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It's been a while since someone hit on her first.
Mizi breathes out slowly before turning around, reconfiguring her face into something more pleasant and accepting. It's been a long enough day. Might as well get this over with quick. Maybe, if she's lucky, she can even score a little something extra for the boss. They've been running awfully low on livers, lately.
"Pardon?"
The man grins back sharply, all blonde fluttering bangs and intense light eyes, dragging his gaze from top to bottom as he checks her out as obviously as possible, outright predatory at one look. Great. Not particularly subtle, but perhaps that's to be expected from the type of guy who finds it socially acceptable to hit on random girls at the grocery store.
She mentally shifts through a series of faces, trying to remember if he's on the no-go list. Doesn't seem like he would be, and she can't come up with any clear matches. Probably fine to proceed, then.
"I was saying," the man purrs, "I love your style. Mind lettin' me check it out some more?"
Mizi smiles, dropping a box of strawberries into the basket hooked on her forearm. "…Not the cheesiest pickup line I've ever gotten."
"No?" the man says, still trying his damnedest to eat her alive with his gaze alone. Good attempt, buddy! "I imagine you get quite a few."
Mizi laughs politely, the skin around her eternal smile sticking to her face like a mask she can't peel off. Itchy, and false. "Oh, not that many…"
"Not nearly enough, then," the man says, snatching her hand from where it rests on the edge of the basket and kissing the back of her palm. She resists the urge to gag, or roll her eyes, once again contemplating the cost of plastic surgery. Though perhaps even that may not be enough to fully wipe whatever curse she was born with that causes every man in a fifteen-meter radius to treat her like some kind of princess-prey object, eternally sweet and submissive and easily targeted by their towering missiles.
"You're too kind," Mizi says, trying not to pull her hand back too quickly, or visibly emote over the disgusting feeling of unwanted saliva on her skin. For a moment she wonders if he actually did straight up lick her, dog instincts taking over at the slightest hint of her femoid pheromones or whatever the fuck, before she glances down at his mouth and considers that maybe he really just does have lips that wet.
"Kind enough to take you out?" he asks, fluttering too-long lashes her way. Pretentious. Pretty boy. Not the right kind of pretty for her, though. Unfortunate for him.
Mizi brings out her brightest, most damning smile, putting on the full blast with the hopes that if she stuns him quickly enough, he'll leave her alone faster. "Sure."
That liver had better be worth it.
"…I guess the line was still too much?" the man coughs out.
Mizi flicks some blood off her fingers, grateful that she had the foresight to keep some extra gloves packed in the side pocket of her bag. "Just a bit."
"Tough… l-luck…" he wheezes.
Mizi gives the blondie another good smack on the temple, watching blankly as he crumples to the concrete. Tough luck indeed. She shuffles her groceries off to the side, settling the bags on the steps so as to be sufficiently out of the splash zone as she grabs the necessary tools from her backpack. Knife, hammer, tweezers– sterilized in plastic, just the same as the transferring bags. As clean as you can get, for organs harvested in an alleyway.
She sniffs once as she picks up the knife, carving a line down the center of his chest, practiced and efficient. Her body works on autopilot as she cracks open his ribs and checks out the goodies nestled inside, habitual in her muscle memory like driving a car or riding a bike, twirling her tools like they're just another part of her body as he breaks his down. She takes careful note of the amount of time it takes before his thin, stilted breaths finally stop, lungs quivering a final goodbye as she exposes them to the sunlight. What did he say was on the list again? Livers, hearts, lungs? She takes the stomach for good measure, tucking them into her backpack as the door atop the steps cracks open.
"Bonus?" Till asks, arms crossed over his chest. Mizi grins at him, waving hello.
"Yep. You can handle the extra butchering, yeah?"
"It's no issue," Till says gruffly, stepping around her groceries as he checks out the remains of the man, picking up the broken ribs beside him and dropping them in the pocket of his apron. "He should still be in the office. Not going out til nine."
Mizi salutes him, hitching her backpack up as she gathers her grocery bags, cracking open the strawberries to toss one in her mouth. Gushy. "Yes, sir!!"
