29 👶 MY PRECIOUS DISGUISE [open/closed]

[pillz]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky & you
WHERE: Various
WHEN: Throughout November 2019
WHAT: Kavinsky on any number of problematic sprees, including murder, stalking, and the manufacture of goods. Hit me up at shramp with any requests! Open prompt in the body, closed prompts in the comments.
WARNINGS: Offensive language (homophobia, racism, etc.), violence, sexual content, impersonation, mental health, substance use



[open] de chima;

[it's a beautiful day in virginia. the sky is blue, the leaves are red, and holiday decorations are up. this world is better than the old one; there are hannukah symbols as well as diwali signs, some preemptive year of the pig shit up. families in the street.

and so is joseph kavinsky.

he's been having a weird time lately. you can tell: he's sitting out on the sidewalk, his shoes mysteriously missing, and his khaki trousers rolled up over his ankles and nice white socks. his clothes look immaculate: the lacoste shirt pressed and symmetrical on his narrow shoulders, a brown leather belt around his waist. his hair is spiked, and he has sunglasses on, shielding his eyes from the brightening afternoon. his tattoos are an odd contrast to the preppy outfit, but there is something else unmistakably off about him. (the secret is: murder.) (it's usually murder. in this world as well as the old one.)

if someone would ask him, he'd say he felt like his brain is melting.

but it's not a bad sensation, really. he's been solid for a good long while, now; one of the longer stretches of superficial stability that he's ever managed. he's due an episode. why not in the weeks before the world is due to end at the hands of an angry goddess? he watches the cars go by, ignoring the looks from natives, the occasional passerby who asks if he's okay. they don't push it. after all: he's an import. they have nanites for that.]

wildcard;

[choose your own open adventure or plot with me on plurk!]

Comments

closed to vanya;

[pillz]

[dr. frederick prokopenko is an old white man in a suit.

it's not that kavinsky has clear reservations about bullshitting another race or even gender identity, these days. he's not quite as insecure as he used to be; his neurotic insanity has taken a different path. but he's always known that the best lies have a grain of truth in them, so he simply imagined himself older. better-educated. smarter, more patient. the better to persuade those who needed persuading that he is this:

a licensed psychologist, certified and qualified to work with forensic patients. not the least of which is one vanya hargreeves, who quite famously blew up her own birthday party last month, calling. fucking. asteroids? down from the sky. he set up an office space to look the part: pale velour couches, darker leather single chair seats, a coffee table made of black metal and rustic wood. masculine, expensive, reassuring.

there's a painting on the wall of trees.

she's even smaller up close, petite, pale, her face drawn. he writes down her responses to his basic questions in a notebook, impressed by his own handiwork when even the handwriting comes out different than his own, steered by the nanite glove enclosed around his hand. he'd shaken her hand, given her the confidentiality spiel. his questions have been basic so far. name, age. family, present and past (or passed). why she's here. obscurely, he misses chilton. it's an evil kind of nostalgia, but it brings him no pain.]

Are you still living with your family? How is your relationship now?

[gigue]

[After the...can she call it an incident, is that too small a word? After what happened on their birthday, Aegis put her in confinement. It was a kindness, she knows that technically, because it could have been jail. She'd have struggled a lot more in jail. But after that, the state mandated counseling, and this part....this part Vanya is having trouble with. She did the therapy thing, back home - did it for just long enough to know that there would be too much to explain, to get right.

(The work would be to hard, that was the real reason - not that V knows how to articulate it to herself.)

Her gaze shifts between her hands in her lap and the painting on the wall. She keeps staring at the trunks like she's looking for something in each brush stroke while she digs her nails into her fingers. At the question, she glances back up at Dr. Prokopenko, like a deer in the headlights with every question.]

No, I don't, I mean I haven't lived with them in years. Since before I went to school. [At fourteen, because that's a great age to stop being effectively home schooled. Vanya shrugs.] They wanted me to move in when I got here, but it didn't...it just seemed like a bad idea. It's - I don't know.

[What she means is she doesn't know how to put into words that it might be a little bit better, now, at least with Allison. The rest? God, she doesn't know. She still hasn't spoken with or seen Luther even once since.]

[pillz]

[the old man looks pleasantly curious, interested in what she says as she says it, studying her pale face. she seems unwontedly fragile, as do most people who wield incredible power -- and are periodically caught offguard by their own outbursts, in using them.

there's no judgment in his weathered face. and that, strangely enough, is the most honest thing about 'dr.' joseph kavinsky, right now.]

It seems like your instincts were correct. At least, all the available information indicates that the explosion at the birthday party wasn't something you considered a 'good idea.' Is that true? [the police statement is right there. she had been confused, but she hadn't set out to the birthday party with the premeditated intention of harming or killing anyone.

which isn't the same as regretting it. he isn't sure if he expects her to cry or wring her hands.]

