100mitsubishis | mental link

[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? )

[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? )

[Nothing indeed. Kavinsky has nothing against these new people. If anything, he's glad to have more humanity simmering under his skin. It's a hot sensation, a gel that smears easy. But there's regret as well. The larger the group,the harder it is to manage. That used to be what made Kavinsky's parties so damn good.]

( Not yet. What about you? I bet you're great at making friends. )

[No he doesn't. Sirius is an awkward, angry man who's fighting losing battles. Kavinsky didn't have to make any of that up, he felt it like his own history. But that was what made him so easy to 'talk' to.]

[A brief wry amusement presses back in answer. Astute observation, that. Sirius was, once, great at making friends, or at least at being the sort of fellow you wanted to be friends with. That was a long time ago, distant memory, but when the swell of Kavinksy's parties comes through--chaotic, loose, damn good--he knows that, too. Weddings and end of term and summer. Endless.

Somewhere else, separate and yet not separate from Kavinsky, Sirius lets out a breath. Pushes his hand against his eye.]

( Don't do anything stupid. )

[To these others, who, yeah, Sirius has met, in part. He tries then to let some of that bleed over, the relief of those fused connections. It's good.]

[Kavinsky doesn't disagree. Having more is always better. Bigger, brighter, louder. Boom boom. He's not against it. That's not the sensation at all. Only good vibes, man. Only the best vibes.

But it's not wrong to have a favorite, is it? To want to remember how it all began, barefoot and mind pregnant with every possible overdose that could've made him hallucinate this exact fate?]

( I'll think about it. )

( Think you can do better than thinking. )

[Brusque, but not aggressive. Don't embarrass us, that was always the byline, standing at the bottom of the stairs at 12 Grimmauld Place in dress robes and shoes that pinched, watching the front door for guests to arrive. Chandeliers dripping with crystals and wax. His mother's earrings, long lines of silver and emerald, on the white line of her neck.

That's not what he means. More like, don't be a prat. Sort of friendly. Kavinsky could be a great deal worse than he is. Possibilities map themselves out, throbbing lines and bright lights.]

( You need a distraction, find a distraction. Nothing stupid with them. )

[Probably he doesn't have to say anything at all. After all, they're all entwined, threads and cords and knots.]

[He's not prying. It's in his nature to smoke someone out and let them secrete their secrets in an orgasmic organic fashion. When he finds out a person's mystery, he'll dog 'em on it-- get it, Sirius, dog 'em?-- but not so much that he'll pull a muscle. Besides, this is a truth exercise for them. That their minds can tango but don't have to outright meld.

Yet. The time may come. He can't guess at these things. It would drive him nuts.]

( Are you offering? )

[Kavinsky isn't sure where he should be finding distractions anymore. Can he take someone else's?]

[That one's easy. Zero hesitation:]

( Sure. )

[Flippant enough that if they were in normal conversation, face-to-face, words only, Kavinsky might question how earnest an agreement it is. Then again, he might not question it. He seems the sort who would take that at face value, press some advantage there.

And even if that weren't true of him, he will know, Sirius does mean it. Some things never change. Gryffindors, man.]

( I'll make you your own maze and you can do laps. Get lost for a few hours. )

[Sirius might be throwing that suggestion out there as a joke, but Kavinsky could have fun with a maze. Walk around, skirt the obvious pitfalls and enjoys the subtle ones that catch him by surprise. Made all the better if he isn't sober during the journey.

And if he has something to bring along. He doesn't like being alone.]

( How long do I have to wait? )

[Interest catches his interest. So now, the quick catalog Sirius does of his resources will feel like a shiver. Takes no time at all. This is old-school, this sort of distraction. Magic he's not had to use in ages. Pranks. Summer holiday. The Potter house, James hanging upside down off a bed with his glasses fallen off his face. You're a genius, Padfoot.]

( Two hours. )

[A patch of swamp. Topiary. Tall walls of green. Hot sun, the sort that bakes the part in your hair.]

( Know where the pool is? )

[Does he want to know about Kavinsky's summers? Boom and the hiss of balloons losing helium. Body shots and the crunch of gravel under tires. By the time he was fifteen, he had people traveling *miles* to come see how he played his games. He was never alone, but there was no one in his head.

Not unless he had to make them there. But after that, he could set them free.]

( Who do you think I am? )

[Yeah, dude, he knows where the motherfucking pool is. And two hours is a lot to ask from him, but he'll do his best not to prod at Sirius too much.]

( Not a swimmer. )

[The sizzle of those summer memories will linger with Sirius, catching on the toothy bits of his own memory, cloth against rough stone. Both heady and inspirational.]

( Two hours. Don't be late. )

[And don't be impatient, either. There's skill in this, real craft. Bending hallways, conjuring green in places it shouldn't be. Not as complicated as he'd like, not when he hasn't got the room, or his own wand. But better than nothing.]

[Then he knows him well. Kavinsky only likes large bodies of water if he's going to find someone naked cannonballing into them. Better yet if that person is him, head floating outside of his body until he makes impact with the surface and sinks in.

Down.

Two hours is a lot of time to not nudge his brain against Sirius'. Curiosity festers and blooms, a quick growing moss that wants to coat him utterly.

He makes it seventy-one minutes.]

( C'mon. )

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

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not too much time later

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