War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

[spoofer]

Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!

WAR WITH DESTINY

By headsman's blade or battle-axe

Fight For Your Life

Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.

For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.

The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree.

You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.

BATTLE MODE: ATTACK

You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.

She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.

Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.

SEEK SANCTUARY

Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.

BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK)

And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.

Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.

Drift Compatible

The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.

You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.

In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.

The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.

Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.

But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.

Comments

joseph kavinsky | ota

[pillz]

closed to murphy;

[you ain't lived life until you see two red-armored shitlords floating in the air, grabbing at guns that are floating in the opposite direction, looking only a little bit clumsier, probably, technically, than the fairly new-fledged telekinetic who's fucking with them using his newborn powers. maybe they should have practiced.

they probably should have practiced killing people with their superpowers before all this, but it's not one of those things that teenage boys think to do, even teenage boys who are assholes, when they have options like buttsex, getting into turf wars with the local wildlife, wearing each others' clothes, and negotiating the ins and outs of vampire biting. which is mostly a polite way of saying that murphy doesn't like the idea of getting bit, still, but kavinsky was working on it, right up until the enemy saild in with guns blazing and a gigantic fucking elephant, i guess.

whatever.

a running leap, and kavinsky smashes into one of the red soldiers that murphy had been holding in the air. like baby kong jumping a boeing in the air. some kind of monster smash, but on a tiny, regular person scale. he doesn't particularly need murphy to set them on the ground after that, choosing instead, right there and then, to bite his fangs into the enemy's exposed neck, with a liquid crunch of impact. he has super balance now, you know. he can do this in the air or on the ground. he forgets, conveniently, about the possibility murphy will be judging him along the way.]

open/wildcard;

[though confined to fighting at night, kavinsky is a wicked little hellcat in designer jeans and a bloody tanktop. he could likely knock an enemy off you, tearing at their skin, stealing their own guns off them to shoot them with. or he might be seen on a panicky tear, running away from fire, one of the few true enemies that vampires have. regardless, he's drunk on blood and battle, laughing like a jackal in the dark, thinking little of the psychological consequences that might find him later.

during daytimes, you'll find him resting in the temple, curled up on stone or applying new gel in his hair, rinsing blood off his tattooed skin. still high from battle, inevitably, and eager to hunt again when nightfall comes.]

[mordacita]

[ Rafa sits next to Kavinsky with little ceremony. He's spent the day on the battlefield, and his dark clothes are the worse for wear. Rafa isn't, though. he's uninjured - or, if he had been injured, he's healed - and his skin is flushed and warm. His eyes hold a strange kind of energy, but at the very least he looks healthy. A taut smile tugs at his lips. ]

Do you recall my telling you that you should train for war? [ He says, conversationally. Jessie the umbreon comes up beside him, considerably more tired than he is. She climbs up between the two of them and curls up into a ball against Kavinsky's hip. ] You were so against it then, in Eudio where all seemed safe. But you made me proud today.

[ He reaches up to smooth Kavinsky's extremely gelled hair. He makes only the slightest face when he feels how sticky it is, and then wipes his hands off on his pants. ]

[pillz]

[under caress of his darling mother, kavinsky's hair bends and loses its shape even more. the residue is like parting thanks for that. he's in too good of a mood !! to actually mind that rafa messed up his beautiful locks, which is pretty remarkable with how vain kavinsky usually is. but he merely gives rafa a grin, both baby vampire fangs glinting in the low light of the temple.] Fine, [he says.] You wanna say 'I told you so?' The words are 'I told you so.'

[he leans over in his seat. presses lips like pillows against rafaello's cheek, a loud, rubber smack of a kiss, enough force to leave a splotch of vampire spit on the older vampire's face. then he sits back, a crooked grin on his face.] It's a fucking buffet, mama. I used to think lobster was too much work and dumplings was weird, but this shit is worth it. I only bit one motherfucker with burning blood. You?

[mordacita]

[ Despite his somewhat less ebullient mood, Rafa can't help laughing. Kavinsky's reaction is every inch the kind he'd hoped he would have when he first imagined this boy as a vampire. Of course bloodlust appeals to Kavinsky. Of course he loves getting to use his power, his strength, his speed, his fangs. There's no need for him to rein in a single one of his impulses on the battlefield.

It's freedom. Freedom to kill and maim and destroy, and of course it feels good. Vampires were made to do this. Rafa's skin is glowing with the kind of good health that implies he's been doing exactly the same thing. He doesn't even tell Kavinsky off about the burning blood.