[gigue]

[She very much wrings her hands, at least right before her fingers catch on a stray thread of his sleeve. Vanya has ruined more shirts this way, channeling nervous energy into tugging and breaking strings.

She shakes her head, silent at first - but she knows therapists, she knows she'll be told to talk, she knows it (because they're all the same, aren't they?)]

I didn't, um. I didn't mean to, it just...happened.

[She sounds embarrassed, certainly guilty, but regret? That's missing, or at least, it's much quieter. She didn't want the party in the first place, didn't want to go, didn't want to listen to Luther's fucking music or Diego trying to reach out or--

She stops playing with the stray thread, digs the nails of one hand into her palm. She just doesn't want to think about it, and that is going to make this difficult.]

closed to cassidy;

[pillz]

[kavinsky comes over to the house. by now, he's a fucking regular houseguest; the other residents must be used to him. and he's better, as guests go, than he would have been before. he might leave a little bit of fine brown hair on things, and the occasional sock or half-drunk can of lacroix, but other than that, he leaves no trace.

he's different tonight. mostly because he murdered a dude a few days ago. it was: awesome. and very bad. cassidy would not approve, but cassidy need never know! kavinsky drags him out for dinner, ever content to let the vampire simply have to sit there and watch him eat a responsibly healthy meal with vegetables. they go for a walk. a drive. a movie.

and it's in the cinema, as the silverscreen protagonist faces his first great theatrical obstacle, that kavinsky leans over the armrest and the mostly-finished popcorn cup between them and presses his mouth -- not quite shyly -- to the vampire's cheek.]

[crassidy]

[The open door policy Cass tends to have on the house allows for all sorts of strays and lonely types to wander in and out as much as they need. He's spent a century of desperately seeking shelter and, more importantly, attention, to ever deny that to someone else. He never seems to mind Kavinksy's presence when it's around, even supports it enough to ensure the guy at least feels welcomed.

It's why he doesn't resist when he's dragged along for a night out, perfectly content with a meal and drinking too much alcohol as always. It's all attention, and that's really all he ever wants.

Even that not-so-stealthy kiss is humoured enough that Kavinsky earns himself an amused side-eye and a low mumble, trying his best to keep his default loudness to a minimum.] Y'know, I thought stolen kisses and arms over the back of the chair ended in the fifties, lad. Aren't kids these days groping on the back seats on first dates?

mild nsfw;

[pillz]

[that's cute. cassidy is cute. and low-pressure, reassuring. fun to listen to, with his accent and his kind of janky-looking face. kavinsky grins and stuffs another piece of popcorn into his mouth.] I didn't think I had to steal anything, [he says.] Was kind of hoping you were feeling generous.

[also, screwing around and doing gross shit in theaters never went away. nor did taking somebody out for a movie before trying to get lucky, or. possibly! get them to like you.

crunch. less concerned with keeping the noise level down, at least for cassidy, kavinsky puts his chin on the vampire's shoulder as he bites down.] You're kind of tall, [he points out.] The only thing I can reach is your dick.

closed to klaus;

[pillz]

[he's been watching klaus for awhile, from across the club. so many fucking hargreeves, and they all appear to be big damn messes in their own ways. he's already started full-time stalking vanya, creating an identity that'll fold into her life, but klaus is obviously a different beast.

and he can tell when a skinny, frenetic, emotionally avoidant white man is trying to avoid problems with alcohol. there's regular drinking, which he's actually doing right now himself, and then there's panicky escapist drinking. which is pretty obviously what ya boy klaus is engaged in, this moment. it's been fifteen minutes, maybe thirty. he's seen klaus drink his way from one end of the bar to the other, scooping up free drinks from generous patrons who like the look of him.

what's one more? it's been a few weeks since kavinsky had his own weird shit to cope with-- becoming a zombie-killing carefree candy person!! that was hilarious, in retrospect. he's in a good mood. he slides up to the bar beside klaus. no british accent this time. he says,] Hey, [he says.] Weren't you hit by an asteroid a couple weeks ago?

[hellogoodhigh]

[ To say Klaus is nervous? Is an understatement. He's utterly frantic with what he plans to do, swinging between giddy excitement and pervasive fear. He feels like he's flying, feels like he's dying, feels like he's going to throw up, like electricity is coursing through is veins.

It's a long shot. A terrifying long shot. But the stranger's note had made him turn it all over in his mind. What could he summon if he had a little more power? And the enhancer around his wrist is like a drug, pumping him full of adrenaline, the sweetest ecstasy. It leaves him a live wire, drinking with an almost manic need in an attempt to tone himself down and hit somewhere he might consider even footing.

