Alright. But don’t forget to tell him to hit the stacks if he’s going to work with us. I can’t have him even partially uninformed; I need a capable team who isn’t going to cause any--no, are you even serious right now? I’m not going to do it, you’re the one who brought him onboard in the first place, so he’s your problem now. It’s okay, he’ll probably figure out a lot of things by himself.”

The other end makes a petulant groaning noise, but they give in. “Okay, fine. If that’s all, then, I’ll be going now. Got a lot to do.”

“Alright, yeah, that’s all,” you say. “Bye.”

“See you.”

You hang up and open up the calendar on your phone, scroll through the day’s plans. Alright: so number one is to print out the latest company reports--check--then finalize the newest project’s team--check--and next up is to grab food. You smile. Sweet. The best part of any day.

// Berlin, Germany. September 3rd.

“A taxi driver? Why in the hell would you want to pose as a taxi driver in October? You do realize that it’s practically low season throughout most of Europe, right?”

His caller has taken the liberty to start up small talk and attempt to catch up on all the lost months of no contact. Impossible, really, since way too much has happened to both of them, but it’s an honorable attempt and Jungkook rises to meet it.

“I am well aware of that, yes.” Jungkook’s decided to take a leisurely stroll down the city streets of Berlin, abandoning his stolen and refurbished cab on the curb. Normally he’d park it somewhere relatively safe, but his interest in continuing to be a cab driver has been waning. He couldn’t care less if he came back the next day to see the car gone. He inhales, deep. The crisp outside air is almost luxurious after spending hours in the stuffy cab, breathing in the air of strangers.

“So why? I still don’t get it, Jeon, especially if you’re doing what I think you’re doing over there--you’re doing that bill exchange trick aren’t you?” There’s an almost accusatory tone in the speaker’s voice, and it makes Jungkook chuckle softly. After all, what else could he be expected that he do? Actually lead a perfectly honest life as a taxi driver?

“And if I am doing this trick that you speak of?” There’s a teasing lilt in Jungkook’s response.

“It doesn’t make any bloody sense, is what I’m trying to say. Because think about it: the more tourists there are, the more likely you’ll come across ones with large bills that you can snag off of them, and the whole rush and bustle of the city makes it easy for you to slip away. But on your hand--”

“Trust me, I know about all the advantages of tourist season. I’ve already done this thing back when I was in Stockholm--wait, did I never tell you about it?” He passes by a man who hobbles along the street, a small, slightly overweight dog at his side. It bares its teeth at Jungkook and lets out a high-pitched bark. And then another one. Jungkook looks at it with a hint of disdain. The owner hushes it and drags it onwards.

“No--hell no. Stockholm? That’s--far, from where you usually are, I mean.”

“Yeah, well, all I have to say that it was getting a bit hot in Madrid for me.” Jungkook studies how the sky quickly changes color as the sun sinks ever lower into the horizon.

“Wait--Madrid to Stockholm? That’s like--”

“--an incredibly long train ride that is enough to put your ass to sleep. Yes. Now shut up and listen, will you?” Jungkook sighs and grins when the other end laughs.

“Alright, alright.”

“So as I said before, I posed as a taxi driver during Stockholm’s tourist season, and yes, I made some really good money overall. Tourists, you know, slamming themselves into my cab, jabbering in mostly English, shoving their kronor at me--that stuff. But so one day I have this tourist who, as it turns out, just came straight from the bank with five fresh 1000-krona banknotes. A real mark, lemme tell you.”

“No other change?”

“No other change,” Jungkook confirms. The thought of it has him grinning all over again from ear to ear.

“Geez. Guy like that’s just asking to get marked up and down by cons.”

“Yeah, I know--and unfortunately for the mark, I had been carrying a crap ton of counterfeit 1000-krona banknotes for a while; so I get to his destination, he says ‘thanks,’ and hands me his first bill. I nimbly exchange it, tell him it’s fake, he gives me that look, you know, but what can he say? Not much. So he takes the fake bill back, hands me another. I exchange it. He gives me a more suspicious look this time, but it’s okay--I brought along the counterfeit bill detector. Show it to him, and sure as it is, the bill’s fake.”

“So are you telling me that you did this for every single bill that he gave to you?” There’s a tone of half-disbelief, half-amusement in the guy’s voice.

“Hell yeah. I made five thousand kronor just off that one guy, in one day--so that’s roughly 600 US dollars, or 660,000 won, or 460 British pounds, whatever.” It’s practically dusk. Streetlamps flicker on, one by one.

