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

Barrett · 06-06-2011, 03:56 AM

[html]

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?

379

Razekiel Lykoi · 06-06-2011, 09:13 PM

[html]

Thanks for starting! Welcome to unnecessarily-long-post land. XD

His return to 'Souls territory, however unintentional it had been (marijuana does that, of course) had been a thrilling one; what experiences he had made and faces he had met enthralled the cozy-eyed coy to his very coy, filling him with the spirit of the burning sun or the soul of the pouring rain. The pack Patriarch was not at all the friendly type — Razekiel was quite sure that scarred individual did not much care for the prince's company — but still the coy followed him from time to time, taking upon himself the mission of easing that wounded soul's nerves. Jefferson would not admit it, Razekiel had come to realize, but he was deeply troubled — and the coy feared starstruck tobacco nor the cosmic drink could bring that big boy to relax.

But still Jefferson enthralled him, as did Phoenix Valley and its inhabitants, and did their neighboring pack — Dahlia de Mai, he'd learned it was called, where the lovely Nayru led! She had been so young just months ago (or was it three? four?), and now she had blossomed into a delicate young woman with spunk and spirit in her eyes; still their blood-red resembled Samael's, but still Razekiel did not see the same bloodlust he feared in his brother in the little girl he had come to cherish.

Ever the wanderer, Razekiel meandered from the Valley perhaps to give Jefferson a break, or perhaps to give himself a break from Jefferson — how could he be sure? The smoking joint between his grinning teeth only twitched in agreement, numbing such wonders and thoughts and awakening the coy instead to the marvelous wings of the Great Mother's magic taking flight; spring had burst into life with a great fervor, and soon warmer weather and summer would arrive. Mother was too kind to them.

He meandered not an incredible distance, perhaps due to the twirling smoke at full strength at the time of his departure, and not a single soul fell into his sight. Somewhere in the city he danced in the streets and sang to himself, gurgling the same tone-deaf love and peace lyrics he gurgled every time, even as he smelled a marijuana that was not his own. He had grown and been around it enough to detect what was his own breed and what was someone else's; ever curious, the man danced and hummed his way after it, tan dreadlocks flipping gingerly with the bobbing of his head, even as he stalled in the street before the open garage where the opposing stench eased out.

"Hey, man, I can smell your stuff, man!" Razekiel laughed, characteristically stoned as always, and flicked his tongue against the joint in his own mouth to make it dance up and down. "I got some myself, man, but it's always jazzin' to meet another cat with it. You grow it yourself, dude?"

table by lin

Barrett · 06-09-2011, 10:38 PM

[html]

His glazed, bloodshot eyes roved around the garage as if seeking clues regarding the next item on his agenda. They were drawn to many things—the wood grain of the table, the metallic glint of a hacksaw, the (relatively) vibrant colours of the area rug—but then they found the convoluted twists and turns of the push mower blades. They lingered here several moments longer than anywhere else, as if his subconscious was driving him toward the answer his conscious mind refused to reach. At length, he remembered what he was supposed to do. “Oh, right,” he muttered to quietly to himself, drifting over to where it was propped against the wall.

He'd just reached out for the handlebar—thank the stars, lest he forget again—when a fanciful voice addressed him from the street. His ears perked forward and his head tipped to one side as he regarded the eccentric coyote, who appeared as if he'd slid down to earth from some sky high place on a rainbow. Between Razekiel's groovy little glasses, kaleidoscopic headband, chromatic bangles and bracelets, and shiny trinkets and piercings, Barrett was distracted to the extent that he missed the first thing the older man said completely. “Urhm,” he started, entranced by the erratic movements of the other man's cig and the smoke that snaked away from it.

Fortunately, the hippie's next words registered a little better. Barrett found himself instantly amused by the drawling slang and a grin spread over his features as he mimicked the same spacey tone. “Oh yea, come on up, broth'r. I'm diggin' those shades,” he invited, speaking audibly for the first time. He waved the coyote closer with one hand while jerking the mower out onto the driveway with the other. Mowing the lawn seemed less appealing now than ever, but Barrett was surprisingly effective at getting work done even when he could barely stand up (something that undoubtedly stemmed from his mother's cruel enjoyment in giving him a list of chores whenever she found him high).

“Whatchya puffin', man, I've got plenty to share,” he said, somehow gesturing at the entire property—and yet nothing in particular—while he leaned on the mower for support.

362

Razekiel Lykoi · 06-11-2011, 03:05 PM

[html]

The sable man within the garage looked him over with bloodshot and drooping eyes, his response hazy, slow and unwitting. Razekiel laughed; he knew those symptoms and knew them well, but perhaps the prince was so much an "expert" in the marijuana department that he had learned how not to act in the midst of his smoking, or perhaps he had adapted his regular behavior to be the same. Whatever the cause, Razekiel treated this boy like a rookie smoker, though he would not say it; perhaps smoking the stuff was nothing to be proud of, but what the Razekiel care? He was too damn happy to give a fuck while on the stuff.