Till flushes slightly, hefting the man over his shoulder as he walks back inside. "…Have a nice evening."
"You too!" she waves, mood finally lifting as the sun sinks below the horizon. Backpack full of organs, mouth full of berry, wallet soon-to-be full of sweet, sweet cash. Everything a girl could ever need.
Ivan greets her with open arms when she enters the office, full of life despite the slowly-aging hour. They work together quickly to transfer the contents of her backpack into the appropriate refrigerator containers, chatting amicably as they shuffle around the tight room.
"I've got a new patient lined up for you," he says as he counts out her cash, an extra little stack of bills snuggled on top of the usual payout. Enough to cover rent for this month plus a little left over, hopefully, so long as the electric bill doesn't kick her ass like last month. "Though, I hope it's alright if this one is a bit… different."
She snaps back to attention as his voice trails off, still halfway through mentally divvying up the cash for each monthly payment. "Different how?"
Ivan sighs slightly, leaning back on the desk. "Are you against going for a woman, this time?" he asks, straight to the point. She always appreciates that about him.
She considers the question for half a second before shrugging, uncaring. "Nah, hit me. Who is it?"
He shuffles his phone of his pocket, pulling up the picture. "Her."
Short, dark hair. Blank expression. She seems more the type to be in Mizi's business than Mizi herself with that kind of look, though those large, round eyes betray something a bit more innocent. Sheltered? Protected? Or maybe just closed off, isolated.
Pretty in a sweet way. Maybe polite, maybe shy. She seems forgettable enough. Mizi concentrates to commit her face to memory, the curve of her jaw, the plush of her cheeks. They're never exactly like the picture, just like how the insides never quite match what they show you in the textbooks, but it's good to have a clear reference point anyway. This isn't exactly a job where you can mix people up– she learned that the hard way. Lucky for her Ivan has great connections, and Till is quite a skilled and efficient butcher.
"Sua, huh?" she says, reading the name. "Another university student?"
Ivan nods, "Yes. Far from home. Seems she's been feeling a bit lonely, lately– she's been hanging around bars all by herself a lot, though it doesn't seem like she actually goes inside all that often or for long. Noona wasn't quite able to make a full connection with her while scouting earlier."
"Weird," Mizi says. "Oh, well. Guess I can give her some company, then."
Ivan pats her on the shoulder. "You do that. Give her a good time, yeah?"
She snickers. "Always do."
She gets home soon after sunset to a dirty kitchen and a mother half-dead and snoring on the couch, eyelashes fluttering against the still-bright lights and shoes pressed up dirty against the withering cushions.
Mizi tends to the mother first, untying her worn, beaten sneakers and flicking the light switch as she passes, sneaking back to her room to grab a blanket from her own bed and drape it over her. Her mother hardly stirs– but she never does, not after pulling another double shift.
She's halfway through rinsing dishes when her grandmother finally peeks into the room, looking just as haggard as the rest of them. "Classes alright, dear?"
Mizi nods, keeping her voice soft, though she turns to face her so her lips can be read more easily. "Yeah. Work was fine too. And I picked up that drink mix you wanted– the doctor said to stay hydrated with that medication, don't forget."
"Oh, yes. Right– your mother wanted me to tell you, dearie. Don't worry about the meeting with that Mr. Heperu fella this week. She says she can handle it."
Mizi smiles blithely. Mr. Heperu is their landlord. His meetings are unavoidable– not until they can finish paying off their debt, racked up during the years between when her mother first lost her job and until Mizi managed to stumble into the wrong alleyway at the right time and find a new source of employment. Dealing with the man directly is a fate she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy. She'll just have to get up early tomorrow. Again. "Well, we'll see."
Turning back around, she sends another silent thanks to Ivan and Hyuna for being the ones to find her that day. Just a few more weeks, a few more jobs– then, maybe, they can finally get out of this.
