FANPORT OVERFLOW LOG

[maskormods]

WHO: ImPorts!
WHERE: Heropa's Convention Centre.
WHEN: April 14-16, from 9 AM - 12 AM every day.
WHAT: Registration is in motion alongside FanPort, the most popular imPort convention around! Come on in and see imPort-led panels, the artist's alley, cosplayers, and more! If you have any questions, or wish to amend the way we have written up your characters' panels, let us know here! The original log can be found HERE.
WARNINGS: None anticipated; please let us know if this should be changed.

Comments

Saya continuing threads

[instars]

Chilton

[instars]

[cont. from here!]

Do you think so?

Do you nominate yourself?

[She looks somewhat amused by the prospect.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

[Thank you!]

I wouldn't entrust your mental well-being with another psychiatrist. I suppose that does leave me as the sole option, yes.

[Chilton watches her face, carefully, looking for palpable indications.]

[instars]

[Nothing seems to change on her face.]

I'm not interested.

[slightlyoffchilt]

What are you interested in, then?

[instars]

In general, or specifically to my mental health?

Because right now I'm interested in why Christian Louboutin isn't a designer in this world.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Often I find that the general pertains to the mental health. [Spoken with only a hint of sarcasm.] Perhaps he has yet to be discovered, or died before he could manifest what you knew him to be. Or simply does not exist.

[instars]

None of those are particularly desirable.

[How annoying.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

Life is a tragedy waiting to unfold. I'm afraid that you'll have to find another topic to occupy yourself, for lack of a specific designer.

I would consider you resourceful. You'll think of something.

Kavinsky

[instars]

[She watches him aim and leans in just a little.]

Is it the picture or the subject matter? That has you so wound up?

[Because he is, not completely, not in a way that's familiar, but he's experiencing something akin to feelings and she didn't smell this the last time that they met. He seemed much less involved in himself, then.

Or maybe more.

Humans are so odd. Confusing things.]

Otherwise, don't you look very handsome today. Almost like you're enjoying yourself.

[This is not entirely a bald lie. But it's not sexual, that much is clear. There's something odd and different about the way she compliments him. Like it's utterly true, but also not at all invested.]

cw drug use

[pillz]

Neither. It's called cocaine, [kavinsky answers, a sneer cutting up into his narrow face. in the moment that he says it, he even believes it. that it's just cocaine, and nothing about ronan lynch or the circumstances upon which they parted once, are destined to part again, always.

but then he just laughs. he doesn't know what he smells like, but even if he were aware of that embarrassing pocket of insight into his character, laughing would make it feel like it mattered less. he's laughed off his own honesty before. once upon a descending dragon. and this is just a drawing. so it suits him just as well, that she's telling him that he looks good after that. that he's having fun. if there's a self-contradiction to be observed there, he doesn't pay it any mind.

instead, he digs up a pack of smokes from his pocket.] Speaking of uppers, [he says, gallantly (??). he takes one out and holds the rest in the twee box toward her.] You found any shitty art of you?

[instars]

Oh, yes.

You do have that look. Like you subsist of air and uppers.

[She waves her hand a little, like it's irrelevant. Druggie blood tastes bad, even if she ate other imPorts, which she doesn't. The nanites are a legitimate concern.

She takes a cigarette. She doesn't smoke often - book lungs process the nicotine to basically nothing - but she can fake it. She holds the cigarette between slim fingers; her hands are covered in silver rings. She gives him a smile that's almost more baring her teeth than anything.]

No one would dare make it shitty.

[And she waves the cigarette, to accept a light. Light her up, K.]

Anyway, the girls here don't like girls like me. Unless they want to lick me out. And then they really are afraid of me.

[pillz]

[from some of the artistic products he's seen, a certain degree of shit is inescapable. like how did ronan get such large hands? and kavinsky is also dimly, dully offended by the number of times he's been depicted without gel in his hair, if not the number of sparkles that the strands seem to net in absence of product.

there were a couple decent ones, mind you. kavinsky just has a difficult time focusing on the positives in life. it's one of his special gifts.]

Babe, [he says, flicking the lighter on with his thumb.] These bitches are fucking losers. Every other loser with shit for self-esteem-- [he holds up the lighter high enough for her to draw the heat in through the slender cylinder.] --is trying to overcompensate. If you're gonna be a loser, be loser queen. Be-fucking-hold. [he lights his own cigarette, which constitutes a melodramatic pause, because he is also a loser, just don't tell anybody. and then he gestures around, sending tendrils of smoke everywhere.]

