[kavinsky is a lot of things, but interested in drowning is not one of them. his shirt slips out of ronan's fingers the first time, but then his arm is there the second grab, as kavinsky stumbles back. his eyes are uncharacteristically wide, cutting to and fro for a split-second, like he's really thinking about this in terms of drowning and running.
it's hard not to. the place stinks of horror and misery. he doesn't know what this is, the black stuff under his feet.
but then he twists his head to stare at ronan.] Stop, [he says. there's no plea in it; not yet, anyhow. his voice is forceful, strident, the jersey accent nearly gutted out of it.] Lynch. Fuckin stop.
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it's hard not to. the place stinks of horror and misery. he doesn't know what this is, the black stuff under his feet.
but then he twists his head to stare at ronan.] Stop, [he says. there's no plea in it; not yet, anyhow. his voice is forceful, strident, the jersey accent nearly gutted out of it.] Lynch. Fuckin stop.