if you're scared to die you better not be scared to live

[onblackwings]

WHO: Kavinsky & Khisanth
WHERE: some heckin fancy treehouse night club
WHEN: Evening of 6/23ish
WHAT: there is surely some kind of "chase the dragon" joke to be made here
WARNINGS: n/a, will update if necessary

[ The unusual shape of this party is what initially attracted Khisanth — Onyx at the moment, tucked neatly into her human form and all dressed up in tight black and silver hanging jewelry for the evening. A party in the trees, she'd thought, how interesting. She's quickly found that usually humans do all of their dancing and drinking in a claustrophobic little place, this is very much an improvement.

Maybe that's what has her a little more drunk tonight than she would normally get; she has a lot more patience for this venue. She wanders the dance floor, bar, and seating areas with an eye for appreciation, ignoring any attention she might happen to get until her inspection is complete. Then, and only then, does she take a seat next to the first human she spots: a guy she doesn't recognize (she doesn't recognize most people, that's nothing new), a drink in hand she hasn't seen before. ]

Which one is that? [ Her eyes are focused on his drink, her own half-emptied glass almost forgotten. ] What does it taste like?

Comments

cw i think some implied misogyny in here but idk

[pillz]

It's vodka. Grey Goose.

[kavinsky looks at her once then looks at her again. sometimes women are so attractive that his both gay and incredibly hateful ass notices. wow. he blinks for a moment, a drunk thought or two ping ponging off the inside of his skull. he takes another sip of vodka, which is probably meant to help something, and that something definitely isn't thinking.]

I don't fuck girls, [he adds, because vodka helps him do things wrong, so why not this as well? (and maybe kavinsky needed to remind himself for a moment.) in general, it's impossible to tell whether kavinsky's dressed to pick up or not; fancy fuckin' threads, silk blends. brand names.]

[onblackwings]

[ She has, by now, gotten a pretty good idea of what 'fuck' means, but the casual bluntness of it draws out a blink. Does that have anything to do with his drink? Her brows furrow thoughtfully as she considers a potential connection, but not for long. There are bigger matters at hand. ]

Can I try it?

[ The drink she means, of course, but seeing as potential connections had her distracted for a good second or two, the clarity of that can be debated. ]

[pillz]

[a smile hoods kavinsky's eyes. there was a time, not too long ago, that that would have invited a desperately terrible rape joke. but he's managed to survive to his twenties, at least in this universe. and his brainwashing experience had a couple of positive impacts on his personality, so.

wordlessly, he pushes the drink over to her. wordless is atypical too; but he's curious. fully expects, from her subtle surprise at his words, that she'll be coughing up like it's a hairball in a minute.]

[onblackwings]

[ She accepts the wordless offer with the basic curiosity she usually has for some new thing; this not being all that new, alcohol is typically alcohol however you slice it, she only gives it a brief inspection and a quick sniff. Then she downs just over half of what's left.

She pauses, considers it, coughs once, and makes a face as she slides the thing back. ]

That's disgusting. Didn't you pay enough for them to flavor it for you?

[pillz]

[kavinsky laughs at that. he accepts his drink back, looking her over. she's from somewhere else, obviously.

maybe also somewhen. import. even people from bumfuck hicktown nowhere know unflavored liquor. hell, they probably know it better than anybody in big city centers, given there's nothing to fucking do in the country besides drink. it's true as true in this alternate united states as it was in the bulgaria from whence his parents hailed.]

You start to like the taste, [he says.] Besides, gets you drunk faster than if you water it down with whatever. Come on, I'll get you yours. What do you want, sweetheart?

[onblackwings]

[ She very much doubts she would ever come to like that taste, as her face clearly states, but that doesn't mean she's not willing to score a free drink, ]

Something that tastes good. [ She eyes him doubtfully. ] Can I trust you to judge that?

[pillz]

[this is subject to consideration. giiiirls. kavinsky's prone to plenty of misogyny, but he does also understand like, normal alcoholic preferences. too-sweet can go wrong, even with ordinary citizens.]

Yeah, [says the least trustworthy source of information in the world. he tells the bartender,] Long Island Ice Tea.

[and it's coming together right over there, in a moment. lots of different liquors, which no doubt, doesn't bode well for its taste. but kavinsky looks at khisanth with confidence.] You got a name, sweetheart?

