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)
station722017-12-19 09:17 pm
100mitsubishis) wrote in station722017-12-19 09:17 pm
I eat and drink and spend and fuck and never get my fill [OPEN]
CHARACTERS: 100mitsubishis and whomever
WHERE: the red coast, a cliff along the shore, close-ish to where listle diving would take place
WHEN: Day 26
SUMMARY: old habits die hard or not at all; once again, Joseph Kavinsky has no idea what he's doing here and decides to get high up somewhere... well. High. But feel free to post something else--totally open to wild cards!
WARNINGS: drug usage, allusions to sexual situations in main post, unsavory mental practices, casual misogyny, self-hatred thinly disguised as disgust in others, etc. etc. Kavinsky shit
[It's never been difficult for Kavinsky to find a cliff.
Admittedly, it's usually the metaphorical kind, the sort of edge one can sit at from the comfort of their furnished basement while their mother, drugged to the gills, dozes upstairs. But this time it's the physical kind with a sharp drop down to an alien sea.
There's salt in the ocean here--he can smell it carried up to him by whipping, unruly breezes--like there's salt in the ocean off the eastern coast of the US. He lived in Jersey before he moved to Virginia, both of which had access to the ocean, a great abyss that would stretch out forever to the human eye, but it was a lie, another one of reality's funny little tricks. See, the ocean had its limits, like all things in the waking, material world. He'd heard once, during one of the very few Biology classes he didn't sleep through or ditch, that a person could only see two to three miles out tops, thanks to the curvature of the earth. But even if they could see all the way around, until their gaze slid over their own back, appreciated their own ass, it was still limited.
He's been to multiple planets. He's traveled through the stars. He's met wizards and superheroes and women with secrets worth learning (novel shit, that), and it leaves him empty anyway. An infectious feeling, that he spreads among the other hosts who venture too near to him. He is the plague rat, he is patient zero of a hollowness that gapes and yawns and feeds forever.
That was why the symbiote chose him, and not King Dick or Lynch or their little peasant pet with the bad attitude. It chose the one that wouldn't be satisfied by the sci-fi version of a Thomas Kinkade piece. The view's majestic, it's beautiful, but it's a cliff. And cliffs end shortly, like Kavinsky's attention span or his ability to appreciate nature's beauty.
His old hideout wasn't in the middle of the fucking forest because he wanted to commune with the squirrels. He'd wanted privacy, so he'd found it.
There's no such thing anymore. He's part of a Nest. They're all gonna feel the smack of it when he snorts a line off the slightly trembling back of his own hand. Nobody will realize how kind he is, doing it far away from the bulk of them so that it will only be a trace in their system. Oh no, they don't get that despite himself, he's being forced to keep their best interests in mind.
Blame it on the symbiote. Blame it on his Brood. Blame it on the al-al-al-alcohol.
He almost reaches out to Elliot. He nearly calls him over, asks if he needs another hit and what he'd think about sucking dick in the open while the wind jostles their robes, but something about asking for attention feels too much like admitting need.
Kavinsky has no needs he can't satisfy. Only cravings. Like cliffs, they end.]
100mitsubishis and whomeverWHERE: the red coast, a cliff along the shore, close-ish to where listle diving would take place
WHEN: Day 26
SUMMARY: old habits die hard or not at all; once again, Joseph Kavinsky has no idea what he's doing here and decides to get high up somewhere... well. High. But feel free to post something else--totally open to wild cards!
WARNINGS: drug usage, allusions to sexual situations in main post, unsavory mental practices, casual misogyny, self-hatred thinly disguised as disgust in others, etc. etc. Kavinsky shit
[It's never been difficult for Kavinsky to find a cliff.
Admittedly, it's usually the metaphorical kind, the sort of edge one can sit at from the comfort of their furnished basement while their mother, drugged to the gills, dozes upstairs. But this time it's the physical kind with a sharp drop down to an alien sea.
There's salt in the ocean here--he can smell it carried up to him by whipping, unruly breezes--like there's salt in the ocean off the eastern coast of the US. He lived in Jersey before he moved to Virginia, both of which had access to the ocean, a great abyss that would stretch out forever to the human eye, but it was a lie, another one of reality's funny little tricks. See, the ocean had its limits, like all things in the waking, material world. He'd heard once, during one of the very few Biology classes he didn't sleep through or ditch, that a person could only see two to three miles out tops, thanks to the curvature of the earth. But even if they could see all the way around, until their gaze slid over their own back, appreciated their own ass, it was still limited.
He's been to multiple planets. He's traveled through the stars. He's met wizards and superheroes and women with secrets worth learning (novel shit, that), and it leaves him empty anyway. An infectious feeling, that he spreads among the other hosts who venture too near to him. He is the plague rat, he is patient zero of a hollowness that gapes and yawns and feeds forever.
That was why the symbiote chose him, and not King Dick or Lynch or their little peasant pet with the bad attitude. It chose the one that wouldn't be satisfied by the sci-fi version of a Thomas Kinkade piece. The view's majestic, it's beautiful, but it's a cliff. And cliffs end shortly, like Kavinsky's attention span or his ability to appreciate nature's beauty.
His old hideout wasn't in the middle of the fucking forest because he wanted to commune with the squirrels. He'd wanted privacy, so he'd found it.
There's no such thing anymore. He's part of a Nest. They're all gonna feel the smack of it when he snorts a line off the slightly trembling back of his own hand. Nobody will realize how kind he is, doing it far away from the bulk of them so that it will only be a trace in their system. Oh no, they don't get that despite himself, he's being forced to keep their best interests in mind.
Blame it on the symbiote. Blame it on his Brood. Blame it on the al-al-al-alcohol.
He almost reaches out to Elliot. He nearly calls him over, asks if he needs another hit and what he'd think about sucking dick in the open while the wind jostles their robes, but something about asking for attention feels too much like admitting need.
Kavinsky has no needs he can't satisfy. Only cravings. Like cliffs, they end.]
no subject
[Scenery kid may not have the context to understand a joke both that niche and lame, but it's what came to mind. Usually he picks rock, something to smash with, but right now he's cutting away, nicking at the stranger. Seeing what he's made of.]
( Heh. Man, what kinda people they bringing into the Nest now? Why can't any of you hang right? )
no subject
Joshua doesn't spare it more than a blink and a brief mental what before he moves on, though. ]
( Define "hanging right." )
no subject
( Step one: you don't show up and not bring anything to the table. )
no subject
[ Because yes, he absolutely noticed that you're getting high, bro. ]
no subject