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

[pillz]

[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.]

[mantlepieces]

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.

[pillz]

[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?

[mantlepieces]

[ 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?

[pillz]

[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.

[mantlepieces]

[ 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?

[pillz]

[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?

[mantlepieces]

[ 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.

[pillz]

[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.]