Smoke and Colours

Gale finds themselves in a "Smokers" den.

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Gale
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: Artful Gunner
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Thu Nov 08, 2018 1:21 pm

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A Quarter Fords Smoking Den | Late Afternoon
32 DENTIS 2718
There was one thing Gale noticed about Old Rose Harbour; the air was notably clearer here than in Vienda. They reasoned it was due to the ocean air that struck against the shore, the stagnant air replaced with that of salt and the impurities being rushed away across the great expanse. With it however came a new selection of scents, the previously clogged airways picking out the others – an intrusive sweet from something smoked, the almost herbal addition to some smokers – there was others too, perfume and spice from further afield. But here was where it first landed, the riches from foreign land to be sent into the trade market of Anaxas. Not that trade held no real interest to the smith outside of metals to work for business. And even then, business was strictly shoved to one side at this current moment.

Gale skulked along the street, turning a rough scrap of paper in their fingers. A crude map had been drawn upon its surface, denoting the twisting streets of the city to where they were supposed to go. It turned out, much to their annoyance, that the delivery for collection was not all at the Mad Queen and the smith was forced out of their comfort zone to find them. Not that they knew exactly what they were collecting, all of that had been neatly left out of their knowledge.

At the junction, the smith turned the map around in an attempt to find their bearings; before taking the left. It was, supposedly, just a short jaunt across the bridge to the Quarter Fords, only a few minutes away. The establishment was a smoking den; though the what was neatly avoided by the small aid they received.

Short jaunt my arse. Been an hour out here now

Stepping off to the side, the smith stopped once more on the side of the street watching the various others pass on by. In return the various eyes settled on them, the small curious tilts of the head, the dark eyes seemingly weighing them up. It was only as they went in deeper, head down, shoulders hunched in, that Gale began to notice the difference in population. The green orbs bored down into the ground ahead of them, the face steeling over to a neutral expression.

It was enough of a focus that the smith almost walked past their destination – again.

Breaking to a sudden halt, the head turned to where they thought it would be and instead found a rather plain looking building. Unremarkable as it was, they would have missed the narrow set of steps that descended down to a basement beneath the house and the lingering mass of Mugrobi muscle that guarded the top of it. They blinked, shifting between man and door way.

The raise of the chin, the unfolding of arms as each weighed the other up. The smith forced themselves to uncurl, glad for the lack pack, but glad the familiar weight of Liberator pressed against their spine, yet hidden beneath the coat. The smith cocked a thumb, a gesturing point as they awkwardly stepped around and towards the steps.
“Where you think you’re going, boy?”
Gale paused, turned on their heel and weighed him up and down. The lip turned into a curl, a small snort as they channelled every ounce of Artful, “For a smoke.”

He did not make a move, eyes narrowing down. With nothing more said the smith made a quick retreat down the steps and finding the door was not locked, quickly entered.

Gale’s only mild regret was not bracing themselves before hand.

The overpowering scents of some narcotic mixed in with cheap tobacco slammed into her, a thick layer of smoke having gathered across the ceiling. The next was the aroma of flowers, a thick, pollen laden one that only worsened. A steaming hiss of coals as moisture was poured onto them, a cough escaped as they shifted from the narrow entrance and into the room proper. Gaudy paintings upon the brickwork, the various lounging bodies – a majority if not all being Mugrobi or descendent of – lazing and blowing upon water pipes. Towards the back stood a bar, a mingling of bodies leaning up against it.

Odour infecting their lungs, Gale pushed forward towards the bar. Brow creased into a line, it was the firm stepping of two bodies in their path that halted them. Rearing back, the firm hand of another Mugrobi clamped down onto their shoulder, the eyes staring intently, “Ent seen ju here before adame. Where ju come from? Who told ju Anaxi?”
“Well I… got told here’s a good place for a smoke from a friend?”
“Yaka, don’t think so oveka.”


Gale internally winced.
Last edited by Gale on Thu Nov 15, 2018 3:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance

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Aziza
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Sat Nov 10, 2018 7:56 pm

Dentis 32, 2718
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The Dry Season had come and gone and the days of Autumn had begun to creep by. It was horrifying to consider that Dentis was almost over, almost half a season more than she would have liked to be stuck in the same place. While Aziza was doing her best to keep her spirits up, she had to admit that she was going stir-crazy.

