joseph KAVINSKY (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
100mitsubishis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
station722017-02-28 05:47 pm
100mitsubishis) wrote in station722017-02-28 05:47 pm
you wanted someone to hurt you [open]
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.]
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]