17 👶 I KNOW WHERE NO ONE CAN REACH YOU

[pillz]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky and Reggie Mantle
WHERE: Falls comma Maurtia
WHEN: October
WHAT:
WARNINGS: Drugs, implied sexual content, mental health, bad words, probable reference to criminal activity.



[the hotel suite has two televisions and they're both blaring music channels— two different music channels, a droning discord. you can barely hear the air-conditioning straining through the wet autumn air.

and you can't hear the bodies strewn on the floor and bed. live bodies, mind you, and not in the process of dying— merely laid out in varying levels of totally fucking stoned and drunk. most of them are in their early twenties, a couple in their late tweens. all skinny thighs and choice piercings. natives, all of them. one girl is wearing a birthday girl crown, and it's hard to say whether or not that actually refers to the purpose of the party. every import needs an entourage. kavinsky and reggie are sharing one tonight, kind of.

reggie feels rather than hears the thump of bare feet behind him, and then there's a cold bottle of beer nudging into his shoulder. it's nice, that nanites can give a young man the edge over his un-powered peers with regard to staying conscious despite massive quantities of substances.]

How many fingers am I holding up?

[kavinsky isn't holding up any fingers, he's holding a beer. he looks like shit, though.]

Comments

[bragnificent]

[ Reggie glances over his shoulder, his own beer bottle to his lips, and says almost immediately: ]

Five.

[ Before he sips from his beer, holding up his free hand for a high-five. By now Reggie's wandered a little from the main crowd of the party, finding himself with a slight headache from the loud music after so many drinks and hits of god knows what; he takes another swig, looking Kavinsky over. He really does look like shit, but whether that's from the partying or from something else (or maybe from both), Reggie doesn't know. ]

You think anyone would care if we switched one of these to porn? [ He gestures extremely loosely between both TVs. ] I need a break from some of this damn music.

[pillz]

[high-five. why not? smack! kavinsky high-fives his old friend. the facsimile of his old friend. he watches as reggie drifts off, then lifts his eyes when the other boy looks back at him, smiling.

the smile makes his head look like a bare skull, almost. he's lost a little weight in the past few weeks.]

You should do it. Your porn of choice. Not just lesbians, please. Don't do jack shit for me. [he leers hollowly, and after a moment, starts to trail after reggie, his eyes already cutting toward the television. his button-down shirt is skewed on his skinny shoulders; the paint job that dr. chilton's home for lost boys gave him, now beginning to peel, ever so slightly.] Weirdest shit you can find. Weirdest shit that you're into.

[bragnificent]

Guess that shouldn't surprise me.

[ No lesbians... well, that's fine. Reggie wouldn't know what of his preferred porn tastes can really be considered weird, but they'll find out shortly; he swipes one of the remotes and tilts the respective big screen it belongs to so that it's angled more toward one of the couches, the armrest of which he sits down on now to scroll through the PayPerView. He's not the one paying for it, so he doesn't care.

Reggie started the night with a shirt on, but it's been discarded at some point during the partying and is probably pinned under one of the other semi-conscious bodies by now, leaving him in just a hoodie (zipped open all the way) and skinny jeans. Which is fine, he prefers a tits-out sort of look when he can get away with it anyway. ]

Well, usually you can't go wrong with MILFs, athletes, or cars. Or any porn that combines two or more of those. [ He keeps scrolling, squinting at the variety of titles. ] But I also like the ones with a story too, y'know? Those are always pretty freaking nuts.

[pillz]

[that is vaguely interesting, in the way that fires and kidnappings and awful violence used to be vaguely interesting to kavinsky when he was busy playing a cacophony of angsty metal in his head. lots of self-loathing lyrics. the pyrotechnics helped him get into it, sometimes, but they also kind of took him out of it, which was nice for a couple hours at a time.

he looks at the television and tries to remember the last time he watched porn that had a story.]

I feel like I heard about that shit on the TV, [he says.] Which is weird. [television about porn? but of course.] Like that Japanese shit with the cartoon characters, people getting abducted to space, tentacles. Weird experiments. [that's what he assumes by story, of course. he stares blankly at the couch for a moment.

the next, he vanishes.

reappears abruptly on the furniture, his skinny bones strewn around lazily. a tattooed forefinger wanders up the hem of reggie's hoodie.]

[bragnificent]

[ There's barely enough time to even register that Kavinsky's vanished before he reappears again, startling Reggie to slide off the armrest of the couch onto the cushion, positioned awkwardly with one leg still dangled over the arm and the rest of him halfway in Kavinsky's lap.

