{M} - i fly like pa{p}er, get high like planes.

Barrett · 06-06-2011, 03:56 AM

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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

It was a lazy day. Even the weather seemed lethargic: it was as if the atmosphere couldn't be bothered to push along the puffy white cumulus clouds dotting the clear blue sky, or tousle the tall grasses and weeds that overran the abandoned suburban wasteland; neither could the sun be swayed to shine down with great intensity, and the air sat at a comfortable sixty degrees (Fahrenheit). The streets possessed a silence that would have been eerie to men, but to the Luperci was perhaps not so unnatural. On this day where little stirred, only the sounds of a young wolf's labour seemed to break the monotony.

Barrett was on round three of repairs and for the first time, it seemed like everything was finally coming together. To the untrained eye little had changed since three weeks prior—the yard was still a tangled mess and nothing grew in the greenhouse—but the cocoa youth had actually proven smart about his priorities. With the garage's leaky roof patched and re-shingled, the tear in the greenhouse wall mended, and all of his equipment in working order, what was left to be done wouldn't take long.

He'd gone through the marijuana patches earlier that morning, carefully extracting male plants and foreign invaders alike. It had been a tedious process and he'd probably missed some of the dastardly pollinators, but the remaining females now had a much better chance to realise their full potential. The excess vegetation was discarded on a shady corner of the property in a heap—later the compost would be used to replenish the soil inside the greenhouse.

By the end of it his coat was left brown from dust and dirt as much as God-given pigment, and—despite the day's mild temperatures—he found himself parched and overheated. A short dip in the nearby lake remedied his situation; as an added bonus, he even had the foresight to bring along the bong so it could be cleaned and refilled. After lazing about for nearly an hour, taking hit after hit, a very stoned Barrett got to his feet in a daze. Even though both bays of the garage were open, the smoke seemed to hang in and around it like a cloud . What was it he wanted to do next again?

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