“ hello? you dropped this. " in his hand is the silver necklace that had fallen off her figure.
pitch has never been the type to stop a stranger and return something to them–not that he would want to keep it, he would most likely continue walking and let them discover their loss on their own. but he is feeling quite "generous” today, and beside that, the aimless look on the girl’s face tells him maybe she didn’t mean to drop it.
it's pure silver anyway, why would she just drop it?
“ some shithead probably would'a stole it, anyway, so here you go. ” draped across slender, pale, and somewhat bruised fingers is the shimmering jewelry, appearing even more valuable against the many rings on his fingers.
“ i know a bit” by a bit, he implies a lot, "about jewelry–this is real silver. you might wanna handle it more carefully. “ i handle mine like my children.
not the best way to start a sentence to a stranger, but it’s the truth in this case. he relaxes his arm, spying where the dagger had gone through the wall and just missed her head.
” that could have been ugly. “ he continued, his stance becoming more casual. coming to a bar at midnight and staying til the wee hours of the morning isn’t something unknown to pitch. an advisor told him instead of murder, a good way to brush off frustration would be knife throwing. of course, all the emotions piling up in him jump out with this hobby he has adopted, and he has become quite good.
but when someone walks affront his target, that could cause a problem.
” i’d hate to take off your head, you know? “ he comes up past her to remove the knife from the target. sure, one is supposed to use simple darts, but the satisfaction is not the same.
this time, he decides to wear his best smile, clearing his throat carefully speaking, ” what’re you doing in this part of the bar, anyway? “
a troubled sigh comes past his lips, it’s 5:30pm and he’s emerged from the studio for the day. pitch is exhausted, to say the very least. three photoshoots in one day is too much for anybody, no matter their skill level, but as hard-headed as he tended to be, he willingly posed for all three.
his attention directs toward his reflection in the studio window from the outside, the demigod stops to fix his hair and check off his overall appearance, before his bag hitches up on his shoulder and he starts his path down the street.
downtown seoul might not be the most reflective area for a person, but for the half-“divine” it was simply ideal. watching humans carry on their everyday lives, their sinful and imperfect tendencies buried under a mask they try to keep on. it’s a means of study for pitch–being in the human realm for nearly four decades now, and it is still impossible to know so much about humans.
so lost in his thoughts, he is shocked out of it by an energy that makes his ears ring a little. he scoffs, it’s always like this on the first time.
there’s another god around.
his eyes try to single out who it could be, his senses directing him toward a dark haired male emerging from a ramen shop.
can he sense my energy…? he looks up toward the sky. it’s supposed to be a full moon tonight, i can’t risk this.
“ hey, you, ” he starts, pointing a slender finger, “ yeah, you. with the hideous wine-coloured sweater. "