Well, much. He does point his finger at him for a second. ]

Do that too often, and it truly will burn you. From the inside, too. That is not wise.

[ But even that's a small criticism, and he leaves it quickly behind. ]

It has been a long time since I have fed like that. I must have tried at least a dozen new species last night. It looks good on you, Kavinsky. All of this does.

[pillz]

[kavinsky being kavinsky, he dismisses the warning about incinerating himself inside-- not even with a flip of his hand or a look. it's just there then out of his thoughts again. but that isn't to say he didn't ear and won't remember. he hadn't enjoyed the pain, be as it may that it had left his pretty face unharmed in the long-run. he'll remember.]

That sounds pretty gay, mia madre. [his accent is terrible. it's always terrible. but there's a sneery kind of smile that isn't at all at rafa's expense, easy pleasure, glad of the way the both of them have been enjoying this fine war. later, it'll feel less true; he won't sit as comfortably with the assumption that this is what he was meant for. humanity is still much closer to him, chronologically, culturally, than it is for rafa. less than two months ago, he still breathed air and had to launder sweat out of his clothes, picked his way through found deodorants, vain, vaguely self-conscious the way that only narcissists can be.

this is different. to be grimy and free. and roll onto the ground now, indifferent to the scrape of stone against his back. uncurl across rafa's lap like a cat. his head bounces on rafa's knee, eyes skating up over his face.]

This what it's like? At home?

[mordacita]

[ Rafa shifts automatically, one knee dropping and the other lifting to give Kavinsky a pillow. His arm drapes, possessive, across the front of his shoulders, and his fingers trace lightly over his jaw. It's like petting a cat, keeping his arm around it. ]

It once was.

[ Rafa's smiling, but his voice holds no nostalgia. He doesn't long for those days; far from it. He'd ended up craving peace, in spite of his history. A return to war was the last thing he had wanted, no matter how good it might look on him. ]

My people against the fae. We fought on beaches, cliffs, and in the water. This place reminds me of that. The danger of the beach.

[ He sighs, and moves to clear dust and grime from Kavinsky's precious hair. ]

When I left our war was over. We had found peace. Shane tells me demons came while I was gone, and caused the trouble that brought him here. I suspect it has to do with this place, with this war. I meant to take you home to safety, not battle.

tw ableism

[pillz]

[the cat is happy. spread like marmalade across rafa's lap, full of blood like milk, as close to content as he's been in awhile-- if only because today has been painted in the colors of a military victory, instead of a moral failing. the latter, he's accustomed to. failure, he could recognize from a hundred thousand miles away.

winning is kind of new, actually. just ask ronan and half the other lads who were good at driving, or had cars less touchy than the mitsubishi. it's so new that he has no idea what'll go on under it. he's enjoying the trophies, the winnings, the affectionate hand on his pretty face.]

Guess it's different when you're killing for dinner or turning people into retard addicts for fun. [it sounds like he's kind of picking a fight, but he isn't-- really. that's just what he sounds like.] Bet there's gonna be another one before you get bored of the quiet, though. Another war.

[he twists his head-- so much the tetchy cat again. opens his mouth, fangs pricking harmlessly over rafa's fingers.]

[mordacita]

[ Rafa's smile is a little sad. His fingers stay light on Kavinsky's face, tracing its lines, petting it sweetly. ]

For five hundred years, I was at war. I was tired of it. I wanted peace for my family, and safety.

[ But they're here because it's not safe. Shane had confirmed that. It hadn't just been Eudio that was under attack, it had been their home as well. Rafa looks up at the hall around them. Everyone is recovering here, and he knows that the real fight is not far away.

It doesn't matter to him that the blood he's been drinking makes him strong and full of life. This still isn't what he wants. Rafa was raised on war, but that's not the man he is anymore. ]

Still, I think you are right. War is inevitable, and where it comes I will fight. But I do not do that anymore, you know. Make thralls. Turn men into... [ He gestures, unable to form his lips around that crude phrase. ] I mean to be better than that. Even if the world does not follow.