The Mugrobi witch had been growing more and more irate, more prone to mood swings and desperate for distractions. She had been spending less time with her mother and more time with people from her own country. Socialising was always good, especially as there was such an excellent wealth of characters in the Harbour. Wicks were typically the best, especially real spokes, but she'd found a place with good company and good entertainment. It was a relatively exclusive spot in the Quarter Fords, solidly Mugrobi unless you knew someone. No one with lighter skin got into the place without an invite.

Hulali's Waters.

Perhaps some would think that it was blasphemous to call such a place after the prime Mugrobi god but in truth, Hulali had brought them all here, kin brought together in unlikely circumstances, enjoying each other's company and the pleasures of life. It was a cross between a watering hole and a smoking den, the alcohol and the drugs mixing quite well together although the drugs were definitely the real draw; drinks were a bonus.

Even if she wasn't smoking, the young woman liked to lie back and breathe in the scents of the place. It was comfortable here, the seats large and soft, more like beds than mere chairs but there were also cushions on the floor. The spices and the burning plants were a heady scent of home. This was what it smelled like when spokes gathered in Mugroba, when they traded with those on the river and cooked and smoked and shared it all with traders and one another. Soaking up the atmosphere was certainly good but getting high certainly couldn't be knocked.

She'd been smoking something good, really good - she'd have to find out what it was later - when she'd shared a pipe with someone but by Hulali, she was thirsty.

The young woman rose shakily, the world slowly swaying around her in a way that made her want to hold it and slow dance with it. She hummed to herself, hands waving slowly in the air to the soft clinking of bracelets. She swayed her way towards the bar, finding a young man standing in her path and choosing to grasp at his biceps and encouraging him to take a slow turn with her. She laughed loudly, open-mouthed and lacking any sense of self-consciousness. She failed to see the new visitor despite the fact that he stuck out in the sea of dark faces. It wasn't that a white face was completely out of the question here, not even one with a blond head like this one had. You didn't see many Anaxi with blond hair. It was a fascinating thing really. Very pretty, she thought when she did finally see him at the bar, registering in a vague way that he was being menaced.

The spoke stumbled into their midst, squinting up at the men in front of him.

"Ayah, Thais. Ye throwin' yer weight 'round? Best not be hasslin' me yeller fella," she slurred, reaching up to pat the black cheek before reaching out to try to wrap her arms around the blond man's neck. Was he moving? She didn't think so but surely it wasn't that hard to hug someone. Maybe her aim was off...

"Ju know 'im? He jur adame?" the one called Thais asked, speaking slowly.

"I like 'im, he's m'adame, ent he? Ma'ehau, ju oveka desema," she shot back, going up on her toes to try to kiss Thais' cheek but falling against him instead. Strong hands caught her and straightened her. Aziza frowned at the ground. "Floor ent flat, is it? Wobbly or summat."

"Ju oveka wika! Ma'ehau! Take jur Anaxi wi' ju," Thais murmured, exchanging looks with his friends as he retreated back to the bar, shooting suspiciously looks back at the unlikely pair.

"C'mere yeller head, ye here fer a smoke? Get ye a benny smoke. Ye come wi' me an' I'll hook ye up. Also hesta! I'm Azzzzz," she drawled, her name finally ending in a hiccup. "Best get ye away from the black bas'ards. Bullies they is."
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Gale
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Mon Nov 12, 2018 6:25 am

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Hulali's Waters Smoking Den | Late Afternoon
32 DENTIS 2718
For the longest while the hand was in place, firmly holding and keeping Gale just where they wanted. The smith did not turn to look at it, instead letting the eyes drift across the face and come to rest upon the chin of the offender. They could not afford to lose ground; to back out and away now would do more harm than good – and the pressuring incentive to go forward outweighed the current threat. Clearing their throat, they went to speak and paused when they realised half the words that were said were beyond their understanding.
“Ah, what?”

The addition of the arm caught them off guard – enough so that instinct called for them to reel away. A small pull, the senses prickling against the familiarity that threw itself at them. It took a moment longer to register the dark skin, ears struggling to work through the thick accent and dialect that escaped her lips. More difficult however was the arm that had found purchased, the shifting of weight that caused Gale to brace. Another inhale, the hairs rose as the flickering of a field brushed against their senses – far from the weight of the Galdori, but still very much there.

Wick.

Eyes flickered back and forth, rapidly shifting as they attempted to get a read on the situation. Was the Wick drunk? Had they taken something? Judging by the slurring voice, the way the fingers danced against their kin the answer was ‘probably’. The immediate struggle to pick out what was being said only worsened, lips pursed, the pungent scents of burned spices clear against her. The arm tugged, perhaps glad the pair were of a similar height while the others stalked away.

