Gay, [is what kavinsky tries to say, as he fades out. but he fades too soon, crashing into the shallows of sleep and the churning tide of dreaming.
he spends awhile in there. long enough for billy to shift quite a few tomes and dust a few shelves, wipe the streaky opacity off the windows. his good work is not interrupted at any point, or at least not for one kavinsky. no noise from within the room, for better or worse. the shop doesn't fall into a vortex of seething void, in any case.
but presently, the door creaks open. in kavinsky's hand, he's carrying a cardboard box. the TROJAN logo runs brightly across one side, the subtitle, Pleasure Pick underneath it. the silhouette of a helmet with a ridge of a mane going over the roof of it. he looks slightly rumpled.]
no subject
he spends awhile in there. long enough for billy to shift quite a few tomes and dust a few shelves, wipe the streaky opacity off the windows. his good work is not interrupted at any point, or at least not for one kavinsky. no noise from within the room, for better or worse. the shop doesn't fall into a vortex of seething void, in any case.
but presently, the door creaks open. in kavinsky's hand, he's carrying a cardboard box. the TROJAN logo runs brightly across one side, the subtitle, Pleasure Pick underneath it. the silhouette of a helmet with a ridge of a mane going over the roof of it. he looks slightly rumpled.]
Hey baby, [he says.]