steelheart
sometimes doing things we used to
reminds of who we used to be, and not always in a good way.
— b. sanderson
★
(but then again, this is ban hyera, and ... well,
when is she ever not petty?)
the broadcasting station has become a kind of second home for hyera---obviously as an idol and the like, as it is for everyone, but for some reason it’s just ... different to her. when she’s not promoting, she’s filming---for a variety show, for a drama. and when she’s not filming, she’s auditioning, meeting with potential producers and directors for that ‘next big break’ everyone always seems to talk about.
(it happens to everyone, they say,
well, when’s it going to happen to her?)
she can’t remember the last time she’s laid in her bed, gotten a good hour or so of shut-eye before her manager’s knocking on her door and shuffling her out the front door and into the passenger seat of their van. sure, she could catch up on some much-needed z’s at the hair salon, but the fluorescent lights and company of strangers has her wide awake, has her thinking that she can’t be wasting her time.
so she practices---her lines, of course, from various scripts. not choreography (never choreography) or the like for, by now, it’s been deemed useless to think progressing those kind of skills are vital to her career ... whatever that is right now. an idol? an actress? a general celebrity, maybe, but the thought of it has her seething, has her frustrated with the thought that that’s not good enough.
which such thoughts on her mind---and a busy schedule, to boot---it’s understandable that hyera’s grown a little ... irritable, though, a ‘little’ might be a bit of an understatement.
she’s sitting in her waiting room at the broadcasting station, as she always does, though her door’s wide open this time---something about the air conditioning not work, how the room needs air circulation, blah blah blah. and she overhears voices, loud enough to catch her attention and scan the faces of those loitering outside the room.
and something in her just
snaps.
it’s not like she usually cares about whether her not her reputation as a senior in the industry is respected or not, but, chalk it up the lack of sleep or the lack of significant work, she’s sending daggers to the person across the way who she swears debuted after her.
so she turns to her manager with a voice audible enough that she knows the other can hear, “don’t you just hate it when juniors don’t greet us, oppa? i mean, when we were rookies, we made sure to maintain our manners and know where our place is, but kids these days---it’s quite the pity, don’t you think?”