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 Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 8:21 am
At some point through October, it had become a regular thing for Kavinsky to get phone calls or text messages from Isaiah. An appliance needed fixing or the window didn't shut properly or a door was broken, it didn't matter. They'd all been excuses in the end to get the Russian to come to Isaiah's home when his roommate would be out for an indiscernible amount of time.
The jobs existed, because there was an understand that Kavinsky showed up for work and anything else that came after was a benefit for Isaiah, if K had time for it.
In truth, he found it silly that the man was so insistent on using ploys, but he wasn't going to complain about the work. He still got paid even if he charged less for the most part.
But then, suddenly it stopped.
There were no more phone calls lined with innuendos or false problems and he hadn't received a text message in over a week, which was odd considering the frequency of them before. Kavinsky wasn't attached but moreso curious about what had happened and if the radio silence meant that he'd lost a job, which was more disappoint than losing a hook-up buddy.
Especially since, as far as he knew, they'd been fine. Isaiah had never been shy about examining his performance.
Deciding that it had been nagging at him enough, he texted Isaiah, then made his way toward the apartment.
[Text to Isaiah: Did you die? Haven't seen an obituary. What's up with the icing? ]
Was he being punny? It was hard to say.hetzerei idk what i'm doing, he doesn't people
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 10:45 am
Isaiah woke up in a pool of spit that morning, as he did most mornings now. The cold clamminess crawled up his cheek, across his lips, and down his chin. He awoke bleary eyed, stricken with a headache, and just as exhausted as he was when he went to bed. Worse yet, he found himself in far more pain than the night prior. This was a cycle he came to know.
Lately his phone chimed ad nauseam for the host of problems caused by his absence. Brokering deals outside of the shop wanted to know when he would get back to them in the barter, Vargas needed to know when these items Isaiah wanted to acquire would be coming in, and lately his general manager had been pressing to purchase the shop from him due to his many months of disinterest. Gwen stressed him as much as he stressed her. Nothing could be done without extricating himself from bed, and he could hardly stand to be upright for longer than an hour. Life, it seemed, unraveled at a pace he could not keep.
his phone went off for the fourth time, signaling another text message. Finally Isaiah snatched the vibrating abomination off the end table and glanced at its display. Kavinsky messaged, which was odd of him - usually the man waited to receive notifications of broken windows, busted water pipes, and necessary package delivery services. The accompanying rewards shared by their mutually-beneficial work relationship were often hinted about, sometimes referenced directly, and neither one of them took the affair farther than it needed to be. It constituted why he liked Kavinsky so much, in part.
The other part addressed his punctuality, and how the man never asked too many questions. Until today, apparently.
While typing proved difficult, additions like Swype mitigated his frustrations.nuxaz SMS Russian FingersAlmost. Business is dangerous. Got burned badly. Some things can’t be fixed.
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 11:02 am
Kavinsky had been in the area and as such, arrived at Isaiah's door shortly after he'd received a response. As someone who only used his phone to contact Ellis or to respond to the odd-job requests, it was instinctive and overtly natural for him for him to pull out the phone and glance at the screen when it vibrated in his pocket.
Somehow, he was surprised by the fact that he'd received a response, a prompt one no less, at all.
Chewing on the inside of his cheek he debated his options. He could leave, given that Isaiah had confirmed that he was alive but what he knew of the man's work never constituted as dangerous from his observations, but what did he know?
Kavinsky cursed himself for his rashness, because he'd traveled impulsively, but he was already here and his fingers tapped across the phone's keyboard.
[Text to Isaiah: Too damaged to let me in? ]
It was, ultimately, wordier and more concerned sounding than he really was but it had more to do with the fact that he was already there and if 'some things can't be fixed' then there was probably a chance that his handy-manness would come in, well, handy.
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 11:19 am
When Isaiah received the next message, he squinted at it in hazy comprehension. Too damaged to let him in…? I didn’t hear a knock. Slowly he slid out of bed, cold feet touching cold floor, and padded carefully toward the apartment door. Opiates left him dizzy so he braced himself against the wall. I don’t know that Quenton would let anyone in.
Finally he reached the door, and with careful balance, peered through the peephole. No one stood outside, and the nature of the space allowed for no hallway to hide in. He could see down the warped and fisheyed staircase, but no one lingered down there either.
„… Oh. Oh s**t.“ He murmered at the door as realization dawned. Isaiah retraced his steps toward the bed, bumping a table but once, and found his phone among the sheets.
