शरारत

Name: Avinash “Avi” Abbas Hassim Occupation: Club promoter Age: 27 Sexuality: Bisexual Pronouns: He/him Species/Affiliation: Werewolf / Shuck Hometown: Eden Ros Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: (+) Charming, Resolute, Amiable (-) Mischievous, Hedonistic, Arrogant

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When Avi isn't out getting drunk or keeping someone ~company~, he's usually out in the woods. He doesn't like being alone, in fact he would say he hates it. But with the earth beneath his paws and the moon high in the sky, is he really alone? He doesn't think its that simple when you're a wolf.

He's just out for a run, cutting through the trees at a fairly decent speed, snapping branches underfoot and scattering birds from their perches. He's just about to approach the usual absolutely fucking not zone, but before he can turn around to head back, he catches the scent of a boy ahead. Decidedly human. Avi slows, watches from the shrubbery. He assumes the boy will turn back. People usually do at this point. The boy does not, in fact, turn back.

Holy fuck, does this guy not have any self-preservation?

Avi's ears wiggle in irritation. To the left, the woods lean towards fae nonsense that might just break his brain in half. To the right, solid Cailleach territory, aka asshole central. Not exactly safer, either.

Brilliant, he thinks, as he purposefully walks into a shrub in an attempt to alarm the human, to give him a proper signal that he should really turn back. His lips peel back from his teeth and a low growl rolls out of him, right from the base of his chest.

Avi doesn't pay rent at Jamie's place (or anywhere, actually), yet he lets himself in as if he does.

By the time he reaches her couch, he looks like he's narrowly escaped the one thing far far worse than death itself: responsibility. Planning the one year anniversary celebration for Rose-Tinted Pint Glasses has taken something from him, something precious, something that won't be returned until he's had at least three drinks.

He drops onto Jamie's couch, one arm flung over his eyes. He kicks his shoes off, then shifts until he's sprawled across the cushions, taking up far more space than one guest should.

Then, as if it communicates everything he desires to, he lets out a loud, tired, and long groan, muffled by his arm.

Avi's pretty observant when it benefits him (which is...always.) He's good at it, he's good at noticing things. It is one of his more harmless talents, really. He notices good tailoring, bad tattoos, someone's drink order when they think no one's paying attention.

Unfortunately for Kevin, Avi notices him.

He'd noticed him years ago, too, back in Santa Cruz, when Avi was still at boarding school, and Kevin was the hot college guy who came home every now and then. Now, Eden Ros just keeps putting Kevin in his path. In fact, hadn't Avi just seen him the other day?

This time, thankfully, they aren't just passing faces in a crowd. Kevin is close enough to talk to, so Avi does what Avi does best. He steps into Kevin's path, feigning shock.

"Kevin! First California," he says, clicking his tongue softly. "Now on my home turf? For, what, the fourth...fifth time? C'mon, we have to stop meeting like this." His voice drops down to a whisper and he leans in close. "A guy might start to think you're stalking him."

Before Kevin can respond, he looks at Saturn as if she's called out to him. "Hold on," he says, putting a finger up to Kevin before kneeling down to her level, offering his ear to her. He gets a wet willy as a reward, and she gets a scrunched up face in return. But he nods his head, like he understands, throws in a few 'mhm, mhm' for good measure. Once he's had enough, he stands and wipes his ear with an amused grimace. "She....clearly had a lot to say. She said she agrees with me. She also said if you're not stalking me, you're gonna have to let me down easy. She sensed the state of my ego, and I fear she's right. It's a little fragile these days."

The morning dip seemed like a good idea about an hour ago. Very fun, very whimsy, even. Nice crowd, vendors setting up, hot coffee on the horizon? All he needs is a warm pastry and he's set.

Except...after frolicking in the sea, he stands at the edge of the surf, a shiver beginning to set in, and staring at the empty patch of sand where his things should be. No shirt, no towel, no shoes?

He knows exactly who the culprit is and he wonders what crime he's committed this time. Had it been the Love Island commentary? In his defense, not everyone has the discipline to explain six different interpersonal disasters over a pint. Had he taken his shirt off too often this week? Had he finished off her last bottle?

His list of possible offenses is endless, it seems, so he folds his arms over his chest and scans the shoreline for the nearest person. Warmth first, revenge later. "Morning!" he calls out, tries to hide the slight tremor because he's not a wimp. "I don't suppose you have any uh...clothes or anything to spare, do you? A towel? I'll pay you back, trust." His smile tightens painfully as another gust of wind hits him.