[ i'm a politician who dies and comes back to life like a fucking video game character
they didn't play the same games growing up. he knows that. josh grew up with the super nintendo, the nintendo 64, and the games he played the ones where there's only a finite amount of lives. eventually the counter hits zero and its a game over. no continues. kavinsky's more modern, born later in a different world, where checkpoints and infinite lives were features instead of cheats tucked away in the magazines.
and so when josh hears those words, he never finds solace in them. he only thinks that sometimes death is forever. eventually you run out of men.
and so when david turns up and tells him what happened, tells him he's gone in this mess. reality shattering around them, the porter probably to blame, he thinks that's it. game over. kavinsky's out of continues and the words he should have said that night (i love you, just come with me this time) were left as implications. he'd gone to the spot - the body - stubborn and refusing to listen to the danger when there was a chance, even the smallest of possibilities, that he could lay hands on what remains of him and bring him back.
but there wasn't anything. just the glasses, miraculously in one piece despite the gore splattered across them. he's been sitting in the car krakoa has overtaken - one turned into a medbay more than anything else - trying to get his head on straight. and its only when someone tells him to go take a break and get some air that he actually listens, glasses still tucked away in his pocket as he gets up and goes.
the cars are pure sensory overload. stressed out imports of all shapes and sizes, with their wildly different origins and genetic makeup. it's no more relaxing than where he was before, and he feels useless out here. useless.
at least until something familiar catches his attention. there he is. the little fuck. scared him half to fucking death, couldn't even be assed to send a message letting him know everything is fine, just immediately thrown back into work. ]
Jesus. [ his voice wavers. he's rushing over before he can stop himself. secrecy be damned. his hands come up, cupping kavinsky's pale face in the gentlest of touches. almost reverent. he looks like he might start crying. ] Holy shit, Joseph. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?
no subject
they didn't play the same games growing up. he knows that. josh grew up with the super nintendo, the nintendo 64, and the games he played the ones where there's only a finite amount of lives. eventually the counter hits zero and its a game over. no continues. kavinsky's more modern, born later in a different world, where checkpoints and infinite lives were features instead of cheats tucked away in the magazines.
and so when josh hears those words, he never finds solace in them. he only thinks that sometimes death is forever. eventually you run out of men.
and so when david turns up and tells him what happened, tells him he's gone in this mess. reality shattering around them, the porter probably to blame, he thinks that's it. game over. kavinsky's out of continues and the words he should have said that night (i love you, just come with me this time) were left as implications. he'd gone to the spot - the body - stubborn and refusing to listen to the danger when there was a chance, even the smallest of possibilities, that he could lay hands on what remains of him and bring him back.
but there wasn't anything. just the glasses, miraculously in one piece despite the gore splattered across them. he's been sitting in the car krakoa has overtaken - one turned into a medbay more than anything else - trying to get his head on straight. and its only when someone tells him to go take a break and get some air that he actually listens, glasses still tucked away in his pocket as he gets up and goes.
the cars are pure sensory overload. stressed out imports of all shapes and sizes, with their wildly different origins and genetic makeup. it's no more relaxing than where he was before, and he feels useless out here. useless.
at least until something familiar catches his attention. there he is. the little fuck. scared him half to fucking death, couldn't even be assed to send a message letting him know everything is fine, just immediately thrown back into work. ]
Jesus. [ his voice wavers. he's rushing over before he can stop himself. secrecy be damned. his hands come up, cupping kavinsky's pale face in the gentlest of touches. almost reverent. he looks like he might start crying. ] Holy shit, Joseph. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?