Pausing, he wondered if speaking to Kavinsky at all might bring the Negaverse down upon him. But he hadn’t sought medical attention, so there wasn’t yet a trail to his real identity. He stopped finding Alkaid after she burned down his apartment. But, if he met Kavinsky again and the man saw the damage, would he know? Was he a part of their operation? Quote: SMS Russian FingersI can’t work right now. I don’t have any jobs for you.
Alternatively, could his predicament get any worse?nuxaz SMS Russian FingersI’m not there. If you want to meet me, I can come to the cafe on Laurel and Frederick.
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 11:40 am
It hadn't occurred to him that Isaiah might not be staying at his own place, especially if things were as dangerous as he supposed he was expected to believe. When no one came to the door after a few minutes of waiting, white brows knitted together and his phone buzzed right as he reached the staircase out of the complex.
He didn't read the texts until his boots hit the last step and he was back on the streets walking away from the complex. It'd been a rash decision, one he hadn't thought at all about before he'd done it and once again, he cursed the impulsiveness.
I can’t work right now. I don’t have any jobs for you. Followed by a second text before he'd had a chance to reply. I’m not there. If you want to meet me, I can come to the cafe on Laurel and Frederick.
He paused in his walk to re-read the texts and contemplate if it was worth responding or agreeing to meet and ignored the annoyed passerby's that curse at him or mumbled beneath their breath when they were forced to skirt around him.
In the end, the text he sent in return was;
[Text to Isaiah: Wasn't about wanting work. Don't have to meet. ]
He would however show up if Isaiah asked him too, Kavinsky was painfully reliable and yet - he'd sent a second text before he thought about it.
[Text to Isaiah: Had just been curious.]
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 12:12 pm
Quote: SMS Russian FingersI’ve been here for days. I need to get out. Quote: SMS Russian FingersDon’t be shy. That’s my role now.
Dressing proved terribly difficult. Simply donning a knit sweater demanded some finagling to avoid disturbing the bandages yet still wear it properly. Fingers threatened to catch in the holes between woven thread, and the lack of tension on both sides meant pulling his head through was that much more difficult. He hated it, and all the while cursed to himself that if he only kept his mouth shut, if he only stayed out of the Rift…
Isaiah left jeans out of the equation; pajama pants lent to him kept all the necessities covered, and attempting to wear something with less stretch to it promised a tug-of-war trial spanning the better part of an hour. He slipped on sandals, reached for the door, and
Struck it with his face. There he paused, his forehead pressed to wood, as he cursed himself inwardly for trying to use the hand he still felt. Doing so disturbed the bandages, and aggravated his injuries badly enough that he needed to sit down momentarily. His throat tightened at the thought of facing the world like this.nuxaz SMS Russian FingersSave me a seat. I’m going to be late.
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2016 1:22 pm
At some point, Kavinsky had resumed walking and had shoved his phone back into it's proper place in his back pocket. He had made the, false, assumption that the conversation would be said and done with his response.
He and Isaiah were not an item, they weren't friends and he'd never wanted anything from the man, in the end their relationship was one of convenience. He didn't expect anything and assumed nothing was expected of him either.
And yet, there was his phone buzzing and signalling not one, but two messages. Gray eyes skimmed the texts and he contemplated his choices before sending a simple, short and to the point response.
[Text To Isaiah: Okay.]
Hitting send with his thumb, Kavinsky made his way towards what he thought was the cafe that he'd been directed to. It was easy to find, relatively easy to procure a table and there he waited, looking bored and disinterested as always while he waited for Isaiah to arrive. At some point, he'd gotten himself a cup of coffee, black.
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2016 9:34 am
Leaving the cat cafe meant stares. Walking on the street meant stares. Traveling from point A to point B meant stares. Even if Isaiah tried to disguise his condition with a heavy jacket and a hood pulled up, he received the immediate appraisal of passersby. No one mentioned anything to him, of course, but he could feel their attention on him in a manner that left him disgusted and desperate to debride his skin of it. Still, it lingered, and would not cease.
The gauze wrapped about his mouth was arguably more noticeable than the limp, empty sleeve he tucked carefully into the jacket pocket. One of the servers shot him a confused glance when she saw the gauze wrapped around his head in a manner that secured his mouth shut. All around him, people raised red flags that leaving the house was a terrible idea - one that he would undoubtedly regret for the coming weeks. How many of these people might now what he went through? How many could be Negaverse officers? Kavinsky wasn’t the only man to consider for that, here - he may have just volunteered his civilian identity for the Negaverse to destroy with their micromanagement.
