[Kavinsky was dead. He knew he was dead. He'd stared down his dragon until the last moment, unflinching. Yet here he was, standing knee deep in the ocean on a beach. He was something else- but he'd always been something else. This was a different sort of thing than what he'd been before but- he didn't know how he felt about this. Something, someone maybe, had given him another chance. Or he was in Hell. He wasn't ruling out any of the possibilities just yet. Everything was strange but was it stranger than being able to pluck whatever he wanted out of his dreams?
Slicking his wet, dark hair back from his forehead, he waded the rest of the way to shore. He stopped when he stepped on something hard in the sand and looked down, expecting to see a rock or a seashell. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a glass eyeball staring back at him. At least, he assumed it was glass because it sure as hell managed to stay intact under his foot. Stooping down, he pried it out of the sand, brushing it off a little, and tilted it this way and that.
Henrietta might not have had beaches, but he'd grown up in New Jersey and he knew for a fact that glass eyes weren't a common sight. Looking around, he caught sight of a prosthetic hand a few feet to his right. Logically, he went over to pick up that, too, brushing sand off of it.
Glancing up when he heard or saw someone approach or walk past, he said-]
Hey, you need a hand? I've got an extra.
[He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. There wasn't any mirth in his dark eyes. He wasn't as okay as he seemed but he could fake it with the best of them.]
ii. Lost and Found
[Eventually, Kavinsky took the things he'd found on the beach to the Orphanage, handing them over and expecting that to be that. Except the kid came back with a photo and handed it over. The sight of it was enough to make Kavinsky freeze for a moment before taking it.
He'd know it anywhere, remember when it was taken no matter where he was or how much time had passed. He didn't usually do selfies but he'd allowed Prokopenko to take a picture of the two of them once or twice. This was one of those photos, the pair of them pressed so close their foreheads were nearly touching. Proko flashed a grin while Kavinsky flipped the camera off goodnaturedly.]
How did you get this? [He raised his voice, not quite shouting but talking loud enough for anyone around to hear.] How the fuck did you get this? Is he here?
[Maybe someone should step in and distract him from accosting a small child.]
iii. A Faded Memory
[Don't ask him what compelled him to swim out to the lighthouse. He sure as fuck didn't really give a shit about the potential of any ships running aground. Maybe it was spite, after being turned down by various fishermen. Maybe he wanted to do it because they were so opposed to the idea of anyone going out there.
He knew going out there could mean death; he wasn't an idiot. Back in Jersey, he'd heard plenty of stories about waves or riptide or sharks or just sheer exhaustion killing people. Yet he went out anyway. Except when he got there, when he'd hauled himself up onto the lighthouse steps, he sat for a moment to catch his breath. It wasn't that he was out of shape- that would imply he'd been in shape to start with. He was just a skinny teenager so thin you could practically count his ribs if you wanted to.]
Fuck me, this is stupid.
[He muttered. But he couldn't be the only one out here, could he? Surely, he wasn't the only one stupid and determined enough to swim out here. He'd find out if he sat there long enough, probably, or when he finally got up to explore the lighthouse.]
iv. Friend or Foe [CW: bugs, bug horror, death, gross stuff]
[Of course, following the sounds of screaming was a logical choice. Kavinsky was an asshole but he wasn't completely heartless. Except he stopped still when he found the source of the screams, as if not moving would save him. And maybe it would. The poor fuck the bugs were attacking was already done for, he could tell that much. Maybe if he'd had a weapon that felt like it would have been appropriate, he would've tried to step in. But all he had on him was a lighter and that was going to do jack shit.
So it was more out of self-preservation than a lack of empathy that made him hold still. And yet, he caught sight of someone else, looking like they were going to go in for an attempted rescue.]
I wouldn't do that. [He warned.] It's too fucking late for them, anyway.
Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | Paleblood
i. Arrival [CW: mentions of suicide]
[Kavinsky was dead. He knew he was dead. He'd stared down his dragon until the last moment, unflinching. Yet here he was, standing knee deep in the ocean on a beach. He was something else- but he'd always been something else. This was a different sort of thing than what he'd been before but- he didn't know how he felt about this. Something, someone maybe, had given him another chance. Or he was in Hell. He wasn't ruling out any of the possibilities just yet. Everything was strange but was it stranger than being able to pluck whatever he wanted out of his dreams?
Slicking his wet, dark hair back from his forehead, he waded the rest of the way to shore. He stopped when he stepped on something hard in the sand and looked down, expecting to see a rock or a seashell. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a glass eyeball staring back at him. At least, he assumed it was glass because it sure as hell managed to stay intact under his foot. Stooping down, he pried it out of the sand, brushing it off a little, and tilted it this way and that.
Henrietta might not have had beaches, but he'd grown up in New Jersey and he knew for a fact that glass eyes weren't a common sight. Looking around, he caught sight of a prosthetic hand a few feet to his right. Logically, he went over to pick up that, too, brushing sand off of it.
Glancing up when he heard or saw someone approach or walk past, he said-]
Hey, you need a hand? I've got an extra.
[He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. There wasn't any mirth in his dark eyes. He wasn't as okay as he seemed but he could fake it with the best of them.]
ii. Lost and Found
[Eventually, Kavinsky took the things he'd found on the beach to the Orphanage, handing them over and expecting that to be that. Except the kid came back with a photo and handed it over. The sight of it was enough to make Kavinsky freeze for a moment before taking it.
He'd know it anywhere, remember when it was taken no matter where he was or how much time had passed. He didn't usually do selfies but he'd allowed Prokopenko to take a picture of the two of them once or twice. This was one of those photos, the pair of them pressed so close their foreheads were nearly touching. Proko flashed a grin while Kavinsky flipped the camera off goodnaturedly.]
How did you get this? [He raised his voice, not quite shouting but talking loud enough for anyone around to hear.] How the fuck did you get this? Is he here?
[Maybe someone should step in and distract him from accosting a small child.]
iii. A Faded Memory
[Don't ask him what compelled him to swim out to the lighthouse. He sure as fuck didn't really give a shit about the potential of any ships running aground. Maybe it was spite, after being turned down by various fishermen. Maybe he wanted to do it because they were so opposed to the idea of anyone going out there.
He knew going out there could mean death; he wasn't an idiot. Back in Jersey, he'd heard plenty of stories about waves or riptide or sharks or just sheer exhaustion killing people. Yet he went out anyway. Except when he got there, when he'd hauled himself up onto the lighthouse steps, he sat for a moment to catch his breath. It wasn't that he was out of shape- that would imply he'd been in shape to start with. He was just a skinny teenager so thin you could practically count his ribs if you wanted to.]
Fuck me, this is stupid.
[He muttered. But he couldn't be the only one out here, could he? Surely, he wasn't the only one stupid and determined enough to swim out here. He'd find out if he sat there long enough, probably, or when he finally got up to explore the lighthouse.]
iv. Friend or Foe [CW: bugs, bug horror, death, gross stuff]
[Of course, following the sounds of screaming was a logical choice. Kavinsky was an asshole but he wasn't completely heartless. Except he stopped still when he found the source of the screams, as if not moving would save him. And maybe it would. The poor fuck the bugs were attacking was already done for, he could tell that much. Maybe if he'd had a weapon that felt like it would have been appropriate, he would've tried to step in. But all he had on him was a lighter and that was going to do jack shit.
So it was more out of self-preservation than a lack of empathy that made him hold still. And yet, he caught sight of someone else, looking like they were going to go in for an attempted rescue.]
I wouldn't do that. [He warned.] It's too fucking late for them, anyway.