Kavinsky took the sketch. He looked at it. He let Gansey ramble on. The sketch, by itself, would likely be enough for Kavinsky to make something. The difficulty, of course, was in not fundamentally understanding the properties. Kavinsky was a forger, and he prided himself on the thoroughness of his work. He'd never seen this thing in any real action.

"The hell's the app gotta do with it?" Kavinsky mumbled speculatively. "If it reads his brainwaves, you really think it needs a fuckin' app to work? C'mon, man."

This was a dream thing. Even if Henry Cheng didn't have any sort of weird thing going on with his head, it probably would have made it so. Thought, intention, need; all of these things were powerful. There was no need for technology in the mix of it. Whatever technology had come along after the bee, it was a product of functionality. An addition. An understanding of something more, something unknowable.

Kavinsky held the drawing out toward Gansey again. Fluttering it a little bit.

"Why me? Lynch not putting out? He hurt you moved on to greener pastures or somethin'?" Kavinsky shrugged a shoulder. "Lotta other magical fuckers in this place, Dickie. I know you ain't wanna deal with me."