[onblackwings]

[ She watches the drink come into existence with a mild interest, and it's with a bit of effort that she brings her attention back to her new company. Tonight's earlier drinks are starting to get to her a bit, which is why she starts the requested name with the wrong sound: ]

Kh-- [ No, that's not right. Not at the moment. She squints, tries again: ] Onyx. Just Onyx, no last name.

[ Those are a thing, she's come to learn. Best to own it. She tilts her head imperiously. ]

And you, sweetheart?

[pillz]

Kavinsky. Which is my last name.

[he has a first name, but it's always girls sort of like her who end up using it all the time, instead of something sensible, like k, or even joe. 'joseph.' sounds like a dad. he isn't a dad. he's a progenitor of a whole other horrific kind.

two, three years ago, he would have said onyx sounds like a stripper name. but he's far too classy, now.]

What kind of name is 'Onyx?'

[onblackwings]

Onyx. Like the stone.

[ She says it smoothly, like it's a perfectly reasonable explanation for the name. Her attention turns to the drink, and she takes a considering sip. It's ... not great, but not bad. Better than his drink. She downs a quarter of it, then, seeming to suddenly remember he's still there: ]

First names are more familiar. What's yours?

[pillz]

[they are. kavinsky isn't sure he wants familiarity, but he has an awkward relationship with his desires; the name emerges from his mouth on impulse.]

Joseph.

[he should have made her go first. but this isn't that kind of power game. he studies her face, not blinking when the bartender lands her sweeter drink down in front of her, its contents glowing amber in the light of the club.]

You?

[onblackwings]

[ Joseph. It just doesn't sound as nice as Kavinsky, does it? Khisanth decides she'll stick with the better one, and promptly loses track of the name she's just been given. She looks down at the newly arrived drink, curious — but then just as quickly back up again at Kavinsky, suddenly with a bright and amused smile. Alcohol, she's been pleased to discover, makes everything much funnier. ]

First name — why is it called that? Just because it's said first, right? Not because it's the one you were first given.

[pillz]

[this girl comes from somewhere else. to a greater extent, kavinsky recognizes tipsily, than the average import comes from 'somewhere else.' he studies her with interest.]

Family names is what people get from their dad, most of the time. Last name. Usually comes after the first. First names is what you get from your parents. So you, [he jabs a friendly finger in her direction-- not her face.] Either don't got a family or they didn't give you one of those while they was raising you. Which one?

[onblackwings]

[ Oh, that does make more sense, she's not quite heard it laid out like that before. She leans in though, smiling her tipsy amusement. ]

Which one do you think it was?

[ She has the idea that one of these assumptions would be insulting. Maybe they both would. For once, that's probably fine -- she's in a good mood. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky studies the woman. he isn't terribly invested in getting the answer right, but he decides to try anyway. it's the new and improved joseph kavinsky: sometimes he actually tries, even if he doesn't have to.

(even in drunk conversationswith strange women.)]

Second one, [he says.] Everybody came from somewhere. But I'm told not everywhere does it just like America.

[onblackwings]

No.

[ Does she mean about his guess, or is this agreement on the not like Americaness of the various worlds out there? Either way works, and she decides she doesn't care how it's interpreted. ]

Are you from America?

[pillz]

Sure.

[kavinsky's expression fades to neutral.]

No.

[on the other hand, what kind of a kavinsky would he be were he entirely honest. he leans on his elbow, looking solemnly into her face.] Someone dreamed me, but I'm a nightmare. You?

[onblackwings]

[ An answer can't be both. She frowns, watching him intently like the real answer is somewhere in his face. ]

That doesn't make any sense. Explain it.

[ she deserves this information!! ]

[pillz]

[mm. america.]

My family's from Bulgaria. [he searches her face for a sign of recognition.] But we came over to the US like a billion fuckin' years ago. I still listen to the music and speak the language.

It's a whole thing. [he rubs a thumb over his forehead.] You ever heard of it? Bulgaria?

[onblackwings]

[ There is definitely no recognition for the name in her face, but she watches him with unchanging curious scrutiny regardless.

The question gets ignored as unimportant. Instead, a little hesitantly, like she's missing something here: ] How old are you?

[pillz]

[what is this. >:(

the old habit opens under him like a sinkhole. answering a question with a question.]

How fuckin' old are you?

[onblackwings]

[ hey now, she's the one ignoring questions to ask her own. She's quick with a frown. ]

I asked first.

[pillz]

Twenty-something.

[god. he can't remember how old he is. that is an old person thing. he furrows his brow.]

Twenty two. To be fair, I died a lot.

[he scowls.] How old are you?