[Look at him, actually wearing a shirt without the sleeves ripped off. They weren't poofy sleeves though; they laid flat and were wide at the wrists, meaning he was constantly rolling them up so he wasn't dragging them through food and other shit. Sometimes, he didn't think any of the clothes here were designed for practicality--it was irritating.
At 5'10", Kavinsky was skinny and relatively pale, dressed in dark pants and boots, and a light colored shirt. There was a small gold hoop in one of his ears and a gold chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt. He didn't look like he felt out of place, but he did. Things had been funny at first, wild and crazy like a dream, but he'd been here a few days and shit was distinctly less amusing now.
He missed his boys, Prokopenko specifically. He missed his car and the shitty mansion he shared with his shitty mother. He wondered if the Fourth of July had already passed, if he'd missed his own party or if time was in some sort of weird limbo. He missed how easy dreaming had been--would it become easy again or would he always be struggling here?
There were a lot of things on his mind and even a glass of wine wasn't helping. Possibly because he wasn't even a wine drinker, normally. He preferred whiskey or vodka or whatever beer he could get his hands on. This probably wasn't even going to get him drunk. Even worse, somehow, was the fact he was starving for the first time in ages. He wanted to eat everything in sight but he also didn't want to get kicked out of this get-together because he'd hogged all the food.
Wandering back to one of the refreshment tables, he sighed.]
Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | The Devil
At 5'10", Kavinsky was skinny and relatively pale, dressed in dark pants and boots, and a light colored shirt. There was a small gold hoop in one of his ears and a gold chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt. He didn't look like he felt out of place, but he did. Things had been funny at first, wild and crazy like a dream, but he'd been here a few days and shit was distinctly less amusing now.
He missed his boys, Prokopenko specifically. He missed his car and the shitty mansion he shared with his shitty mother. He wondered if the Fourth of July had already passed, if he'd missed his own party or if time was in some sort of weird limbo. He missed how easy dreaming had been--would it become easy again or would he always be struggling here?
There were a lot of things on his mind and even a glass of wine wasn't helping. Possibly because he wasn't even a wine drinker, normally. He preferred whiskey or vodka or whatever beer he could get his hands on. This probably wasn't even going to get him drunk. Even worse, somehow, was the fact he was starving for the first time in ages. He wanted to eat everything in sight but he also didn't want to get kicked out of this get-together because he'd hogged all the food.
Wandering back to one of the refreshment tables, he sighed.]
I'd kill for a cheeseburger.