When the stranger approaches, Klaus can't recall how many drinks in he is. Only that the man seems vaguely familiar, and he doesn't know where to place him. ]

Huh? Oh, something like that. [ He leans against his hand, all charming grins. ] But as you can see, I got better.

tw drugs

[pillz]

You sure did, [says kavinsky, looking the man over with interest more keen than it had been before, back at the birthday party. given how brief their encounter had been there, likelier than not, the subtle shifts to kavinsky's demeanor just further confuse where they'd met before -- and that suits kavinsky just fine.]

You look like-- [kavinsky grins, boyish. reaches over to tug the collar of klaus' shirt, drawing the young necromancer an inch closer, firmly, though not enough to be considered aggressive. it's one finger. and the preppy clothes do a lot to undermine what would once have been more plain and feral behavior.] You know, when you try and drink some kind of soda and there's more bubbles than you was expecting, they're zipping around, so many of them, that it actually hurts. Feels like drinking knives.

[kavinsky's eyes crinkle, the scimitar curve of his mouth gleaming wide.]

What do you got, some good coke?

( de chima )

[squadgoal]

[ bow had just wrapped up with his part-time job and was on his way home when he spots kavinsky. without shoes. he pauses, heading over to him. bow's never been one to walk away from someone who might need help. or shoes. ]

If you're missing footwear, I can help you get some.

[pillz]

[kavinsky is feeling a bit moony in this particular moment of time. he has had a very weird couple of weeks, involved in activities that are better left out of public consumption.

but lo and behold. over his shoulder, there is suddenly a friendly young man offering to get him shoes? the bright notes of bow's voice are enough to cut through the fog. he turns his head to look. brown kid, black hair. kavinsky doesn't recognize him.

he pats the sidewalk next to him, inviting the other young man to sit.]

Let's compare shoe sizes.

[squadgoal]

[ bow blinks before shrugging it off. ]

Sure.

[ he then pulls off his conspicous boots with large hearts decorated on them. ]

Does this help?

De Chima

[detectivedwloki]

[Detective Loki is dressed in casual black today, his own tattoos very exposed at neck and fingers and forearms - some were recognisable symbols like a small basic cross and astrological signs; others more obscure but seemingly related to an odd assortment of spiritual or religious practices. He glances Kavinsky's way, maybe looking at him for a little too long, but since he'd communicated through text he doesn't immediately recognise the man. Himself, he's limping slightly and his neck seems to bear some signs of bruising.]

lmk if this is ok!

[pillz]

[there's nothing magical about kavinsky's senses, as unnatural as his existence might have been in the world back home. and for a long minute or two, as detective loki slowly makes his way along the sidewalk, it seems like this might be a couple of ships passing in the dark.

but just a couple of steps after loki has made his way past, and he can hear a scuff on the pavement behind him. and a:]

Hey.

[kavinsky's standing full upright now, behind him. still no shoes! but his eyes are bright with curiosity. he could hear the wounded cadence of the man's steps. and a baby serial killer is wont to clue into shit like that, even if his own unsavory urges have been sated for a day now.]

I know you from somewhere.

Ok!

[detectivedwloki]

[He glances over at the voice.]

Maybe we spoke on the network, if you're an imPort?

[He puts out a hand.]

I'm Detective Loki.

Wildcard: Pudding and Pie Cafe in De Chima

[madlove]

[ Harley’s attendance record at the diner she works at is hardly anything to brag about. She’s called in sick at least as many times as she’s shown up for a shift. And been a no-show as many times as those two combined.

And when she is there working she tends to get orders wrong, spill food and drinks on patrons, eat customers’ pie orders, and psychoanalyze anyone who gives her a hard time about any of it. Needless to say, her boss, Martha, can’t stand her. Which is fine because the feeling’s mutual. ]

Hey, Marth! I lost another fingernail. You might want to check the cherry pie, [ she calls through the pass-through to the back kitchen before turning to smile brightly to the horrified looking woman sitting at the counter. ] The blueberry’s better anyway. Trust me, [ she adds with a click of her tongue. Would Harley lie?

Probably.

As if being completely inept at her job isn’t bad enough, she’s also taken her own liberties with altering her uniform: getting rid of the sleeves, turning the top half into a plunging midriff, and hemming the skirt so it’s a perilous endeavor to lean over.

It’s really helped with tips.

Grabbing her notepad off the counter, she at least heads to a booth in the corner of the of this fine establishment to wait on a newcomer. And all within 15 minutes of his arrival too. For Harley that’s speedy service. ]

Hey, sweet cheeks. What can I do you for? Pudding? Pie? A stiff drink? We don’t have the last but we do have some rubbing alcohol in the back I can dilute with Coke.

