you wanted someone to hurt you [open]

[100mitsubishis]

CHARACTERS: Kavinsky & anyone
WHERE: The Station; Circle Gardens
WHEN: DAY :010.
SUMMARY: Elsewhere, the station turns. Here, Kavinsky gets high.
WARNINGS: Drugs. So many drugs. May update if things get... worse.

[The Circle Gardens are as close as Kavinsky can get to a clearing in a forest, so he's found himself a spot of empty grass to sit on during another day on the good ol' station. It hasn't been that long since he was stripped from planet Earth, but he spent so much of the last few years in a drug haze that all of it-- this moment, and the ones preceding it-- could reasonably be a dream. From dust mote to whistling breeze that isn't a breeze, it's him, whistling. All you have to do is pucker your lips and blow and know exactly where to put your tongue.

Speaking of his tongue, it's tingling. There was a tab on it not long ago. A small strip of an acid hybrid of his favorite make, namely his own. Colors mash together, sometimes into violent neons that have no place amongst the greenery.

He's on a high tier of the garden. He's on a high tier of another variety. And he remembers back when someone kindly shared their moonshine with him.

There's that pied piper voice, temptation on a stick.]

( Wanna come over? )

[A mental call with no set destination. It zigzags, pingpongs, hits then bounces and keeps on coming. Anyone could come and visit with him. He has a little bit of everything (with all his free time, he's been sleeping, creating, God-like).

Forever ago, on a balcony, a witch told him not to fuck around with this stuff so much. He'd affect all of them.

The problem with that warning is it didn't do a thing to turn Kavinsky's path.]

Comments

shit meets shit tbh

[wille]

[ He's mixing it up. Kamikaze and seppuku. Honor vs shame. That's not even what it's called. It's shimpu tokkotai, but she isn't Ritsuko, she finds, and she doesn't care to correct him when the principle stands, the details don't matter. Suicide is cowardly, done out of honor or shame. She sees no dignity in it, only sheer desperation. ]

--No.

[ Misato sits up, coolly pushing his leg off of hers as if it were a stray leaf from one of the hanging boughs, but her gaze on him is hard. She's all judgment and barely restrained fury. A lesser woman might be in tears under the weight of the anger and sadness that hide behind her eyes, the red pill having opened the floodgates in her mind. ]

Hypothermia makes you run away from company, from anyone who might help you. People go out into the cold, they strip, and keep walking, naked. As they're dying, they burrow into the snow. It's stupid, isn't it? It's so stupid.

[100mitsubishis]

[Kavinsky hears naked better than he hears hypothermia, and for a moment it sounds like a swell idea. Strip down to nothing and feel the garden under bare skin. He wonders at the type of world Misato came from--was skinnydipping an option in her youth? Did she ever take out to the woods, a couple 40s in a brown paper bag, and launch herself into clear, cold waters? Or is that one of those pleasures she was denied?

His leg is shoved away and he doesn't try to undo her work. If she isn't up to a cuddle, it's not like he's aching for it. Plus, she's bleeding--her mind, anyway--and it's hard to stay touchy-feely with all that weight place on him.]

Okay.

[Because he doesn't quite get it.]

What?

[wille]

[ He doesn't get it, she knows, because who would? She's rambling like an old fool, scaring the poor kid for no good reason at all. She has to remind herself of his young age despite all his posturing, like herself once, thinking that adolescent pain is the peak and the abyss of human emotion without understanding that an ache that remains is an even greater torture. A pebble in one's shoe. ]

It's just-- you wonder if that's what you're doing, and you don't see it.

[ She sighs, retreating to cover her face with her hand because she's embarrassed by the words tumbling out of her mouth and the rest of the words threatening to spill out. It's a pattern, telling that lowering her inhibitions means prompting her to admit weakness. ]

Nevermind. I shouldn't have taken that pill.

