crypt | meme #420 | ( fuck it, let's just get high ) don't fight it, light it.

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meme #420 | ( fuck it, let's just get high ) don't fight it, light it.

You know what day it is, don't you? Only the greatest day of the week, the year, possibly all time at least until 2014 rolls around. It's 4:20, my ghouls and boils. Stoner Christmas. The Highening. For 24 hours, you can smoke as much weed as you want, judgment free, and if that's not what you're doing, I feel bad for you son. But that's okay! Because now there's this meme, so you can smoke while you smoke, or while you don't smoke. Either way I heard you like weed.

Rules:
1. Post with your character's name and canon. Tag others.
2. They are now high. Or getting high. Somewhere in the process of smoking themselves the fuck up.
3. Need options? Uh. Kay. Well, are they rolling a joint, packing a bowl, or ripping a bong? MacGyvering up an apple pipe, hotboxing their Volvo, or just enjoying a contact high after a leisurely stroll through the park perhaps a little too close to that drum circle? They can do whatever, wherever, however, smoke it, toke it, bake it into brownies, suck it out of a soda bottle, pack, jack or just don't lack it, you're only limited by your imagination and your ability to make fire.
4. And don't forget munchies!

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The hit's a deep one, making the backs of his eyes burn, his lungs catch fire, and he makes sure to hold in the smoke long after his lips leave the neck of vase and he passes it over to Meulin, blank stare not following his clothed hands as they move. There's no rush yet, but that heat in him is always enough in the beginning, lids going low when he finally sits back, hand moving up to tighten the thick, black thread woven through his lips. He had only kept it loosened enough to suck in the smoke through his lips, not nearly enough to speak if he had even wanted to, not that he has for a real long time.

Kurloz feels a pressure build in his chest, the smoke starting to claw at his insides and slither up through his throat again like abyssal serpents. The smoke eases out between stitches, only to be breathed in quickly through his nose again, held in a little longer, and blown out his nostrils finally. Yeah, that burn, it's fucking beautiful, happy to share it with such a close fucking sister too, as always. Indigo clown's got a lot of clothes pires to put up, a lot of stakes to pound down, but he can stand a few small gatherings here and there.

Meulin is already feeling the effects, and so doesn't gage up right away. Instead she presses her palm to the vase's opening and just watches Kurloz as he carefully tightens his stitches again. A part of her wants to reach over and still his hands, to instead gently undo them but another part is strangely fascinated.

Best that she doesn't. While she still feels some guilt whenever she sees those stitches, they were Kurloz's decision and in her state she'd just end up doing more damage than good.

Her lips turn up in a smile, much softer than her usual exaggerated cheer as she watches the smoke seeping out between his lips and billowing out from his nose, momentarily obscuring his face. She enjoys these quiet moments with Kurloz and it reminds her of the days when they would discuss just about everything under the sun.

"How're you feeling?"

He feels a slight dissonance, like his senses are separating from eachother, and there's a lag to her words that wasn't there before. But the lag quickly corrects itself once he registers she's speaking and directs his attention to her. Still silent of course, though his eyes a little wider, the shoulder closest to her shrugged up near his chin.

Quiet moments- right. Well, because of him, all moments were quiet to her now. He feels guilt from it of course, the guilt not exactly being why he stitched up his mouth and remained silent, but the illusion that it was the full reason did well for him. Better they naive, even those closest- no matter how he or she may feel, everything would end up as it should be in the end, for the motherfucking best.

Kurloz manages a thin smile, soft, mimicking hers in a way as he sits there, gangly legs bent up at the knees. The high's slowly creeping on his mind and body now, the hit having been the third for him and that haze now begins to really linger over him now that he just sits back and calms. He nods his head, languidly raising a hand to simply sign a few fluid things in her direction.

The smile widens a little and she bumps her head affectionately against his shoulder. She remains there, learning against him before taking another hit. It's a small one, more just so she can have some fun trying to blow a smoke ring. She partly succeeds but it's a rather crooked one.

Whelp. She sets their makeshift bong down and puts a sleeve over it. She's giggling as she signs to him:

The small olive troll shifted, turning more towards him and lazily lifted a hand to play with some strands of Kurloz's messy hair.

His chest rises a little, remnants of a laugh he can't really make anymore, or she could hear anymore. But a lot of their relationship is relying on movements and sights. So that small hitch in his body is enough for her to know his reply to her comment. He glances down to her as she shifts, his lids low, sitting back still as a corpse otherwise. He can feel his hair move, sees her hand rise to curl a dangling lock.

The sensation's a little more- noticeable- it's like he's only focus on the slight tug on his scalp, not seeing or smelling or feeling anything else in that moment. The high in him intensifies as the seconds pass, gaze drifting over to watch her fingers.

It's nice to feel the ever so faint motion of his laugh. She's always glad when she can brighten his day in anyway and she always does her best to achieve just that.

At the moment, however, Meulin is just as captivated by her motions as she is. Her lips are slightly parted as if amazed, and her fingers tangle in his hair a little bit more, right behind his ear so she can watch her hand disappear in the dark mess, and feel each individual follicle that is tickling her skin. She curls her hands lightly so she can brush her knuckles against his scalp in a massaging motion.

Claws to scalp is always and enjoyable feeling. Hair moving back and forth, the slight tinge of pain, the massaging motions. It makes his nostrils flare, pulling in a deep breath and almost slumping away from her before his body realizes that motion would pull her hand from his scalp. Kurloz stays seated there, simply enjoying the sensation, hands still in his lap, legs moving to cross instead of stay with knees bent up. His gaze gets more lazy, feeling this almost chill from the sensation in his hair, feeling the need to make her fingers push against him harder. He moves a hand up, pressing on the back of her hand slightly, pushing it against his head a little harder before sliding his clothed fingers up along her arm. The tip skirt over her grey skin, soft, almost just barely tickling the surface.

Being close to her, it's hard to remember a time when he wasn't. Though they're no longer as romantic as they had been in the past, there still was something- strong, between them. A deeper understand that the halt of a quadrant couldn't extinguish as well. Sitting here in their soft silence, surrounded by that haze of smoke and high felt right, has felt right, and he's sure will continue to.

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