[ Elliot has an amazing capacity for obtuseness, given how smart he is. It's only once Kavinsky's knocked himself out that he panics a bit (is this a set-up? In New York that's what he'd expect, someone else coming into the tent flap. But things are too different here. An over abundance of difference and the only refuge in the face of that avalanche is to just accept and ignore.) but then after taking the pulse of that scrawny body and finding it tick-ticking along, manages to calm himself down before any of that panic, say, slides along the phoneline. Or, any more than usual.
So it's still just Elliot when Kavinsky comes back to himself, and when he has the drugs Elliot makes the most incredible what the fuck face with those alien eyes all bugged out and distressed, but he doesn't actually. Ask.
Like, okay, you make shit in your sleep.
(Anything, he'd said, right? Elliot doesn't think, great, an endless supply, he thinks: how else could I use this.)
(Sorry.)
-- Can you believe this kid? asks Mr Robot, arm slung around Elliot's shoulder, both of them peering down as the little red pill is tap-tap-tapped into his palm. ]
What's in it.
[ How many milligrams of morphine — he always did exactly fifty with twenty suboxone after, his own rehab nurse. It's not just about side-effects and withdrawl symptoms, opiates can build up a tolerance and get expensive, so it literally paid to be anal retentive about how he used.
Also, it's easier to pretend you're not an addict if you set yourself rules to follow. Limitations.
He is an addict, though: pretty much regardless of how Kavinsky answers Elliot is fishing his wallet out of his jeans pocket. It has a razor, a pocket mirror, a credit card. So no, he doesn't want to inject it. ]
no subject
So it's still just Elliot when Kavinsky comes back to himself, and when he has the drugs Elliot makes the most incredible what the fuck face with those alien eyes all bugged out and distressed, but he doesn't actually. Ask.
Like, okay, you make shit in your sleep.
(Anything, he'd said, right? Elliot doesn't think, great, an endless supply, he thinks: how else could I use this.)
(Sorry.)
-- Can you believe this kid? asks Mr Robot, arm slung around Elliot's shoulder, both of them peering down as the little red pill is tap-tap-tapped into his palm. ]
What's in it.
[ How many milligrams of morphine — he always did exactly fifty with twenty suboxone after, his own rehab nurse. It's not just about side-effects and withdrawl symptoms, opiates can build up a tolerance and get expensive, so it literally paid to be anal retentive about how he used.
Also, it's easier to pretend you're not an addict if you set yourself rules to follow. Limitations.
He is an addict, though: pretty much regardless of how Kavinsky answers Elliot is fishing his wallet out of his jeans pocket. It has a razor, a pocket mirror, a credit card. So no, he doesn't want to inject it. ]