O7 👶 I'M TOO UNCOUTH, UNSCHOOLED TO THE RULES

[pillz]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky & CR
WHERE: Various, but mostly Chloe's tattoo shop at the moment
WHEN: Throughout November
WHAT: Catch-all for November, but mostly Chloe's going to punch Kitty in the face then stab Kavinsky with inky needles. Hit me up at pyg if you want to do anything particular or just tag me a thing. Starters will be in the comments.
WARNINGS: Offensive language (racism, misogyny, etc.), drugs/alcohol/underage use of, some face-punching violence



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closed to chloe price & kitty jones;

[pillz]

[it's friday night before his birthday, and kavinsky has nothing better to do than hang out with his shapeshifting old lady social justice warrior friend. no, that's not entirely accurate. he drinks, does drugs, has sex, and races cars almost every day of his life. when those activities represent the baseline, his norm, this can actually be considered quite special.

he's going to get a tattoo!!

which is, in practical terms, why he's bringing kitty around. she's pretty public about her nullifier powers, and he's got a bad case of invincibility that tends to interfere with such past-times as body art. by her nagging insistence, too, kavinsky complied with google's recommended preparation and is actually not drunk. look closely, and there's the faintest tremor in his hands, but it's not too bad. nothing cleans chemical dependency out of your system like being dead a couple days recently. when he's not drunk, he acts a little more like the kid that he is. he looks excited, looking at the tattoo shop's window.] Fuck you, man, [he's telling his friend.] 'Dream thief' sounds fucking badass.

[it is badass. as a power, it's badass. it's also incredibly stupid to have marked on your person, probably, when you have nothing in the way of offensive powers, but kavinsky wouldn't be kavinsky if he weren't also a gigantic moron.]

[rathercommon]

It actually is awfully cool.

[ She answers that cheerily, with an easy sort of grin. Honestly, Joseph is a weird kid - awfully weird - but that's part of the reason she likes him. Sure, he says offensive bloody things. But at the same time, there's a sort of ingenuousness to him, a sort of honesty, a real enthusiasm for so many things in life, that's really terribly refreshing. So many people make an effort to be cool; he scarcely makes any effort at all, but rather just obeys his whims. That's dangerous, no doubt about it - Gansey and Adam and the others weren't lying when they warned her that Joseph was dangerous - but all the same, it's also charming.

Especially when turned in rather silly and sweet directions, like getting tattoos. ]

So d'you want me to hold onto you as a person while this is happening? Or should I be a cat or something?

cw sexual vulgarity

[pillz]

[kavinsky hums thoughtfully, studying the images in the glass. there's a fair amount of illustrations, you know-- artwork, photographs converted to ink, but he focuses on the text. diablo had recommended that. and if anybody kavinsky's met is an expert on wearing body art, it's gonna be the dude with the fucking skullface tattooed over his real face.

he thinks the word art looks good. it doesn't look blurry or scarred, anyway, and the internet had mostly that to warn about.] You can stay a girl, [he says.] Unless you can turn into a guy with a big one.

[a wink at her, because he's a asshole. with that, he moves for the door, swinging his skinny frame in on long, arrogant steps, like he owns the place.] Hey, is the artist in? [he calls out, his eyes roving for the first sign of blue. that was one of chloe's more memorable physical characteristics.]

[helladoomed]

['Hella Tattoos' wasn't the biggest establishment, but it was large enough that there was a surprising amount of space inside. Several tattoo chairs, a counter, a door into the back room, and art and posters along all the walls from the various tattoo artists.]

[It was actually pretty quiet for a Friday night, though. Too early for the midnight drunks to come in and get turned away, too late for any of the after-work happy hour types to still be around. So the chairs were all empty, and there wasn't even anyone at the counter, just an open door and the sound of music from the back.]

[When Kavinsky calls out, there's a two second delay before Chloe calls out from the back room.]

Yeah hang on a sec.

[Maybe thirty seconds later she came stepping in, tucking an unlit cigarette behind her ear. When she spotted him she smirked.]

Oh hey. What's up?

[She hadn't noticed Kitty behind him yet, thankfully...]

[rathercommon]

[ Kitty, though, does spot her. She doesn't say anything, but her expression immediately turns opaquely, exquisitely ironic, eyebrows lifting and eyelids drooping and a small smile curling her lips. She settles back to rest her shoulder against a pillar beside her.

Their business is their business; she just waits and watches their discussion, drawing no attention to herself at all. ]

[pillz]

[as per usual, if not in his usual way, kavinsky has no idea what's going on. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ he looks excited to see chloe, or at least as openly excited as he's ever wont to get without the roar of engines and quite a lot of chemical excuses.] Yo yo, [he says.] Chloe.