“Nice,” the caller commends. “Lucky as hell, as always. But that still brings me to my other point--so why in the sodding hell would you not do it during tourist season?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yourself yet, having known me this long. But whatever,” Jungkook says. He can hear the man grumbling something about big headed pricks and lack of communication on the other end. He chuckles. “It’s because things got too easy. And when they do, I like to take a break, get away--and then try it again with a challenge. Makes things more interesting. And in this case, I wanted to see just how slick I could get with this cabbie scam.”

“So I take it that it’s actually going pretty well for you?”

“Ah, well,” Jungkook says. He pulls out his wallet and thumbs it through. “Not nearly as much money as I could be making right now, but so far so good. Relative to my expectations, of course. In any case, your call actually came at a good time--I was thinking of making a move--to Warsaw, or somewhere. Start anew, yeah?”

“Hell yeah. Can’t imagine you staying in one place for very long, anyway. Anyhow, you back at your place yet? I just finished developing all of the files and papers and crap that we’ll have to discuss, and I’d really like to get onto them.”

Jungkook chuckles and pulls out his set of keys as he ambles down the streets. He spots his crappy 4-story, concrete-covered apartment building just at the end of the block, the ground floor completely covered in obscure graffiti. “Patience. But yeah, I’m walking into the building. I’ll call you back when I get inside? My phone’s almost drained of battery.”

“Yeah sure, whatever.”

// London, the United Kingdom, Great Britain. September 20th.

Park Jimin pushes aside the white blackout curtains in his 3-story London penthouse. There’s a gloomy darkness outside, a world with a sun that has yet to rise. He examines the view before him: the Thames river--which even in the dim lighting Jimin can tell is its typical brownish color--making gentle waves in the morning breeze, concrete-and-brick buildings stooping close to the waterline, the endless city skyline stretching towards infinity, accented by the outcrop that he knows is St. Paul’s Cathedral. Jimin sighs and drops his hand from the window.

His attention turns to his room, which extends outwards to encompass the majority of the top floor of his penthouse. It’s big, yes, but it’s almost too big. He frowns. It feels much too big for just one person. The loneliness and returning to a quiet, empty, dark apartment every night seems to have finally caught up to him. Jimin hums a song that doesn’t quite exist. Maybe he’ll have to invest in a dog, some sort of pet. That’d be nice. Actually, he’s not sure if pets are allowed in the complex, so he’ll have to check later. Jimin stops humming and turns away from the window.

He’s spent enough time musing; it’s high time that he get dressed and ready for the work day.

// Berlin, Germany. September 3rd.

“Alright, so could you repeat those names again? I need to write them down.” Jungkook quickly reaches over and pulls out a few sheets of scrap paper.

“All the info’s in the document that I’m sending you via the encrypted stream, but alright.” The caller exhales loudly in mock annoyance. “So first up there’s the CEO: last name Park, first name Jimin.”

“And he’s the CEO of the--that--what did you say it was again?”

“G5S PLC,” the other side answers simply. “PLC meaning public limited company. Huge huge security group over here.”

“Sounds serious,” Jungkook says. “Alright, next?”

“So the next one is kind of different in that he’s not the CEO of the company, but rather he’s just a rep. Apparently the actual CEO’s out of the country.”

“An interesting twist,” Jungkook comments. “So who is the rep?”

“Guy whose last name is Kim and first name is Taehyung.”

“Okay.” Jungkook jots down the name and occupation “And the last one?”

“Last name_______, first name _______.”

“And she is?” Jungkook writes down your name and waits for further explanation.

“Owner and CEO of a small tech startup that’s making big advances in her field. Her company specializes in security and shit--just check the document if you want more detail. All of it’s in there.”

“Okay, so is that it?” Jungkook reviews the list of names. He hums. “You’re dealing with a bunch of security people, I see.”

“Well, I mean, isn’t London one of the most heavily surveilled cities in the world? It’s pretty notorious for all the CCTV’s and shit they got over here. Makes it easy to catch criminals for sure. It also means there are tons of security companies making it big, too.”

“Certainly, yeah.” Jungkook stretches and yawns. “Alright, if that’s all, I’ll just go ahead and check the document myself. I’ll call later when I’ve got things figured out.”

“Okay, see you later. Thanks for taking the offer.”

“No problem.”

// Berlin, Germany. September 5th.

As per usual, Namjoon’s the one answering the call; of the two heads of the whole Kim & Min Identity Security Consulting Group--or whatever the hell they decided to name their spoof company--he’s the people person.