Ms. Sua is very easy to find sitting all on her lonesome at the back of a nearby coffee shop, so close to Till's usual pickup Mizi almost bothers to thank whatever god may or may not exist for the serendipity of it all. Upon picking up her mug she flashes a glance around the rest of the mostly-empty store, the wide range of completely acceptable, empty seats, and decides to go for the aggressive option.
"Is this seat taken?"
The young woman looks up, startled, taking a similar look around the rest of the deserted shop before flushing slightly and nodding primly. Submissive. Good sign.
"Pardon my intrusion," Mizi begins after a moment, when it becomes clear that Sua is going to sit there waiting for her to start the conversation until the end of time, "I just had to know where you got that sweater."
Sua laughs quietly, sipping her coffee. "Um, I made it."
"Woah, really?!"
She tugs at the ends of her sleeves, fussing with the edges of her cute, cropped, cable-knit sweater. "Yeah… It's not that good, really. My sister can knit way better."
Mizi hums. "Eh, well I can't tell the difference. You pull off white well, anyways. I can never do that."
Sua laughs, bright and high, like tinkling bells or some sappy shit like that. Mizi steels herself internally at the sight of her smile, suddenly remembering why she'd been so hesitant about taking female clients in the beginning.
"I hate it," Sua stutters out, kinda out of nowhere. Mizi melts. "To be honest. Knitting, I mean. I only did it because my mother told me I needed more feminine hobbies."
"Stupid. What non-feminine hobbies do you keep up, then?"
Sua flushes, holding a hand to her cheek, dainty as hell. "…Astronomy."
Mizi snorts. "Astronomy is unfeminine?? Like, the stars and shit? Twinkling lights…"
"I like the math side of it. I think she just didn't like me hanging out with so many boys in that club."
Mizi smiles. "Ah, I see."
Sua smiles back. "…She can't really stop me now, huh? Being this far away for college…" she murmurs, trailing off, taking another sip. "Not that she would really miss me if I disappeared," she adds, almost quiet enough to go unheard.
Mizi's heart clenches oddly. She grins through it. "Guess you'll just have to settle for talking to me about it."
Sua sips her drink again, eyes bright with interest. "Guess so."
They're walking down the street. It's been too long– Mizi knows it, and she can tell that Sua is picking up on it. It sucks that she knows her name now. Maybe this would've been easier without it. Still, she leads them in circles, a slow spiral inwards, closer and closer with every step to the alleyway she doesn't quite want to enter. In a minute. Not yet.
"…My mom always warned me against wearing pearls," Mizi continues, staring off into the sky. The sun is setting, edging nearer and nearer to too late.
"Really?" Sua says, rolling the recently-complemented white earring in her fingers. She looks at the ground as they walk, watching their shoes, rhythmic clicks along the pavement. "Why is that?"
"She said…" Mizi trails off, kicking a rock into the street. "Well, I guess it was just about wedding dresses. She was always adamant about not wearing pearls on your wedding day, since they represent the tears you'll cry during your marriage. Or something stupid like that. She always claimed that was where she fucked up."
The silence she gets in response is just unnerving enough to get Mizi to sneak a look to the side. Sua stares into space as she walks forward, somewhat dazed. Not quite oblivious, but not bold enough to stop it either. Doubting herself?
"I'm sorry about that," she eventually says. Mizi shrugs.
"Nothing to do about it. She cares for me just fine."
Sua nods, thoughtful. Lost in thought. "That's good. That's very good."
"Yeah," Mizi clears her throat. "It is."
They stop. The alley is right there, the same one Mizi always goes to, hints of bloodstains still running along the edge of the concrete. Not all human– Till does run a proper shop, when he isn't partaking in other activities, the bare necessity to keep the store running as a solid cover.
Sua stands there, politely watching, mouth shut and hands clasped around her little pearlescent purse. She looks wildly out of place against the grime and muck and darkness, all of her white clothes and pearl jewelry shimmering in the twilight, like a little splash of moonlight that deigned to take the form of a princess and descend to earth. Her bob curls up under her chin cutely as she tilts her head, soft mouth opening as though about to speak.
