O2 👶 ALL THEM GIRLS IN THEIR YOGA PANTS;

[pillz]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky + CR
WHERE: Various, especially Maurtia Falls and De Chima
WHEN: May 2016 (throughout)
WHAT: Catch-all for May for closed threads. Feel free to PM or PP me if you'd like to write a log! EDIT: Added an open starter.
WARNINGS: Criminal activities, narcotics, underage drinking, racist/homophobic/sexist/triggering language



maurtia falls

[used to be, kavinsky preferred house parties and bonfires, public school parking lots and racing on long stretches of country road. but even he can adapt a little when situational paranoia demands it.

so: maurtia falls it is.

he visits the city every weekend— and lately, his visits have started creeping into school days, eating further into his part-time schedule at xavier's. usually, he empties the pistols out of the trunk of his mitsubishi pretty early on, meeting in very aesthetic alleyways with the friends of the friends of the corner street dealers. covert, but not so covert that word can't get around to those who need to know. he gets the weapons out at street-value, no haggling— almost no trouble. after that, it's the nightclubs.

mostly, he's just there to drink (too much), to talk (a lot), to watch (everything). getting to know the lay of the land (the who, the what, as well as the where, and for how much), and maybe also to soothe the raw jangle of his nerves, which he'll never admit to. his id is impossibly convincing and the import cred doesn't hurt; he's a good liar, anyway, and the handful of times he doesn't get in it's because they hate his obnoxious, offensive, privileged white ass more than they love the money. he gets a reputation for being generous with his coke— that's not his industry anymore, you see.

he's doing well for himself.

he has a favorite pizza joint. he's there almost every club night, by 4:15am. he sits facing the door, slouching, raw-eyed but not unhappy to look at. usually, he eats a slice with pepperoni.]

Comments

@ xavier's (closed to kotetsu)

[pillz]

[believe it or not, kavinsky was a better student when he started. by no means was he at the top of the class and only signning up part-time, but at least, you know.

he was awake.

something changed toward the end of april. he started turning up late and reeking somewhat more heavily of cigarettes than he did before, taking more breaks outside in his car, showing up wired after the break was taken, jiggling his knee under his desk so fiercely that his classmates have started, quietly, to complain. kavinsky hasn't started doing lines in the bathroom or actually lighting anything on fire— courtesy of kotetsu himself, actually. but no doubt, professor kotetsu has begun to get a handful of reports. apart from the generic remarks about his behavior, kavinsky hasn't exactly been secretive about the fact that he also quit his job. no more garbage for him! (apart from, you know, that he is.)

on friday the 6th, kavinsky falls asleep about halfway through history class, and into the half-hour lunch break— not that he ever eats here, anyway. he's supposed to have powers class with kotetsu afterward, but it's not as if he'd set an alarm on his phone, or that he's particularly concerned about getting kicked out these days. he barely stirs when his native teacher tells him she's going to get kotetsu, doesn't even open his eyes. all-around fuck giving is low.

by the time kotetsu is shown through the door, kavinsky is facedown on his textbook, his skinny arms folded around his head. some kids look more innocent when they're sleeping, and maybe kavinsky would if you could see his face. but right now, he just looks like he has too much product in his hair.]

[earnedmystripes]

[It's a strange world when Kotetsu is the one called in to discipline one of the kids; he's pretty much known as one of the laxest teachers in the school, the type who'll let just about anything slide with a Parental Frown Of Disapproval and a lecture if you apologize and say you won't do it again. Probably the only thing that keeps him from getting walked all over in class is that he's so goshdarned nice that nobody really wants to disappoint him.

In all honesty, no one's probably expecting Kotetsu to actually punish Kavinsky either, but for some reason, the kid actually listens to him (sometimes), so he's become the go-to in this particular case.

Soooo at some point, dreamland is gonna be interrupted by a poking sensation at his shoulder, which just so happens to be a chocolate chip granola bar. That's sort of healthy, right? Well, the healthiest edible-looking thing in the vending machine, anyway.]

Oi, oi, what's with the whole space case thing lately, huh? C'mon. [Poke poke. Poke.]

I'm not above literally dragging you to class, you know.

[Okay it'd be more like a fireman's carry but shut up, that doesn't sound as impressive.]

[pillz]

[poookepoke. p o ke. kavinsky's eye flutters, and his head rolls on the table like a bowling ball navigating around its track. he breathes in deeply and then exhales again, his breath fogging the smooth lacquer of the table top. it takes him a couple seconds to focus on kotetsu, his pupil shrinking into focus.]

What the fuck, man.