Well, no, actually, neither Namjoon nor Yoongi like to directly deal with people, but Namjoon just tends to be better at handling others than Yoongi--by a long shot. Last time Jungkook tried to have a business conversation with Yoongi--over the phone, mind you--it hardly managed to last more than twenty seconds before completely blowing over in a cloud of snappy remarks and a mumbled phrase about not getting enough sleep. And the thing is, Jungkook wasn’t even trying to be a total prick in the ass. For once.

Now he just sort of--is.

“Alright, so you’re requesting the whole identity grafting package, with a mailed birth certificate and government ID?”

“Yeah, that’s correct. Possibly a government email address, too. I can engineer the cellphone number myself though. Oh, and an apartment. I can work with you guys on that.”

“Okay.” There’s a brief pause. “So do you have any specific name you’d want to go by?” Jungkook can almost imagine Namjoon sitting on the other end at his desk, pen poised neatly above his signature yellow memo pad.

“I don’t know--something really generic. Can’t have people searching me up all that easily--as great as your identity grafting abilities are, Namjoon, I’d much rather avoid the whole hassle of making sure all the sources check out.”

“No--it’s perfectly understandable. Saves me time too. Alright, we’ll create the new identity for you and have all the basic necessities mailed by--” there’s some static and Jungkook guesses that Namjoon’s probably leaning over to see his calendar--wherever that is--buried behind the mess of his workplace. Namjoon’s never been known for keeping things tidy, and Yoongi’s never been known to clean up after others. So the filth just keeps on piling on itself. “--does a week’s time work for you? Any earlier and we’ll have to charge you lots extra, and maybe there’ll be an additional fee from Yoongi. He’s been super irritable because he’s had to do a lot of database infiltrating, and you know he gets--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook quickly interjects. He reaches back and stretches out his limbs. “No--a week’s time is good.”

“Okay, and as for the apartment, uh--Yoongi?” Namjoon’s voice fades into the background but it’s still loud enough. “How fast do you think you can secure an apartment?”

“An apartment?” Yoongi’s voice finds its way through the receiver. For once, he actually sounds fully awake.

“Yeah, in downtown London.”

“London? Fucking shit, man, place is crowded as hell,” Yoongi grumbles. “It’s going to take a damn long time.”

“So is there an estimate?”

“Well, who’s this apartment for?”

“Jeon Jungkook, you know, the guy--”

“Oh, I know him.” Jungkook raises an eyebrow and smiles at Yoongi’s tone.

“Oh,” Namjoon says. “So uh?”

There’s a brief pause. “I’ll say two months,” Yoongi says, finally. “Give me two months, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright.” Namjoon’s voice is louder now. “Did you get that, Jeon? Two months, apparently. We’ll charge you the bill for the apartment separately, of course.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says easily. “That’s fine. I can work with two months--if anything, I can stay in temporary shelter for the first few days--” Jungkook’s phone beeps and he pulls it away from his ear to inspect it; he has another call coming. “Namjoon, I’ll send you the mailing address later, I gotta go.”

“Wh--” Namjoon doesn’t even get to say a word before Jungkook hangs up and takes the call.

“Hey.”

// London, the United Kingdom, Great Britain. November 2nd.

“Oh, wow, sorry, my tone came out a bit too harsh. I just didn’t have a great start to the day. Nothing serious. Anyways, yes, what is it?” Taehyung laughs awkwardly into the phone. Maybe he shouldn’t answer the phone when he’s irritated and it’s the early morning and when that one damn stranger spilled his coffee on him. His emotions tend to slip out and affect his tone.

“Don’t worry about it,” the other end assures him. “I was wondering--would you mind representing the company in an upcoming meeting for me? I’m sorry, ever since I moved over here, I’ve been having you do all the--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Taehyung says, a bit hastily. “I don’t mind at all. It makes sense, honestly, since I’m the one here and everything.”

“Alright, thank you.” The other side takes a deep breath. “So apparently there was a letter that was sent out, and the details were then copied over to me; I can send them over to you, unless you want to view the letter yourself. It should be over there.”

“Alright,” Taehyung says. “I’ll take a look at it. Who is the host of the meeting, if I may ask?”

“Uh,” the other end goes silent for a moment, probably double checking the details. “He goes by Kevin Jeon.”

// Berlin, Germany. September 20th.

Jungkook grips the summary and transaction papers with so much force he wrinkles the edges and crumples the sides. They aren’t necessary, anyway, just for glancing back over for the sake of memories and keeping track of payments. Shit that he could care less about right now.

