you wanted someone to hurt you [open]

Entry tags:

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.]

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[ Misato is a mother hen in many regards, a busybody. She takes on the weight of responsibility unasked for, assuming it to be her sole duty to ensure her brood is safe, protected, strong and well. Losing one of them was unacceptable and she takes on the blame for that readily, without excuse. But the problem with living that way, of course, is that people are irrational and unpredictable. People walk toward the precipice with a skip in their steps expecting to fly when they reach the end of the road, only to yell for help when it's all much too late, but that's not Kavinsky. He would blow her a kiss as he plunged into the depths, a smile on his disturbingly handsome face. She isn't sure which is worse.

Still she answers his call with wordless affirmation. A certain sense of agreement to follow the trail he leaves behind, playing labyrinth until she finds him in the garden, looming over all living things, whistling a tune like a portent for bad luck-- now, that's not fair, he's only a boy after all. Dark and chaotic and fearless, but just a boy.

She crosses her arms and looks up with mild amusement. ]

( Don't jump. I won't catch you. )

[ She could talk to him with her vocal chords like normal people would, but somehow she thinks it wouldn't reach him so high up there. ]

[ After everything that'd gone down with Shiro, and then with Pidge and Aoba, Sam's... not exactly angry, not anymore, just frustrated. With himself, with Pidge, with the situation. He'd needed something to distance himself from it all, and flying is the best distraction he knows.

So he's heading towards the training area with his wingpack when he gets the call, and of course he recognizes that mental voice. Kavinsky, damn that kid's got some shitty coping mechanisms. But there's a hum of agreement before Sam even consciously thinks about it, flowing out across their mental connection. It's not in Sam to leave him alone like that, even if there are others in the Nest who might answer the call.

Especially because there are others in the Nest who might answer the call.

He changes course and heads for the gardens instead, following Kavinsky's mental signature in a way that's starting to become familiar. When he spots him on a high tier of the garden - Sam flicks his wings open and flies up, hovering in front of him. ]

Celebrating or drowning your sorrows?

[ That's a weird feeling. A buzz and hum, a sensation of colors and a pleasant haze tugging at the edges of her consciousness and an invitation that beckons to her. It's an insistent tug but not an overwhelming one. Katie still follows it, more curious than anything else. Her feet take here over, a wordless sense of curiosity preceding her as she starts to clamber up, circling until she finally finds him. She pauses and peers up at him from the tier below, trying to figure out if she should embrace this pleasant hum that seems to pervade her senses. ]

( What are you doing? )

[ She could use her voice, but this seems more appropriate somehow. Maybe that's a sign that she's been here too long. ]

[He never thought he'd get along with a grown woman. That wasn't purely born from misogyny, it's just most of the grown women he knew were his mother or the mothers of the children he played Pied Piper for. They did not generally like Kavinsky and his aura of danger, his love of destruction for both himself and the kids he convinced to orbit around him. Misato's different. Some of her comes across as maternal, but she's concerned with him, not about him. He'd brush it off if they didn't have the mental link to back up every conversation, to prove to him her sincerity.

She's slowly becoming important to him. He hasn't decided if that's a problem he should nip in the bud or let unfurl its petals.]

( Liar. )

[He's ninety-nine percent sure she'd try to, at least. He gestures with one arm, urging her to find a way up to his perch. The view's great.]

Wingman.

[There was nothing but a firm, smug sensation of comfort when he sensed Sam on his way. He should've known he'd prove to be a fun constant the first time they met in that shitty junkyard. What a way to be introduced. Since then, it's been trash experience after trash experience, but none of them left him feeling empty or bored. High praise from someone always seeking the next thrill. Bigger crashes. Louder detonations. They definitely aren't healthy coping mechanisms, but at least he has enough common sense: Kavinsky has yet to start any fires on the station itself.]

I made you something. Catch.

[Because he's been carrying it with him since he made it a couple nights ago. Soon as he knew Sam was on his way, he found the pocket he'd tucked the present into. Now it's in his hand. Now it's in the arm, thrown underhand for an easy catch.

A pair of sunglasses. Just as flashy as one might expect-- silver framed with reflective lenses.]

[Someone he hasn't spoken to. Which doesn't mean he hasn't 'heard' her or known her presence, because they might not be broodmates but they share a hive. But they haven't become acquainted in any personal way, not mano y mano. This is a perfect time to change all that, see if she's any fun or willing to learn to become some. He kicks his legs out into the air then leans back onto his hands.]