"Wa-ha-ha-hoowww, man, you are stoooooned, man," the coyote burst into laughter, actually pointing in his humor a moment before leaning on his knees to chuckle out the rest. "Real blitzed, man, I dig it! Here, you wanna try these peepers? They're righteous, man; everything looks real bitchin' pink, you know?" The coyote pulled the glasses from his nose and tossed them to the sable man as he drew closer, straw eyes glancing through the garage under the gaze of untinted colors.

"Me too, guy," Razekiel gurgled, reaching up under his multicolor headband and producing a number of pre-rolled joints — why they were stoned up there and not in the satchel on his hip, the stoned coyote did not explain, though his smoke-filled status did not exactly call for it. He tucked them away again a moment later. "This'un's some kind of skunk weed, man, but I grew the smell out of it. Tastes just as groovy without stinkin' up the Great Mother, yeah?" He looked down at the mower with a perplexed look, them burst into hazy laughs once more. "The hell is that, man? What the fuck you doin'?"

image © Sean R @ Flickr ; table by lin

Barrett · 06-11-2011, 11:43 PM

[html]

“Hah! Chhyea,” he concurred, tone marked with comparable enthusiasm and gaiety. Contact highs were contagious enough; with both of them blitzed outright, they'd probably look absolutely ridiculous to any hypothetical onlookers. “First I've smoked all week,” he muttered as an afterthought, “gotta make it count, eh?” Barrett was usually more composed when he smoked, but following a week long hiatus with an hour long bong session was bound to leave anybody toasted. Had this coyote been one of the high ranking officials of Crimson Dreams (or any other member, really), he would have made greater efforts to feign sobriety. But this would have required exactly that—effort—and effort was something the wolf rarely extended in the absence of absolute necessity.

All of a sudden, he was presented with just that: a need to act, in this case before gravity could claim the red-faced 'yote's spectacles. With surprising reactivity, he scooped out his hand to gently pluck them from the air as they arced toward him, then planted them on the bridge of his nose in one smooth motion. If this manoeuvre betrayed his training at all, it was just as quickly belied by an appreciative “Oooh... woah.” He gazed about in wonder of this strange, newly rose-tinted world, then lifted the lenses as Razekiel fished around in his headband for another joint or six. The choice in storage was peculiar enough to elicit a raucous chortle. “Grew the skunk out, huh?” he mused, clearly impressed.

“Say, what if they had these with, like, all the colours, man?” he wondered, fluctuating between subjects haphazardly and making no distinction as to who this 'they' could be. “That'd be a trip!” he remarked as he gently passed the glasses back to their rightful owner, opting not to chuck them over (for all his faults, Barrett was pretty good about respecting others' belongings). “I uh, oh. Just some yard work,” he explained. The front was overgrown, but he was more concerned with the (undesirable) vegetation out back. Left unchecked, it would impede his access to the crop or worse—it might out compete it.

356

Razekiel Lykoi · 06-22-2011, 02:42 PM

[html]

"First he'd smoked all week"? A tragic thought, surely! Though, what day was it, again? Razekiel could not remember in the least.

The coyote muttered a "groovy," beneath his smile and breath as Barrett scooped the glasses from the air smoothly. The dark male looked on with rose-tinted eyes as the Lykoi fished in his bandana, and with a dazed nod Razekiel grinned. "Totally, man. Can't really smell it when you're that toasted, you know, but I still wanted to see if I could do it. Took a lot of work, man, lots of sweat, but I cut out the smell eventually. Or I think so, you know? Hard to tell when you've already been puffin'." A youthful chortle.

Focus returned to his glasses, at which the coyote could not restrain his ear-to-ear, toothy grin. "Why do you think I wear them, man?!" he laughed heartily. "Everything's real hot-like, yeah, real fab, but you gotta take off the peepers and peep at the Mother with your own eyes sometimes, you know? Her greens and blues are real cherry." Barrett's suggestion of multiple colors only hit him then, and at this Razekiel held his head and exclaimed a great sigh of mind-blowing excitement and overload.

He refocused only when the male handed the glasses back and, pressing the lenses back on his nose, the male eyed the lawnmower once more. "Well, don't let me stop you, mister blitzer," the coyote grinned. "Oh, I'm Razekiel! ...Lyyykoi. Mind if I check out your, uh, 'yardwork'? Real curious-like, you know?"

table by lin

Barrett · 06-23-2011, 07:26 PM

[html]

Even in exceedingly trace amounts, smoke raised red flags and demanded attention. This evolutionary mechanism was hard-wired into their brains; those who lacked it presumably perished in forest fires thousands of years ago. Nevertheless, there was something to be said for making it harder to detect exactly what was burning. Barry understood the potential of such a strain immediately; eluding detection during growth might be even more important. “I'd be interested to hear your methods, man, maybe even get my paws on any clones or seeds you have to spare.” In exchange, he could offer some of his own wares—variety was the spice of life, was it not?