“Jeon, seriously? Jeon? You’re using my actual last name? And it’s not like, even that common,” Jungkook hisses into the phone. “You could’ve at least changed it to, oh, I don’t know, Kim, or Park, or Lee. Or maybe you could’ve deviated from my Korean ethnicity, and put something like Chen or Ngyuen. Or something. But nope, you--”

“Relax, dude,” Namjoon says, clearly unfazed by Jungkook’s angry outburst. “That was the only name that was available in our databases. Plus, Kevin Jeon is common enough. Well, actually, kinda uncommon in relative terms, but it’s fine, it’s fine. Trust me. If anything, did you know that--”

“Yes, I know, but I don’t care about how stupid that idiot was to--”

“You just care about whether or not you’ll get caught, et cetera, et cetera, I get it. And I can fully assure you that you’re fine. Have we ever caused you any reason to doubt our services?” At this point, Namjoon is just going to continue spouting the same phrases over and over again, so Jungkook decides to drop the point and just suck it up.

“Yeah, okay, fine, whatever.” His tone still betrays the anger that bubbles just below the surface.

// London, the United Kingdom, Great Britain. November 2nd.

You adjust the phone against your cheek, relaxing just slightly when you hear the receiver click.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet back. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy, you know,” he says. “Same old shit.”

Your lips quirk into a smile. “Oh?”

“Yeah. So how did you spend your weekend?”

“Oh, not all that much.” You reply “I just went to visit a friend in Manchester.”

“Oh really? Wow, so I take it that you went over there right after that international ah, conference in Budapest?”

You nod in affirmation but then realize he can’t see you. “Yeah, I had to squeeze it in my schedule somehow. In any case, it was really nice to finally get to see her again; we both lead fairly busy lives so getting to spend time together, you know...that stuff doesn’t happen often.”

“I see,” he says. The way he says the words with a bit of wistfulness; he’s probably caught onto what you’d been hinting. About him. And you. “What does she do for a living? Does she run her own startup like you?” And now, he’s back to only light heartedly joking.

“Oh--no. She works at the BBC headquarters there.” You wonder what his hair looks like now, how he’s doing. You wonder if he’s craving the Cadbury chocolates he used to eat all the time last time he was in London.

“BBC? Wow, that must be great.” He laughs softly. “Anyways, I was just wondering if--”

“________,” a clerk cuts in, coming over to you. You frown and purse your lips, but quickly put your call on hold; the clerk never really interrupts you while you’re busy unless he’s got good reason to. You watch as he hands you a cream-colored envelope. “For you.”

// Berlin, Germany. November 2nd.

Someone comes up on the intercom system in the train station and explains in German about some delays, or whatever the hell is going on.

Wait--Jungkook moves the phone away from his ear so he can catch the speaker--the person’s talking about his train. His train, from Berlin to London, is going to be delayed for another fifteen minutes. Figures. Jungkook checks his watch: it’s 7:31, and the train is supposed to be here in five minutes. He goes back to the call.

“--ou there? Hello?” Namjoon sounds mildly concerned.

“Yeah, sorry. Just found out my train got delayed. Anyways, what were you saying?”

“Nothing much really,” Namjoon says. “I just wanted to know why you wanted to get the documents mailed out so early, when you aren’t even in the place yet. Like, wouldn’t you have to hit the ground running the moment you arrive?”

“Well, I’ve had plenty of time to prepare and plan the con ahead of time.”

“You sure you got everyone? Who’s your shill? Who’s the roper?” Namjoon asks, sounding almost like a concerned parent. In the background, Jungkook can catch snatches of Yoongi’s raspy voice cursing the lights out of something.

“Shill this, roper that. Like hell I’d forget to have a shill or roper, especially for a con as elaborate as this. What, you think I’d walk in there without a distraction or someone to bag it all in? Nah, your boy is pre-pared.”

“Yeah, but still, you should at least rest and get settled in before you begin--”

“Rest? I can get plenty of that on the train ride there. But if I really had to tell you why it seems so...rushed, it’s honestly because--” Jungkook sucks in a breath and grins. “--I can’t wait. That’s pretty much, honestly. Oh, and also the fact that if I dwindle on the thing too long, I’ll never stop making minor tweaks to the plan until I’ve practically completely changed it. So there it is.”

“Okay well,” Namjoon says sounding almost reluctant, indecisive, “have fun while you’re there I guess. Let me know how it goes.”

// London, the United Kingdom, Great Britain. November 2nd.

Jungkook steps out of the train station in a crisp suit. His Rolex reflects the streetlights as he reaches to run a hand through his hair.

“Do you need a cab?” He turns and gives a polite smile to the station worker.

