M - drops of jupiter.

Barrett · 11-20-2011, 06:05 AM

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A quiet Oh finalised their discussion about names. He knew his derived from some advanced human contraption his mother found once: a rifle. But try as she might, despite all her technical know-how, she could not get the blasted thing to work. (That didn't stop her from studying its mechanisms of action, as she was endlessly fascinated by such things; Maserati was an odd woman.) Perhaps he was well-suited to his name — just as she never unlocked the gun's secrets, she never really understood her son. And just as the rifle held much potential for devastation but instead lay an inert piece of metal, he shunned his training and intellectual prowess in favour of nonsense like this.

To think, a boy who once showed such promise in combat and the Sciences had turned into a man that could scarcely wrap his head around a tomato plant! That wasn't completely fair, of course, given the circumstances — and failing all else, he'd developed many hands-on skills to the point of expertise — but that didn't stop him from muttering a bewildered Bread? Just as the word came out of his mouth, he shook his head as if to rescind the question. It didn't matter; he was in no place to understand new concepts and any attempts to explain them would be a waste of her breath. You'll have to show me some time, he suggested.

At least travel was something he understood. That's quite a hike, he remarked. Not even a round-trip journey to Freetown took that long. There are lots of branches, then? he inquired. The idea was a little overwhelming. Here he was thinking the Collective was revolutionary in their organisation, but here was a centralised mega-pack colonising the continent! Wow, he breathed before she could even answer; he was completely floored by this news! It was a good thing the war ended before the AniWayans called in reinforcements; if their reach was as expansive as he imagined, they could probably breeze on through and steamroll everyone. His look of awe turned into one of disconcertion, but the thought was forgotten as she gestured at the joint. Maybe he ought to be worried, but he felt immediately comfortable, and the present moment took precedence under the influence of psychedelics.

Besides, she didn't seem too bad, right? (He'd already forgotten about the spear, it seemed.) It helps if you inhale a little, then pull fresh air in on top. You wanna fill your lungs, not just hold it in your mouth, he explained, then smiled encouragingly. New smoking buddies were always a treat, and she was saying some far out shit.

Barrett

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