[b]Kavinsky[/b]

Continuing to stand befuddled amongst the diverse crowd, Kavisnky was forming the increasingly convincing opinion that he was going insane. There seemed to be philosophical argument between a weird, monochromatic goth, a cute, little, stacked blonde in a suit of armor, and a guy who even though he looked like he owned stock in a tanning salon, Kavinsky couldn't bring himself to hate on his color coordination. Did he fall asleep with the TV on or something? Good lord. The variety of floating little girls hanging around didn't make him feel any more comfortable, either.

A bit unnerved by the girl with the croaking hat, Kavinsky grimaced and tried to shuffle out of the center of the crowd. Except this room was filled with more weirdness; swords and other ren-fair crap that looked like they were made out of spraypainted pleather. Talk about tacky. Kavinsky had the sudden desire to wake up from whatever budget nightmare he was having and get on with whatever he had been up to prior to (presumably) getting drunk enough to kill him a second time.

Looking back toward the crowd, half bashful and half nervous, he held out his hands helplessly and said, "Ah, now, if any of you fine folks'd just show me the way out of this madhouse, I'll be on my way. Pretty eager to get back to where things make even [i]kinda[/i] sense."