[pillz]

[well this is different. unexpected. not the war and whatever— actually, kavinsky had figured as much. rafaello was a good king because he could wage war in the interest of building his kingdom, not because he wanted to do so at the expense of his people, and he loves love. it stands to reason that flights of passion and rage aside, senseless murder and political strife aren't his thing. he's known that awhile.

but last they'd talked about thralls was a long time ago, back in a corn maze, in eudio, when rafaello had gently dispensed warnings about the addiction of his blood-- but given it to him anyway. it'd worked out just fine, kavinsky thinks. it'd worked out great. at least, substance abuse isn't the center of his garbage fire life. so it surprises him, that rafaello speaks of it now like it's something more than a mandate imposed by the censuring eyes of others.

he pops up an eyebrow, and stops worrying rafa's fingers with his teeth. he shifts a bit, making himself more comfortable on the stone floor. (vampire skin, hooray.)]

Why not? [he asks.] Thought that was cool.

[rafa hadn't sounded like he'd cared about whatever he cares about now, back then.]

[mordacita]

[ Kavinsky isn't wrong. The Rafa who'd given him that vision was a Rafa some three hundred years younger, and one who was not at his best in many respects. This older model smiles at Kavinsky now. Released from his pettings, his shoulders lift in a brief, graceful shrug. ]

In my youth I would have agreed. I would have told you it was better, even. Kinder, a way to feed from them without killing them so soon. A way to give them pleasure. But it is like any drug in the end. It takes more than it gives, and there was no kindness in it. I simply did not think it mattered, any more than most humans care about what they do to cows to gain their milk.

[ There's a part of Rafa that still holds to that, hence why he uses the analogy. He still resents how quick the humans are to complain about their treatment by vampires, when by all accounts, they do far worse to their own livestock. He has never softened because of his own logic, but rather through the efforts of others. ]

In Eudio I was forced to seek their consent. Now I do it willingly, and demand my people do the same. Before today, I had not killed in years. Now my record is blotted and I must start again.

[pillz]

[this is so strange for kavinsky to hear. he'd truly still thought of his mother as this powerful and amoral creature, who somehow had both the capacity for love and great ruthlessness in his heart, two halves to the same man. a paradox he knew he'd never be quite like himself, incapable of that much-- sophistication.]

Does it make you feel guilty?

[he's going to remember the answer later. in a few weeks. but right now, it's a casual question, borne out of silly academic fascination that rafa has stooped to the level of normal plebians with their normal plebian super boring morality. he pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses the other vampire on the mouth again, so as to make it clear that he won't make fun either way. kavinsky is not very good at expressing to what degree he respects rafaello and his choices, his growth, the enormity of his life and responsibilities. but he does.]

eeyyyyy

[rekt]

[ all they had wanted was some up against a tree out in the woods buttsex, and they'd barely even gotten k's hands down the back of murphy's pants when these shitlords came spear throwing in.

it's more murphy's immediate reaction of oh fuck, i don't wanna die teamed with oh fuck i don't want k to die, that has the spears ripped into splinters and scattered to the sides before they make it to their chests. from there, he's frozen, when he realizes he'd lifted the two soldiers into the air, remembering that moment in the world these powers came from, when he'd started crushing the other girls lungs in. he... doesn't really want to do that.

thankfully, kavinsky takes the issue out of his hands, when he leaps up to viciously bite into one's neck, a choked gurgle coming from the man as he dies. is murphy a little stunned? yeah. judging? maybe. disapproving? no, these fuckers just tried to murder them, they can get fucked. while he's taking care of that one, murphy flings the other side, into and throw a tree, and has to struggle to get his powers together to make sure the tree falls away from them rather than on top of. ]

You're not kissing me again until you've washed your face and brushed your teeth about seven times.

[pillz]

[mind you, kavinsky's going to have something to think about later. how easy it was, tearing through human flesh like a hot knife through ice cream. how he'd reveled in the celerity and strength of his body, marveled in how weak the ties of gravity were on his limbs. he'll think about the fact that murphy dropped a dying woman into leaf litter, and he himself had had her blood rouging his lips like some silicone gloss smashbox shit, and it hadn't stopped or bothered him.

not then, anyway. it will later. somehow, murder hadn't been a line he'd ever managed to cross, in real life. not even in self-defense. dream monsters hadn't counted.]

What if I use vamp speed? [he asks murphy. blithe. indifferent to-- no, just blind to the flicker of a human reaction in murphy's severe face.] So it's technically seven times in terms of like, brush count-- [he reaches up and snares the next hovering soldier by his foot and pulls, testing if the other boy is going to let him go or. they're going to do some sick shit with snapping the guy in half? but he's unthinking in its monstrosity.] But just the one like. Sitting.

