Joseph ♔ Kavinsky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burnyoudown) wrote2021-07-18 04:56 pm
burnyoudown) wrote2021-07-18 04:56 pm
Entry tags:
Open RP Post
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🔥 General headcanon for Kavinsky. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
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kavinsky lives and eli moves to aglionby
Somehow a dragon made of flames and a car crash that had been all wrong didn't seem so different, really.
He didn't get there in time to help, having to fight his way through the crowd, and by the time that he made it to the white Mitsubishi, Skov had already dragged the boy down. So he did what he could- offered a couple pills and a silver flask that looked like the sort half the boys at Aglionby hid in their lockers. But it tasted like warmth, like sunsets, something that healed you from the inside out. It tasted like dreams. It was enough to make the sort of questions the paramedics asked about fire safety and not what the fuck happened here? It was enough to make sure that Kavinsky was okay, whether or not he really wanted to be.
And then he vanished back into the crowd, growling something about take care of him yeah? to Skov before he walked away. Elijah had no interest in sticking around to see what the authorities made of it all. Last time he'd punched a cop, and he didn't have any friends here that could quiet that sort of thing.
It's still summer, so there's no easy way to track him down, find his face in classes, his name on the dorm list. Even the flask he left behind doesn't have his initials on it like most Aglionby assholes, instead it just bears a Latin quote:
"Extraneus hic ego sum
quia non intellegor ulli."
Which translates to I am a stranger here, because I don't understand anyone, a variant on Ovid, for anyone that's kept up on their classes. Instead, the first time they actually meet is at Kavinsky's substance party -- his first after the shitfest of the 4th. Elijah is a couple drinks in, bruised knuckles from a scuffle that wasn't quite a fight, his brown eyes still a little red-rimmed from the joint he'd smoked at the beginning of the night. He seems to hold it well, though: not his first time, surely.
He isn't the sort of boy that's good at making friends, but he slips between the clusters of people, hangs out for a while. The alcohol and the drugs help, makes it a little less obvious that he's different, makes him a little less cruel. But he still has to duck away with the excuse of finding another drink or something when he boils too hot, wants to punch people in the face because they've spent the last twenty fucking minutes talking about some reality tv bullshit. So he's standing alone by the last of a smoldering fire, kicks the embers just to see the sparks glitter red on the air.
That's when he catches a glimpse of Kavinsky sitting on the hood of the same white car he'd watched a boy haul him down off of. He doesn't walk over to him, even if he wants to, even if something skips in his chest. There's still a misery that lingers in his veins that he doesn't know how to wash off. He almost wants to leave, climb into his car and drive too fast until he remembers how to breathe. He looks away, sudden, busies himself drinking from the red plastic cup someone had pushed into his hand.
He wasn't about to get caught watching when he didn't know what the fuck to say anyway.]
yiiiiiiis
Kavinsky withdrew into himself for days after the 4th, wallowing in his misery, only coaxed out of it by his boys. They weren't always gentle with their coaxing, but it worked out in the end. Eventually, he started to feel like himself again, enough where he felt like throwing another party. He tried to tell himself he didn't care if he ever spoke to Lynch again, but that was a lie. Kavinsky had almost died because of him, or maybe it was K's fault and not Lynch's. It was a lot easier to blame someone else instead of himself for a change, though. It lifted a little of the weight off his shoulders.
He still wasn't quite one-hundred-percent when his substance party rolled around, but getting high helped. Anything that kicked him out of his head even a little made dealing with shit easier. He still wore his sunglasses even though it was night, but that didn't stop him from thinking he recognized someone. He could have been wrong, but he hadn't stopped thinking about the contents of the abandoned flask since that night. It wasn't normal, and he'd consumed enough dreams to know one when he encountered it. He was grasping at straws, hoping to not be let down again because he didn't think he'd be able to handle it-
Sliding down off the hood of his car, he made his way over to the boy at the nearly burned-out fire. The closer he got, the more certain he was that he was right. His pulse picked up a little, and he took a deep breath when he stopped a few feet from the other boy, exhaling on a sigh.]
I don't think I got your name before.
[He knew he hadn't, but he didn't want to frame it in an accusatory way for a change. He was rough around the edges, sure, but he also remembered how this boy had fled after helping. Kavinsky didn't want him to feel like he had to run again before he got some answers.]
i love it already
So he just shrugs his shoulders, drags fingers through his hair as he looks up to meet the other boy's eyes. Eli's are green, but a little too bright given the low light of summer night- how he's lit only by fading embers and the distant flare of headlights.]
Elijah. I'm glad you're still breathing.
[There's something a touch awkward to how he says it- like he half expects Kavinsky to mock him for saying it, and chooses to voice the words anyway. He doesn't know if the other boy needs to hear it, but- there are a lot of things he didn't say before whatever the fuck it was that happened to Dimitri on New Years.
Of course, Dimitri wouldn't have pulled a fucking fire dragon from his dreams, or the strange white horror of wings and claws it had been fighting with. No, nightmares that slipped from his dreams were distinctly Elijah's sort of problem. He'd say that's why he'd been drawn to help that night on the 4th, but in truth it was more basic than that. It was just-- he'd needed to do something, to not be helpless this time. To change it when it looked like things were going to shit.]
You're Kavinsky, right? Everyone here says your name.
[Depending on how much attention the dreamer had been paying to the strange boy in the leather jacket amidst the chaos of the 4th of July, Kavinsky might notice that most of Elijah's tattoos are different this time. Except for the sword hilt on his wrist.]
:3
Yeah. Thanks.
[Kavinsky had been at odds with the whole still breathing thing since the 4th, on and off, but in the end, he guessed he was glad, too. He'd come so close to throwing everything away because of a boy, someone who clearly didn't seem to need him the same way he needed someone else like him. But maybe he could still have that--not with Lynch, but. Maybe, if he played his cards right (and he usually did).]
That's me. Guess you could say I'm kind of like royalty around here.
[He grinned, just for a moment. He was like Henrietta's dark king though, his kingdom the shadows and darkness. This place wouldn't be the same without him but he also wasn't stupid enough to think that anyone would genuinely miss him--they'd just miss what he could do for them.]
Do you want your flask back? I've been holding onto it.
[And usually, when something was left with him, he kept it. Like coats left behind at a party. But this was different, and he wanted to ask about more than just the flask. He wanted to ask what was in it, why it tasted like dreams--and he knew what they tasted like. He wanted to know what Elijah was, assuming he was anything at all and not just normal and powerless.]
Whatever's in it's got a kick.