we don't deal with outsiders very well; (good samaritan)

[rebuilding bridges isn't a hard task for someone like kurt.

he's always been friendly, easy to please and ready to lend a hand where necessary, even if it means extending his reach to those he hasn't met yet. his first good intention is actually helping a small child rescue their alien puppy-- a large slobbering thing with two heads that thanks him by practically licking him to death.

an ear scratch for the dog and some affectionate headpats for the youngling then kurt sends them on their way, smiling wide while waving after the pair before heading off for more assistance.

perhaps, you're the second person he helps, reaching out for whomever's arm and pulling them out of the way just as a hovercraft goes zipping past.] Careful, [he warns, warm and genuine, lips quirked as he gestures down the road.] Just like everywhere else, no one watches where they're driving.

[or the third that he approaches, offering some extra limbs to help carry things you seem overflowing with.] Maybe I can give you a hand? [but also a tail, since he has the appendage and all.]

they say newcomers have a certain smell; (mirrored)

[overnight is when the change happens for him. he wakes as usual, rising from his bed and approaching the upright mirror a few feet away. for a long moment, nightcrawler stands there, examining his disheveled appearance and mussed hair before wrinkling his nose with disgust. this is what he's been okay with? yes, well, there are some changes coming, which start with his wardrobe and hair.

he steps out in all black, hair trimmed, slicked back on top of his head and entirely one color. no more fun, whimsical blue or anything that represents his past personality at all. his shoulders are rolled back, spine ramrod straight as he goes down the sidewalk, silently observing other people that have been affected by the change.

it's amusing in a way; the drastic difference that perky, uplifted people experience and vice-versa. he can't resist smirking, his mirth blatant with the expression at how things are dissolving around them.

he turns back around, side-stepping quickly to avoid brushing shoulders with someone he passes by.] Excuse you, [he snips irritably, eyes narrowing.] There's more than enough room to walk, so step back.

you have trust issues, not to mention; (closed to kavinsky)

[a picnic on the citadel is what they'd decided for a first date. how unfortunate that it's not the kurt kavinsky knows, though.

he waits atop the building, the edges of his feet teasing near the precipice as he paces back and forth across the narrow concrete bit. both hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his tail sways to and fro, crimson-colored eyes focusing on the sky above because it's not like he needs to watch where he's going when he can teleport somewhere safe should his balance waver. except, that isn't likely, considering his circus upbringing. there's little fear when one can walk a tightrope with a blindfold or swing from trapeze bars like nothing.

approaching footsteps catch his attention and he promptly pirouettes to face kavinsky, the chains of his outfit swinging out, loose curls tumbling across the right side of his face as he presents joseph with probably the most deranged looking smile he's ever seen on the blue boy.]

Hi, [he greets, teetering back and forth on his feet.] I'm surprised with you, Joseph. You aren't even that late.

they say they can smell your intentions; (damage control)

[kurt's never felt so ashamed in his life. there hasn't ever been a time where he'd treated people the way he had while under the influence of ... whatever had taken hold some time ago. he hates everything he's done, the way he acted toward people he cared about, how he cut down others that he didn't even know without a single care. hell, he's even unsure of what his mirror self has done to his self-image, leaving him in this twisted place of doubt and dissatisfaction with himself.

but most of all, he despises how he came off to a handful of xistentia's human residents. whatever he can do to apologize, he does it, then immediately goes back home, tucking himself away with his books, plants, cooking-- anything that's not interacting with someone he might have offended right now.

any visitors will be welcome, of course, though he'll be hesitant to answer the door, despite who comes knocking. (or not?)]

after all i've said, please don't forget; (wildcard)

[ooc: lay something of your own on me! plotting post here or you can hit me up on plurk at totalfruitcup!]