[When he woke up, Kavinsky also chose not to change into the provided clothing. From his perspective, they were too sterile, like a school uniform before the blazer's worn in and the slacks are torn at the knees. He preferred his own clothes which knew his shape. To this day, he's got the same pair of pants he showed up in, scuffed and stained with blood and oil and--a recent acquisition--scorch marks. He saunters in with them hugging his legs near the calves, loose near the top in post-modern style.
There's a blunt between his lips, trailing smoke as he huffs and he puffs.
This is his first time seeking out the newbies without provocation. They're usually better off finding him on their own, after they've met the welcoming welcome committee. But there's a sense of unease after recent events; victory was marred by the awkwardly preventable loss of one of their own. Others went into the same coma as Sirius.
Kavinsky needs a distraction.
He waits for too long, watching the stranger's hips sway as he prods and pokes at the pod. He would have noticed Kavinsky's presence if he wasn't so distracted and if K wasn't going out of his way to keep himself subtle.
no subject
There's a blunt between his lips, trailing smoke as he huffs and he puffs.
This is his first time seeking out the newbies without provocation. They're usually better off finding him on their own, after they've met the welcoming welcome committee. But there's a sense of unease after recent events; victory was marred by the awkwardly preventable loss of one of their own. Others went into the same coma as Sirius.
Kavinsky needs a distraction.
He waits for too long, watching the stranger's hips sway as he prods and pokes at the pod. He would have noticed Kavinsky's presence if he wasn't so distracted and if K wasn't going out of his way to keep himself subtle.
Suddenly, he stops. He's there. Loudly there.]