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elliot "tyler durden" alderson ([personal profile] raw) wrote in [community profile] station72 2017-11-01 10:22 pm (UTC)

[ It's true, Elliot doesn't trust him, but that mistrust doesn't go far enough to suspect poison. It seems like it would be harder to get away with murder when people can just push into your head, even more revealing than hacking. Or maybe that's just the reasoning of a vigilante.

Anyway, he picks a couple of the pills at random. They look like candy. But only briefly, before he crunches them and then chops them into two neat lines on the pocket mirror, straightens them with the credit card, rolls a dollar bill into a straw. American money. Not the tools he'd use at home, but what he's got.

He doesn't wait for Kavinsky to go first, even though that would be the smart play. The junkie itch beneath his skin doesn't let him wait that long. One good sniff and it's gone, and he hands the other line to Kavinsky, standing unsteadily, chin tipped right up to expose the long line of his throat, blue-green veins and caramel skin. His eyes are closed, and he wavers like a tall tree in the wind, riding out the initial sensation somewhere far away from the tent.

It's good. He'd forgotten how good it could be: numbing, peaceful, a heavy blanket of well-being smothering down all his anxiety and fear.
]

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