His eyes drift downward, following the path of Kavinsky's fingers, but he makes no motion to deter them. Instead he wets his lips, raising his gaze back up to meet Kavinsky's so he can raise an eyebrow. God, he'll never completely get used to this whole "powers" thing. ]

Don't know if that was necessary. Y'know, if you're too wasted to even walk then I could've carried you the three feet.

[ Stated wryly, though-- possibly exaggerating the distance, too, whether overly or lowballing it. He smirks, looking back toward the TV and stretching one arm along the top of the couch behind Kavinsky. ]

There's always porn parodies, too-- like I bet they've even got a few pretty creative reimaginings of some Wesley Snipes filmography in here somewhere. [ Scrolling to find out, because he's a fan, okay? ] You got any favorite movies?

[pillz]

[kavinsky glances down at the other boy half on him, feeling a stray tickle that might be his hair or a fiber from his clothing, the warm weight of his frame. for an instant, he feels interest kindle in him. old, familiar, the kind that wreaking horrible death used to elicit after dr. chilton taught him wut was wut. the kind that provided relief from loneliness and the latent guilt from a thousand asshole moves.

but then he remembers murphy and it's a whole mess. unbidden, he feels his head jerk aside. he lifts his eyes to the television screen. his mind fumbles onto the last question reggie had asked. and the next thing you know, he's holding a bright red pill in the palm of his hand. showing it off to the other boy. red as poison. his tattooed fingers flip over and around it, like he's doing a coin trick.]

Lots, [he says.] You want I should show you?

[bragnificent]

[ Reggie's eyes shift from the TV to Kavinsky's face to his open palm, coming to rest on the pill sitting there. He doesn't know what it is or what it does, nor is he particularly blindly trusting of Kavinsky -- so far they have an awkward, vaguely unsettling, but still not aggressively unpleasant history, as far as he knows -- but when it comes to casual drug use at parties, popping back pills has always been Reggie's preference, whether he's necessarily familiar with the drug or not.

So, he leans in a bit. He doesn't know how this relates to his question other than referencing an old classic, but he can play along. Maybe that's the point, after all. ]

Sure thing, Morpheus. [ Opening his mouth and presenting his tongue for the pill he assumes he's being offered. ] Hit me.

lmk if you want me to ffw

[pillz]

[morpheus. that's a little flattering. kavinsky's eyes crinkle, some shallow pleasure being taken, it seems, at being referred to as a. what. myth? god. probably a god. flattery will get you anywhere with kavinsky, at least for two minutes, before the chemical switch in his head veers him off into some new idiocy.]

One minute, [he says. and-- even though it hadn't been the plan after all, he gives reggie one of the pills.'

the last thing that reggie will see, for the moment, is kavinsky slapping a pill into his own mouth too. and suddenly fatigue hits the asian boy like a mack truck, his vision swatted into a blur, the soup of his thoughts suddenly running thick as cement, darkness chopping into his mind in big fat bites. suddenly he's sleeping. he'll only have a minute or two to dream, but in that moment, they'll be vivid and strange, heavy with the weird nuance of emotion ignored during his waking hours.]

I'M GOOD WITH WHATEVER does this work??

[bragnificent]

[ Reggie means the nickname only as the Matrix reference he assumes Kavinsky was making, but he doesn't mind if it goes over well, either. He may be mean and/or obnoxious to many, but like any clever scoundrel, he knows there's always certain people whom it can be worth it to please every now and then.

Or at least, that's what Reggie usually believes. For example, he assumed this pill would offer him a much more pleasant high than the brief time he spends dreaming does give him; he's passed out, thoughts a messy, complicated patchwork made up of faceless strangers, bright lights, redheads, people talking, people leaving. Music. Gunshots. Loneliness.

He jerks, restless, but there's no room to toss and turn as he is right now-- he just falls off the couch, landing uncomfortably hard on his back. ]

oh my god it did work so well but gmail hid it from me im sorry

[pillz]

[thump. reggie falls on the floor, but as his senses return to him from the distorted shadows of dream, it becomes immediately obvious he's not the only thing to have returned from that fucked up subconscious space.

the television is smoking. spitting sparks, something like flame belching inside. twisting and jumping-- the screen snowing with static on one half, the other still stuttering with its original picture. kavinsky peers at it with some satisfaction, then leans over to peer down at the boy on the floor. he puts a foot to reggie's hip and pokes him. poke poke. pokepokepoke.]

My favorite show, [he says.] Tall, hot brunette rudely awakened to reality by fire and shit. [it's meta.] How you feeling, baby?

gmail nooooOOOO

[bragnificent]

[ If he were capable of more introspective thought at the moment, Reggie would probably be suddenly reminded of one of the first times they met, when he woke up at home and Kavinsky was in his room watching him sleep. It's a theme in their relationship, apparently, but not one that occurs to Reggie even as he wakes up abruptly, with a jolt and arms swinging. ]

Wha...

