dollar signs on every sin.
#15
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@&#&$He shrugged a little--suit yourself--and brought the top of the bong to his lips. Holding the lighter to one side of the bowl, he inhaled for a few good moments, allowing thick, milky smoke to fill the chamber. Once he was satisfied with the hit, he tossed the lighter onto the table and lifted the bowl from the stem, allowing him to quickly inhale all of the built-up smoke. One ear flicked as his company spoke, and he hurriedly put the contraption down on the table before coughing out a small puff of smoke. His face contorted into an indescribable expression for a few moments before he began to exhale it in a long stream off to the side and up into the air.
@&#&$Almost instantly the effects took hold; this method of ingestion was by far the strongest and most efficient. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth thoughtfully for a second, wishing suddenly that there was fresh water available, but alas--the last had gone into the bong. "My condolences, man," he offered at last, once he remembered that they were in the midst of a conversation. "My mum was from pretty far south west, I think, but I get the impression the packs were more like 'sand-dusted cacti' than snow-capped pines," he added, rambling just slightly and drawing on abstract analogies.

@&#&$"Travelling in a group sounds interesting, though." Travel was something he associated with solitude, for reasons that were fairly obvious if one considered his history. The concept of feeding such a substantial group with no solid hunting territory seemed a little bizarre. "Just in case you didn't know, a little further east of here there's a pretty big wooded 'n open spot. No buildings, but no packs laying claim to it either. Good for hunting, yea?" Stretching out lazily in the bean bag chair, he blinked up at the fog of smoke hanging overhead and back to the giant, the throb of his wound now drowned out by the numbing effects of the drug.
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