maskormenace | 1O 👶 TEXT;

psilocybin tea. trippy tea.
feels strange at first. then good.

it can help you make positive associations.

[At least that's what Hannibal told her when he had her drink it.]

huh
id say you a risk taker but we knew that already
wen can i come over
make sure ur antiq piano doesn't mind guests

you can come over now.
harpsichord won't mind
the dogs might give you attention
cats will ignore you.

[kavinsky doesn't answer.

what he does do is turn up after dusk has set in. in his buttondown shirt and knife-creased khakis, mandals (man sandals) that would have made him vom a couple of years back. but it suits him in an odd, jarring way, the combination of prep clothes and ghastly tattoos of various pricing, the bulgarian fire-birds inked into his neck and hand, the skulls everwhere else.

he knocks.] Yo, [he calls through the door.] I'm here to see a woman about a not-piano.

[Abigail opens the door with an amused smirk.

That sounds like it would be a good euphemism for something. Come in.

[She takes a step back to let him in. She's dressed causally, jeans and a t-shirt. She saves the fancy clothes for concerts. She leads the way into the living room.]

Do you want to start with music or tea?

[A grey dog runs into the room and sniffs him. Abigail grins.]

Or with giving dog pets?

[dogs. kavinsky isn't particularly good with animals, but he can fake it better these days than he used to be able to. and it's either nice or irritating, that this dog isn't bothered by his presence in that traditional, cats can sense ghosts kind of way. he's a monster, goddammit.

he pats the dog on the head, dragging his nails down the creature's spine for a moment.]

I guess. Tea.

[what kind of teenaged girl drinks tea? one made in the image of dr. chilton's object of great admiration, kavinsky supposes. he isn't part of that world, but he's siphoned off a little of it. he steps in, casting around. he definitely doesn't look injured anymore.] You don't got wine or anything?

[Perhaps the dog's used to it. Kaneki was a ghoul.]

That's Fumio. I think he misses having a guy around.

[She nods, wondering if she's been a bad hostess. Was that possible with Kavinsky? It wasn't like he put on airs or expected them from her.]

I have a lot of wine.

[She wants to be ready if Hannibal ever returns, though she doubts it'll happen or if he'd still want her as a surrogate daughter after he killed her.]

I just thought you'd like the shroom tea better. What wine do you like? Lillet with orange? A nice chianti?

Oh. Fuck. Right.

When you're talking about drugs, you gotta talk about the drugs, sweetheart. [despite this needless chastisement, kavinsky throws himself down on the couch all laissez-faire, his skinny arms and legs flopping, the picture of relaxation.] Tea and wine. Ordinarily a disgusting combination, but in this particular instance--

[drugs and alcohol, but fancy. kavinsky dangles a hand off the edge of the couch so he can fiddle with the critter's ears. no airs are expected. but he did have a concussion recently, and he is compulsively an asshole. he cranes his head to look back at her.]

You got a favorite wine?

[he actually has acquired a taste for bottled vintages, in the past couple of years. very much courtesy of chilton's work. but french apertifs, he does not know.]

I guess you are the expert. I'll remember that for next time.

[Abigail says with a chuckle. She searches her mind to think of a favourite. She had a large collection; she simply went with what Hannibal would have liked without a thought to her own likes.]

Maybe Bâtard-Montrachet...I don't know. I have plenty of wine to choose from in the cellar.

[Just in case Hannibal ever returned.]

Rum might go better with tea than wine. Or whiskey. Or bourbon. Like a hot toddy. I could add honey to mask the taste of the shrooms.

[so many french words. and they do sound a little blocky in her mouth. kavinsky senses-- something. something familiar about that, which resonates with what she's told him of herself before.]

Hot toddy sounds good. Thanks, sweetheart.

[he's not the only young person in here to have been cut down to nothing, hollowed out, rebuilt in the image of a sophisticated older man.] Did you ever meet Dr. Chilton? [occurs to him to ask, for the first time in years-- despite that hannibal's a name she's given more than once. he settles on the couch, not turning around, but tracking her movements through her home by sound alone.]

Abigail walks into the kitchen and begins making the tea. Based on the question, she assumes he knows at least part of the history there.

I overheard him at Hannibal's a few times when I was in hiding. He'd come over for dinner before he figured things out.

[And one dinner party after that.]

I wasn't a part of framing him. I knew what Hannibal would do, but I didn't have anything to do with it. I was kept in a separate room from Gideon. On this world, I spoke to him on the network once or twice. And we were held hostage together on the moon.

He was my psychiatrist, [says kavinsky. which is common enough knowledge, though the details, he plans on taking to his grave. he leans aside on the couch, finally, turning his head to watch her move through her little home. you'd never know, just by looking at her, what a strange life she's led.]

What did you think about him?

[he's not sure if he wants to hear she hates him, or she doesn't care. if she was a victim or a collaborator. kavinsky's not sure which box he fits into either, where his old mentor was concerned.]

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mild powerpose lmk if not ok

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