[it's kind of a slap and kind of a scrabble, kavinsky's bone-skinny hand snapping out and then skittering insectoid fingers all over the place. somehow, he manages to snatch at the granola bar-- at least enough that he can tell, by the feel of it, what it actually is. the nap is actually evidence that he hasn't been hitting the cocaine as hard today as he might otherwise, so the feel of the crinkly wrapper suddenly reminds him that food is real and maybe he almost, sort of has an appetite.] Oh shit, [he says, eyes widening.

he even picks his head up off the table, his narrow face creasing into a grimace as he does so. static spray into his vision, just for a minute.] Gimme. Hey. [he makes another grab for the bar, even though he knows that kotetsu's hardly going to be trying to keep it away.] Only if you carry me like a fucking princess.

[earnedmystripes]

Ooooor like a sack of potatoes. Same difference, right?

[He huffs and lets Kavinsky grab the bar, waiting for the teen to properly re-enter the world of the living over here.]

You been having trouble sleeping at night?

[Because that's clearly why he's dozing off in school, right? Kotetsu: actually terrible at being a hardass about anything, especially with kids.]

[pillz]

[i dunno, sack of potatoes sounds less elegant if you ask kavinsky.

(who's very elegant, shut up.)]

Yeah, man. Nightmares.

[it's half of a lie. kavinsky is running guns, but long before he was running guns, he didn't to sleep. the right combination of uppers and downers solved most of the related problems. he stuffs the bar into his mouth, chews it. sends bits spraying all over the table.

and then he holds up his arms expectantly. carry me. his dark eyes crinkle, amused.]

[earnedmystripes]

[excuse u, some potato sacks are very elegant tyvm. #notallsacks]

You know, if you're not screwing with me and wanted to talk about 'em, I'd listen.

[>:| ignoring those expectant arms there tho]

[pillz]

[kavinsky lets his arms fall. his eyes flicker-- mostly, they flicker away. he always likes talking, but not about anything particularly real.

screwing tho.]

You gonna walk me to class?

[he straightens his legs, forcing his chair backward. the legs elicit an impossibly irritating, loud screech of friction against the heavy wood floor. he stands up, a little slowly, but not swaying too noticeably.] Next time Twizzlers, okay?

[earnedmystripes]

[Twizzlers. That's a new one.]

Considering it's my class and I gotta get there too, it only makes sense, right? And I'm holding you to that, by the way.

@ maurtia falls (closed to jesse pink)

[pillz]

[at some point between this night and the last time jesse met him, kavinsky got a tattoo. it's a bird on the side of his neck. it's one of the same kinds as the small, fork-tailed passerines that small richard gansey iii had showed up with on the network back in march, when kavinsky had set off fireworks across the beach. the lines are still a little red, irritated.

he'd always had expensive taste in jeans and cars, but those were the products of his power; this suggests that he's made some money.

they're standing outside a club now. kavinsky has a jacket on, some stylish bullshit with an asymmetrical zipper and collar pulled up under his throat. he looks old enough to get in, even without the fake id, but only because every world has a demographic of perennially youthful-looking, generically pretty troublemakers. in some worlds they're swordsmen politicians or practitioners of blood magic. in kavinsky's, dreamers tend to come out hot and kinda scary-looking. and obnoxious!] So don't offer to blow anyone, [he says.] And shut up, and surrender all weapons. That it?

[hostage]

If you're offering to blow anybody, you better mean it.

[Jesse is certainly not here to pimp out Kavinsky, however. That's on the kid's own time. But to reiterate for the sake of clarity (because Kavinsky seems a bit slow):]

We're making first introductions, so yeah, they might be paranoid. If somebody asks for your piece, hand it over. If they don't, great. But I don't wanna see you reaching for a weapon unless I'm reaching for mine. You let me do the talking 'til everybody's comfortable, then I'll pass it to you and you can make your pitch. They're the buyers, you're the seller. I'm just the facilitator here.

[pillz]

[kavinsky laughs-- just one short hyena bark. he says,] Okay, I get it, [which is what he said the first time that jesse ran through this process, so.

not the most promising. but probably not the least promising either. there is probably an alternate universe where kavinsky makes a reach for his gun right here, to see if jesse's going to stop him. instead, he merely picks out his wallet and finds his id, reaching up to stick it over his ear. he isn't sure they'll ask. something about jesse, the way he comports himself, the way people look at him— makes kavinsky thinks they won't ask.]

Smooth like lube. I get it. [he winks and turns toward the bouncer. the doorway pulses with electric blue light.] Except you make it sound like the objective is: nobody gets fucked. I'll do it. [everything is fine; this can only end well.] Lead the way.

@ de chima magic shop (closed to billkap)

[pillz]

[it is a nice sunny day when kavinsky shows up at billy kaplan's magic shop and tea room. or not tea room, but magic shop of the consultation kind according to his network advertisement the other week.]

