Who: Big T (_cavendish_) and Khaos (khaeos) What: Khaos is bored. And. Well. Cough. Where: Big T's place. When: June 21st, eveningish Warnings: Big T and Khaos in a room & Catwo being rambly ._.'
Existence is an occasionally heavy thing when you're far older than the world, and sometimes all the schemes and machinations in the world can't stop the years from weighing down on Khaos' variable shoulders. Every now and again ennui threatened to descend, and truly an atmospheric mood attaching itself to an atmospheric entity could be hard to shake (and tended to cause widespread destructive depression among mortals wherever Khaos went, not that it ever gave side effects much thought). Of the two voids, Tartaros was the one who could bear extreme boredom with something that resembled grace: Khaos was ever too much a thing of flux and variance to be anything other than horrifically innovative. Even when it wanted to swallow the world and spit out something more interesting so bad it could fucking taste it at the back of its throat.
Occasionally, however, it took a different route. Instead of dissipating back into the atmosphere and letting its mind drift with its lack-of-body until some poor shiny thing caught its attention, instead of settling down somewhere and wreaking havoc on the implicit rules and rituals of mortal and immortal lives (eventually something would make it smile, mouth cavernous as always), it would light a cigarette and smirk around the edges. Khaos sensed fellow-deities and other inhuman things through a complicated ungrid. Entropy runs through everything, and lack of order is chaos, Khaos at its most fundamental. Khaos could lock into entropy, that edges-and-cracks disorder-streaming Gordian knot (not so much skirting things themselves as ever-encroaching) and feel where it brushed up against specific incidences of order. Everything, even the physical form and mind that made up Khaos itself, was an incidence of order-in-entropy. Khaos was merely aware that it was veneer over appetite, nothing-and-everything made half-boring to sing a vicious hymn to eventuality.
Today, bored despite its mission, bored to the point of wanting to shake the world by the scruff of its neck like a recalcitrant puppy for the mortal sin of trying to rein itself into rules and rights and various tedious as hell orders and contexts that did nothing but stifle the joyful nothing-dance that was at the nexus of Khaos' very being, Khaos stretched itself out along the crooked ley lines of its power in search of a specific being. This mood was nothing for Ereshkigal, nothing for Chernobog. To one it brought only the damnable best manifestations of its kaleidoscope moods, to the other only the darkest, deepest crawling drives. This was nothing to bore its unbrother with. This... this was merely a need for distraction. And Khaos knoew just where to find that.
It shorted out a lightbulb when it found its quarry. Big T would either know what that meant or be surprised when he heard the motorcycle in the distance: which was of little importance, less interest. Khaos spent several minutes concentrating on its physical form in a way it did for very, very few. Dessa was a base form. There were many incarnations and permutations of her that Khaos used for various purposes, this one older, this one a bit more slender. The version it smoothed into now as if it had never occupied another was as close as Khaos bothers to get to perfection, all big big eyes and long dark hair and creamy skin that made clothing a crime when combined with Khaos' intimate mastery of the art of movement. It was a little harder to handle the motorcycle as Dessa after a few days as Dinos (smaller hands, different center of gravity), but that didn't stop the Greek first thing from breaking speed limits with physics-defying (physics-rewriting, split-second increments at a time) speed for no reason other than it could, and it wanted to.
The rushing speed was another of its own indulgences, though if it seemed to say something else Khaos would not naysay any assumptions. There's rarely harm in having something more appreciated than disdained notice the fact, especially when the being in question is already aware.