(310)
Machidael is by me!
Although the rust-colored hybrid did not understand a quarter of what was coming out of Amaury's mouth -- partly due to the language barrier, partly due to the accent, and partly due to the joint -- he was smiling a gold-toothed grin and nodding all the same, as if he understood. Mom -- he recognized that word, and cocked his head. It was one of the ones spoken somewhat frequently in the city. Mom? he waved a hand. No. Fa Lykoi. Ma Nephthys, he said, struggling to express the concept that he'd inherited his name from a father he'd never met.
No have, the hybrid said as he lifted the joint. Long, he added. When water and boat, have. It had been a long, long time, and Machidael's mind was pleasantly fogged by the drug. Dagga, he repeated, liking this word. It wasn't one he'd heard before, but it was apparent enough what it meant. Perhaps it was the more precise English word for weed -- Machidael knew only "dope" and this blanket term referred to all substances.
With the man's suggestion, Machi shrugged his slender shoulders and passed the join pack, thereafter undoing the wrap's clasp. He lifted his hips so he might yank it out from beneath him and folded it neatly, thereafter moving to put it -- he hesitated, folded wrap in hands, and then snorted his laughter, almost giggling at his impulse to put the wrap in its place -- but this was Amaury's place, and he had nowhere to put it. Good dagga, he murmured again, grinning again. This time it was a more sloppy sort of smile, his sharp red eyes clouded with the substance. Good share, he said. What word? Thanks? he asked, the last word in Arabic -- he did not know the English words to thank Amaury.
@import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css');
</style>[/html]