Just gonna get some letters across my fingers. Like right here. [he holds up his right hand and points with his left forefinger, running across just below the knuckles. cuz he's a tough guy. and it should be the last thing a motherfucker sees, if he punches the guy in the face.] 'Dream thief.' You got a favorite font or some shit? [he glances across the pictures on the walls, stepping across the floor. motioning at kitty to follow.

he is an extraordinarily rude person by nature. it does not occur to him to introduce anybody, anyway.]

[helladoomed]

You know that's usually four letter words, right? [She smirks, coming around the counter, and spots Kitty, her eyes narrowing. Where did she know...right. Customer. Even if it was Kavinsky.]

Like I'll have to put one of them on your thumb. And finger tattoos fuckin' hurt.

[She was turning into an actually decent tattoo artist, which meant not giving people tattoos they'll hate.]

But we can do it. Something in a...gothic block letter maybe...

[As she talked, she kept glancing over at Kitty. Wait...was it her...]

closed to jack; (cw mention of npcs engaging in criminal voyeurism)

[pillz]

[it's an oppressively gorgeous hotel, brandishing palm trees that are clearly imported from elsewhere. if you approach from the sky, the swimming pool is in the shape of a scallop. it's indoors, but visible through a skylight. the main building itself has hundreds of rooms bricked into its magnificent forty-story height, a wall fountain in the lobby, generously-proportioned balconies close enough together that certain bellboys make dangerous games out of hopping them in order to spy on couples in their throes.

there are no bellboys trying to peek on kavinsky.

which is just as well. he's smoking a cigarette out on his own balcony. the thirty-second floor offers a marvelous vantage, looking out over the glitter of maurtia falls at night. he's drunk and high, per fucking usual. he can see his parked car from here, but he can't hit it with a bottle, which would bother him if he didn't have a new lunatic to look forward to. jurassic park is playing on the television, so you know what that means!! (unless you're jack himself.)]

[neverdied]

[A hotel like this could make some feel out of place, but not Jack. Even in his faded jeans, worn t-shirt and a leather jacket that looks like it's lived through centuries of wear, he still looks comfortable amongst the showy displays of money scattered about the lobby. Jack's never out of place, even if he does exude an aura that suggests he never wants to be anywhere.

His arrival is fast, almost impossibly so, and yet the pace he lumbers through the hotel at is slow and painfully lazy, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched. Curiosity has the better of him, enough that it's dragged him from the comfort of his room to see what Kavinsky has on offer, but that doesn't mean Jack has to look eager about all of this.

There's a single, heavy thump of a fist at Kavinksy's door to signal his guests arrival.]

[pillz]

[four seconds to careen across the room, his feet light and cocaine-quick, and then kavinsky throws open the door. he looks rumpled and happy and slightly manic. more than slightly.]

You a cop, old man? [is the usual obligatory idiot gesture, as he waves the old man in. shuts the door behind him with a shove, and then he presses the deadbolt and the latch. it'd seem ominous if the hotel weren't so nice, if their deadbolt and latch weren't shiny colored gold. kavinsky squeezes past jack after that, his bare toes thumping over the carpet with the happy jolty bouncing rhythm of a kid underfoot.

as with the vast majority of hotel rooms, the bathroom is right by the entrance door, only a few feet to walk.

unlike the vast majority of hotel rooms, the bathroom currently contains a heavily sedated velociraptor, in the style of michael crichton's jurassic park. it's laying in the generously proportioned bathtub, its long-taloned hands-- forepaws? lax over its belly, the ceiling light shimmering on its heavy-hided belly as its breath rises and falls steadily. its yellow eyes flicker now and then, struggling against the lassitude of drugs. there's a heavy chain around its neck, perhaps two feet of chain connecting it to the faucet.]

Check it, [kavinsky says, grandly. he crosses his arms over his narrow chest and looks satisfied, as a wealthy white man does after a good game of golf, erecting a sweat shop in nepal, yacht sailing, dreaming a dinosaur for his favorite bible character, that kind of thing.] Bet Cain never seen this shit.

[neverdied]

[The kid appears pleased to see him or perhaps just pleased in himself. Might be that he's on a current high, nothing that surprising, but there's a level of excitement displayed that seems more than just a cocaine fuelled level of glee. Jack steps within the room nevertheless, unconcerned with what he's walking into thanks to the longstanding knowledge that it really doesn't fucking matter what gets thrown at him. Even if this were some elaborate murder plan, he wouldn't be the one dying tonight.

A few steps are taken to let Kavinsky get the door shut and locked behind him, and then Jack's following the teen, hands still shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he trails after the other, bored but curious. From the texts he'd half expected some random victim hog tied and ready for killing, and he supposes he was half right in his ability to decipher the bull shit that gets sent to him.

What he's not expecting is a dinosaur.

