Oh. Yeah, it was easy to pick up on the hint, to figure out that it must mean she wasn't alive. This wasn't his first time talking to someone who'd died, so he might not have been surprised--but he still thought it was fucking unfair. No one should be dying when they were however old- he wasn't sure, but she seemed like she was probably around his age, give or take a year or two.
Someone else probably would have expressed their condolences or something, but Kavinsky wasn't someone else. "Yeah, I'm not great at rules, either. Think I'm allergic to 'em." He'd been thinking, before, that sometimes it'd be nice to just go about life under the radar, not constantly hearing people talk about him, but an alternative like that? Usually going unseen by living people? It sounded like hell.
"Kavinsky," he replied, as his own introduction. "And I mean, coming out here still seems like a fine idea? Like, what's the alternative? Being alone somewhere?" He scrunched his face at the thought. "Places like this have a good atmosphere." Unless, he supposed, you were invisible to most people...and being reminded of it was awful. "Personally, I always throw a party when shit's fucked. And I throw 'em even when everything's fine."
He didn't want to ask what had happened to her, even if he was curious--it was personal and it would be prying and he was pretty sure, from his experience with Prokopenko, that rehashing potentially traumatic shit wasn't cathartic for anyone. So instead, he said, "Sounds like you've got the hang of all this, though." Like, how shit worked, at least.
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Someone else probably would have expressed their condolences or something, but Kavinsky wasn't someone else. "Yeah, I'm not great at rules, either. Think I'm allergic to 'em." He'd been thinking, before, that sometimes it'd be nice to just go about life under the radar, not constantly hearing people talk about him, but an alternative like that? Usually going unseen by living people? It sounded like hell.
"Kavinsky," he replied, as his own introduction. "And I mean, coming out here still seems like a fine idea? Like, what's the alternative? Being alone somewhere?" He scrunched his face at the thought. "Places like this have a good atmosphere." Unless, he supposed, you were invisible to most people...and being reminded of it was awful. "Personally, I always throw a party when shit's fucked. And I throw 'em even when everything's fine."
He didn't want to ask what had happened to her, even if he was curious--it was personal and it would be prying and he was pretty sure, from his experience with Prokopenko, that rehashing potentially traumatic shit wasn't cathartic for anyone. So instead, he said, "Sounds like you've got the hang of all this, though." Like, how shit worked, at least.