Kneel Before Me 6/16
Title: Kneel Before Me
Author: Deferney97
Pairing: Lee Kikwang/OFC
Rating: 16+
Warning: some themes may be disturbing to young audiences
Summary: Mina's mother hates her. That's okay, though; Mina hates everything--especially her job of making the "perfect" idols look perfect. She hates the fake idol music. She hates the fake idol image. And now--somehow--she has one?
Six
“When are you moving in?” It’s Dongwoon. He’s got his head tilted all the way back while I apply the eyeliner to his eyelid.
“Two days,” I mumble, a little inwardly pleased I got the nice BEAST as my first face to paint today. Next to me, Mom’s assistant is working on Hyunseung. He keeps staring at me in the mirror. I think he’s waiting for me to do something magical.
“We’re not clearing a room for you,” Hyunseung says snottily. I admit I’m a little surprised, but then, not so much.
Before I can even retort, Dongwoon twitches, but doesn’t open his eyes, “Hyung!”
I turn and smirk at the feminine guy sitting, staring up at me blankly. “I sleep in sewages anyway, with all the rats. So…” I tap my chin with fake thinking, “see you down there?”
His expression is flat. Nevertheless I turn around, back to Dongwoon. His eyes are open now. “Noona,” he says quietly as I sharpen the eyeliner, “that wasn’t very nice.”
I make a humming noise in the back of my throat, “Head back.”
This is for the pre-recording, so I’m stuck here for another two hours until I have to refix their faces for the actual performance.
Outside, I can hear girls screaming. That’s not abnormal, but it’s weird that it’s that loud. When I look towards the windows, I see Yoseob and Doojoon with their heads out the windows, yelling things out to their fans and laughing.
Ever since they found out about what’s going to happen, they’ve sort of ignored my existence. They don’t complain, listen to what I tell them to do, and don’t get in my way. I can deal with that. Of course Hyunseung is an exception.
“Get your head inside,” Junhyung laughs, “it’s too cold.”
It is indeed cold; tomorrow is February first. “What did you do for Seollal?”
Why is this kid talking to me?
“Nothing,” I grit out, happy that I’m almost done with his makeup.
“Nothing?” His face is surprised, “You didn’t spend time with your family?”
“I don’t have family,” I growl out, “next!”
Kikwang. Great. I can’t deal with him today-I swear I’ll lose my mind.
“Don’t talk,” I tell him as he sits down after removing his jacket. I’m flipping through his profile, evaluating what they want done to the muscle idiot.
“I wasn’t going to,” he says. Something in his voice is different, softer. I jerk around to make sure it is indeed Kikwang sitting there.
“What was that?” I ask, picking out the things I’ll need.
“What was what?”
“Your voice,” I say, starting with the BB cream. He closes his eyes, unsuspecting of my comment. “You sound like a pre-pubescent girl in her third year of middle school.”
Even without the ability to really move, the slight twitch shows me his now flat expression.
“You don’t sound much different,” he retorts. “You’re acting like someone just killed your dog.”
“Shut up,” I growl out. There’s a slight curve in his lips. Why is he smiling?
“Yes Ma’am.”
QQQ
“What is that?”
“Yah!” I jump, sending the sketchbook and 2H pencil into the air. I wince when as I imagine the perfect tip breaking. I jerk around, glaring at the visual maknae, “What was that? Obviously I was doing something! What the hell is wrong with you?”
He of course isn’t hearing me because he’s scrambling to pick up the book and pencil. He hands them back to me respectively, “Sorry.”
I sigh, “What do you want?”
The peace my mind has made from drawing has been disrupted by this idiot, and I just want to get rid of him as quickly as possible.
He plops down next to me on the couch. The room is empty as the staff and BEAST members mingle with other groups while waiting for the recording. Luckily, there’s only about thirty minutes until they perform and I can leave. “What is that?”
“It’s called a sketchbook,” I roll my eyes. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”
“You draw?”
“No,” I say brightly, “I spend all thinking of different things to do to your faces.”
He makes a sour face at me, stalking away while mumbling under his breath.
I’m drawing the room, actually. The chairs and mirrors aligned symmetrically on the wall across from me, with bags, boxes, bins, tables, food, articles of clothing stacked and organized around the room. The reflection of the mirror is the part of I’ve been trying to avoid; drawing myself. I want to draw my head down; I want to draw myself drawing myself. But how do I do that when I have to look up to see myself?
I find my eyes drawn to the mirror. I look at the girl in the mirror. Her shoulders stand straight, her face a mask of nothing. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, is down to her hips. She doesn’t look very nice, or very happy.
“I’ll describe you,” I hear softly, and I jerk to the doorway, staring at Kikwang. Something in his voice seems sad.
I glare, “I don’t need your help.”
“You duck your head,” he ignores me, staring at a corner in the ceiling of the room, “so your hair surrounds you. It’s so shiny and black, it reflects the lights. You bounce your knee, which doesn’t make sense because you’re drawing, but it works for you. You don’t touch the paper with your left hand at all, and you actually tend to push your hair back or rub the back of your neck as you draw. You bite your lip-”
“I don’t need to know that,” I mumble. By now I’m drawing frantically. His description is pretty good, enough to allow my hand to move without my consent.
In my mind I’m telling him to slow down as he talks, but I can’t move mouth, too concentrated on getting the sketch perfect.
It’s silent for a few moments as I attempt a seamless image. Finally, when my fingers start cramping, I let go of the pencil, allowing it to roll away, to the floor. It looks pretty good-really good, actually.
“Thanks,” I smile, turning to the doorway.
But he’s gone.
What the hell are you doing-thanking that asshole?
Immediately I catch myself, jerking my head to shake away stupid smiles. I glare at the place he’d previously occupied, grumbling to myself, “Jerk.”