“I…” Gale began, licking their lips, “ 'ave no idea what just happened.”

They realised then that their hands had become still, fingers stiffened and the muscles tensed. The eyes shifted, moving sideways now to the Wick catching the softer features, the clinking of braids and how they seemingly wore their riches – all be it far from precious metals. They shifted quickly, noting the dark eyes but not lingering and instead finally settled on the bar ahead. Predators resided there currently, the feeling of the entire room watching the considerably pasty looking Anaxi.

“Uh, Yeller head?” the eyes flickered up, catching the few strands of blonde that drifted before their face. Yellow. Blonde. Apt really, “Oes, smoke. Right. That. Aye. Maybe a wee drink too.” The mind flickered through the situation, replaying it back over and over, were they being led away now? Better yet, who was this woman? Was she the one who was looking after the package? They would have to sip, take it slow and try to stay as sober as possible.

No. They were supposed to be older. A bar worker too. And judging by the current inhabitants it might be best to sit down and play along for a bit. Least until suspicion lifts.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’. What you recom-mend boss? Maybe whateffer you'd been 'aving? See, normally smoke, ‘ust not this kind of smoke,” the finger gestured to the water pipes, “Mine’s more for the burn.” The hands slunk into the pockets, resting there. Keep it calm, keep it casual. The shoulders hunched in, tone clicking to a mumble. For now Gale would allow themselves to be lead and would make moves to settle down, “Oi, Thais ‘nd friend normally like that ta strangers?”

Fumes continued to permeate, the human snorting as the lingering atmosphere attempted to bleed into their bloodstream. It was an uncomfortable sensation, one perhaps more sourced by fear; they had heard plenty of tales of those who had partaken, on how their minds eventually no longer became their own and the crippling addiction that followed. Just another fix, just one more – it was all the same after a while.

“Az right?” The smith gave a smirk to the hiccup, “Yer can call me Gale. So, thanks fer what ye did back there. Dunno whateffer yer reason for doin’ it though. Why you call me yours though? Did I miss somethin’?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Aziza
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Tue Nov 13, 2018 7:40 pm

Dentis 32, 2718
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Her find was quite bewildered but the wick didn't pay Gale's confusion much mind, simply keeping a hold of her new companion. There was some tension there, the muscles beneath her arm quite rigid but she thought nothing of it. She registered the total lack of a field with disinterest, her own field crossing into empty space. There were two kinds of people without fields although she hadn't had the opportunity to interact with many passives, not to her knowledge at least. Humans, yes, she'd interacted with plenty of those and there were plenty of them here too although unlike Gale, they had skin that was dark like her own.

"Oes, I can see yer lost, hama. Yer like a rabbit before it gets an arrow in its head. It's like ye've sensed danger but ye ent sure an' so ye stand there, ripe for th' kill," the Mugrobi commented with a laugh that caused her teeth to flash. Although her words might sound a little sinister, her demeanour was purely friendly and good-natured without any of the covert steel beneath the surface that had been present when the smith had been accosted after coming in.

"Yeah, yer yellow. There's a word for it when it's hair, ye chen? Dint see it often mind so can't say I heard it often. Ent common here and ye dint see hair like it at home, not lest ye use this special paste. Ent something yer born with, ye chen? Waz th' word fer it?" she questioned, remembering now that she'd come this way to get a drink.

Her hand had dropped to the blonde's forearm, firm enough to steer and guide but not so tight as to be painfully possessive or constraining. However, her grasp dropped as she swayed back towards the bar, heading for a space between the bodies and leaving the interloper to trail behind her as she forged a path for them both. It was a slow thing though and the woman was readily distracted when the other spoke. The talk of recommendations made her hum, her expression one of dreamy thoughtfulness as she reached the countertop and plonked her elbows against the wood.

"Oh ye can smoke stuff that way if ye want. Ye have fire wi' them pipes there but oes, it's dif'rent. I can get ye the other kind an' ye can burn things to yer 'eart's content," she assured her companion, waving for the attention of the bartender. "As fer Thais an' 'em, well... they git strange 'round strangers, 'specially pale faces. Ye usually git an invite an' ye'll bring the stranger wi' ye."

