[kavinsky jumps up into the cabin of the wrecking machine, with the same rangy grace of a dog. he ends up overshooting a little, probably-- not entirely by accident, colliding his shoulder into ronan's. he digs a beer out of the bag, before slinging the thing onto the ground by their feet. it lands with a weighty thud, and kavinsky settles his shoes over it.
he cracks open the beer. laughs into the night. delighted— more by ronan's hairbrained fucktardery and utter ignorance of the underlying implications than anything. on the edge of his mind, there's the hysterical memory of ronan screaming at him to get down. he barely sucks out a sip before he's stuffing the drink into ronan's mouth— if backwash is the wrong kind of kiss for v-day, nobody told him-- and his near arm clobbers the buzzed-off top of ronan's head. congratulatory.]
Nobody does revolution like the potato niggers.
[well done, lynch. you done fucked up, and about to fuck up some more!
he picks a random lever and pulls. the machine roars, and begins to grind backward toward the chainlink fence.]
tw n-word also mild powerpose lmk if not ok
he cracks open the beer. laughs into the night. delighted— more by ronan's hairbrained fucktardery and utter ignorance of the underlying implications than anything. on the edge of his mind, there's the hysterical memory of ronan screaming at him to get down. he barely sucks out a sip before he's stuffing the drink into ronan's mouth— if backwash is the wrong kind of kiss for v-day, nobody told him-- and his near arm clobbers the buzzed-off top of ronan's head. congratulatory.]
Nobody does revolution like the potato niggers.
[well done, lynch. you done fucked up, and about to fuck up some more!
he picks a random lever and pulls. the machine roars, and begins to grind backward toward the chainlink fence.]