[ooc: I'll match format- prose, brackets, whichever! <3]
i. A Choice to Make - Good - cw: vague mention of drugs
Kavinsky was angry. It snarled up inside of him, hot and choking--but he was hurting, too. The feelings went hand-in-hand, had been a near constant in his life for hours, days, weeks. With great reluctance, he pulled his white-framed sunglasses off, folding them and hooking them on the front of his shirt. He should have been dead, he knew that, and yet he didn't feel dead. He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still dreaming either, though. Compared to everything else he'd dreamt over the span of his life, this wasn't even remotely close to the weirdest thing. Even the voices weren't too far-fetched, no matter how irritating and alluring he found them, in equal turns.
He didn't need power--he already had that--but he didn't feel particularly inclined to pursue justice, either. But between the two, he thought it was easy enough to figure out which one was the lesser of the two evils, as it were. So, he squinted against the ethereal glow and walked towards it.
He was a split second away from asking aloud if the whispers ever planned on shutting the fuck up when he emerged from the tunnel into whatever was on the other side, and saw the girl. He stared at her for a long moment, studying the way her face kept changing. It was too much like the kind of shit he'd dream while fucked up that he couldn't flinch from it, no matter how disconcerting it was. Instead, he followed her. Maybe he was dead after all, and this was some sort of afterlife. Maybe she was an angel or something.
Craning his neck a bit when they passed The Odeon, Kavinsky considered the exterior of the building and the noise from within--and made a mental note to check it out later, when he didn't feel like he was on a tour. It seemed like it might be his kind of place.
When the girl pointed to the gym, he arched an eyebrow, looking at it and then her before barking a laugh. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," he said.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed through the rest of his current adventure, stopping in front of the hotel. He'd seen worse places, that was for sure--this would be good enough, he guessed, assuming he was supposed to stay here. He couldn't be homesick if he'd never had somewhere that felt like home, after all. The only problem was-
"I absolutely do not want to fucking be alone with myself." It was more of a mutter, directed at himself, but he also didn't care--or even know--if there was anyone else close enough to hear. He didn't want to lock himself in a hotel room right now, or lie down to sleep when he hardly knew what sort of nightmares he might wake with.
ii. Drinking Away Our Sorrows - cw: underage drinking
The Odeon wasn't quite what Kavinsky had hoped it would be, not as wild, but it was also better than any of the dumps that were in Henrietta, so it was still a plus. Besides, it'd been easy to dream a fake ID--IDs weren't a challenge; he'd forged them a hundred times--and he was well on his way to getting drunk. It probably wasn't too much better of a choice compared to being alone with his dreams, in his head, but he could at least delay the inevitable. Maybe if he delayed sleep long enough, got far enough out of his head, he'd be able to keep the nightmares at bay.
Knocking back another shot, he eyed the basket of fries next to him, where he sat at the bar, and considered them. He wasn't exactly hungry, and he knew that without eating anything, he was playing a dangerous game when it came to drinking, but it didn't deter him. After he'd gotten the bartender's attention for another drink, he picked up a single fry and took a bite. Despite the fact it was lukewarm, it was better than he'd expected--or maybe he was actually hungrier than he'd realized--and he finished it in another bite.
He shifted slightly when someone approached, either to sit nearby or just order a drink, watching them out of the corner of his eye before turning to look at them properly. "Hey, completely random question, for curiosity's sake, but--do you think there's a street racing scene in this city? Bonus points if you actually know, and even more points if that answer's yes," he said.
He figured, if he was going to be here for however long, he might as well start scoping shit out, see if there was anything to look forward to or if he was going to have to scrape together a race scene all on his own.
iii. A Little Game - The Odeon - cw: underage drunkenness
While not as spectacularly drunk as he had been at various times in the past, Kavinsky was probably definitely drunk enough that he should've climbed into an Uber or something and gone back to the hotel--but he felt more relaxed right now than he had all day. Physically, relaxed, at least, though his thoughts were still scattered, obsessing over things that had happened hours or days earlier in the back of his mind. He was doing his best to ignore those thoughts, to distract himself- which was why he invited himself to sit at a stranger's table, no matter who they were.
"Hey," he said amiably, dark eyes bright, even with the dark circles under them, standing out against his pale skin. "So, considering that this place is fucking boring compared to the parties I throw back home, what do you say we spice shit up with a little truth or dare?"
