[kavinsky pushes other chunks of glass around. he makes a circle in the sand, a surprisingly even one-- but he always had a pretty decent sense of visuospatial reasoning. he'd be a(n even) worse driver without it. it's a good size circle, too. large enough for a couple of late teen, early-twenty-something-year-old magic wielders to stand in, if they cared to stand in dubious circles amid a field of energy.

for whatever reason a magic wielder were to stand in a dubious circle in a field of energy.]

Pretty sure there's a spell for that, [kavinsky says, very nonchalantly. mind you, he'd still be nonchalant even if he knew what his spell had done.] But your story keeps changing, baby. One sec your magic's useless. Then you're useless. Then it's him talking, or it's his fucking face. [kavinsky pauses for an instant when the lightning gets close to him, his eyes flitting across the sand.] You sure you don't just wanna fuck him-fuck him?