It takes a long second or two for the image before him to even register, taking a few slow steps within the bathroom, eyes locked onto the raptor in the bath as his mind processes the sight, trying to drag through his memory banks as if expecting to remember a time similar to this. Nope. No, this is a first. And that in itself is a rarity.]

Where'd you get this?

[Brows lifted in mild surprise, his attention never leaving the sleeping beast. This is... yeah... still not something he's quite grasping yet.]

[pillz]

[kavinsky promptly makes his way over to his prize. he loops around the tub to get closer to the dinosaur's head, which is definitely the part of the dinosaur you want to be nearest when you're mixing hard liquor and cocaine.

the groggy animal raises its leather lip, exposing a row of impressive teeth. her breath flutters out, a drone a note deeper than the air conditioner.]

I got a mad scientist on payroll, baby. [this is a lie. for better or worse it's pretty obviously a lie. kavinsky motions at the old man to come over, even as he takes his cellphone out. thumbs into the camera. selfie mode! he holds it out and takes a portrait first of the wonky scene as it is. prone animal, doubtful biblical figure, dream thief throwing gang signs up at the lens.

it's not not bullshit. but it's a touch more elaborate than your standard bullshit.]

You like it? Her. She's a her.

[neverdied]

[For the first time in a really long time Jack has to take stock of the situation in front of him, try to process what's before him and make it fit around his mind currently trying to draw logical conclusions. He knows this place doesn't always run on logic, he's known that since his first day arriving here having been dragged away from his own universe, but it's still difficult to truly understand why there's a dinosaur sedated in a bath tub.

When summoned, he moves in closer, although needs no added persuasion to do so. This creature deserves a closer look, although Jack's a little more sensible about his approach, no leaning in close and no purposeful posing for selfies. Beasts like this deserve to be respected for what they are and what they're capable of.]

Why?

[He likes her. He likes her very much. He just doesn't entirely get why she's here and why he's here staring at her.]

[instars]

[She's been working almost nonstop for a few days; sometimes she gets too focused on new projects, and she barely sleeps. As a result, she's mounted an engine on a block and her hands are carefully moving pieces, and she has all six of her eyes open.

When she hears Kavinsky come in, she blinks them instead of closes them. It's not like she's worried about Kavinsky, of all people. All her eyes are a soft amber color, and she turns her head just to look at them. They reflect strangely in the light.]

Kavinsky.

[His car - well, the version of his car that she and Mitchell found - is sitting in the garage, on blocks. She hasn't finished going through it.]

cw misogynistic metaphors ;;

[pillz]

[that looks quite fucked up by kavinsky's assessment. it was fucked up the first time he saw it and it was fucked up now. her eyes, that is. he is quite accustomed to seeing his car in varying stages of undress. usually, he's the one tearing her clothes off and feeding her to the fire.]

Satya Wallace.

[he looks at the mitsubishi though, because why not. takes his sunglasses an inch down his nose to peer at it from over the tinted lenses.] Nice car. Looks like something I'd take home with me. [and then a smile crawls over his face, slow and deliberate and knowing. he's not telling, but he knows he doesn't need to.]

the metaphor continue...and get filthier, I'm sorry

[instars]

[She keeps fiddling with the engine.]

Yes, I did suspect.

[She knew.]

Have you ever had your hand inside her? I'm going to make her purr for me.

[Saya peers into the engine an then closes her eyes, and her human pair slide back into their usual blue.]

What do I owe the pleasure of your visit to?

lmk if there's any way i should steer for eye-spitting

[pillz]

Your whole hand? [kavinsky's eyes crinkle, lines sinking in around his mouth with how wide his smile stretches.] Guess she's a sloppier slut than I'd thought. Careful. Just 'cause she's loose doesn't mean the bacteria won't getcha.

[hahahaha. no he definitely pushed that metaphor too far. he moves over to sit on the nose of the car that can fly. by now, the 'haunted' vehicle has calmed down considerably. less obtuse. less sentient. its headlights glow just briefly, then dim down again. being slut-shamed by its dad doesn't apparently bother it very much.]

Need an SUV customized. Stealth coat, hidden storage, but something that'll blend with the other shitty cars people are driving. Shit like that.

will do

[instars]

[She just blinks at Kavinsky, tilting her head and looking at him. Maybe he thinks it's funny - if Saya agrees or not, that's a whole other story, because right now she's not giving a hint either way.

She considers his request.]

Bodies or drugs?

[Because the size of hidden compartments is going to matter.]

[pillz]

[kavinsky hums thoughtfully. once upon a time he would've laughed and said drugs, of course, but these days-- well, she knows at least the half of it. he went after a guy with a dart gun full of spider venom.]

Bodies. I'll figure it out if I gotta put packages in there. You could just sketch some shit out, [he adds, considering their options.] I can take care of fabrication. [as he always does. at this point it doesn't take a woman of nearly satya's intelligence to guess it has something to do with powers.]

