[He's willing to show Sirius patience, a graciousness he doesn't bestow upon most. Kavinsky likes it fast, fast, fast, speeding down the highway or a smaller suburban street at breakneck speed. He wants to forget to pay off the traffic cop on duty and outrun them while he laughs and snaps at the air. Always in motion, the downward crash of a waterfall with an unforgiving jumble of pointy rocks at the bottom. He could show that to Sirius, if the man wanted it, but he's burning so hot even those crazy depths couldn't cool him down.

So it's patience, saint-like. It's a constant stare, like the whole of the alien craft can't do a thing to interest him more than the man before him. Sirius. Who can't say 'gun' as if he doesn't fully comprehend. Judging by his scraggly state and dress, it's hard to say what causes the disconnect. Kavinsky hasn't dived deep enough to divine the answer.

He does feel-- see-- understand Peter. Whoever that is, he'll help Sirius pick him apart if he so much as asks. Sounds like a picnic.]

I have to sleep.

[It's odd. He only ever told Ronan about his power and Ronan had the same tool at his disposal. Kavinsky lives recklessly, but he doesn't want to be used or end up in a lab; he's taken the precautions he's needed to. But for Sirius to betray him that harshly would mean to betray himself. The bond between them is insurance.]

Then I'll dream it for you. I could dream you that guy, even, but it wouldn't really be him. But if you want someone to stab, man, I can do it.

[He'll share. The spiraling fall into darkness. The lucid dreaming. The thievery. Waking up with what he needs in hand. The process of ultimate creation. He's the god-mother of a hundred white Mitsubishis, a couple dozen guns, a lot of fun toys, a lot of fun substances.]