“That’d be wonderful, thank you.” English rolls off of his tongue and it feels almost nostalgic; he hasn’t used the language extensively in a while and although he’s still slightly rusty, his pronunciation is impeccable. The man nods and goes to hail a cab for him. As he waits, Jungkook takes the time to brush off invisible dust from his clothes and fix his tie.

Finally, the cab arrives and he steps in, setting his briefcase on his lap. He’ll have to go shopping for more clothes and other necessities, but those are issues for another time.

“Where to?”

Jungkook gives the driver the name of his hotel--a temporary residency until Namjoon and Yoongi can briefly secure an apartment downtown for him--and leans back into his seat. He looks out the window, watching cars and lights and people pass by.

London, at long last. He grins. Tomorrow--he can’t wait for it to come. Tomorrow, he would really, truly begin.

a/n: for the record, the oven door TV scam was an actual thing. or at least according to wikipedia. LOL

i know it’s been a while, but thank you & thank you to everyone who was interested :) <3

#networkbangtan #btswriters #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #jungkook #bts #the normalcy of theives #writing #con artist au #action

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wellmeaningshutin · 7 years

Text

Short Story #86: Separation.

Written: 4/3/2017 Music Week Song Listened to Before Writing: Death Grips - Pss Pss

Ever since Val was a young girl, back in school, people would always try to label her as a psychopath, but that label always hurt her feelings. Its not like she was some sort of maniac, she was just a girl with a fixation, a fixation on the body coming apart in all of the ways that it could. This started when she was around four, and she watched her daddy build his secret, underground bunker which he said was for “hiding away from the god damned FBI”, and she had never really figured out why he thought they would be knocking for him, but she was happy enough to keep him company, and bring the occasional nails, drills, or beer. At one point, during the construction of the bunker, he had been sawing plywood, lectured her on how you can always spot a spook (as in a spy, which most people didn’t understand when she would repeat the word later in life), and then, accidentally, tore off his index and middle finger off in the drill, began to scream and clutch his wrist, while he and young Val watched the blood spurt out, going with the rhythm of his pulse, and eventually the girl had noticed the fingers that had rolled at her feet. When she looked down, picked them up, and observed them, while her daddy desperately tried to remove his belt, attempted to get her attention so that he could instruct her on how to apply a tourniquet, Val realized how fragile people really were, because it took no effort for her daddy’s fingers to come right off, and as she held them in her little hands she could observe the clean cut. From that day on, she had become very interested in the ways that people could come apart. When she drew crude, childish drawings of people, she would always to make sure to separate all of the body parts, detached by every major joint. Although she knew to never talk to strangers, she was always attracted to amputees, having to walk over to them and ask how they had lost their limbs, asking if they could remove their prosthetics so that she could see the nub, all in the same spirit that most people have when they ask to pet a stranger’s dog.

Sometimes kids would call her a vampire, and she was pleased with this label, even if it meant that the other kids were afraid of her. It all started when another girl had scraped her knee on the black top at recess, and Val had approached her, then, without asking, licked the blood that had been trickling out onto the injured girl’s leg. Not knowing how to react to the school’s faculty, who were a mix of upset and worried, she decided to pretend to cry, a trick she had learned to get out of shelter time with her daddy, which mainly consisted of eating MRE’s and reading army training manuals. She never understood what she did wrong, because she was just drawn to blood, however she had less interest in that then she had for detached limbs and dismemberment. Val was just curious to know if the other girl’s blood had tasted the same as her own, and it kind of did, which made blood a little less interesting for her, it was just a dark liquid that was the same for everyone, in her mind, and couldn’t compare to the interesting nature of amputations, which were never ever missing at the same point for every limb, no two missing arms or legs were exactly the same, even if she did try to find hard to find two identical wounds. Once, for a couple months in middle school, she had tried to write a love story about two people who had missing arms, but the arms were cut off in the same place, which, in her eyes, meant that they were soul mates.

One time she had taken apart all of her dolls, making sure that they were into four categories: head, torso, arms, legs. However, after her mother had seen what young Val had done to her dolls, well, the young girl knew that she would never get new toys again.