One girl's shit is another girl's-- you know the rest. What's wrong with your vagina? [his mind jumps around like he subsists on air and uppers. he construes, perhaps incorrectly, that it is that region of her that demands fear.]

[instars]

It's attached to me.

[She says it so simply; it's not self deprecating. And she looks him over again. Focusing on the positives has never been Saya's problem. In fact she's pretty damn good at it.]

And I'm terrifying.

[And that's said with an innocent sort of smile, just a lift of the corner of her mouth. She takes a drag of cigarette.]

Besides, the probability of one of these virgins successfully getting me to orgasm is low, and I don't feel like training any of them. Not today, anyway. I'm not a loser queen, Kavinsky. Queens are for bees, and I'm a bit of a more dangerous kind of bitch, as it were.

[Coming from someone else, that might come off as a bit desperate. But with her she just says it like it's a fact and leaves it there.]

cw shitty remarks about gender and prince 8(

[pillz]

That right? [kavinsky can recognize someone who believes what they're saying, when he's looking at them. ronan had been like that, a little. as certain of his honesty as he was certain of his secrets, hilariously ignorant of the point-- points-- at which those two truths violated each other and turned into hypocrisy.

he'd thought of himself as dangerous, too. so much posturing. kavinsky had been a little bit enamored of that, but that was awhile ago.]

Loser what. King? Gender nonspecific ruler on a tranny throne. Prince! Don't answer. [his eyes glitter, but he's moving to cover them up in a minute, pulling the sunglasses off his shirt collar. predictably, he latches onto the notion that she's talking about powers. latches onto that, with the herky jerky suddenness endemic to cokeheads. to be fair, he could be further from correct, this time. (he doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about arthropods, is part of the problem.)

(also one does not generally consider the possibility they're conversing with an abnormally large spider, where he comes from.)]

What you got. Laser eyes? Toxic pubes?

[instars]

[She considers what she'll tell him.]

If you drink my blood you'll get high.

[That's true. And another pause.]

I can't get messy.

[That's also true. She knocks out a bit of ash.]

Why, what's yours, other than making girls cry?

[pillz]

Fuck. Really? [unmistakable interest flickers through his eyes, even if the next instant, he grimaces. yes, despite everything, he draws the line at drinking a chick's blood. it's a dashed line, but still. line. ish.] More like a pot high or a meth high? Asking for a friend.

[he laughs, gusting a little skein of grey smoke out of his mouth. he doesn't even finish his cigarette before dropping it, grinding it out with the ball of his foot.]

I'm the mother of dragons.

[it's not a deliberate reference i think probably, i don't want to accidentally break the fourth wall on any game of thrones people we have around. but he is referring to the network post he first made, coming in. he studies her, his face pleasantly blank. he knows she's interested in him, for some testicle-curdling reason or other; he imagines she remembers that.] It's a good gig, if you like fire.

Adam

[instars]

You smile too much.

[She says it with no hesitation at all.]

You look too pleasant when people look at you. Just imagine you'd rather see everyone here dead. That should help.

[This is A+ advice here.]

[aberth]

[ Adam just looks at her. ]

You are literally the only person who's ever told me I smile too much.

[instars]

You'll notice I barely smile at all.

[Of course, she also carries herself like a model and dresses like one too, so people are a little afraid to get too close.]

I could show you how to make it so no one approaches you. It's in the way you look and the way you dress.

Also, do you wear anything silver on you?

[aberth]

[ He'd noticed, and had assumed rightly. That Saya treated life like a catwalk. Models don't smile. ]

I can't do much about the way I dress.

[ There's the slightest hint of bitterness in Adam's voice then, there and then gone, swallowed up by an even worse laugh as she asks him about silver. His watch is nickel. ]

No.

[instars]

You can.

[She considers that for a moment.]

You need to carry silver with you. Everywhere.

[She takes the ring off her thumb, and loops it on his small finger. It's just a broad, simple thing.]

Don't give it back.

[aberth]

I can't take it.

[ It may be simple to Saya, but it isn't to Adam. His cheeks burn and his mouth turns furiously and embarrassingly downward. He yanks it from his finger and holds it out to her, a muscle working in his jaw. There are too many people here and now there's this.

He can feel himself being watched. ]

Saya.

[instars]

[She looks at him, and she actually frowns.]

Adam.

[aberth]

Take it back.

[ He's causing a scene, he knows he's causing a scene. But his veins are tight and boiling with shame. His pockets are full of vines and they push their way from behind the fabric to work their way up his sweatshirt. ]

Just take it.