[PM to Join] Weed Smoke and Rib Pokes

[Safiya Machado]

5th of Dentis, 2719

Safiya felt the bruises strain against her stomach, the end product of a week gone to hell in her efforts to get used to the lifestyle in Old Rose. She didn't lament the existence of those bruises, for every fight she got into was a reminder of what she'd sought after in her separation from the Yellow Eye. A bit of adventure, a bit of fun at no one's behest but her own. Independence and freedom were the end result of it all, and a few punches to the gut and a crackled knuckle or two were nothing a few spells and some rest couldn't fix. Or, at least, that's what she'd thought.

When Safiya spoke to the mona, she always tried a bit of deference, as if speaking to an older sibling or a surrogate parent. In her tribe, she'd never known a true parental structure, seeing all of the elders as some form of family or the other. But, the mona was different. She felt the vestiges of it in her glamour, the to and fro of its movement along her body as she sought to treat herself as she had for others so many times before. However, there was a hiss in the air, as if an elder brother had come forth and struck her across the face. She felt the pain seep into her skull, a pounding headache forming as a distinctly uncomfortable sour lemon taste rolled against her tongue.

The pounding grew fiercer and as she pressed into the nearest wall, it grew fiercer and fiercer until she fell to the ground, clutching her temples and rubbing vigorously in her efforts at regaining a foothold in her own brain. The taste in her mouth slowly grew bitter and terrible, the sharp rattling in her skull diminishing just enough to be uncomfortable. The happiness seemed to wilt from Safiya's soul and her coffee eyes dimmed with the impending negativity that a failed spell whirled around her. She felt the mona draw back and away from her, a hiss that hurt more than the ire it drew from her senses. It was a painful feeling, not just in her head, but in her chest as she found displeasure in the air around her.

What did I do? she wondered, a somberness that was all too foreign to the happy-go-lucky Safiya and it pulled her mind away from the desire to do anything else but reach into the satchel at her side. Inside of it was the reason she'd gotten into her fight in the first place. A dozen nuggets of cannabis were neatly stacked and ordered in a paper bag, the pungent aroma at last drawing a hint of a smile from Safiya's lips. She'd been displeased with her purchase upon further inspection, and was more than willing to take her complaints to fists if it meant that the wretched dealer wouldn't try to shunt her again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Because you're getting your ass kicked, she thought, the chuckle at last escaping her lips. She hadn't exactly... won... their little squabble, but she'd also given him a black eye and it was left at that when their altercation was broken up in the middle of the tavern they'd been conducting their business in. In the end, a pleasant batting of the eyelashes towards the wannabe bouncer and her business complaints were sorted out and she was on her way.

It'd been two nights since then and Safiya was still reeling from the beating taken, made all the worse by her failed attempts to treat it. So, she began to crush up the cannabis between her fingertips, nimbly working one of the nugs and holding the coarsely ground powder in her left hand as the right dipped right back into her satchel. There, she produced her 'golden goose', her pride and joy. An ornately wrought glass pipe, woven in glass that she suspected had candle wax (it wasn't) or something woven into the artistry. Safiya couldn't know how the colour dyed into the clear material, but the six inch long pipe felt heavy and precious in her palm as she turned it upward.

The bowl was stained black from use, though she'd cleaned the stem with water and the gentle coaxing of the mona just several days earlier, and she could see every design that some golly bumpkin took the time to weave their magic into. Maybe Safiya was jealous of what galdori magic was capable of, but their relationship with the mona, at least from what she heard, needed some sort of godly knowledge of science that she'd never have. Instead, she allowed herself to be satisfied with her witchy spellcraft. As Safiya mused upon the nature of her very-justly acquired pipe, she decided to pull at the mona yet again.

She chanced her chats, taking the calculated risk that what just happened could very well happen again, but in truth caring very little. She didn't own a lighter, and this little spell more than most she used a great deal. The bowl ignited with her beseeching, gentle coaxing holding the sparks until smoke began to rise. She quickly pushed the pipe against her lips, slow pulls intent on smoldering the formed flame until a plume of smoke pulled directly into her lungs.

All anger, all dissatisfaction and the pounding of her head seemed to dissipate at once as she tipped her head back and unleashed the plume of smoke from her lungs in a showy display. It wafted outwards and into the air before gentle laughter coaxed from the witch's lips. Safiya was in the public eye, if a bit separated from the hustle and bustle of Old Rose life. She pulled herself off from the wall to sit cross-legged on the ground as she took a second and third hit from her pipe.

[Lars]

DENTIS 5TH, 2719
OUTSIDE, OLD ROSE HARBOR

It was still warm, for Dentis, and Lars was determined to get all that he could from the relatively sunny autumn day. Not quite as sunny and hot as it had been the month before, but it was still pleasant to look through the windows or up into the sky and see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. For as long as the heat wanted to cling to the world, Lars would enjoy and appreciate it - he was not looking forward to the colder months, especially not now that he was in the harbor. He had never done that well in the cold. Jackets and coats and layers were all too forgettable, even if they had at least been provided in Brunnhold, but here... he wasn't sure what he would do. He couldn't just stay cooped up in his apartment until spring.

But that was a problem for future Lars. Current Lars, fortunately, only had to think about leaving his apartment and finding something lazy to do outside, to enjoy the day while he could, and then later he would deal with work. After pulling on a loose-fitting linen shirt and velvety, burgundy trousers, the white-haired passive left the flat, making his way down the stairs and then out of the building. One of his hands came up to push pale locks of hair back and away from his face, though as soon as his fingers left the strands to return to his side, the hair fell stubbornly over his forehead again. He blew a bit of air from the corner of his mouth in some futile attempt to keep the white locks out of his eyes, but afterwards gave up and opted to just shake his head and let his hair sit as it pleased.