After high school, Val had decided that the most reasonable decision would be to go to medical school, to study how to be a surgeon, just so that she could get a job that involved taking people apart. Although, she only lasted a year and a half, mainly because it had turned out that a lot of it didn’t involve taking people completely apart (later she would wonder how that idea even got stuck inside of her thick skull). Also because she not only had shaky hands which would make her untrustworthy with any form of incision, but even had a hard time getting through her general education, which to her was the biggest scam, because “It’s high school all over again, why the fuck do I gotta pay to go to high school when I already have that fuckin’ diploma?” However, she was not above lying to her parents and telling them that she was doing great in medical school, because they were very supportive and sent her a lot of money to help her out (her mother was worried that if Val didn’t become a surgeon, she would probably end up cutting people up in other ways, while her daddy didn’t care much about money in the first place). So several years were spent bumming around in the beach area, spending her parent’s support money on tattoo’s that involved perforated lines all over her body, showing where to cut if somebody wanted to take her apart, piece by piece (this was also more detailed than her childish doll separations, for example there were five lines throughout each arm, instead of just one at the shoulder), and sometimes she would hang around dive bars, hoping to see fights.

During her fourth year “in medical school”, she drove down to her parent’s house for Christmas, but somehow felt a little empty inside during the long drive. It had been months before she had seen anything that had piqued her interests, before she had seen a drop of blood or an amputee, and she would describe the feeling as “having blue balls of the heart”. So, as she drove through the empty plains, trying her best to stay awake, following the makeshift convoy of fellow travelers, huddling into a group so they could all speed together, an idea came into her head. It happened when her group was forced into one lane, stuck behind a semi, who was having a lot of trouble getting uphill, causing the entire group to be stuck, single file, behind the sluggish beast. Some cars had said “fuck it”, and tried to get into the oncoming lane, when no cars were coming, and tried to floor the gas, hoping that they would be able to get in front of the line and pass the semi, all in time before cars would come to meet them head on. One of the cars that had attempted this ended up right next to Val, before it started having trouble with the climb, slowing it down, right when traffic in the other lane was finally making its appearance. The driver tried to signal to Val to give it enough room to safely return into the line, but she had her great idea, she realized that she could just ignore the driver, let oncoming traffic smash into him, and hope that somebody would come apart in the inevitable wreckage, which, in her eyes, wouldn’t be her fault because she never told the driver to try and pass everyone. Now, she didn’t just want the guy to die, she wasn’t intending to see anyone get killed, it wasn’t exactly murderous intent that had caused her to ignore his horn honking and his turn signal, it was just a desire for him, or the other driver, to lose an arm, leg, or, hell, maybe even a couple of fingers, they didn’t have to get killed in the process. And she didn’t want it to be one of those messes where the people would have to be scraped off of the asphalt, since those made her pale and queasy.

A good hearted car behind her had made room for the panicking driver, and she was let down (in the same sort of way that people are let down when their favorite team loses the super bowl, but not as big of a let down as their candidate losing the election) that nobody had come apart, meaning that the drive would continue to be boring as “trying to learn tax code”.

When she finally arrived home, it was past midnight, which meant her daddy was sleeping on his cot in the bunker (he didn’t want no feds sneaking up on him in his sleep, he wanted to make sure that he was safe as he “turned himself off for the night”) and her mother had already taken enough sleeping pills to sleep soundly in the front row of a Swans concert. Val had just unlocked the front door, and made her way into her bedroom from adolescence, checking under her bed, before she knocked out, to see if there was still the shoe box filled with her dismembered dolls, but she couldn’t find it. Her mother had found the box, when dusting (which was her excuse to snoop around her daughter’s old room), and decided to throw it away, felling that it was bad luck, that it was something worth forgetting about.

In the morning, on Christmas Eve, Val had found her father, shortly after she had woken up, in the living room wrapping a large, rectangular box. As he was finished taping the last end, he noticed that she was watching him, and said, surprised, “Oh, you damn near shot my heart outta my ass with the way you was sneaking up on me. I thought you were a spook. I just finished wrapping your present, you should sit your rear down and open it, I’m too proud of it to wait until tomorrah.” They had a Christmas Eve tradition that allowed them to open one gift in night, however whenever her parents were excited about a gift they would have her open it up early in the morning. This did not indicated whether the gift was actually good or not, because one year Val’s mother had been excited to give her tampons, and another year her father had given her the gift of checking her for microchips.

When Val finally figured out why her father was so paranoid about the government coming in and taking him away in the dead of the night, was also when she had learned what he actually did for a living. The man had a local radio show, which turned out to have a cult following, that discussed conspiracy theories, but instead of the ones today, which her old man claimed to be “nothing but a lot of political bullshit, just child ring this, Muslim extremist that, only existing for people to let the government play them while they think they are somehow in contral of things.” He believed that this new wave of conspiracy theories also served to distract from the originals, causing people to stop questioning who really killed JFK, or what really was in Area 51, instead of tricking people into shooting up pizza places because of what is supposed to be happening in their non-existent basement. He, and many others, felt as if they were a dying breed, the only ones who were trying to find the real answers, like the world had gone crazy or something.