Mizi slams a fist into her chest before she can hear it.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Mizi whispers, a broken record slithering in the growing night, gloves staining black.
Sua hardly makes a sound throughout the whole process, not after the initial gasp Mizi's punch had knocked out of her chest, nor the slight whimper she'd made when Mizi had ripped that sweet, pretty white sweater open and slid her cleaver down the divot between her breasts, cutting open her clothes and her flesh in one go.
Her breathing had lasted longer than Mizi would've liked, the flush on her face as Mizi carved her open not fading until Mizi was already halfway through clearing out her innards, skin paling to the color of her earrings as she was pressed up against the dirty alley wall and emptied out, clean and precise and methodical.
Till takes the body without a word, for once picking up on Mizi's desire to avoid any and all conversation. He pats her on the back before he lifts the remains of the girl and brings her inside, leaving Mizi to pack up her backpack alone and slip down to the office.
Ivan fills up the fridge without a word, only occasionally glancing back with a worried look on his face. He pulls her into a hug before she leaves, promising to avoid girls for a while.
Mizi showers the moment she gets home, washing the blood off with her unshed tears, and tucks into bed with dry eyes and an aching gut.
"I swear to fuck, I'm not taking this shit right now, Ivan," Till hisses, pissed as a wet cat.
Ivan holds up his hands, looking just a little too pleased at being backed into the corner and up against the wall, considering the circumstances. "Till, I promise," he says, voice low and soothing, "I know nothing about this."
Till groans, still gripping Ivan by the shoulders. "That's worse. You realize that's worse, right? Oh my god," he moans, hiding his face in Ivan's chest, "I'm gonna lose the shop. They're onto us, aren't they. We're over, it's all over…"
Mizi watches the show from the sidelines, leaning up against the table and chucking fruit into her mouth like nobody's fuckin' business. Blueberries, this time. Round and small and sweet. Random pick. "Damn, what?"
Till whirls around, sharp gaze directed at Mizi, more intense than he usually lets it get. "Mizi. You have to be honest with me here. I promise, I won't be mad– I just need to know," he says, stalking over to take her by the shoulders. "Did you come back and take her? The– product from last night?"
"The fuck? No." She swallows. "What happened?"
Till drops to his knees, hiding his face in his hands. Ivan sighs, walking over and patting him on the head. "He lost her, apparently. Stepped away–"
"–for two fucking seconds–"
"–and couldn't find her again. Did you see anyone else on your way back, last night?"
Mizi thinks, then shakes her head. "Nobody. No one on our way over, either, actually. Thought it was weird at first, but I think they were all just at the festival downtown at that time."
Till drags his hands down his face. "I didn't lose her. That doesn't happen. It's an entire– do you know how hard it is to lose something like that?"
Mizi snickers, chucking a blueberry into Ivan's open mouth when he points at it. "Maybe she got hungry. Went for a snack."
"You took out her heart, right?"
She hums, affirmative. "Heart, lungs, liver. Exactly what you asked for."
Ivan sighs, swallowing. "Well, I'll inform Noona about it. Not much we can do now."
"I'll help you check the shop again later, Till," Mizi offers, watching him meltdown all over the floor of the office while Ivan pets his hair and steals more blueberries, "We'll figure it out, okay? And Hyuna will know what to do."
"She always does," Ivan agrees, pulling him up from the floor. "We're in this together. I won't let the shop go down."
"…Thanks," Till mutters, holding Ivan's arm tight. "Together. We'll find her."
For all that she said to Till in the office, Mizi isn't actually expecting to find her again. Or at least, not outside, in the middle of the street, just as pretty and prim and clean as she'd been the night before, before the alley and the cutting and the dank, stinking butcher shop.
She half believes she's just hallucinating, the guilt of a few too many remorseless murders finally catching up and getting to her the way those dreary gothic poems they had to read in high school always said they would, only startling out of dream of the moment when Sua spins around and starts speed-walking down another street, a new purse held tightly to her body. A violet sweater this time.
That's not ghost behavior.