Joseph Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | OTA
i. A Choice to Make - Good - cw: vague mention of drugs
Kavinsky was angry. It snarled up inside of him, hot and choking--but he was hurting, too. The feelings went hand-in-hand, had been a near constant in his life for hours, days, weeks. With great reluctance, he pulled his white-framed sunglasses off, folding them and hooking them on the front of his shirt. He should have been dead, he knew that, and yet he didn't feel dead. He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still dreaming either, though. Compared to everything else he'd dreamt over the span of his life, this wasn't even remotely close to the weirdest thing. Even the voices weren't too far-fetched, no matter how irritating and alluring he found them, in equal turns.
He didn't need power--he already had that--but he didn't feel particularly inclined to pursue justice, either. But between the two, he thought it was easy enough to figure out which one was the lesser of the two evils, as it were. So, he squinted against the ethereal glow and walked towards it.
He was a split second away from asking aloud if the whispers ever planned on shutting the fuck up when he emerged from the tunnel into whatever was on the other side, and saw the girl. He stared at her for a long moment, studying the way her face kept changing. It was too much like the kind of shit he'd dream while fucked up that he couldn't flinch from it, no matter how disconcerting it was. Instead, he followed her. Maybe he was dead after all, and this was some sort of afterlife. Maybe she was an angel or something.
Craning his neck a bit when they passed The Odeon, Kavinsky considered the exterior of the building and the noise from within--and made a mental note to check it out later, when he didn't feel like he was on a tour. It seemed like it might be his kind of place.
When the girl pointed to the gym, he arched an eyebrow, looking at it and then her before barking a laugh. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," he said.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed through the rest of his current adventure, stopping in front of the hotel. He'd seen worse places, that was for sure--this would be good enough, he guessed, assuming he was supposed to stay here. He couldn't be homesick if he'd never had somewhere that felt like home, after all. The only problem was-
"I absolutely do not want to fucking be alone with myself." It was more of a mutter, directed at himself, but he also didn't care--or even know--if there was anyone else close enough to hear. He didn't want to lock himself in a hotel room right now, or lie down to sleep when he hardly knew what sort of nightmares he might wake with.
ii. Drinking Away Our Sorrows - cw: underage drinking
The Odeon wasn't quite what Kavinsky had hoped it would be, not as wild, but it was also better than any of the dumps that were in Henrietta, so it was still a plus. Besides, it'd been easy to dream a fake ID--IDs weren't a challenge; he'd forged them a hundred times--and he was well on his way to getting drunk. It probably wasn't too much better of a choice compared to being alone with his dreams, in his head, but he could at least delay the inevitable. Maybe if he delayed sleep long enough, got far enough out of his head, he'd be able to keep the nightmares at bay.
Knocking back another shot, he eyed the basket of fries next to him, where he sat at the bar, and considered them. He wasn't exactly hungry, and he knew that without eating anything, he was playing a dangerous game when it came to drinking, but it didn't deter him. After he'd gotten the bartender's attention for another drink, he picked up a single fry and took a bite. Despite the fact it was lukewarm, it was better than he'd expected--or maybe he was actually hungrier than he'd realized--and he finished it in another bite.
He shifted slightly when someone approached, either to sit nearby or just order a drink, watching them out of the corner of his eye before turning to look at them properly. "Hey, completely random question, for curiosity's sake, but--do you think there's a street racing scene in this city? Bonus points if you actually know, and even more points if that answer's yes," he said.
He figured, if he was going to be here for however long, he might as well start scoping shit out, see if there was anything to look forward to or if he was going to have to scrape together a race scene all on his own.
iii. A Little Game - The Odeon - cw: underage drunkenness
While not as spectacularly drunk as he had been at various times in the past, Kavinsky was probably definitely drunk enough that he should've climbed into an Uber or something and gone back to the hotel--but he felt more relaxed right now than he had all day. Physically, relaxed, at least, though his thoughts were still scattered, obsessing over things that had happened hours or days earlier in the back of his mind. He was doing his best to ignore those thoughts, to distract himself- which was why he invited himself to sit at a stranger's table, no matter who they were.
"Hey," he said amiably, dark eyes bright, even with the dark circles under them, standing out against his pale skin. "So, considering that this place is fucking boring compared to the parties I throw back home, what do you say we spice shit up with a little truth or dare?"