Getting the attention of the man behind the bar, she grinned. "Eh, we'll 'ave two-" she tried to hold up two fingers, struggled with it as they seemed to be moving at a disconnect from her brain before she succeeded in holding up three, "-two Desert Chasers," she slurred out in Mugrobi, ordering a spirit that had had a particular Mugrobi plant, known as Nasa'i Ubo, stewed in it. While the liquid had been strained, it still managed to carry an additional high than the alcohol typically provided and psychedelic properties.

Here, it was a watered down version of a potent concoction from her homeland that was used by the most hardcore fortune-tellers and diviners to grant them the truest visions imaginable. It was said to be the closest that a human or passive could get to communing with the mona. For the magically-abled, it was supposed to open up whole new levels of understanding with the sentient particles. Desert Chaser was a weak form, kind of a joke on the fact that those who took the stronger stuff tended to go and sit out in the desert for the solitude and the lack of distractions. The proper name for it in translation from Mugrobi was True Sight.

The young woman didn't particularly care about visions right now, at least not the future kind; Aziza liked the play of colours and how her other senses were altered. Sound went a little weird at times but touch was... beyond fantastic. Not that she thought that she'd be engaging in anything with this stranger. Well, in truth, she wasn't thinking that far ahead or ahead at all for that matter. Perhaps if she was, she wouldn't have spoken Mugrobi and left Gale clueless about what she was ordering.

"Now this stuff is benny. Ye can sip it or gulp it down, bit sharp but fair benny," she explained to Gale as the bartender fished out a bottle with a weird plant inside it; it looked a bit like a mushroom. While the spirit was carefully poured out, she patted the gunsmith's arm in a companionable way, turning her attention to him.

"At home, we look after strangers, ye chen? Ye bring 'em inta yer kint, give 'em food, drink, summat t' smoke and the like. Hos-pit-able, like. Anaxi are hard an' if we invite ye in, ye ent always nice 'bout it. We watch each other's backs 'ere but I dint think we should turn strangers away. There's more o' us an' besides, yer a poss'ble brunno, ent ye? I dint like t' turn people out. It's unciv'lised, ye chen?" she explained, nodding her head before she gave a whoop as the drinks arrived.

The glasses were short, almost hidden when you wrapped your hand comfortably around them and they contained a liquid that almost seemed greasy. It was like seeing oil slicked on water, except instead of a rainbow, it seemed to shift between amber and something darker and more green-tinged.

"Domea domea domea, adame," she told the bartender in Mugrobi, picking up her glass and holding it out to clink with Gale's. "T' a benny time, Gale!" she declared in Tek before tipping half the glass down her gullet. She puffed out a breath as soon as she swallowed it down, feeling the fire sear over tongue and throat. It had a sweetness to it as well as something a little nutty. She watched Gale expectantly.
Last edited by Aziza on Fri Nov 23, 2018 6:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Gale
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Wed Nov 14, 2018 5:54 am

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Hulali's Waters Smoking Den | Late Afternoon
32 DENTIS 2718
“Or a mouse thrown in among the cats,” the smith shrugged, a nervous smile as they tried to take the statement for what it was. Gale followed, taking the steps after Aziza not lingering for too long as the bodies pressed in. It was a squeeze, people seeming closer than they actually were, the shoulders rising up to their ears before they managed to finally reach the bar proper. There the smith gingerly leaned up next to the Witch, orbs constantly shifting around the room in an attempt to be one step ahead of whatever was coming. They were not blind to the growing pressure that they stuck out among the others – perhaps anticipating that trouble was going to descend upon them.

“Ye means blond,” answered Gale, a finger idly drew circles on the surface, “And I was born with it. Though admittedly normally darker and dirtier – so folk don’t notice as much. Forge work.” There were plenty of smiths in the world; it was hardly something to keep secret, “Kind of guessed on the looks for you and the others, mean, based on inhabitants ‘ere.”

Whatever was ordered was beyond the understanding of Gale, but it did not stop the orbs from shifting back and forth. It drunk in the changes to the scene, the small twitches of muscles as they contracted and relaxed, the soft back glow of lanterns illuminating the den. The smith shifted, resisting the urge to pat the distinct shape of the firearm. It would draw too much attention, “I’ll make sure the next time I swing by I come with an invitation.”

Not that I plan to ever come here again. Time. Patience. You’ll get to the bottom of all this soon enough.

The clunk of glass upon the counter drew the attention back to the creature before them. Head tilting to study the bottle, the buoying shape of some fungus bobbing within. The shade made it hard to work out the exact colour, the eyes narrowing as the thick substance sloshed within. The scent however was largely masked by the other aromas, which was probably for the best; it did not look particularly appetising.