Re: Wildcard: Pudding and Pie Cafe in De Chima

[pillz]

[you want to know something ironic, kavinsky spent most of his life skirting socially unacceptable behavior in public, deep-diving it in private, being an offensive terror, driving people from the room with the ridiculous, awful shit that he'd say.

but the shoe is on the other foot now, isn't it? sitting at the cafe, he had been distracted by his phone, some nefarious plan he was hatching, a subtler one than the kind he used to prefer. photostatic masks, impersonations. money and investigation. at the best of times, joseph kavinsky's moorings to the tangible and material world were weak; he wasn't very well rooted into his own body. and these aren't the best of times.

but then, all too suddenly, there's a half-naked girl offering surgical spirits.

and that's gonna bring kavinsky back down to earth with a bump, if anything is. he stares at her. her boobs! he's pretty gay, but they sure are right there.] I like meat, [he says.] Sans acrylic nails. [he heard that right, right?] I mean, I'm hoping the one you lost was acrylic. What are my odds of getting a piece of cow, no synthetic additives?

[madlove]

[ Oh, he heard that right, unfortunately. Luckily, though, with bright red and black polish and a dangerously pointed tip, the nail should be pretty easy to spot by… well, whoever ends up with it. Maybe. If she hadn’t dropped it into also bright red pie filling.

Ah well. It’s not like the diner’s food is the best anyway.

Harley seems to consider his request, like asking for a hamburger (or, at least, she assumes he’s not expecting filet mignon in this place) in a joint like this is odd and not something she hears about 20-30 times per shift. ]

Listen, between you and me, I’m not sure if the owner outsources cow, horse, or goat. But if you want a burger let me suggest a lot of extra toppings and condiments. Or pancakes. Oooh, or waffles. It’s hard to screw up waffles.

[ No, it’s not. Harley has, in fact, in her illustrious ‘cooking career’, ruined many a waffle. But that’s what maple syrup’s for, right? ]

Or maybe it’s rat. I do keep hearing squeaks back there and I’m not sure if something’s in the walls or someone waxed the floor a little too enthusiastically.

[ She could be joking. Maybe. ]

De Chima

[the_caped_crusader]

[ and suddenly he's quite outside of the sun's grasp, a tall shadow with pointed ears behind him, shielding him from it. the casual passer-by of before have now passed him with slightly more unease. ]

Daytime really isn't my thing. Mind if we get out of the sun already.

[pillz]

[for the first two, three seconds, kavinsky doesn't reply. but given a couple of seconds

he slowly tips his head back, to get a look at this giant stately figure that's blocking out the sun. even upside-down, batman cuts an imposing figure. and memorable. there's no mistaking who this is.]

You ever considered silver, as a solution to getting hot in that shit?

[kavinsky gets up, slouching, still a little lethargic. but present. he casts around for a place that's out of the sun— motions at the block of nightclubs down there. they're all closed, which means they'd have to break in, but also: privacy. and no sun.]

[the_caped_crusader]

Makes it a little harder to hide from people at night, doesn't it?

[ he makes his way across the street without looking back, and just assumes he's following. he manages to pick the lock casually and in record time, looking back finally. ]

A little heat's better than a full clip from an AR-15. Come on, it's open.

de chima

[roughworkdone]

[ Kaz does't think he's surprised to see Kavinsky sitting on the curb without his shoes. When they met the other boy looked as put together as he does now (with shoes), but fine clothes can't cover everything. Most people seem to be passing him by, though one or two seem to cast concerned looks his way.

He could keep walking. But he's curious.

He gets to the edge of the sidewalk and stands by Kavinsky, not blocking the sun in case, like some reptile, he needs it to keep functioning. ]

I'm inclined to ask where your shoes went.

[pillz]

[that's a good question. one that kavinsky takes a few long, strange seconds to process, staring into space. then slowly turning his head to look at his newest acquaintance.]

I think I put my foot up somebody's ass, [he says.] But then I forgot what I did so I put my other one up his ass too.

[that's not what happened. he really can't remember what happened. it probably doesn't matter. when your bar is 'sometimes i get the compulsion to kill people now,' missing shoes rates low on the scale of logistical life concerns.] How's it going, Brekker?

[roughworkdone]

Hope you didn't like that pair, [he answers mildly. He leans on his cane, wondering if Kavinsky is on something or caught up in his head for another reason.]

Life is a series of compromises and disappointments. But I think this is the most sun I've seen in autumn in a long time.

[Ketterdam gets dreary heading into winter and stays that way until spring finally breaks through. It occurs to Kaz to just leave Kavinsky where he is, staring off into space and shoeless. He'll probably be fine, and his general well-being isn't Kaz's problem. But.]

I'm on my way to find somewhere to eat. Or at least drink. Care to join me?