Spotting Kavinsky wasn’t difficult. Spotting anyone he slept with wasn’t difficult, really, but the white hair helped in a sea of other shocking colors. White stood out for its absence of color, its blatant denial of the lurid rainbow around it. Kavinsky was similar, in that fashion - he never appeared to give a ******** about other people’s negative opinions of him. He knew whose opinions mattered.
Isaiah could learn something about that right now, he realized, as someone brushed against his empty sleeve and muttered an apology.
Finally he sidled into the seat across from the russian, and offered a short wave. His cell phone came out, an application for the mute opened and waiting on the table. Obviously I can’t eat or drink right now, but public places are the safest, he wrote. After a second, he added I haven’t seen you in a while. Business still good?
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2016 10:04 am
Kavinisky hadn't known what to expect when he finally saw Isaiah. He'd been watching for the man's arrival of course, it was the whole reason he was at the cafe after all, and yet he'd almost missed the man's entrance. When his gaze did fall upon Isaiah, who limped and had bandages across his mouth, the only shiver of surprise or perhaps disgust was an arched white brow.
The only true message it conveyed was, that wasn't what I was expecting.
A few thoughts and things sat on the tip of his tongue while Isaiah settled into the seat opposite of him and he swallowed them down. At first, he wondered if this was the first time that the man had left where ever he was staying and gone out in public. The second thought was, he looks like s**t. And the final thought was, what the hell happened?
His brow settled back to it's rightful place and then he frowned. "You look like s**t," he said before he could stop the words from leaving his lips. "I'm surprised you're capable of going places with..." he gestured because he assumed that if it was bad enough that Isaiah's face had to be covered and he couldn't talk, then the injuries were extensive. "Suppose I feel a little special, considering you still came out for me." It was said in an incredibly dry manner, one that suggested he was attempting to make up for his earlier comment.
"Business is fine," he added, answering the earlier posed question. "Lots of clean up gigs, s**t work but good money. You got someone helping you with things?"
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Posted: Tue Nov 01, 2016 8:18 pm
Isaiah couldn’t deny that Kavinsky’s initial observation hurt- as a vain man, he hated being reminded of his sharp decline in appearance when he normally took to impeccable standards. He tried to disregard such a flinch through deflective humor, and quickly wrote out the word rude on his phone. Isaiah wagged his finger at the other man in an accompanying gesture.
Turning the phone back toward himself, he wrote more on the subject. I’m going insane in there. I’m used to going out every day and managing people and farming out odd jobs. I’m used to social calls. Being stuck on bedrest ******** up my entire routine. If I’m expected to remain indoors indefinitely then I’ll just finish the job myself.
I can’t stay upright for very long, though. My head is already swimming.
He paused, then added, unless you want to give my head a reason to swim. The humor was misplaced and full of air, but he needed the comfort of alluding to old habits and relations. He imagined that, even if he could not manage any carnal interactions for months, he would still make lewd comments toward Kavinsky excessively. Now, it was simply a part of their collective vernacular.
Isaiah nodded at Kavinsky’s explanations of his unsavory work. Clean-up gigs would abound indefinitely, he imagined. He hadn’t yet answered the question regarding his assistance, and that thread was lost to a sudden thought concerning those mentioned clean-up gigs. With a notable shift toward urgency, he wrote out another question for his guest: Did you ever get a clean-up gig on top of a bank?
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Posted: Tue Nov 01, 2016 11:02 pm
Kavinsky knew that he'd hurt Isaiah's ego a little and there was a part of him that felt bad, guilty even. "Hey," he said in a softer tone, the gruffness edging off his voice, "all things considering, you don't look half bad." Isaiah was alive and mobile, which seemed incredible as far as he could tell.
He shrugged at the gesture then took a minute to read over everything else Isaiah typed up. Every word described something that Kavinsky would think of as a nightmare. "Sounds rough," he said, trying to appear sympathetic even though it wasn't something he was good at. He cared to some degree, but empathy had never been a strong suit of his.
"Maybe later," he replied, mouth twisting into a smirk as he regarded battered and broken Isaiah. "When you're...better." Whatever that ended up meaning. "As for the rest," he shrugged, "could carry you as needed sometimes. You weighed like nothing before so..."
The next question made him frown and think too long. "Uh, maybe? There's been a lot, haven't been keeping track. Why?"
