pillz | ic contact for maskormenace

no discount 4 magic fuckry? ;(

[not that he minds, really. money isn't much of an object, these days. but he likes to think he'd sense it, if billy flinched across the internet.]

I will offer 2% off for minor inconvenience for how long it took.

aw it's ok
i like 2 support shitty magic habitz
ill meet u
shop agani?

yeah, magic shop

[and so: the magic shop.

kavinsky shows up a few minutes before closing time, as disinterested as ever in considering the lives and time of others. he looks as he did before: spiked hair, wifebeater, overpriced designer jeans and an equally ludicrous set of sunglasses perched on his head. the look on his face is a little different, maybe. nervy, twitchy.

his cocaine tolerance used to be better. but he's still functional enough to walk. to see billy. to smile like a shark across the counter.]

Hey, sweetheart. How's tricks?

[He sits up a little straighter. It's funny - he and Kavinsky are not exactly friends, but Kavinsky is oddly, the most supportive person outside of Gansey.

At least in regards to magic.]

How high are you?

[He is reaching into his cabinet, where the belt buckle is waiting.]

[kavinsky has a problem where he loves magic. for better or for worse. occasionally objectively for the better!]

Pretty fucking high, [kavinsky answers, laughing like a jackal. he rests his elbows on the counter, leans forward far enough that his shoulderblades emerge under his shirt as sharply as slabs of tectonically sharded stone.] Why, you want some? Substance party, you and me. What's so great about this planet anyway?

Objectively, a lot.

[He squints. The bad decision making organ in Billy's heart is starting to churn, and he's starting to think maybe Kavinsky has it right. Get high. Forget shit. It's got to be better than dealing with his crap all day.

He considers it.]

Why, what do you have?

[billy no.]

You can take the red pill or the blue pill, [kavinsky says, smiling with interest. not that he had lacked for enthusiasm before. his eyes skip to the belt buckle, but he doesn't reach for his wallet just yet.] I wouldn't recommend the blue pill, man. The story ends. You wake up in your bed and don't remember shit.

The red pill, that's-- memorable. Down the rabbit hole. Maybe you find the One. [he pops his green-veined knuckles.] I mean there's white powder that'll take your ass the opposite direction. And e. But that doesn't fit in the fucking reference, you know?

[He eyes the door. Gansey's gone. Nathaniel is gone. Kitty is gone. Billy's closing up today and he's by himself.

He knows he shouldn't and he knows it's a bad idea. He's never really done this kind of thing before. His anxiety has always given him a block for most of these things, except getting high with Tommy a couple of times. He's always been, well.

Too depressed and anxious to really consider this.

He thinks about his magic.

He thinks about Kavinsky.

The door shuts and the lock turns, and Billy's eyes go a little blue.]

I'm not interested in the blue one.

Why Mr. Kaplan, [it's an atrocious facsimile of a virginian drawl.] I'm just taken aback. [and just like that, kavinsky pops over the counter. rough hands clapping the top, his knee hitting the edge with a painful sound. he vaults right over into designated employees-only space, only to swing his shoes out. he sits down, dangling his feet down.

he pulls his bag around, onto his lap. unzips it.]

Maybe we should go into business together some time, [he suggests, extricating a ziplock bag. the pills within it aren't actually red at all— that color, he reserves for dreamer speedballs. instead, it's a shade of beige that matches the mundane organism that the drug magically mimics-- psilocybin mushrooms. it's one of the least alarmingly-pigmented things in kavinsky's bag.] Bet we could come up with a pill that makes you breathe fucking fire. Regular asking is thirty. [he's generous, with new users.] You wanna negotiate?

I'm not interested in a business deal.

[He looks at the pills. They are so benign looking. He considers if he can lock his magic up for a little while. For the entirety of this high. He takes a moment, and tilts his head.]

And I don't know if I want to breathe fire. Turning into a dragon only sounds fun in principle.

[He reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out his wallet.]

Twenty-five and I'll add a tracker to your spell so you can find whoever it is that's wearing it.

[turning into a dragon sounds fun on every imaginable level, kavinsky thinks. but he doesn't press the point, not until he figures out the particulars, anyway. he slouches forward, elbows on his knees, considers the proposal as it's put to him. his feet are still moving all the while, jittering, heels rocking backward into the cabinets below.]

Deal.

[he thinks he can make sure that only sarissa wears this thing, as only sarissa is supposed to, but better safe than sorry. words never before spoken by a joseph kavinsky! but then, he so rarely finds anything he is not confident he could replicate with his own brand of magic. he extricates a single pill and leaves it on the counter.] I got beer in the car if you need something to wash it down with.

[He shakes his head, and goes into the back a minute, and comes out with a bottle of something dark, but not alcoholic. It's iced coffee. Because Billy's all for mixing stimulants, apparently.]

Any weird side effects? I'm not going to be peeing green, am I?

I never tried it with a magical boy besides myself, [kavinsky answers, cocking his head. he studies the coffee.] If you stay awake, you see some shit. Beautiful shit.

If you can get yourself to go to sleep, you dream some colorful shit. You'll probably remember most of it. Side-effect is you feel a little shitty for awhile. Not too long. [he cocks his head a little, wiggling his coarse fingers in the air like he's conducting an orchestra of concepts.] You ever done MDMA? Or shrooms?

