mental link

[100mitsubishis]

DREAM there isn't anything else	THIEF get in get out
DYING a boring side effect	PARTY god that would be awesome

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

later.

[erbier]

( I apologize for losing my temper. )

[ She doesn't like apologizing, but she is entirely too aware she had lost control. She also knows he had pushed her there, but that isn't entirely the point. ]

day 47; much later

[100mitsubishis]

( Prove it. )

[Those could be angry words, sliced through with a desire to see the object of his disaffection in pain, but they aren't. They are rather calm and not at all predatory. For Kavinsky, this is close to sincere.

She knows what he wants her to do.

Defrost.]

[erbier]

[ She stiffens. ]

( I am not certain I like who I am when I relax my control. )

[ Neither had he, based on the slap across the face. ]

day 001 after concordia - this is me finally making good on my intent to tag this yikes

[doggo]

[Sirius hadn't returned any of Kavinsky's forays on Concordia because interaction was too raw, like licking a live wire. Sparse interaction. Finding him after that bitch, inky violence. The press of someone else's high.

And Sirius hadn't sought Kavinsky immediately after the return to the ship, mostly because he knew, without being told, that all was well. A peripheral awareness, like a scent that leads around a corner. But it is strange, being stood in hallways that are now full of people. The last time he was here, it was just the two of them. A flickering of consciousness at the other end of a cavernous ship. Like everyone gone home for Christmas holiday.

But late in that first day, at last: Kavinsky will feel, at the edge of his consciousness, a presence maybe more familiar than any new ones.

It's not anything that could be articulated, more feeling than words. Slinking around a corner, shadows at the edge of awareness.]

not too much time later

[100mitsubishis]

[They have new companions in their mindtrust. Kavinsky felt that like a firework shot off directly against his frontal lobe soon as they returned to the ship. It's bittersweet; more to latch onto, but less of that thread between him and Sirius that made them so special. He didn't do much in Concordia. Much for the mission anyway-- it didn't play to his skillset, and there were so many sights and sounds to soak up. He was never a good student before, but learning another planet had its perks.

Then they're on the ship and its chrome hallways. New 'friends.'

Even more, it's Sirius like slickness at the bottom of a drained cup, clinging to the back of his brain. Yes, it's a feeling, and Kavinsky can't say this one is familiar in its certainty.

Sirius wants to communicate with him. He doesn't want a druglord or an entertainer. He's after the heart of the matter.]

( What's wrong, pookie? )

[doggo]

[It's not a proper recoil. More a mental twitch back, like brushing up against a poker recently pulled from the fire.

And yet doesn't take much force to pull him back, coming back close to the familiarity of Kavinsky. The buzz of his consciousness just that, a buzz, easy to want back among all the unfamiliar.]

( Nothing. )

[Short, to the point.]

( There's others now. )

[--With a kind of rising inflection to it, because Kavinsky will have felt them, too, just as surely as Sirius knew they were out there when they blipped in, pulled taut, and Merlin, how much worse is that feeling now.]

( Found them yet? )

in some nebulous hour after the newest hatching.

[unsea]

[ It's like

delicate fingers, walking up Kavinsky's spine. A curious pass of a hand over the curve of his ear. Temptations, as much as a summoning of attention. ]

( You're not one to be so quiet, I surmise.

Is it getting to you. )

[ Having so many, so close. ]

a bit after that nebulous hour

[100mitsubishis]

[It's a bit after so he can make the metaphorical hand wait. Eventually it will be irritated, because sensuality is all very immediate. Not the same as something raw like a stripper with tear-away shorts, but you can't lick your spoon or offer someone a contract and then let that pregnant pause give birth. There has to be a beat, then a response. A beat. A go-ahead.]

( Whoa, we can mind-talk? )

[He doesn't have to say he knew that for Darkling to know that he knew that, which he knows.]

[unsea]

( Don't try too hard. You're clever enough, as is. )

[ If a mind could prowl, then that is exactly what his is doing. Like a predator, encircling someone who is definitely not prey, but has a soft, vulnerable throat all the same. Somewhere in there, there is a smile. It's not -- entirely friendly. ]

[wille]

[ This feels like the last piece of the puzzle clicking in place. The last broodmate, as Prince would put it, but to Misato it feels more like the last piece of her own mind returning to her. This is an introduction of sorts but it feels more like the reunion between old friends.

She hovers in the periphery for a while, soaking in whatever she can tease out of him, before moving in decisively. Like firm hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into skin, despite the mirth behind it. ]

( Wake up! )

[100mitsubishis]

( Five more minutes. )

[What he means is: yeah, I knew you were there. Too much cat to be the mouse, here. How's it going?

But he also doesn't mean that, because what he doesn't know is anything about this woman other than she's part of his brood (and, sure, what he can read off of her while she's reading off of him while he's reading her).

She's a new bit of this home that cascaded around him. The nice thing is she's another inkspill, like Sirius. Far more chipper, it looks like, but there's so much simmering underneath he's bound to drown in it. She's also the one that drives. The one that drives fast. He wants to do that again.

He's always forgetting what should make him wary or invested.]

