bottle of red, bottle of white

[Razekiel Lykoi]

[html]

Straw eyes scouring the surface of the water, Razekiel held a personal silence for a long moment after Jefferson spoke, remembering to thank the dear Mother for granting such a lovely day upon them, and did not spare her a little hopefulness in his prayer as he gazed on the faraway indigo clouds, threatening a brilliant shower and light show for the later evening.

Refocusing his thoughts, the coyote breathed in tobacco and released smoke through teeth and nostrils, relishing the spice and taste as it exited his senses. Would such a thing soothe the scarred man's problems as well? As he had done before with a joint, Razekiel plucked the cigarette from his teeth and held it down to Jefferson in the grass. He knew quite well the Patriarch would only ignore him or shoot another deadly look his way, but perhaps the motion would be appreciated nonetheless. When the Patriarch did not budge, the coyote sighed and moved to retract the offering — only to find the cigarette pulled from his fingers at the very last second.

Straw eyes wide — or, Razekiel's version of it, which was only opening them to a normal state — the hippie observed as the Patriarch gathered the cigarette in his remaining fingers and tucked it between his lips in a matter of seconds, expelling the smoke after a deep and almost practiced inhalation, adding a single and subtle cough at the end.

Straightening his rose-tinted glasses, Razekiel turned his gaze to the lake once more, lips upturning in a slight smile. "You've run this joint for two, three years now, yeah? Long enough to take this baby home an' go all the way with 'er, man."