Kinda like how I could cornhole you if you'd let me. [a frivolous wink. he's terrible, but there's a flash of genuine anger in his face when he looks up at his quarry. he doesn't show his worry like a normal person and maybe he never will, but it's not gone from him.]

[rekt]

[ it does bother him, somewhat, more due to the things it reminds him of, the people, the places, the wars, but it doesn't show on murphy's features. the little muscles under his skin, around his lips and eyes and brows, stay a stony kind of still, as the clenched fingers in his hand slowly uncurl, and the second soldier falls into kavinsky's waiting claws and fangs, bait dropped into a shark tank. ]

Then I’m gonna need proof you actually did it, so you may as well just go slow like the rest of us.

[ murphy answers stoically, while he watches however k chooses to feed on this one, expression blank but attentive. it's surreal to watch, like he's trying to see the boy he's curled around in bed and kissed with reckless, passionate abandon in the creature that's feeding now on another human body. tries not to imagine himself in the place of the red soldier, really. pushes away the phantom tingle his mind supplies, remembering the piecing, needle sharp pain from when k'd bitten into his neck when they were fucking before. ]

I like having more than half a second build up before I come, so, pass. [ he says, after the second body crumbles to the forest floor, and shaky legs carry him over to kavinsky's side. it isn't that he's concerned for the soldier. they'd tried to kill him, it's what's fair, and murphy's never been shy with cruel revenge. reaching up with his tattered sleeve, murphy scrubs the blood from kavinsky's lips and chin, tipping forward to kiss his temple, well away from the bloodsplattering. ]

Cornhole me the old fashion way. [ after these bitches trying to murder them die, tbh. ]

[pillz]

[maybe there had been a part of kavinsky that felt the threads beginning to fray. murphy's concerns creeping through the heat of bloodlust like cold drops of condensation, the extra emotion clouding his voice. he knew that murphy had had a problem with rafaello, and that had sure as shit been something, perhaps the beginning of a concern. but they'd fucked since then. he'd bitten the other boy. and it's true: these people are the fucking enemy.

but the gaps between tart stupid jokes and comebacks stretched too long, the usual nonchalant note of murphy's retorts stretching on too long. kavinsky had started to listen before he looked over, picking out the unsteady drub of murphy's heart in his ribs, the shuffle of his feet in the leaf litter. he'd moved his head to look at the other boy, the beginning of self-consciousness starting to prickle in the skin of his jaw, his neck, where the gore stuck to him and dried in itching degrees and dripped down on his shirt. he'd started to think, maybe, this was the wrong crowd, that he'd made a mistake with mur--

--and murphy's cleaning his face. sleeve first, kiss second. relief kicks kavinsky in the chest before he even knows what it is, before he can be troubled by a clear recognition of his own doubts in the first place.

it's easy to push it all out of his mind. with a grimace, like a child stooped under a painful hairbrush.] Whatever you want, possumtits, [he says. he pretends to try and smear a bloody kiss on murphy, but it's a half-hearted effort, his subconscious recognition making him-- more careful than he'd ever admit to. in the end, he settles for a forehead-kiss, his brow bumping affectionately into murphy's.] It's your show. Safeword is 'IBS.'

[cantseame]

[Such flames catch the attention of a certain water wizard, who meets the oncoming flame with a wave of water all his down, moisture drawn from the air around them and brought crashing down towards the fire. Farraige meets the source of the flames with his staff raised, water conjured and swirling around him. If the first deluge isn't enough to chase them off, he's prepared to give quite the liquid lashing.]

You alright?

[He doesn't necessarily turn to ask, though it's hard to tell if he might recognize Kavinsky at this point, given how muddled his head is feeling.]

[pillz]

[and kavinsky is now

covered in mud, and sitting gracelessly on his ass, his shoes sprawled out, the shirt laminated against his skin. he feels slightly singed, but the reality is, that certain water wizard had managed to stop the flames just in time. he's just. kind of warm on one side, and dirty on many of his others.]

Yeah, man. Well. For a quantity of 'all right.' [he grimaces, looking up-- flinching when the gout of flames tries to lunge at them once more. he throws a bloody-smeary hand up over his face. then starts to get up warily, accepting a hand if it's offered.] Sheeit. Can you bring us on a fucking monsoon or something, maybe?

[cantseame]

Tricky thing about affecting the weather. The more natural forces you try to manipulate, the more unpredictable it can get.

[He does indeed offer a hand, helping Kavinsky to his feet.]

