[kavinsky ends up half-strangled by his own shirt collar. there is an inelegant, somewhat amphibious squgaghle sound as he slides over the wet brown sand in the other boy's grip. but he's still dual-tasking, his eyes too big in his head as he twists to and fro like a fish, trying to find aric. he thinks maybe he should have shot thanatos and made aric get on the elk. aric probably would have done it— kavinsky would guess that it takes a few hours for love to transform entirely into vinegar. like wine spoiling.]
I'm going to puke.
[he doesn't feel good, but the sand turns into hot powder underneath him and he recognizes that this is probably, technically, an improvement of circumstances. he doesn't feel all that much at home. he is accustomed to being the bad thing that happens, that's how he's made his life for years, and the current events are very much beyond even his own incredible choreography. by the time he starts paying attention again, murphy has gotten the sodden sock off his foot and started fixing whatever was wrong with him.] You got something in your nursey bag for fucking projectile vomit? Do you see Aric?
no subject
I'm going to puke.
[he doesn't feel good, but the sand turns into hot powder underneath him and he recognizes that this is probably, technically, an improvement of circumstances. he doesn't feel all that much at home. he is accustomed to being the bad thing that happens, that's how he's made his life for years, and the current events are very much beyond even his own incredible choreography. by the time he starts paying attention again, murphy has gotten the sodden sock off his foot and started fixing whatever was wrong with him.] You got something in your nursey bag for fucking projectile vomit? Do you see Aric?