For Kansy! Backdated to January 18th? 715 words.
#####She had returned to the house in the city, the one with the red walls, the red floors, the red furniture, and the crusty, dried blood of her uncle still pressed into the carpet. There was no fondness for the human furnishings and the decorations on the walls, but the creamy Dahlian was not interested in spending the time removing them all just yet. If she had company, someone to help her pass the time, Lolita thought she could finish quickly and efficiently. As it stood, however, she had no one of the sort, so instead she sat on the tiny front porch—it was really more of a stoop, even—with her bag by her side. She did not know what she was going to do with the house, since she was keen on staying in Dahlia (despite knowing very few and not liking the idea of war with her friends, she did like it there), but she had claimed this house as hers the day that she had attacked Vigilante there. A few days ago, she had even come and vaguely marked it with her scent. This was her house now, and she’d be damned if anyone could try and take it from her. Lolita had earned the rights to it by shedding blood within its walls, crimson and very confined.
#####Reaching into her bag, Lolita pulled out a small glass jar, lifting it to eye level so that she could study its contents, already broken up bud. Some days, she just felt the need to do something tedious, so she frequently filled the jar from her own supplies. It came in handy on days like this, when she wanted to smoke but simply had no desire to do something that required effort. As sad as it was, breaking bud did actually require a little bit of effort, and today was just one of those days that she had no desire to put forth said effort. Most days she was not bothered by the idea, but sitting on the concrete stoop, she decided she just did not want to do it. There were better things she could do with her time—not that she was doing them, of course. Just because there were things she could do did not mean that there were things she would do. It was only an excuse not to bother doing something else, and she was content to simply sit and stew for a while. Soon, she would want to do something of use, perhaps even begin cleaning out the house. Just because it was hers did not mean that she had to leave all of the awful human things in there. Although, maybe she would leave the bed—it was awfully comfortable, even to her, someone who was dead and used to sleeping under or in trees.
#####Fishing around in her bag some more, Lolita triumphantly pulled out her bowl, an intricate swirling design of blue, teal, and the purple caused by the resin. She had others, but she did like this one the most, the chamber larger than others she had seen to allow for more smoke to fill, a better hit. She knew that some smokers named their pieces, and as she packed the bowl neatly, she pondered what might be a good name for this one, if she happened to decide to do something so silly. Nothing came to mind immediately, so she shrugged away the idea, deeming in unimportant and not worth her time and effort, another sign of today’s laziness. She was not even feeling up to naming something, and that took less effort than most other things. Oh, well. Another trip into her satchel produced a lighter, and she lifted the bowl to her lips, deftly lighting and swirling the flame, filling the chamber until she thought her lungs might burst if she took it all in. Ever the champ, though, she released the toke and pulled it in, holding her breath for several minutes. Finally, she released the smoke slowly, the cloud surrounding her delicate face and remaining for even longer than she could exhale. “Whoa,” she muttered, closing her puffy, dry eyes. While the smoke cloud still lingered, she lifted the bowl to her lips again for another hit.
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