We'd all probably be neck deep in water if I really went all out like that. That's assuming the wind doesn't tear the city apart first.

[What he will do, however, is erect a wall of water tentacles from one of the pools around them. When one of their foes draw close enough, it comes crashing down on them, thrashing and slamming them into the ground repeatedly.]

Can you still fight, or do we need to get you out of here?

[pillz]

[kavinsky unsticks himself from the moist and slimy earth, still making a mightily awful face, like a child confronted with unwanted salad greens. by now, farraige is already pretty grimy-looking from war, probably, but he now has a few more ounces of dirt on his hands as the baby vampire scrapes himself off.

but the silly look on kavinsky's face dispels as he watches the tentacles extrude from the pooled water. he stares as they lash out, striking the enemy.]

I can fight, [he says. he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, spits a mouthful of blood, mostly to look badass rather than out of any biological need to get the leavings of his lunch out of his system. he'll be troubled later, by the way he'd killed, but for now— not his concern. he then settles in low, bending his legs, like a panther about to spring. (please ignore the fact he isn't a panther. he's a skinny, tattooed white kid, with poofy lips and the remains of gel in his hair.)]

I'll take the ones on the left, [he suggests. more enemies threading through. some of them have rifles now.]

[cantseame]

[He nods, willing the tentacles to strike and gathering more water to his side. The streams lash out, cutting deep into the new foes coming to meet them. It almost looks as if there are splashes of red in the water Farraige conjures, and the tentacles seem to give no mercy to any foe caught by their watery grasp.

While the cuts aren't deep enough to keep them disabled, the next step of his plan is. Those soaked with his water will feel a chill seeping through their armor. Farraige figures it prudent to take one or two alive. Any information they could gain from a prisoner could prove valuable, and keeping them on ice seems the best way to preserve them and keep them out of the fight.]

cw sexual vulgarity

[pillz]

[perhaps predictably, the vampire boy demonstrates much less precision and finesse in his assault on the enemy. he crashes around! rips half the surface of a tree off because his aim is off, crushes somebody with his feet, before kangarooing off to tackle someone else, his jaws agape, fangs exposed. it's a macabre mess. rafa had taught him to make war, but he'd probably have advised slightly-- different tactics, probably. maybe something even resembling a fighting stance.

he recovers his balance afterward. all three of his wind up dead or dying, one wheezing within an inverted breastplate, another bleeding out of their neck, the last pummeled into the dirt. he composes himself-- to the extent that joseph kavinsky is ever composed, anyway. his grimy face empties out into a pleasant, empty smile as he looks over at the frozen lot that farraige has left choreographed in between the trees, his eyebrow ticking up.]

Well sheeit. Can you do steam, too? You'd come in handy for the smutty politician-on-twinks scene, assuming that ever happens in this world.

[cantseame]

I can manage water in all of its forms, even drawing it from the very air itself.

[Surveying his work during the momentary lull in combat, Farraige quirks an eyebrow and turns to Kavinsky, puzzled by his statement.]

What's a twink?

cw sexual vulgarity

[pillz]

[kavinsky looks appropriately impressed, his eyebrows pitching high on his pale forehead. u no u no. works for him. he spits another half a mouthful of blood on the ground, and tramples over some leaves to get a better vantage point of the further reaches of the forest. no movement yet. his ears can't pick up any movement in proximity.]

Twink is a hot young piece of man ass. Couple requirements, I guess. Not a lot of chest hair, usually. Skinnier side, not too big on the muscle. Bubble butt is a give or take, parameters of the hole therein likewise kinda. Flexible. [he's the worst. hopefully farraige has no idea what he's saying!] Favored by old men and women across the multiverse. Hey, can you get me some clean water to wash my face?

I feel like I'm gonna start itching here. Some kind of AIDS joke to apply.

[cantseame]

Who has time to think about all this?

[He has some earthly idea and yet he wishes he didn't. Keen to change the subject, he conjures a ball of water within arm's reach of kavinsky, quietly bobbing and rotating.]

Just cup your hands and curl your fingers through the water. It'll separate from the rest.

[pillz]

Man. [kavinsky makes a face at the mage, but he does as instructed. he puts out his hands, presses his fingers together, bends them in order to make receptacles for the water.] Who doesn't doesn't have time to think about it sometimes?

Besides, I know you're dating Rosie. You got time to think about sex. And do it too.

[he beams. gory vampire grin, shit-eating and absurd.]