Fact is, you should do 'em both. First one takes the pissy scary edge off the second. Which is real important for neurotic li'l Jewish motherfuckers like you. [he shrugs his shoulders, stretches out his arm, his hand, to try and steal a cube of ice from the coffee. he needs something to suck on.] And then all neurons are go, baby.

You staying?

[He takes the pill and rolls it between his fingers, then. He's still deciding (he tells himself) and finally he places it on his tongue, takes a swig of coffee.

And he looks at Kavinsky. His eyes flash blue for a second, and then settle into a steady brown.]

[kavinsky looks closely at the other boy's face. curious. for an instant, he think she'd imagined that spark of color, but that's ridiculous.

truth is stranger, etc., etc. here more than anywhere else.]

If you pass out, I'm probably gonna get bored, draw some dicks on your face, head out, [he says.] But yeah. Sure. Drive you to the park. It'll be fun. [and he'll enjoy the soundtrack in the back of his mind, of gansey screaming his preppy little coconut off.]

[He snorts, but he's already starting to feel a little bit too much around the edges. It's not bad.

He sort of floats up and over the counter. It seems like the easiest way to get to the door at the moment.]

Don't draw a dick on my face, man.

[is

billy kaplan flying? kavinsky is impressed. he raises the sunglasses on his forehead, eyebrows hooking up high, and he leans forward to assure himself that-- what. there are no wires? of course there are no wires.

shit. in comparison to that, kavinsky swinging his legs over is profoundly boring. but it gets the job done, depositing him on the floor on the other side with a squeak of rubber on the floor. he follows billy toward the door, extricating a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.] Hey, Billy babe, [he calls out.] You want one?

[kavinsky's voice seems further away than it was before. the world is getting brighter-- something that cannot be accounted for entirely by the sunlight outside the shop. subtle patterns are lapping up in the grain of the sidewalk, and for a moment, the trees seem to be full of pinwheels.

and then, somewhere in the stream of pedestrians ahead, a flash of blond.]

[He turns towards Kavinsky's voice, but his pupils are already dilating, he's already hazy and losing focus. He's not entirely sure what K just asked him. A cigarette? Does he have one? No. Does he want one?

Billy is shaking his head but he's already turning. Shit. Shit, this stuff is-

He stares up and around. It's like magic, it's like his magic, and he just breathes in and out and in and out until he spots the blonde. He forgets about Kavinsky.

Sorry, Kavinsky. Billy is moving.]

Wait.

[The question is if he's moving in real life. He thinks he might be suspended in molasses.]

[suspended in molasses, suspended in sunshine. suspended in a sudden multiplication of human bodies, pedestrians who bounce harmlessly, almost numbly off his shoulders. kavinsky is saying something from very far away, but it doesn't seem very important. one moment, there's a crosswalk under his feet, or at least something prone to bicolor stripes.

the next, teddy is looking down at him from the brick wall of the park. the green of his skin is almost the same green as the treetops behind him, chlorophyll overbright, contrast to his blond hair. his wings are folded loosely over his big shoulders, lax, the webbing slung down low to balance him on his perch. he isn't crouching like a gargoyle up there, he's sitting like a boy on a garden fence, his feet swinging down.

teddy looks surprised. and then teddy looks like he's missed him, disbelief and hope shocking through his face all at once.]

Billy? Billy?

[He feels like he can't breathe for a moment.

He doesn't even consider this is a hallucination, which talks about how desperate Billy is for this. He reaches for him, and then to cover his face.]

Are you real? When did you get here?

[teddy opens his wings, beats them once to break his fall. there's a whuff of air as he drops down, a warm press of summer breeze against billy's cheeks. and then he's right there. his wide green shoulders, the patterned geometry in the hide of his arms, which he wraps around billy's waist. teddy buries his face in his boyfriend's hair.]

You smell like 50s space shampoo, [he says first, because that's important. how billy smells is important. but as for the other thing,] I don't remember. [he straightens.] Monday? I think I'm real, but sometimes it's as hard for me to tell that kinda stuff as it is for you.

Edited (I CAN'T TYPEEe) 2016-08-23 14:21 (UTC)

Oh my god I think I'm high.

[He also thinks that Teddy is real so this admission isn't you're not real but of course I'm high when you get here.

He presses his face in Teddy's shoulder though. It's easy. This is the easiest thing he's ever done. The swell of affection he feels is so completely intense - how did he ever think he was falling for anyone else? How could he ever think he loved anyone else?]

You have to be real, you have to be real, I can smell you.

[gradually, but not all that slowly either, teddy recognizes something is wrong.] Hey. Oh, hey. [his arms tighten around the other boy for a moment, closes his wings over them, momentarily blocking out the daylight.

he does this just hard and long enough (harhar) for the squeeze to be felt mid-squeeze. the next moment, teddy relaxes the circle of his embrace again. gives the back of billy's shoulder a rub with one big green hand.] Hey, it's okay. I mean it doesn't really bother me. [he doesn't understand. but of course, how would he understand?]

C'mon. You want to go in the park? Maybe it'll stay nice for five minutes before somebody caves in a wall.

ic contact for maskormenace

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→ action; (cw drugs)

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I could try to npc dream/hallucination teddy if he ultimately goes red??

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cw anti-semitic language

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lmk if teddy's "am i/is my love real tho" issues should be more repressed/unknown in billy's mind