[ It takes a few seconds to reorient himself. Reggie squints, rubbing his head and batting at Kavinsky's prodding foot like one would a fly. ]

I dunno-- like crap, what the hell did you give me? I thought it'd be more... [ Fun, or something. That wasn't a fun pill. If it was meant to be, Reggie's not feeling it yet. ] And what's with the TV?

[pillz]

[kavinsky laughs! a jackal sound that rises up, loud, takes up the space that was left empty when the pornographic chatter from this new tv died out.]

Medicine's just poison when you don't take it right, [he says. then he leans down over reggie, demonstrating probably!! more flexibility than anyone would have thought he had. he sticks reggie's forehead with a coarse little kiss, then stands up. steps over the other boy to look at the television.

which continues to tremble and shake, sputter, smoke. grow louder, by the moment, but no longer with the noise of sexy humans fucking. kavinsky opens his hand-- and just in time, for a couple of other pills to spit out of the crumbling glass of the screen.

they're golden.]

Do your legs work? [he asks.] I feel like somebody's gonna show up in here with questions sooner than later, sweetheart.

[bragnificent]

[ "Medicine's just poison when you don't take it right," he says. Reggie doesn't like that, as someone who fairly regularly deals or uses pills for recreational purposes. He's not someone who cares to overthink the risks and side-effects of whatever he might be putting into his system, because there's no real better way to harsh a buzz than to imagine how bad it's fucking up your body.

But Reggie isn't usually one for death wishes quite that direct.

All of this is weird and unsettling and grows more so by the moment, which he probably should have expected, but he'd have been more amenable to the suggestion of making out than whatever this is. Intrigued though he still is despite it all when he notices those golden pills.

Reggie stands, not needing to be told twice. ]

Yeah. Let's get out of here. I don't care what we do next as long as it isn't more of whatever that was.

a bit powerpose lmk if not ok

[pillz]

[sometimes kavinsky wishes the other reggie really were still here-- if only, and mostly only because the other boy had had powers much like his. a magic hat. fucking hilarious. also probably a little more psychological damage from other world events, which has a certain way of innoculating a kid against the drama of your local joseph kavinsky.

but he just flashes reggie a smile, two rows of teeth that might as well be serrated. he reaches over to grab the other boy's hands. his palm is as warm as a furnace but dry, nearly the same heat that gouts from the sparking television as he pulls the other boy. in a moment, they spill out into the hotel hallway. kavinsky's prudeish boat shoes rattle down the corridor besides reggie's more athletic choice, darting for the steps with the boy beside him.

they hear voices above them. kavinsky laughs, slapping one golden pill back into his mouth.]

Born of fire, sweetheart, [he says, offering the other to reggie as he pauses-- perhaps unwisely-- on the stair landing. it glistens like the golden goose egg of fairytale. just, you know. tiny.]

Some make you big, some make you small.

[it's a bad alice in wonderland quote. that's not how the mushroom worked.]

np pretty much always okay!!

[bragnificent]

[ As far as Reggie knows his world is full of murderers and gangs more than it is zombies, so it's true that Kavinsky wouldn't necessarily come off as the "lesser evil" for him, but rather seem more akin to the kind of unsavory people in Riverdale he tries to steer clear of. It's a little different, though; especially lately, if Kavinsky reminds Reggie of anyone from home it might be Dilton, the creepy little wildcard who still knew how and when to use his crazy for a mutual cause. In this case, just replace that mutual cause with partying (and adjacent) and it's easy for him to give Kavinsky the benefit of the doubt.

It would probably still behoove him eventually to be more cautious. Kavinsky has a lot more in common with the killers stalking his home than he realizes, and magic pills are never a good rabbithole to fall down.

Still he just follows, wanting to stay in pace with Kavinsky and ahead of whatever authorities or shitfaced party-goers might soon be behind them. And the pill is tempting, of course. After the last one he wants to be wary, but it's so inviting; golden and small, like nothing bad could be. ]

What's this one do?

[ He puts it in his mouth, but under his tongue rather than swallowing just yet. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky leans in a little closer, so the margin of space between their noses is so small that he splits into two separate portraits, one for each of reggie's eyes. close enough to kiss, except that he doesn't kiss the other boy. the gel in his hair has split from use, leaving sharpened shadows dangling over his forehead, arrayed like an attack against his hollow eyes.

which are trained on reggie.] This one makes you big, [he says.] It makes you sure of your secrets, sweetheart. And sure you're bulletproof. And that you never been broken a day in your Goddamn life.

[the fire alarm is a distant wobble.] It shows you want to see, and how little it matters to want something too much. It ain't no big deal, Mantle.