“What did you get me?” Val asked, part of the Christmas Eve routine. First somebody would pick out the present they wanted her to open, then she would ask what it was, and they would respond with-

“Only way to see is by taking the god damned paper off, innit?” The man seemed to filter in and out of his accent, which Val’s mother described as “swamp hick with a bit of chewing tobacco”, and this mainly seemed to be due to the easy to understand, generic American accent that he uses for his show.

Handing over the box to Val, with both hands, he gave her a wink, and Val was surprised to feel that the box was incredibly heavy. Unwrapping took a while, since, during the night before, she had chewed her nails down due to her need to see something be removed from the body, no matter how small, and it was better than ripping out her own hair. The opened box revealed to have mounds of red tissue paper, which, when removed, revealed a pump action shotgun that was as long as her arm. She didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know, I know, it was a little expansive, but I feel you are worth it, goin’ to medical school and all, working to become a surgeon. This way, when ya have lats a nice things to keep around your house, and people come a knockin’ to steal it, you can shoot em dead before they get through the door. Just shoot through the door itself, and they wont even have as much as a torso when your done with em.” As Val held it in her hands, she tried to figure out where the hell she was supposed to keep the thing. “Also, if the feds come a knockin’, all you gotta do is put a bullet in them too, cause a spook don’t exist. Ya can’t go to prison for killin’ no one that don’t exist, but very few people actually know this, its why the FBI and CIA have so much power over all of us, and, wait a minute..” Patting himself to find the notebook he uses to collect his thoughts, “I gotta write this down, this would be good information to broadcast, people need to know the truth.” The father’s unfiltered truth telling was actually why he believed that the intelligence agencies were going to come after him, one day, in order to silence him. ———————————————————————————————————

As the father searched the couch cushions for his missing notebook, and Val was spending her time trying to load her new gun, the mother had been in the garage, making quiet, but passionate love to her lover, who originally used to be her opiate dealer. Now, Val and her father always believed that the woman slept like a rock all night due to her sleep medication, but what she was really taking was high grade pain killers, occasionally taking tranqs to mix things up, and was actually incredibly high instead of fast asleep, something that her husband never noticed because he had left their marital bed years ago. As they sent more and more money to their gifted and soon-to-be-successful daughter, the mother’s addiction had grown worse, and it became harder for her to pay. Not wanting to have to cut money off from her daughter, who needed it for her education (which also kept her away, the mother believed, from murdering prostitutes and runaways, or, god forbid, torturing animals), the woman had decided to trade her body for safety from withdrawals, which was easy since the dealer was alright with waiting until she was drugged out to actually do anything (a certain scene in Snow White had effected him in a strange way when he was a child). However, time had went by, they had started to become secret lovers, and the dealer had started to become jealous of the husband, who he believed didn’t “deserve such an amazing woman”.

While they were on the hood of her car, and she tried to stay awake as he kissed her neck, the other man began to say, “He doesn’t deserve you, that man doesn’t deserve the dirt he lives under.”

“Shh,” she replied, he was beginning to talk too loudly, “he’s in the other room, don’t let him hear you.” The risk had been the main thing that caused her to make things more than just business, because she had felt abandoned by her paranoid husband, and hoped that he would catch her the act and know that it was time to, once again, become a devoted husband and give her the attention she deserved. She wanted him to feel that he was about to lose her, just as she felt that she was losing him.

“I will not be quiet,” almost shouting, but unheard in the living room due to the racking of Val’s new shotgun, “I am done with this bullshit, I can’t allow you to be degraded by such a man.”

“My daughter is here too, I wouldn’t want her to have to find out like this.”

“Fuck her, I will give you a new daughter, I will be your new husband.”

“What,” starting to push away, weakly, upset that he would speak that way of her (possibly psychotic) daughter, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking from my heart, you should understand that, you should love me enough to hear me.”

“Baby,” holding his face in her hands, “you know I can’t understand you when you’re coming down, you know you only make sense when you’re high.”

Nodding, he realized that he was starting to feel off, and chose not to say a word, then decided to search around his trouser pockets. The man had spent so many years coked up, that whenever he was starting to become sober, it made him seem higher than he was when he was actually loaded. After finding his personal stash, he lined some up on his forearm, and downed it all in one sniff. After moving his head around, enjoying the emotion, he said, now fully able to get his point across, “I’m going to tell that man that you do not love him any more, that your heart belongs to me, and we can move far away somewhere. Far away where we can start a new family, where we can grow old together. Look, you had a good life , but now you are unhappy. I know that the only thing that used to keep you going was your family, but now your daughter hardly comes by, and your husband wants nothing to do with you, and your family has dissipated. Its like your holding on to the good memories, but those times are long gone.” Placing his twitching hands into hers, “We do not have enough time alive to hope that things will get better, we must do everything we can to make sure that things will become better. We should always make sure that we spend as much time as we can being happy, because we do not have much time at all. There is no reason to waste it. So I will do this, I will make sure that you will be happy.”