[wille]

[ What you fear becomes what you desire becomes what you fear becomes what you despise. It's a depressing dance to the drumbeat of self-destructiveness, though Misato doesn't readily admit it, still struggling against the waves to break to the surface. If nothing else she's persistent, irritatingly so, stepping up the game by sending him the sensation of water, water against his face, a bucket of it thrown over the metaphorical bed. ]

( Come on. A gentleman never keeps a lady waiting! )

DAY 016

[wille]

[ Misato had only spoken to the man once but his departure, if it can be called that, feels like hacking off an arm and letting herself bleed out. It's unpleasant and unwelcome. She despises any and all things that dare set her back. Her contempt is pushed to a dark corner, but there for any who dig through the layer of mild concern. ]

( Did you know him well? )

[ She doesn't think she needs to elaborate. The two of them were here before her and Beth and Shepard. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[He moves like ichor. Sap-slow, because today is a day for edible treats that make the world crawl around him. Flat on his back, possibly in a public area, Kavinsky couldn't care less who trips over him. He might even grab for their ankles, worrisome as a cat stepping between its master's feet.]

( Fuck no. )

[But he misses him and he hates that feeling.]

[wille]

[ Out there, there's an alternate universe where Misato would be unafraid enough to allow herself the indulgence of lying in a hallway high as a kite, vulnerable. It's not this one. A thrill of anxiety courses through the link, but she reins it in before it overwhelms him. ]

( You knew him the longest. )

[ She could perhaps work on making that sound less like an accusation. ]

( Why him, do you know? )

day 22ish

[travailed]

[Beth's a little nervous reaching out to him the first time— she hasn't talked to him as much as Shepard or Misato, but starting with her brood on this project seems to be the most logical thing, and he's a part of that. It feels just as natural to start here as it does with the others.]

( Hi. Do you have a minute to talk? )

[Pleasantries feel silly. They're beyond that. But years of southern politeness are hard to shake.]

[100mitsubishis]

[Kavinsky likes nervous as a short-term method of tolerating him. Nervous means they're going in knowing they won't come out unscathed. Nervous shows foresight, it shows energy-- moxie. But it gives him the impression he needs to be worthy of such attentions. His presence mutates a few shades less approachable.]

( Shoot. )

DAY :039

[wille]

[ Maybe she should preempt Asuka's oncoming insults with her own excuses or poison the well, render whatever the girl says untrustworthy, keep hold of his fondness (adoration) for whatever it's worth to her. Well, it has crossed her mind, but somehow she chooses this: ]

( She's just a bit rattled. She's been through a lot. )

[ And the prize for the biggest understatement goes to . . . ]

[100mitsubishis]

( And that makes her special. )

[Kavinsky's response hovers uncertainly over the line between statement and question, though he's casual as can be with its delivery.

They've all been through a lot. They all learn to carry on.]

day 55; late

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Knock, knock, Kavinsky. There's the sensation of feathers over Kavinsky's mind as he reaches out, nudging at him for attention. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[The feathers stick to tacky paper, like the kind one puts up to capture flies. Lets them strangle themselves to death.

That's Kavinsky's attempt at putting up a defensive wall. Plenty of space in the gaps between, but it's something.]

( I'm up. )

DAY :004

[wille]

[ Misato likes to think of herself as above duplicity. She also likes to think of herself as moral and heroic, which this, whatever this act is called, decidedly isn't. But the miracle of compartmentalization does allow one person to be many selves, and she is a better liar than she gives herself credit for. ]

( I found a place to smoke. Bring enough to share, okay! )

[100mitsubishis]

[Lying, Kavinsky has found, is a lot easier when you do not share an alien Hivemind with the one you wish to trick. Luckily Misato's ace will also be what causes the ensuing reckoning:

After all these months, Kavinsky thinks she hung the moon and the stars around it. A flawed, witch of a woman, and yet he's too pleased she once again sought him out to question why.]

( You got a favorite strain, baby, or are you gonna make me guess? )

some nebulous time when they're both asleep

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ It's some time late at night, or maybe early in the morning, when Sam finally slips into a deep enough sleep for dreams to come. And given the fluid nature of the Nest and their mental link, at least it's not a nightmare - shit knows that Sam's had more than one of those bleed over onto him.

Hope you weren't set on sleeping alone, Kavinsky, because Sam's wandering mind has definitely latched on to their connection. He latches onto the familiar attachment, their mental connection widening as Sam's mind settles more into Kavinsky's. The dream is tenuous at best, flashes of colors and sensations, the press of fingertips here and the sound of laughter there, but it focuses, a little, as even in sleep, Sam recognizes the feel of Kavinsky's mind.

There's a soft hum of acknowledgement, the stretch of wings curled around Kavinsky as Sam pulls him in.

Hey, tiger. ]

cw: what is this mess, also dubious sexual situations with a barely not-minor

[100mitsubishis]

[Kavinsky has always dreamed alone.

Sometimes human-shaped things cropped up, but they weren't people, even when he brought them home with him and kept them without permission. They were figments of his imagination given enough flesh and blood and voice that they would pass any Turing test with flying colors. But they weren't people, because Kavinsky slept alone.

Only one other person should've been able to enter his dreams, and for all he knows, that boy is dead. He's long gone, at least, not part of the Nest, not near enough to Kavinsky to start the nasty business of subconscious infiltration.

But it is the Nest fucking with him. It is that Hivemind turning can't into shouldn't but gonna do it anyway. Someone's inside his hideyhole. Inside those labyrinthine corridors of chrome that make up his dreamscape most nights since he was spacenapped.

And that someone has wings. And that someone is pulling him close. Not formless, but not as whole as Kavinsky, who has practice at this. Who keeps all his limbs where they ought to be and his mind centered.

He's lucid. Sam--because of course it's Sam--is not.]

Shit, can't even leave me alone when we're sleeping? You've got a real complex, sweetheart, seriously, do we have a doctor on board to look at that?