[ Remorse. How rare. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[She shouldn't be concerned about scaring Kavinsky, but she also shouldn't concern herself with the boy to begin with, and those alarm bells have long been ignored. He watches her like a fat and tired owl watches a fat and stupid mouse. The prize might be great, but is it worth all the effort to leave his nest?

His leg was dislodged, so he doesn't touch her with that again. His hand on her arm, dragging her palm away from her face.]

The pill isn't the problem. It's you. You want control again and you're fighting all the way upstream. Slow down, baby, slow down and cool it. It's just you and me.

[He shouldn't have said that. There's a flair up of Kavinsky's reservations, his hurt, his own unsavory emotions. But he smooths out the wrinkles before Misato will have the time to touch them.]

[wille]

[ Control is all she has. It's the glue that keeps her multitude selves together, barely coherent, and without it she wouldn't even know who or how to be. Asking her to relinquish it is like asking her to prompt her heart to stop beating. It's autonomous, automatic. The substances in her veins may weaken her grip, but that only prompts her to fight back, try harder to hold on. He's right, anyway. He's making more sense than she is, look at her.

When he pulls aside her hand, she reaches out, further, to place her palm against the side of his face. Her expression is so severe. ]

Why do you take the pills? To float downstream?

[100mitsubishis]

[Misato wants to continue the conversation because she's pegged Kavinsky as the sort of puzzle box with a prize inside. She's a relentless brute, toppling walls like a wolf hunting pigs. Huffing, puffing, asking him questions that he doesn't have good enough answers for. Yes, duh, he wants to escape, but at the same time, he's never been more sure of himself than when he's high.

Kavinsky used to throw bi-weekly Substance Parties. He used to gather up crowds of people, set 'em up, bowl 'em down.

He turns his face in toward Misato's palm and licks it. The whole flat of his tongue resting at the heel of her palm and then lifting up to the base of her fingers. Wet and deliriously warm. The pill he's on has a way of making one's internal temperature skyrocket.]

[wille]

[ Misato is a brute through and through, heavyhanded in her constant attempt to name, to subdue those around her to render them harmless to her, subject to her, but Kavinksy lets her in only to turn the tables on her.

Shocked, she shoves a palm against his chest to push him down and away, wresting her other hand free of his grip as she stumbles to her feet. The world tips on its side, the borders of things righting itself before the colors follow, and there's something nauseating in the pit of her chest, that grows and grows the deeper she inhales, ragged. From here, up here, she can look down on him made small, made less threatening, and still the next breath she takes nearly makes her vomit, so her words must be said through gritted teeth. ]

Enough of this.

[100mitsubishis]

[Kavinsky takes the push without struggle or resistance. Her shove is enough to have him sprawled out on his back, head tilted so hard to one side it could be mistaken for broken, except he's breathing. Smiling with his eyes, smoothly neutral about his lips. At her command, he doesn't lift up an inch. He was wondering when she'd have enough, and it looks like he found the edge.]

Get going, Misa. You don't want to get eaten.

[He snaps his teeth with an audible click before he finally rolls over onto his side and looks out over the ledge they sat on.]

You taste like shit anyway.

[Listless and quiet, he settles down, down, downstream. Flows along in a way that even his broodmates can't replicate.]

[wille]

[ It's an uncomfortable thing, to see herself reflected in another person. To see how she must have looked that time when she had nothing more to offer her ward, scared, grieving and confused, to reach out across the barrier only to be rejected. It was Shinji then sprawled on his side, knees curled close to his chest, but it was Misato on the ground, realizing that it's her, really, who needs the company, who is lonely.

Now, it's still her who feels hurt, the keen ache traveling through the link too easily. Like a chill down one's throat, a need to make it stop. She clenches her fist, feeling her nails against her palm to distract her from the nausea. It all tastes like shit. ]

I only came here to tell you not to fall.

[ A half lie makes a lie. She came here to learn how to take the jump and be alright with falling. Kavinsky is flowing down, out and away, and Misato is holding on fiercely to the banks, too afraid to let go. She's going, one step back, a stumble, then off, down the steps and out of the garden. ]