maskormenacelogs | FANPORT OVERFLOW LOG

[ Reggie likes Nonah for the same -- or at least similar -- reasons to why most people like Maurtia Falls, actually; he likes the nightlife and the liveliness, which Nonah can provide without everything that makes him uneasy about Pennsylvania. Not that he'd say so. If someone insisted, then sure, he'd agree.

However, he's definitely going to play dumb to that little insinuation, especially since he's not actually 100% sure how to interpret it. People were always finding new ways to talk shit... ]

Whatever that means. [ He scoffs, straightening his shoulders to re-impose some air of dignity before he gives the car an appreciative look-over. ] Damn. Nice wheels, dude -- you had it long?

[ Then, after a pause, he adds: ]

I mean, we can go wherever, makes no difference to me. Right about now "anywhere but here" sounds equally promising.

[kavinsky finds the key fob in his pocket, and the evo lancer chirps open. like a gentleman (sort of) (this once), the bulgarian boy goes around and opens the door for his guest, standing there until reggie inserts himself into the vehicle. even though the car is white-- save for the black knife graphic spattered edgily (EDGILY) up its side, it's managed to accumulate heat inside. as cars do.

but kavinsky climbs in and jacks up the air-conditioning pretty high. before he's even done pulling out of the parking space, there are arctic winds pulsing out of the vents.] Had it a few months, [he answers.] Faster than my old one. But I dunno what this year's model looks like. Downside of getting fucking kidnapped by 'porter technology.' Or whatever. [kavinsky doesn't particularly understand the actual mechanics that led him to be here. nobody does, of course, but he cares less than most. mostly he thinks in terms of fate and hate.

he's here because ronan's here. there's still only one way this story ends.

but the middle can involve all kinds of fun people and stupid things!]

You should see what she does on the highway, man. Or the track. You know any of that shit? [you never know what kind of world people come from.]

[ Such manners, goodness. Reggie slides into the car, sitting back in the seat and propping his feet up on the dash like an asshole, especially considering how much he hated when people would do that shit in his car. But, hey; who is he if not someone who holds himself to a different standard than everyone else?

Though the AC's on, Reggie also proceeds to shrug his leather jacket off, because outside the convention center in the light of day it's hot as hell. ]

Eh. Yeah, I guess I can see that, but being here driving last year's cars has still got to be a step-up from wherever else we could be. All in all, this place at least comes with perks.

[ Since the alternatives include things like zombie apocalypses, which Reggie personally wants no further part of. No thank you. Even the subject of cars is a little iffy because Reggie can't help but keep remembering that one stupid night, that stupid reckless swerve of the wheel that led him to hit and kill Hot Dog, but it's much more easily faked than being anxious about going home would be. ]

Sure, I know cars. I used to get a new one practically every birthday. [ In case there was any doubt about that high standard of living he says he's used to. ] Never did any racing with them, though -- my dad probably would've broken my legs if I ever did something like crash and drove up his insurance premiums.

[ But he shrugs, waving that off. ]

No big loss, wasn't much of a dragging scene where I'm from anyway. Plenty of other kinds of fun you can have in them, though.

[funnily enough, it's one of kavinsky's best and worst qualities— that he cares very, very little for his material possessions. back in another world, an older time, there's a car he dreamt with pen marks on the dash. another with chainsaw marks gnawed through the tires. still others burnt to a crisp.

needless to say: he doesn't mind reggie's feet up on the front. he laughs instead, pleased enough to have someone like of mind. be as it may, that reggie might prize his own possessions above those of others. it doesn't bother kavinsky right now. he has nothing in the way of principles or consistency— why would he expect anyone else to? the mitsubishi squeals out into the blaze of heat. kavinsky's bony fingers sketch over the control panel, rolling the music down.

it's a deep, savage, pulsing beat. techno.]

Sweet of your old man to care, [he offers, lightly. if he knew reggie any better, he might even hate him for this— for having a dad who did in fact give two shits. material or otherwise. he drives out into traffic, cutting off somebody who blares at them from a cute li'l old bug.] You talking about fucking in the backseat? [he asks.] Road head? Your girl sounds like she'd fuck around with teeth, though. Just saying.

Mmh. Yeah. He always cares when it's his money involved.

[ Reggie sneer-smirks, taking the comment as sarcasm regardless of the intent -- he's fairly convinced that his dad would only care about his car insurance if Reggie were to crash, the Mantles are not exactly a close or nurturing family.

Unperturbed, he refolds his legs -- swapping which one is crossed over the other -- and leans further back in his seat once they get moving, getting himself comfortable with one arm leaning against the ledge of the window. ]

Sure, driving out to some place quiet, fooling around for a while... [ Not that Reggie really went "all the way" back home, but "fooling around" still covers a fair amount of ground. He shrugs, still smirking mildly. ] Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, man. A little teeth isn't always bad.

[kavinsky sounds both doubtful and unconcerned.] If you say so, man. You sound like a match made in a whitebread dom dungeon, [he laughs. it occurs to him that not even a full-on vampire could hurt him these days. if he thinks about it much longer, he's going to want to hire a vampire to try it out on, so.

focusing. he zips between lanes, roving over toward a mall in the distance. the seven-tier parking lot structure behind it, the concrete glinting grey in the floridian sunshine. he pulls toward it, ignoring an angry burst of a horn behind them. he adds,] Changed my mind. Your old man sounds like a royal cunt. [his voice is light.

and perhaps disappointingly now, he's pulling onto the car park ramp. shadow lips over the roof, darkening the windows.]

Ugh. I wouldn't go that far.

