What? You thought I'd be bleeding out on the fucking table? [kavinsky sounds amused more than anxious. disdainful a little, maybe, in an offhand and playful kind of way. the effects are subtle. he doesn't register exactly what this is doing to him, but it'll come back later, slowly, like the very first person to ever experience caffeine withdrawal, before they finally took that sip of delicious joe.
he'll want it again, someday.
but right now, he merely stretches his arms out like he's decorating a crucifix, chest open, wiggling his fingers in the free and open air. he feels better than he has in awhile. but it's quiet. subtle, not the spiky ecstasy of cocaine or the madness of dreaming. so he doesn't think it.] But we should do this again some time, [he says.]
no subject
he'll want it again, someday.
but right now, he merely stretches his arms out like he's decorating a crucifix, chest open, wiggling his fingers in the free and open air. he feels better than he has in awhile. but it's quiet. subtle, not the spiky ecstasy of cocaine or the madness of dreaming. so he doesn't think it.] But we should do this again some time, [he says.]