I could make you a staff, [he says, referencing that exact same ad. he stops just inside the door. he looks around for some hogwarts robes or something that isn't going to break the fourth wall. a portable cauldron. a voodoo doll wearing boat shoes, a spell for sending evil spirits into trailer parks. he knows that billy had emphasized advice, but you know. a start-up supervillain needs to hold onto his hope sand dreams.]

What up, Kaplan.

[kavinsky steps further into the store, hands in his pockets. he looks the same as he did during the invasion. less beaten up, maybe. fractionally colder. but his gaunt-cheeked smile is the same.] How's business?

[inmyothertights]

[Billy is sitting at the counter, an empty jar the size of his palm in front of him. He'd been filling jars with tiny firefly lights, that when released fly out and last about an hour (a freebie, as announced cheerily on a blackboard out front) and when Kavinsky says that he looks over, his eyebrows going up a little.

He misinterprets.]

I used to have a staff. It was oak. But I'm more of a wandless witch.

[And he shrugs.]

It's fine. Lots of books sales. A couple of wards. How's things?

[He was warned off Kavinsky, but Billy isn't acting like it.]

Do me a solid, hold onto that jar.

[pillz]

[this may surprise people to know, but kavinsky likes lights. he also likes darkness, but you kind of need both for proper contrast, and he's all about the spectacle. his eyes go to the other jars, the motes flying about in them. he's compliant enough, really, with holding out his hands to take the empty one billy is offering him.

magic is awesome. he's still quite confident that his magic is the most awesome, but even so; he has a minute to appreciate these works.] Not that kind of a staff, man, [he says.] I'm good. Balls empty, belly full, you know you know.

[does billy know. it might be better for billy if he doesn't know. everything is fine; kavinsky's pupils are the size of nickels, but he hasn't summoned a dragon yet, so.]

Fuck books. What's a ward? [he twists the jar in his hands and the glass surface catches the light. checking to see if there's anything particularly unusual or interesting about the material. if there's anything magic.]

[inmyothertights]

Gross.

[Billy says it with no heat to it, like it's routine. Thanks, Kavinsky.

He runs a finger over the lip of the glass and it starts to glow. The glass itself is getting warm to the touch, but not so hot it burns. It's more like holding a warm mug of tea or coffee. Inside, tiny pinprick of blue lights are filling the jar, clustering like candy.]

A ward? It's a way to keep undesirables out. Or magic out. Or protect something inside a place. That isn't burning, is it?

[He seems just a tiny bit distracted.]

[pillz]

[you're welcome, billkap. kavinsky's pleasure.

although it's more kavinsky's actual pleasure when he feels the glow of warmth through the wall of the glass. sees billy's finger circle, and the shadows beginning to soften under his hand, to reverse, to turn into light. it's not exploding light complete with a set of wings and fangs, but still— well above average.]

Nah. I don't burn easy.

[he even forgets to blink, staring rapt at the intensifying light for a long moment. however, because he's kavinsky, he can and will still talk.] Serious? You're a kid with blue fairy lights. People are gonna trust you with your prized shit? [he asks. he doesn't sound that skeptical, actually. he's just feeling out the situation. reasonably speaking, he supposes li'l sparkle brunettes who own tidy li'l magical shops and go by billy are the kind of people you'd be inclined to trust.]

[inmyothertights]

I am a magical nexus, these lights are what I'm doing for free, thanks.

[That's an irritated reply. The lights start to buzz, if a thing can buzz, visually, and he puts a lid on them. Then they're in the jar, they're pretty but useless.]

My wards are premium, okay?

[pillz]

[pretty maybe; useless probably. but kavinsky likes to think that if billy turned up the intensity a little but, they could burn human flesh. well, human flesh that isn't his, or so goes the theory of his newest magical superpowers. after the lid claps down, kavinsky raises the jar in front of his face.

for a moment, his eyes wide through the glass and the drifting, luminous motes, kavinsky looks— young. claire danes in an angel costume, staring through an aquarium. summer glau wondering at outer-space, through the bubble of her space suit helmet. the first child to ever see prometheus' fire. he stares at the floating lights. billy hadn't been asleep.]

[but,] You lock yourself out too? [is all that he asks, and he puts the jar down. by the time the little freebie reaches its siblings, kavinsky's face is back to normal. hollow-eyed, casually interested at best.]

pizza joint!!

[jacksonian]

[ It's a pretty good pizza joint. There's no question of that. It's twenty-four hours, which is great, because sometimes when you get hit by a bout of screaming insomnia you need somewhere to go and get a little something to eat. Or a lot of something to eat. So he ends up here not infrequently.