[mantlepieces]

[ If Reggie's learned anything since he's been here, one thing would be to keep your friends close -- though not so close that you'll feel anything if they disappear. Or, if anything, it won't be much.

Another such thing would be that birthdays should be celebrated to the fullest, considering how frequently they rewind or outright skip over them in the transition between this place and back home; it was a crap-shoot, honestly, but either way, they might as well go big if not go home. Granted, Reggie has no idea if Kavinsky prefers it here or not, but maybe that doesn't really matter anyway.

He finds his way back to the place he'd met Kavinsky the last time, not totally sure if his timing is right to find Kavinksy home, but hoping so; maybe it's stupid to show up unexpectedly, try and surprise the guy, but sometimes that kind of thing is fun, right? Reggie's got on his leather jacket, tight designer jeans, and a six-pack of beer and bottle of whipped cream vodka balanced precariously under one arm as he approaches the place -- he adjusts as best he can so he can knock, loudly. And call: ]

Hey, Kavinsky! You home?

[pillz]

[no answer. not for a long moment. then there's a flicker in the blinded windows of the second floor, kavinsky's narrow face peeking out, dark eyes cutting to and fro until they find him. he vanishes again in a moment, the blinds smoothing over like they had never been interrupted at all.

it takes a minute or two for kavinsky to get downstairs, simply because his house is that fucking enormous-- truly excessive for one child. but he emerges eventually, opening the door. he looks coked up and crazy-eyed, if probably not moreso than usual. the effect is probably enhanced by the pungent reek of gasoline emanating from behind him, trails of vaporous fumes. he's holding a can of gas in his other hand.

he looks at the booze in reggie's hands, and smiles.]

Haven't done the upstairs yet, [he says.] You want to party, sweetheart?

[mantlepieces]

That's what I'm here for -- thought maybe you'd like the company.

[ It's said agreeably and without the sort of tension Reggie often carries with him, for all that may imply -- but Reggie also can't help crinkling his nose at the suffocating smell that pours out from the open door.

He lifts his free arm to cover the lower half of his face, coughing once. ]

What have you been doing in there?

[pillz]

[a smile crawls across kavinsky's face, slow as the outflow of a bleeding vein. he can generate plenty of tension all by himself.] I've been preparing, [he says,] to burn my fucking house down. Since the break-in.

But c'mon in. We can go up, open a window.

[he takes a step backward, his bare toes squeaking childishly across the floor. he boosts the gasoline can in his hand, motioning. if his hips seem to pan slightly further in his slinking stride than they ordinarily do, then that's-- definitely not reggie's imagination, but easy enough to ignore, if reggie does prefer. it'll probably seem sexier when he can breathe without choking on the thickness in the air.] You wanna run? Hold your breath. Maybe you won't pass out.

[mantlepieces]

There was a break-in? How can you tell?

[ Reggie doesn't mean it to sound catty, but it may well regardless; he doesn't always think before he speaks even when it'd be wiser to, but mostly... he's curious. Burning a house down doesn't seem like the rational way to react to a break-in regardless, but rationality has also never been what Kavinsky's been particularly known for, and frankly, that's a big part of why Reggie is fond of him.

He coughs again but nods, his eyes distracted momentarily by Kavinsky's swaying hips before Reggie tries to take a deep enough breath to hold him over while still not ingesting the worst of the fumes -- he considers the amount of gasoline combined with the alcohol he's brought, and wonders briefly if this whole thing is a bad idea.

But that never really stops him, either.

From behind his sleeve, Reggie says: ]

Fine, let's go up. But this better not kill me.

[pillz]

[kavinsky rewards the other boy for his catty question by slapping him. not hard. just an open palm whacking him goofily across the handsome side of reggie's head, even as a laugh flares over the dream thief's face. he turns away, leading him into the bowels of the beast that's eventually going to catch on fire.]

'Cause I got powers, bitch.

[there's still not much in the apartment. this isn't because kavinsky moved things out so much as because he didn't own much to begin with-- certainly nothing personal. not much change since reggie was here last. the excessively large, luxurious electronics are the most notable fixtures in the living space. alcohol still sitting in pristinely-labelled bottles along the marble bar. there's a set of speakers over there as tall as a toddler.

reggie hadn't gone upstairs before, and here there are a tremendous amount of bedrooms. by now, two of them are thoroughly trashed, messes of cigarette burns, more bottles, soda cans, disused pizza boxes too dried up in the power of the air-conditioning to smell, spent butts, discarded clothes, porn mags, pillows and sheets somehow wrung out on the floor. the third bedroom, the one kavinsky takes reggie to, is nicer still. no pizza boxes. rumpled, though. the tv's the size of a spaceship.

it smells like gas down here, or maybe reggie just got used to it. kavinsky sets down the can of flammable fuel, and swings over to the window to open it.]

All right, sweetheart?