As he began to leave the garage, she wanted to call out to him, to tell him that it wasn’t worth it, that she was only using him to repair her family, that he was avoiding happiness by being with a woman who was using him for everything other than love, but he had left out his personal stash, saw a couple pills of oxycodone, and figured that she could just take his advice and just take a couple pills to be happy. ———————————————————————————————————

“Now,” the father had instructed, “I know how you get when danger is presented to ya. Ya freeze up like you’re a deer caught in headlights, but remember, when danger presents itself, you must not hesitate to shoot.”

“That was just one time when I was a kid,” Val said and racked the gun, “I’m grown up now and I have no qualms about having to pump a couple rounds into anybody that wishes me harm.”

“Listen, if I know one thing, its that people never change.”

“Look, I’ve been going to medical school, I see all kinds of bad shit out there, I know what people look like on the inside. There is no reason that I would hesitate to shoot.”

“Its not about the fear of gore, its about the fear of danger, you know? Its about being so scared of somebody that you freeze up, like being in a nightmare and you can’t move when the bad thing is about to get ya.”

“Why don’t you have fai-”

“Spook!” He yelled, dropping to the floor, as a man in a suit had strolled into their living room. Surprised that her father had finally be right, and needing to prove herself to the man who thought of her as defenseless, Val aimed the barrel at the chest of the man, who was now beginning to raise his arms, and pulled the trigger, causing him to fly backwards and placing a good sized hole into one of his lungs. As he lied there on the ground, trying to breath, letting out a wet gasp, clutching at the hole in his chest, the father had gotten off of the ground and rushed over to check the man. “God damned that’s disgusting!” Then, looking at Val who was still aiming the shotgun, “Come check this out, you shot right through it, real clean like.”

When she rushed over, gun still clutched in her hands, to check the wound, she was let down to see that there was only a lot of blood, nothing had really been detached. It wasn’t an interesting sight. “Huh, is that it? Thought it would be more interesting.” The man stopped twitching, but neither cared to check if he had finally died.

“You surgeons think you’re all worldly for seeing peoples insides all of the time, but trust me this aint’ reflective fer all shot gun wounds.”

“You don’t have to always one up me with this kind of stuff, there’s no reason to try to convince me that this is anything more that a hole maker.” They figured that he was a spook, and the idea of killing one in self defense had become so ingrained into their family dynamic, that the act had become naturalized, even if it had never been done before, and in a way agents had ceased to become actual people in their eyes.

“Look,” he said, trying to prove how great of a gift she was holding, knowing what her interests were, “I once seen a man get his arm blown clean off with one of those blasts, I once saw a man get chopp right in half.” These were things he had seen in movies, but he still had to win the argument, especially after being wrong about her freezing up in danger. Yet, he had said the wrong words at the wrong time, because Val started to realize how much of a tease the death of the g-man had become, since it could have been so much more interesting, but nothing came apart, and she had seen her fair share of blood. Just knowing that she could of separated something made her building desire unbearable, so she quickly pointed the gun at her daddy and pulled the trigger, hoping the boom of the gun would cause something of his to get torn apart, thinking of nothing but the separation.

However, she had only managed to blow her daddy’s head into chunks of brain and skull, but it wasn’t enough to fill her appetite. It was like she had been starving for weeks, then was only given a candy bar, it had only made her hungry, now that she had a taste. Though, she wasn’t completely fucked in the head, and the sight of his head’s explosion had made her ill, so she rushed into the kitchen to throw up and emptied the contents of her stomach into the sink. Remorse slowly began to set in, and she was starting to consider the weight of what she had done. So, deciding to react to impulsiveness with impulsiveness, she decided that she would sneak out through the garage, going out its side door, so she could look over the fence to make sure the coast was clear for her run to her car, but on the way she had found her mother lying on the hood of her parent’s car, the woman being doped up with her arms and legs spread out in a teasing way. It was too much for Val to ignore, it was almost like the woman had wanted her to. So, Val approached her mother, put the barrel to the womans right shoulder, and decided that she would have to take her apart, having to treat the woman like one of her dolls, since she was using limited ammunition.

She had already fucked up big time anyways, so why not try to make things better?

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