He walked through the busy streets, passing through groups of dockworkers, sailors, pirates, drunks, merchants of all kinds - some buskers, too, scattered here and about, and his eyes trailed over faces as they passed but never lingered. It wasn't that nothing caught his interest, but too many options included either spending coin that he didn't have, or getting himself (inevitably) into a bad situation. So he kept to himself, for the most part, and slipped his bruised-up hands into the pockets of his trousers. There was a light breeze that swayed the loose fabric of his shirt against his skin, and brought the scent of saltwater and wet sand to his nose.

There was a lightness in his step, and he made himself breathe in deep, breathe in all the differences, all the smells, good and bad and worse. Salt, sand, smoke, alcohol, sweat, blood, freshly caught fish, cooked fish, spices and herbs in street vendors' stalls. Dirt and stone beneath him, dust that stirred up into the air as he carried on. Fire, ashes, tobacco, cannabis. It was easy to ignore all sounds - the passing conversations, the gossip and idle chattering and heated ranting, the flirtatious, dancing words between potential lovers or potential sellers and buyers. It was there, and it was loud, and often all-encompassing, but Lars knew how to restrict his focus to one thing, one sense, one idea.

One easy, lazy thing to do outside.

Lars could feel the field - glamour, rather, he noticed as he got closer - before he saw who it might belong to. It was particularly noticeable because of the... negative nature of it, the irritated and angry way the sentient particles buzzed, and that (along with the strong, drifting smell of cannabis and the plume of smoke that wafted upwards into the air) was enough to catch the passive's attention. He had stepped off of the main street and already started towards the seated figure, a glass pipe in her hand.

Glass? Interesting. He couldn't see the details of it, but it was pretty. He had to remind himself not to try and take it, not forcefully at least - he didn't want to wind up in any fights or otherwise dangerous situations, not today. It was still a curious item, however, and the Hessean approached the dark-haired witch, keeping his expression neutral and taking his hands out of his pockets in some effort to show that he wasn't going to reach for some weapon. No reason for someone to be afraid anyway, he thought. He found himself perfectly friendly.

"Having fun?" greeted the passive, pale gray eyes watching the witch curiously. Shit, now he was second-guessing himself. He was friendly, right? He was. He could be friendly just fine. "Is that glass?" he questioned, "I've never seen one like that, it's pretty."

Like something a golly would make, but he didn't say that.

[Safiya Machado]

Safiya loved her little chats with the mona. It was so easy, to say a word and flick the embers that a lighter could provide into being. The witch could simply get a lighter, but it was her experience that any time she shared a bowl or lent it out to someone in need, that it'd get pocketed or mysteriously lost along the way. It wasn't in her best interests to fight someone every time that happened and the mona seemed willing to enable her habits... So, as far as she was concerned it was quite the win-win scenario. Safiya was pleased to let another plume of smoke rip, then she pressed her head back into the surface just as she heard (and ignored) nearby footsteps that seemed to draw closer and closer. It wasn't Safiya's issue if someone came by. After all, if they had complaints, they could take it to the sword or fists and the young witch would see who was right at the end of it.

But, fortunately for her headache and the good use of time, Safiya wasn't in such a predicament. The young woman was encountered by a man that was clearly several years her senior. By the look of his face, he was a golly. The young man possessed of the particular qualities, but then, there was much more to him that made him different. He dressed like a human, looked galdor, but also there was no palpable field that the gollies had that was every example of the powerful spell-craft they were capable of. With no field to be found, the young man in front of Safiya was a closed book, unable for any sort of feeling to be gleaned and again, she was conflicted.

Human... or passive?

The young woman knew that there were the unfortunate golly rejects who failed whatever tests or screening that the galdori did for talent in magic. She knew that some of their sons and daughters were cast aside, and she'd heard over and over that it was in the school, Brunnhold, that so many of them lived. Then, what was one doing out here? Wicks had their own rejects, and often enough they wandered into human society, so perhaps some of the not-gollies did the same? The musing was there for a long moment, but it was set aside when the young man asked her a question. Then another. He seemed charming enough, and quite nice to look at, at that. She'd rise to greet the man, but the aching in her ribs, while dulled by the cannabis that wafted from her throat and nostrils, was by no means gone.

It was quite the pleasure for Safiya to have her glass acquisition complimented, and low laughter escaped the witch's lips as she softly patted the space next to her. It was easier, kinder, and simply more entertaining to lend trust to others, and if the boy in front of her was a danger, then that was her fault for not properly assessing him.

"Oh, I'm havin' a ball, aye. Jus' the trick, smokin' some herb to get the soreness out. Ye smoke, lad? Tis always a pleasure to share if yer so inclined," she offered.

A vivacious smile cast upon the witch's lips, and she turned the glass pipe in her hand, gently striking at the base of the bowl to knock out the residual ash and black crisp lefover within. Nimble digits pilfered into her satchel, where she worked at grinding up the next bit of flower for the passive to imbibe if he accepted her invitation.

"Oh yeh? Never? Makes me happy to 'ear that, it does. I like havin' unique pretties of dem dubious means of acquisition, aye?"

It was Old Rose Harbour, after all, and while Safiya Machado couldn't lay claim to a far depth of intelligence, it didn't take genius to figure out that the boy was watching her, looking her over. Was she pretty to him? Or was he figuring out her level of threat? She hoped to be friendly enough to others, especially when they spoke with a gentle tone like he had. Being friendly, after all, was far safer and more pleasurable than throwing fists and sword at everything that moved.