The boy was ever an opportunist when it came to business, albeit an unfocused one. Mister Blitzer? The yearling offered a hearty laugh; this guy was a hoot! “Nah, man, come take a look!” he invited, beginning to roughly shove his metal contraption along the side of the garage (between the height of the grass and the mower's lack of self-propulsion, he encountered considerable resistance). Little clippings flew away around his feet and he paused to itch one foot with the other briefly before pressing on. It wasn't exciting or glamorous work, but it had to get done.

“I'm Barry by the way... and, wait. Did you say Lykoi?” That had taken a second. To be fair, he wasn't personally acquainted with the grizzled matron—and he hadn't thought much of her since delivering Anselm's parcels to Inferni over a week ago. “Like.. Kaena Lykoi?” Maybe this guy knew his grandfather! “Wouldn't happen to know an Anselm de le Poer, would ya?”

Razekiel Lykoi · 07-01-2011, 11:39 PM

[html]

Razekiel nodded as expected when asked of his methods and sharing; the words reached his ears and hardly registered, but as if mechanical he nodded anywhere. The coyote was much too enthralled with the silver contraption threatening the open pasture, and as much as his inner hippie screamed that it would be a horror for the Great Mother to see her green, luscious locks chipped away and lay strewn on the ground like crude animal droppings, the Lykoi gazed on as if the metal monster was the most wondrous of human constructions to pleasure his eyes. It was nothing beautiful, no, and nothing compared to the Mother's best work, but it was a strange little object in how it stood and how it rolled and the miniscule squeaking noises it made, and that was all it took to hold Razekiel's hazy, wide-eyed attention.

To one not excited through the fog of marijuana, watching the act of mowing a lawn might have been as dreary and uninteresting as it was back in the days when lawnmowers were so commonly used; however, to the Lykoi, he could hardly believe his eyes. Brilliant, those humans were! Inspiration filled his lungs, his heart, his stomach; if only he could invent something so marvelous, so intriguing! To think, a need to prune the grass for the sake of neatness — no, he found it did not wiggle through his toes like eels as the unkempt lawn did, but the tight, trimmed texture of the mowed grass excited him nonetheless. The coyote could not even bring himself to words, instead waving wide eyes between Barrett and his mower and with the cut grass stead in his wake. His mouth hung open, hands extended and fingers wiggling in awe, as if he'd seen the very face of God and was now... well, suffering some sort of warped heart attack as a result.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed finally at the top of his lungs, finally managing to replace his disbelieving squeaks and gurgles with actual words. "That, that thing, it's — it's boss, man, it's so, it's so far out, man, I can't even...!" He held both sides of his head as if it might explode, but all that erupted was absolutely uncontrollable laughter, and moments later the man was rolling about in the trimmed grass, still gurgling and flailing about like the complete idiot he was.

"Yeah, yeah, man," he grinned, peering at Barrett even as he continued to roll about in the pruned green. "She's my mother, man, my sunshine, and he — probably related somehow, but he's real fab too, man. Get down here, try this!" Roll, roll, roll, roll... "This is the best fucking thing since sex! Not literally fucking, but — oh, get down here, man!"

Barrett · 07-05-2011, 08:24 PM

[html]

Barrett found himself startled when the Lykoi's exclamation cut through the heavy air, as he'd been wholly oblivious to the coyote's burgeoning delight. Although his body did not jerk and his steps did not falter, his ears twitched and he swung his head to look back over his shoulder. It took him a few moments to figure out what Razekiel was even talking about. He liked the mower, or...?

It didn't occur to him that anyone could derive such ecstasy from the performance of such a mundane task. He'd give that it was a little better than watching the grass grow, of course—and he enjoyed the springy, natural carpet left in the contraption's wake—but any brilliance behind it was underwhelming to the boy, perhaps because he'd seen it so many times before.

Only when the other fell to his knees, doubled over with heaves of hearty laughter, and toppled to the earth did Barrett cease his march completely. “I, uh... you can try it if you want,” he tried optimistically, even though it seemed unlikely that Razekiel would be getting up any time soon.

The hippie rolled over the freshly cut grass time and time again, gathering progressively more and more clippings in his hair, fur, and clothing each time. Another grin spread across his face—this was just too ridiculous to watch. “Sure, why not?” he agreed, suggestible as ever. He had to admit he felt a little out of the loop at first—this wasn't that exciting, was it?

But they he gravitated toward a natural divot and found himself accelerating downhill. The rapid revolution of the world around him was dizzying, exhilarating, and when he came to rest at the bottom, sprawled out and mouth agape as he beheld the spinning sky, he let out a jubilant laugh. “We need to find a bigger hill, man!”

310

Login




Remember me Lost Password?