[kavinsky arrives in a moment. he looks less wasted than he has been in days past and proportionately more uncomfortable. circles under his eyes, but not too much thinner. it helps that he'd been taking care of himself in the months and weeks before xistentia, built up some good health habits before the latest round of gay drama hit him, apocalypse style.
he pulls the window open. behind him, his house is all lovely wood and chrome, a sleek modern style very different from the tall, funny crowded brick home he'd built with the boys in eudio. which stands to reason. his recent taste in roommates is different too: there's the sound of a woman padding around through the further reaches of the building.
it might be rude to get turned into a vampire while your roommate is home, but kavinsky's manners were always awful.] Sup, mom, [he says. he kisses rafa on the cheek and holds his arm. the room smells more like cigarettes and tequila than he does. the bed is unmade, the television leaning precariously backward on the wall, flickering with inscrutable images.]
good blood you mean c:
he pulls the window open. behind him, his house is all lovely wood and chrome, a sleek modern style very different from the tall, funny crowded brick home he'd built with the boys in eudio. which stands to reason. his recent taste in roommates is different too: there's the sound of a woman padding around through the further reaches of the building.
it might be rude to get turned into a vampire while your roommate is home, but kavinsky's manners were always awful.] Sup, mom, [he says. he kisses rafa on the cheek and holds his arm. the room smells more like cigarettes and tequila than he does. the bed is unmade, the television leaning precariously backward on the wall, flickering with inscrutable images.]
Night is young, huh?