He's recognized, of course: he's a guy who stands at four foot eight who comes in dressed in a slick well-cut suit and buys a whole pizza and then he sits and devours the whole thing in a single sitting. That's something that would under normal circumstances make him the butt of jokes, probably. A dwarf coming in and getting fat off a sausage supreme - seems funny. But he decided he'd head that off with one simple technique: he pays for his pizza with a crisp fifty, and stuffs the change into the tip jar, and that gets them to greet him with respect instead of jeers. And that is why he likes being rich. Money will absolutely buy you happiness, or at least a relative lack of misery.

He comes in with his tablet under one arm, ready to work. He meets the eyes of the skinny zombie facing the door, and then looks away. No real judgment of his state, though. It's Maurtia Falls; you see plenty of kids like that. He figures that kid is buying a bit of happiness just like he is; who's he to judge? ]

dlicious

[pillz]

[kavinsky is nearly down to the crust, and he never eats crust. in theory, that means he's going to be done here soon, but he feels heavy without the cocaine. too little sleep this past week, probably. maybe pushing the limits of an invincible body doesn't promise a clear mind.

or maybe he just needs coffee. it'd be a bit bald, even for him, to do a line right here on the table. kavinsky lifts his head and sets down his pizza slice, skates his eyes across the room. he then visibly (unnecessarily) adjusts his head to track the small dude over by the counter. raises one dark eyebrow (also unnecessarily). he tilts himself into a slouch, doesn't really notice when a piece of pepperoni slides off his foot and slaps wetly onto his plate.]

Hey, [he calls across the small restaurant.] Hey. Get me an espresso, man. [kavinsky is so bad at asking, i'm sorry.] Pay you back right here. [he drops a hand under the table, slaps the wallet bulging in his pocket.]

dlightful

[jacksonian]

[ The clone's upbringing taught him to do two things: follow orders and keep his head down. Now that he's free, and wealthy enough for self-determination, he has little interest in doing either of those. Instead of doing what he would have done just a few months before - buying that coffee, bringing it to the kid in the hopes of avoiding any trouble - his live-wire sense of independence and defiance rears its head. And he looks over at the kid, and shoots back: ]

If you want a servant, hire a servant. Otherwise, do it yourself.

[ And he pays for his pizza, and that alone, and then wanders over to a table and climbs up into a seat, his feet dangling as he gets comfortable in it. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky's life is so hard lately. it hasn't occurred to him to try and dream himself a servile helper before now, but here it occurs to him in full force. his head sinks down until it hits his hand, and he slouches dejectedly over the edge of the table. well, dejected for a young man who has a facial expression as sanguine as a piranha's. he stares at the small dude for a long(ish) moment.

and then, finally, he pushes back his chair.

it's a horrible sound. skccreeeeech, the legs dragging friction across the floor tiles, loud, bearing the full weight of his ass— which is too much, even if he's skinny and doesn't have much of a rear by most standards. he picks up his feet, pulls himself upright, and then drops himself back down again— but this time, in the chair opposite mark.] Do me a favor? [he requests. politer this time except not really.]

[jacksonian]

[ He tenses for a fight when he hears the boy coming towards him - but at the same time, almost hopes for one. His nerves are on edge, have been for months. Fear and aggression have been mixing toxically in him ever since he arrived. He thinks - this guy wouldn't be too hard to take down. He's skinny and fragile. Bones would break easily. And his eyes are glazed, reflexes would probably be slowed -

Oh. Then he just sits down. And he asks for a favor. He frowns at him slightly, jerking his chin upwards. ]

Depends on what that favor is.

[pillz]

[because kavinsky is a jerk, it doesn't really even occur to him that a fight was, could have been in the cards with a person of mark's size. someday, though, that would be hilarious. it should totally happen.]

Watch the door while I do a line.

[he smiles like a shark, even as he scoots his hips up and sticks his fingers into the pocket of his jeans. squirms out a small packet of white powder, glancing up, over mark's head just to confirm that the people working the counter aren't paying attention. if anything, they're mostly relieved kavinsky isn't making an obnoxious coffee order, so avoiding eye-contact is an easy business. his eyebrows lift high above his hollow eyes.] I'll share.

[jacksonian]

[ He's - he's just doing that? In...public? In a restaurant? The clone doesn't exactly have a lot of respect for authority - hah, there's a thought - but that's just so...brazen. He stares at him, mouth hanging open very slightly in fascination, before he clears his throat. ]

Uh...No. Thanks. [ And then he's aware of how painfully uncool that sounded - that it sounded like he was afraid - and so he squirms a little in his seat and tries to sound tougher. ] I don't take anything from people I don't know and don't trust. That's just smart.

[ But he follows that up with a fidgety little rub of his hands. Then he looks at the door, and gives a shrug that says, Go ahead. ]