( What you aren't. Come on up. )

[ The truth is that Misato is as much a man as she's a woman, having so fervently rejected most things feminine out of sheer contempt for what they signify to her: weakness, passivity, lack of agency. She never, ever wants to be the one staying up late waiting for someone else to come home, and if that means always ensuring she loves others a tad less than they love her-- if it means acting out acts of service while withholding much of herself-- if it means maintaining distance, then so be it. She's the expert of nipping things in the bud.

Or is she?

His challenge is met with a grin as she turns left, right, then starts making her way up. ]

( This better be worth it, Kavinsky. )

[ He's right, anyway. She'd catch him. Whether that's out of any fondness or necessity, because losing him would be as hurtful as losing Sirius, is up for debate. ]

( What does that even mean? )

[ Pidge grumbles and then starts to climb on up. It takes her a moment (she's short) and she has to find handholds and footholds. After a few moments she's settled in next to him, giving him a curious look. ]

( You're sort of... buzzing. )

( Depends on what you mean by 'worth it.' )

[It's worth it to him. High above the main pathways, he's secured a view of the gardens that he assumes few have bothered with. This is how it always begin; the surfer who finds the one stretch of beach nobody's sold sausages on. Not yet. Then they fuck it up by telling someone else and then someone else tells someone else, and nobody realizes they should've monetized it until someone else does. Right now it's a little pure, like a clearing in a woods that you've carved out for your personal garage of dream cars.

Misato can share that part. Kavinsky even scoots over to make room.]

Edited (now i saw a mistake damn u) 2017-03-17 01:52 (UTC)

[You sort of look like a dyke, he wants to say, very nearly hive-speaks it in her direction, but he doesn't know if she'd get how funny that is. If she'd start laughing and ask him to share what's made him buzzy, or if she'd get all offended and sicken the nest with it. Kavinsky is usually one to say whatever he wants, damn the consequences, but right now he's so mellow and the view is so nice.

He's tamed himself enough to not start off bad at the gate.

Later. Later.]

Bzz bzz.

[The sound wouldn't come across so well over the mental link.]

( Wanna try it? )

[ Misato has little understanding for the stain of commerce, when she has little care for anything unnecessary and hardly notices the beauty in things unless pointed out to her. Stop and smell the flowers. Money means little to nothing. The finer things in life are worth no more than a quiet afternoon with someone she feels safe with. Her only luxury is old, temperamental cars, something to be tamed and wrestled with every mile of the way.

Wordlessly, she takes the room he makes for her, limbs relaxed. Funny, she thinks that's his doing. ]

You're high as hell, aren't you?

[ It's an observation, without anger or judgment. They each have their own vices. ]

[ That would've been a terrible start. Good thing it stays in his head. She still picks up a bit of... something, but the buzz and the occasional flashes of color she's getting obscure it enough for her to pass it off as nothing. She leans back on her hands and flashes a little smile at him when he makes his buzzing noise. He seems friendly enough. If also a bit off for some reason. ]

( Uh, what exactly is it? )

[ She's not sure about this. But... ]

[The lack of judgement is nice; he's had enough run-ins with other members of the hive who weren't so accommodating. A pity, since he's been nothing but generous. If anyone wanted a taste, all they had to do was ask. Sadly, they're all too busy meshing, moping, even as the station floats on without delivering them any tasks to complete. How must they fill the hours?]

As Heaven.

[A lazy correctly. Hell's downers. Get it? He kicks out his legs. Lets them swing in the vacant air.]

( I haven't named it yet. )

[It's something new. He dips his fingers into his pocket, wiggling around until he catches the edge of the baggy. Out it comes, and inside's a powder-- blue, to differentiate it from the more common white. Based on a little something he'd come across the last time the station docked, but modified for easier intake.

He's an artist.]

( C'mon. Hand out, palm down. )

[ They all have their vices. Hers are work and alcohol. His, drugs. Others choose food, love, cigarettes. Whatever works. ]

C'mon. You can't say that and not share.

[ She follows suit to stretch out her legs to the drop, hands wrapped over the ledge. The fear, someone says, isn't that one might fall. It's that one might feel the compulsion to jump. A flicker of mirth passes through the link between them. Silly. Whoever said that never knew them. He would jump without fear, she thinks, while she would jump still believing that somehow she would land on both feet by sheer luck. We make our own luck. ]

[ This is feeling stranger and stranger by the moment. That weird buzzing, colorful sensation that he's putting off makes it a little hard to concentrate. The idea of it sinks into her and she has to focus to keep her head clear. She cautiously extends her hand, brow furrowed. ]

( Uh, what's it do? Is this dangerous? )

[When he jumps-- when, not if-- it will be with certainty that whatever the outcome, it's precisely what he wants to be doing. He will aim to not go too far, to smack down on a landing that will jar his leg without snapping it, but if it does break, he knows a guy with healing powers now. That's opened up a lot of doors for misadventure. Sam never should've told him.]