[ His nose wrinkles, though Reggie isn't even sure which part of that statement he actually takes objection to -- the "dungeon" part, or the "match" part, weirdly enough. ]

I'm not into the whole "relationship" thing, but it's too much effort to call things off when I'm at least getting laid on the regular. Why not just enjoy the moment, right? [ Playing it off, playing it casual. He sits up more properly when Kavinsky speeds up, looking out the car windows as he shrugs. ] Yeah, that about sums him up. Whatever, though -- that's parents for you.

[reggie's answer gets a lifted eyebrow. there is a lot that kavinsky could say to that, none of it kind and little of it congratulatory, but he chooses not to because it's boring. instead, he just laughs like a psychotic donkey for a second, and then he says,] You tell yourself whatever you tell yourself, sweetheart.

[in the meantime, kavinsky will tell himself that reggie is somewhat available.

but first things first. the mitsubishi swings up the ramp, a squeak of rubber as they spin around the massive central column. kavinsky finds them a spot on level two, driving up too fast, until he abruptly brakes into the rectangular space. it's then that kavinsky leans across reggie's lap, elbowing his legs aside to get something from the boot.

pills. extremely violently-colored pills. in a few weeks, when kavinsky has a small problem with billy's magic and isn't kavinsky properly anymore, reggie might even recognize these pills. brutal red, and a luminous, nearly radioactive-looking green. kavinsky shakes his plastic bag.]

How big a hat we thinking?

[ Somewhat available is a good way to put it. Relationship or not, it's not like Reggie really has experience with successful long-term monogamy. Nor the willpower or ethics to be morally above cheating.

Still, Reggie doesn't know what in specific Kavinsky might mean by that little comment -- what part of what he said, though he thinks he can make a good guess -- so it seems best to assume it's better not to ask. A little mystery can be nice anyway.

So he cheekily comments: ]

It's the only way to live. [ Reggie puts his hand against the ceiling to brace himself as the car speeds and spins, but then sits up straight and stiff when Kavinsky leans over him. ] Ack, what--

[ ... But oh, those have his attention. They'll certainly be hard to forget, too; Reggie stares at the bag almost in a daze, his skin suddenly feeling cold and crawly. ]

Huh? Oh... uh. [ Reggie blinks and grazes his tongue over his upper lip. ] Depends on what you want to come out of it. Got any requests?

[the pills jumble and shift around in the bag as kavinsky pulls them over to his side. he holds them in front of his own face, gives the ziplock a shake, as if trying to decide which one is best for the job. that, however, depends on reggie's answer-- which turns out to depend on kavinsky's own creativity.

he snaps his coarse fingers.]

One of those dildoes on a rocker. Glider. Whatever. You know what I'm talking about? Fuck machines?

['creativity.' as it were.] What's that like, two feet diameter? [a beat. he laughs like an ass, then pops the bag open with his fingertips. a moment of consideration, then he selects the green pill. we're going easy tonight.] The whole thing. Not just the rubber cock.

[ It's a bit of a delayed reaction, but then Reggie's face bypasses redness to go a bit purple; he exhales irritably through his teeth, jaw clenched. ]

Well, I can't do that. [ He manages it slowly, expression still flustered and tense while trying not to be. ] I mean -- that's just not how it works, it only ever gives me things I need and I obviously wouldn't...

[ Though saying that feels like tempting fate, like his powers will spite him now and work differently just to be a fucking embarrassment, so he quickly adds: ]

D-don't you want something more like a motorcycle? Wasn't that it? [ Then he points to the pill. ] What's that for, anyway?

[what is this reaction. kavinsky looks at the other spoiled white boy, a little slow, hilariously slow to realize that reggie is actually a bit embarrassed by this turn of conversation. humans who have shame, what is this.

(an unexpected win in the perpetual power-play that is kavinsky's relationships with other boys, is what it is.) (just a battle, not the war.)]

Sweetheart, you look like you choked on an FDA outlawed food dye. Or condom made thereof, [he says. he puts the pill in his mouth, but puts it in his cheek for the moment. shakes his head, his eyes glinting with evil laughter.] You left that shit wide open for me. It's too easy. I'm not gonna do it. But hey. Hey, maybe today's the day we find out if you're getting what you need at home.

[then he's reaching down, moving to grab the lever next to his seat. tilt it back.] Motorcycle's fine. You have a need for speed, Mantle?

[ Oh, god, just kill him now. Why is Kavinsky like this? Why did Reggie not just suggest something from the get-go himself? So many questions, really. Reggie grinds his teeth, taking his time to settle down slightly so he doesn't just fly off the handle when he speaks again.

Exhaling, he manages: ]

Like I'd give you the satisfaction -- not everyone's a freak, you know. At least not as much of one as you.

[ But then he goes right on to fix his hair and say: ]

Sure, I have a need for a lot of things. Seems as good a place to start as any.

[it's too easy. our hearts ache with compassion for young master mantle, except for kavinsky, who doesn't have a heart. he laughs again, an awful laugh that you can hear this time.]

One big-ass hat coming up, [he says, his voice clotting funnily when he moves the pill around with his tongue. squaring it in his mouth. without straightening in his seat, he gropes around in the compartment next to his seat to find a bottle of flat coke there. he washes the poisonous-looking narcotic down, ignoring the trickle of excess soda down his cheek. turning his head aside, he apparently

goes to sleep.

it's a little anti-climactic, probably. it's anti-climactic if reggie isn't looking closely, at the way the rise and fall of kavinsky's chest starts to slow, the twitch of pulse in his neck begins to fumble. the way that, for an instant, the basic functions of living in kavinsky's skinny cokehead body totally stop.]

FANPORT OVERFLOW LOG

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