[if rupert could stop accidentally?? alluding to kavinsky's own being dead that would be cool. but also kavinsky doesn't mind as much lately. emotional amputation. jadedness. a wide selection of numerous, even more painful experiences to choose from.

kavinsky smiles. he's bad at avoiding pretty young things himself, especially ones that make him, on some level, obscurely uncomfortable.]

I feel like you're insinuating something real rude about horse dick, but I take your meaning, [kavinsky says, and that thankfully will be the end of his bestiality-related comments for the moment. sorry to everyone watching from home. he has really bad humor. he laughs, and starts to stand up, his skinny, sinewy frame unfolding. he stretches, catlike.] Bring the bubbly? Let's hit the road. I'll even let you drive, because you asked so nice.

[also because he is not too concerned about quite simply creating a new car out of nothing, if it turns out that the anachronistic horseback rider turns out to be less amazing at driving than previously supposed. his fingers buzz happily.] And you can tell me about how you killed your old car.

[it's not bad luck. kavinsky doesn't believe in luck. he would probably be less of a mess if he did.]