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She familiarized herself with the smoking joint in the way any child would—a daring, direct whiff of the stuff. Nayru coughed and choked on the sweet smell while Razekiel hung over her, grinning ear to ear as his torso wiggled and wavered in place, unable to remain straight. She gave him a sort of look, red eyes gleaming at him briefly enough to send another chill down his spine. No, he realized, her eyes were not like Samael's—his brother's scarlet eyes burnt like fire, while the girl's seemed sweet and fruity, like cherries freshly plucked from the tree. The prince breathed a breath of relief, perking when the glasses were taken from his grasp and perched on her nose. Her eyes seemed to cross some and her smile wiggled on her face, and in a shy voice she admitted herself: I feel very silly.
Razekiel burst into laughter at the admission; she possessed such innocence that he hardly knew how to handle it, yet it intrigued the coyote past reason. "Silly, not at all!" the prince grinned, leaning forward over her. "Look at you, man, you are beautiful! Mother Earth's most favorite fruit!" He continued his incessant, almost childish chuckling as she sniffed at the joint once more, possibly possessed by her childlike innocence and curiosity. "Come on, miss liberty, try it. You'll feel groovy all over, man, it won't hurt."
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