Mizi half-jogs as casually as she can under the sunlight and the passing glances of strangers, skipping down to the corner and turning just in time to see the other girl look nervously over her shoulder before hurrying away.
She's slippery when she wants to be, Mizi will grant her that much. Mizi's own familiarity with the streets is both a boon and a point against her in this case, allowing her to slip around the back alleys but also getting her caught in conversations with the locals as she rushes around. Still, she manages to gain significant ground on her after just a few minutes of walking, pulling free from the grasp of yet another conversation about broken windows or street dogs or whatever that Mr. Whatshisface pulled her into just in time to dash over to yet another alleyway entrance and stand in wait.
It's a dead end, after all. Only one way out.
A part of her still doesn't fully believe it, not up until the moment that she snatches her warm, living arm and feels the breath of a living body gasp against her cheek, snatching the other girl before she can shriek and pressing her up against the alley wall, out of sight, taut and tight, the light scent of lavender and blueberries tickling the edge of her nose.
"Sua." Mizi drops her hand from her mouth after a moment, tensed and ready to slap it back on in a second. There's no need– she seems perfectly fine with her position, an arm across her chest and back to the wall, not even bothering to complain about the cement splinters undoubtedly ruining her nice, new knit sweater.
"Mizi," Sua says, dazed, pursing her lips and looking down like she's fucking embarrassed, or something. Mizi tries not to start laughing hysterically. "G-good to see you again."
She coughs, swallowing the cackle back. "Yeah. You too. Uh, hey, look– can we talk?" she says, quiet, still straining to listen. Nobody should be able to see them around here but it's not safe either, the looming threat of kids willing to stumble their way into any and every dark corner hanging over their heads as the clocks tick down to the point at which school gets out.
"I'm sorry," Sua chokes out suddenly, voice way too loud for comfort. Mizi hisses, grabbing her chin.
"Later. Look, we need to move. Come on," she says, pulling her from the wall and in the direction of Till's shop.
Sua follows with a nearly unbelievable complacency as Mizi drags her as non-questionably as she can through the streets and alleys, one arm consistently held around her waist as they hurry along.
She slams her fist against the wall the second they reach Till's back entrance, trying not to pay attention to the remaining stench of blood and guts splashed up against the wall. It's just cow this time. Cow, and pig, and–
"What in the actual fuck is happening right now," Till whisper-screams weakly, one hand on the door frame to support his weight as he stumbles forward through the doorway.
Mizi ignores him, eyes squinted in focus as she pins Sua to the wall, reaching behind her back to pull the cleaver out from where it'd been hanging on her jeans. Nice benefit of working for a butcher, that no one questions such an obviously dubious thing.
Sua rambles nervous nonsense as Mizi smacks the knife up against her collarbone, beads of red pearling along the thin line as she pushes up. Her voice falters as Mizi presses the blade inside, moaning softly as it tugs past the skin and in between her ribs again, palms clammy and shaking as she grips Mizi's shoulders.
"I'm calling Ivan," Till says, averting his gaze from Mizi to the dying body in her arms, as though its her shift in persona that freaks him out more than the gore. Softie. He shuts the door again, leaving them to their privacy.
Mizi stares down at Sua's eyes, uncaring of all else as she watches the dark lashes flutter, breaths growing more slow and shallow as she carves the knife in deeper. Sua flushes with an impressive intensity for someone getting actively cut open alive, using the last of her strength to pull her arms up again around Mizi's neck, gazes locked as the life fades from her dark irises, glazing over with something hazy and pale.
Mizi releases her tight grip on Sua's hips and drops the body, kicking it into the wall with the side of her boot. "Alright, nice show. Now get back here and stop faking it."
The air stills for a moment, hesitant, as though awaiting permission. Then the body beneath her starts crackling, bloody, gaping wound weaving back together from the inside out as its head tilts down.
Mizi kneels, picking it up by the chin, watching as the life returns to its dark eyes, glaze of death receding.
The body flushes, smiling up at her. "Sorry."
Mizi smiles back, pressing the knife back into its chest. "One more time."