Author: Deferney97
Pairing: Lee Kikwang/OFC
Rating: 16+
Warning: some themes may be disturbing to young audiences
Summary: Mina's mother hates her. That's okay, though; Mina hates everything--especially her job of making the "perfect" idols look perfect. She hates the fake idol music. She hates the fake idol image. And now--somehow--she has one?
Six
“When are you moving in?” It’s Dongwoon. He’s got his head tilted all the way back while I apply the eyeliner to his eyelid.
“Two days,” I mumble, a little inwardly pleased I got the nice BEAST as my first face to paint today. Next to me, Mom’s assistant is working on Hyunseung. He keeps staring at me in the mirror. I think he’s waiting for me to do something magical.
“We’re not clearing a room for you,” Hyunseung says snottily. I admit I’m a little surprised, but then, not so much.
Before I can even retort, Dongwoon twitches, but doesn’t open his eyes, “Hyung!”
I turn and smirk at the feminine guy sitting, staring up at me blankly. “I sleep in sewages anyway, with all the rats. So…” I tap my chin with fake thinking, “see you down there?”
His expression is flat. Nevertheless I turn around, back to Dongwoon. His eyes are open now. “Noona,” he says quietly as I sharpen the eyeliner, “that wasn’t very nice.”
I make a humming noise in the back of my throat, “Head back.”
This is for the pre-recording, so I’m stuck here for another two hours until I have to refix their faces for the actual performance.
Outside, I can hear girls screaming. That’s not abnormal, but it’s weird that it’s that loud. When I look towards the windows, I see Yoseob and Doojoon with their heads out the windows, yelling things out to their fans and laughing.
Ever since they found out about what’s going to happen, they’ve sort of ignored my existence. They don’t complain, listen to what I tell them to do, and don’t get in my way. I can deal with that. Of course Hyunseung is an exception.
“Get your head inside,” Junhyung laughs, “it’s too cold.”
It is indeed cold; tomorrow is February first. “What did you do for Seollal?”
Why is this kid talking to me?
“Nothing,” I grit out, happy that I’m almost done with his makeup.
“Nothing?” His face is surprised, “You didn’t spend time with your family?”
“I don’t have family,” I growl out, “next!”
Kikwang. Great. I can’t deal with him today-I swear I’ll lose my mind.
“Don’t talk,” I tell him as he sits down after removing his jacket. I’m flipping through his profile, evaluating what they want done to the muscle idiot.
“I wasn’t going to,” he says. Something in his voice is different, softer. I jerk around to make sure it is indeed Kikwang sitting there.
“What was that?” I ask, picking out the things I’ll need.
“What was what?”
“Your voice,” I say, starting with the BB cream. He closes his eyes, unsuspecting of my comment. “You sound like a pre-pubescent girl in her third year of middle school.”
Even without the ability to really move, the slight twitch shows me his now flat expression.
“You don’t sound much different,” he retorts. “You’re acting like someone just killed your dog.”
“Shut up,” I growl out. There’s a slight curve in his lips. Why is he smiling?
“Yes Ma’am.”
QQQ
“What is that?”
“Yah!” I jump, sending the sketchbook and 2H pencil into the air. I wince when as I imagine the perfect tip breaking. I jerk around, glaring at the visual maknae, “What was that? Obviously I was doing something! What the hell is wrong with you?”
He of course isn’t hearing me because he’s scrambling to pick up the book and pencil. He hands them back to me respectively, “Sorry.”
I sigh, “What do you want?”
The peace my mind has made from drawing has been disrupted by this idiot, and I just want to get rid of him as quickly as possible.
He plops down next to me on the couch. The room is empty as the staff and BEAST members mingle with other groups while waiting for the recording. Luckily, there’s only about thirty minutes until they perform and I can leave. “What is that?”
“It’s called a sketchbook,” I roll my eyes. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”
“You draw?”
“No,” I say brightly, “I spend all thinking of different things to do to your faces.”
He makes a sour face at me, stalking away while mumbling under his breath.
I’m drawing the room, actually. The chairs and mirrors aligned symmetrically on the wall across from me, with bags, boxes, bins, tables, food, articles of clothing stacked and organized around the room. The reflection of the mirror is the part of I’ve been trying to avoid; drawing myself. I want to draw my head down; I want to draw myself drawing myself. But how do I do that when I have to look up to see myself?
I find my eyes drawn to the mirror. I look at the girl in the mirror. Her shoulders stand straight, her face a mask of nothing. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, is down to her hips. She doesn’t look very nice, or very happy.
“I’ll describe you,” I hear softly, and I jerk to the doorway, staring at Kikwang. Something in his voice seems sad.
I glare, “I don’t need your help.”
“You duck your head,” he ignores me, staring at a corner in the ceiling of the room, “so your hair surrounds you. It’s so shiny and black, it reflects the lights. You bounce your knee, which doesn’t make sense because you’re drawing, but it works for you. You don’t touch the paper with your left hand at all, and you actually tend to push your hair back or rub the back of your neck as you draw. You bite your lip-”
“I don’t need to know that,” I mumble. By now I’m drawing frantically. His description is pretty good, enough to allow my hand to move without my consent.
In my mind I’m telling him to slow down as he talks, but I can’t move mouth, too concentrated on getting the sketch perfect.
It’s silent for a few moments as I attempt a seamless image. Finally, when my fingers start cramping, I let go of the pencil, allowing it to roll away, to the floor. It looks pretty good-really good, actually.
“Thanks,” I smile, turning to the doorway.
But he’s gone.
What the hell are you doing-thanking that asshole?
Immediately I catch myself, jerking my head to shake away stupid smiles. I glare at the place he’d previously occupied, grumbling to myself, “Jerk.”