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2016 3:15 pm
Thanks, he wrote back. Isaiah could only imagine - Kavinsky likely stared down bruised eyes, swollen face, and greasy hair, which all sounded like a terrible combo. Isaiah wonder if his earlier statement was more truthful than this one, but he would take his compliments where he could get them. Looking this shitty meant improvements to his vanity would come easily, right?
Right? His stomach turned at the thought.
I suppose I weigh even less now, he wrote again. The sympathetic shtick doesn’t suit you very well. You can carry me home to make up for it. Isaiah tried to rest his chin on his palm and immediately discovered that this was a terrible idea, and winced afterward. He could do nothing for the pain, however, and flexing his fingers into a fist offered little relief. Looks like I need to take more painkillers soon.
Isaiah wondered, briefly, if he should explain why he inquired about the bank. Nothing about Kavinsky suggested outwardly that he was part of the Negaverse, and most of the other patrons left the pair alone in their corner. What did the risk mean to him?
After a pause, he wrote carefully on his cell phone screen. I got attacked on top of one.
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Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2016 10:03 am
He couldn't help but roll his eyes at his companion. The man's vanity was astounding, really, though he mused that he shouldn't think of it as trivial when Isaiah had gone through something traumatizing.
But Kavinsky had always responded to things by lashing out, getting angry, and picking fights. In the other man's state, that wasn't conceivable and, honestly, how much damage could a twiggy man like Isaiah do?
"No. Empathy has never been a strong suit." Ellis would probably have less stress related anxiety attacks if it were. Instead, the Russian had a tendency to shut down and shut everyone out if it were him and if someone else was in need of a shoulder to cry on well...he tended to stare blankly. "The physical stuff, that's easy." A shrug of shoulders and Kavinsky was reaching for his mug to down the last of the now lukewarm coffee.
It was hard to miss the wince of pain and Kavinksy tapped the table with blunt nails before he spoke. "Should you get back to wherever you've been?" He doubted that Isaiah had brought anything with him based on his outfit choice. And sticking hands into pockets didn't seem very practical with all of his injuries.
I got attacked on top of one.
That was a little concerning he supposed and he frowned, trying to recall if he had been at a party at a bank the other day. "I'd have to go through all the receipts to know if I had been at one but..." Would he have noticed a confrontation on the roof above if he had. "I doubt it."
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Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2016 2:54 pm
I should, he wrote back. Isaiah wanted to stay, certainly - the cat cafe offered very little in terms of human interaction unless he wanted to pester customers - yet the welling pains in his body warned him against overstaying this visit. Perhaps next time, if there was a next time, he could stick around for longer than a half hour chat about business and weather.
Isaiah wanted to cross his arms and lean on the counter. He wanted to do a lot of things, really, from scratching an itch while he wrote using his phone or even just readjusting himself on his seat. Sometimes he even went through the motions, as his mind held so tightly to the notion of two arms, and soon found the expectations shattered by a blatant lack of right arm. He hated it, it strained him, it pained him, and he knew not what he could do about it. As a result, he flashed Kavinsky a tired smile with which he hoped to smother his miseries.
I would think you’d have remembered. There was a lot of blood. And vomit. He paused, then deleted the sentence.
Yeah, you’re right, should go back now. The medication is starting to wear off and he won’t let me have another unless he gets to see for himself. While he made no secret of his past addictions, he found no reason to broadcast them either. Quenton knew because he recognized the reasions - Kavinsky lacked that insight. To him, perhaps it was nothing more than highly controlled opiate painkillers.
Isaiah slid off his seat to an unsteady start and gripped the table to balance himself. Nausea gave a curt reminder that it hadn’t entirely faded. It was good to see you again, he wrote in closure.
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Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2016 10:02 pm
Something passed across his expression, unclear what emotion it might have been when Isaiah relented and admitted that he should go.
"Nope, sorry. Not ringing any bells." Kavinsky shook his head, smoothing his palms out on his jeans. His nails scraped across the denim before he scooted his chair back and stood. "You've got some s**t luck Isaiah," he stated, reaching up to push fingers through his white hair.
It was a shame really, but he wasn't going to do anything out of the norm. They weren't really friends, they sat in some weird in between state. Besides, Kavinsky was hardly a person for comfort even for his best friend.
Isaiah swayed and he immediately stepped toward him, one hand suspended in the air before it touched the man's shoulder. "The offer to carry you is still on the table."
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