Do you like to snort or swallow?

[There's a lascivious edge to swallow that has never and will never be appropriate. His mouth likes to wallow in the word. The way his lips part around the wa part is too smooth; he's said this before so many times.]

[He takes her hand, an action that is neither gentle nor rough but prudent and practiced. With fingers under her own, trailing beneath her palm, he instructs her to lay it as flat as she can. Like that--

No, like that.]

( As a tea party. I'm gonna give you just a bump. )

[The ziplock is open. He uses one corner of its floppy mouth to draw a very small line on the girl's hand. For convenience's sake, he'll send along the mental link an image of how she should take it. Plug one nostril, snort with the other.]

[ This feels an awful lot like drugs. In fact, it probably is drugs and Katie has been told not to do them for most of her young life. But there's that buzz filtering into her head and he seems to be cool so, sure. Yeah.

Why not?

She'll probably regret this. She follows his instructions, brow furrowed. ]

Uh, is this... safe?

[ She has to ask before she commits. ]

[It feels like drugs because when it quacks, waddles, and looks like cocaine, it's usually the good stuff. Kavinsky's being a saint, sharing this without asking for anything in advance or even tacking on the weight of a favor owed. The only threat is addiction, and if she's smart, she'll realize it's a gift in disguise.

Not having to think all the time is one of the greatest presents one can give. Especially when there's a whole crew of people taking up residence in your mind.]

You already asked.

[And he already answered. But maybe she wanted to hear his voice, the easy Jersey drawl. The slant of his gaze as he focuses on her hand, not her eyes.]

[ Misato can't hide the slight expression of discomfort at the way he utters the word, her traitorous mind quickly jumping to other instances when such treatment of the word would be warranted, none of which should be relevant to the topic at hand. But she knows, also, that the discomfort doesn't stem only from the act but also from how it casts him as the aggressor, the needler, when that has always been her role. ]

I don't know how to snort.

[ Just to keep from having to pronounce the fateful word now. But to present her with a source of fear is to watch her up the ante and raise the stakes. She lets go of the ledge to offer an open palm his way, speaking in English for a change and mimicking him as closely as she can: ]

Give me something to swallow.

[Kavinsky has never wanted to kiss the girls he's kissed. The coke and the pot, the alcohol and adrenaline, made him want to kiss someone and he had an image to protect. He enjoyed the look of himself, wife beater a size too big, hair gel weathered by a day of sticking his head out the car window, and a flavor of the week letting him use her lap as a pillow. But the hive gets to him. Pricks at him underneath the epidermis. There are a lot of boys here that want to be kissing girls, and if he had to pick one, it's obvious.

Anyway. He has plenty of what she requested.]

Close your eyes.

[But there's a block there. His own interests and also his growing, dangerous esteem for Misato herself. He's never had a parent he could depend on the way he was supposed to, and he isn't about to use her as a substitute, but there is a tentative trust he's been fostering.

The pill he puts on her hand is firetruck red like it should cure headaches and-- to be fair-- it does.]

Edited (rewording a little) 2017-03-26 15:03 (UTC)

[ Look, Katie is unsure about this, so she's just checking. Again. She frowns, brow furrowed as she stares at the little line of powder on her hand. Is she really going to try this?

Maybe just once. Just to see what it's like. She takes a deep breath and then leans down with a wince and inhales the line of powder. It's followed up by something that's not quite a sneeze or a cough. More of a 'woo' as she tries to get a handle on it. ]

[ Another time, another place, she would protest, because they had kept her eyes closed for too long. But that has nothing to do with this instance, does it? Her jaw works in consternation, unwilling yet curious, before she obeys.

It's probably funny in some cynical cosmic joke sort of way that for all her years and the airs she put on, Misato has only ever slept with one man. One. Her supposed promiscuity is a lie. Her party-loving, adventurous side a mere persona to cover the tight leash she keeps around her own neck and no matter how she much she tries to tell herself that a little pill on the palm of her hand can't be more frightening than facing down a metaphysical wonder the size of a building, the worry still bleeds through the link.

She swallows it with a gulp, like medicine. ]

How long does it take to work?

[She can ask all she wants, and the answers that come will become less and less easy to decipher. Kavinsky's already clear on what he wants; she can be as murky as his senses after a weekend bender.]

Hey, nice.

[He's seen some people have to toss their head around like a dog shaking off rain before. Compared to them, she's shown class.]

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you wanted someone to hurt you [open]

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40 years later... i exist

i live probably

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