Auri? [kavinsky asks.] Isn't that a Jew boy name. [he is more than mildly rude most times. most places. by most measures. he could be being worse. he winds up poking a cocktail straw in his teeth, fidgeting it restlessly with his tongue and molars.

then he offers her his hand. there are words tattooed across the long bones of his fingers-- DREAM, all the way onto his thumb.] I'm a dream thief. Kavinsky. Nice to meet you, Auri. [the matching word is tattooed across his other hand, the ink stark against his perpetually unhealthy pallor.] Can you hit a guy with those things? [he juts his chin at said horns.]