“What’s this?” Gale asked. They did not make a move to take it, simply leaning down to peer into the contents. They noticed the touch; keeping that limb notably still while she spoke. The smith frowned, lips pursing with contemplation, “Think Anaxi got an us and ‘em mentality, more with the boots above. ‘Viting people in becomes hard, more when everythin’ is tight to begin with. Lot of folk been bitten ‘ard after bein’ nice. Guess just scared, ne, paranoid in the end.”

For a moment the gaze softened. They remembered the hammering of fists on the door; they remembered the crying of children, the hot tears and wailing voices piecing the sound of violence. The memory of gunfire sounded in the ears of the smith, the scent of saltpetre and burned flesh, the ever sticking blood that would not give no matter how hard they scrubbed. Even now they could feel where it had permeated the layers, stuck beneath nails and infected. The muscles tensed once more, a squeeze of fingers, their expression growing blank as it remained locked upon the liquid – from amber, to green, to red.

Blood red.

Staining. Hissing. Steaming.

Pressure grew in their lungs where they held their breath. A firm prod from reality and the needs of the body. A hot exhale, eyes blinking. The colour vanished, the real green and amber showing itself once more. The smith stared at it for another moment, waiting for it to change to red. It did not. Gale sighed, shoulders slumping while the Witch chirped. Some of the words were understood, but with the intention was made clear with the glass held out. The smith obliged and clinked the tiny glasses together, “Mu-jo ma, Az.”

Gale was never much of a drinker.

They did not rush the drink like the other however; a cautious sniff was taken first – no scent of blood – before taking a sip. It burned, numbing as it chased across the tip to back, before the smith forced a swallow. A small lick of lips, the brow furrowed as it contemplated the spirit. It reminded them of some cheap whiskey, if not for the particular fermented aftertaste that became slick against their tongue. The eyes were upon them again, a small awkward glance with the orbs settling on the crook between the shoulder and neck of the other. The smith took another sip, yet to feel the effects of whatever this concoction was.

“A Brunno? What's 'at?” The mind was scanning through the words they knew and stumbled. A shoulder rolled, the idle hand returning to drawing circles, “Should count myself lucky you turned up. ‘ppreciated.” Their mouth began to crave the familiar taste of tobacco, as if it was something that could wash away the sensation that began to hang across them, “Almost want somethin’ smooth te go with the sharp, flavour blend or somethin’.”

A finger gestured to one of the various – what they presumed – were smoking flavours that were on display behind the bar. This one was in particular was in a small green bottle, “Oes, dunno your sort – but what about that?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Aziza
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Sat Nov 24, 2018 10:04 am

Dentis 32, 2718
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"Blond, oes, tha's the one!" she crowed, grinning broadly at the new information. Well, it wasn't entirely new. She had heard it before but forgotten it. Still, in spite of having the proper term, she was still inclined to use 'yellow'. Maybe her newfound companion would prefer the proper term but Aziza liked her own one. "Funny tha' ye usually have it darker an' we sometimes lighten ours. Yers ent on purpose, mind, is it? Forge work... tha's smithing o' what? Blacksmithing, weapons? Fancy metals? Suppose not th' last, not in Anaxas. Not lest yer a golly."

She knew that there were those who worked with gold and silver, working with gems to make jewellery. She'd come across such fine metal weavers in Mugroba, examined their delicate works that so many hours had gone into and she could remember one particularly fine specimen: a golden boat. There hadn't been much gold in it to be fair but that made the amount of work that had gone into it all the more spectacular. The gold had been hammered thin, carefully shaped to form the hull, little benches added in the inside, a mast and oars. It had been pure gold, the wick in question having carefully panned every nugget and golden speck from the rivers herself and melted it to create her masterpiece. It had been too fine to trade for, nothing matching it in value and many had told its maker that it was a tribute to Hulali and should be treated with the greatest respect as a true treasure. Aziza had no idea where it had ended up in the end. However, while wicks, imbali and even humans could undertake such trades in Mugroba and be expected to do well for themselves, she just couldn't see it happening here.

The witch might not have grown up here and had only been in the kingdom for a few years, she was already well aware of the racism that existed. There were plenty of opportunities that were denied to the lower races here. Even if Gale was just a blacksmith, the Mug could only imagine how difficult it must be to conduct such a trade with galdori hanging over them.

Her thoughts had drifted, carrying her away, a side-effect of what she'd previously been smoking. It would only get worse with the Desert Chaser of course, the desire to simply go with the flow amazingly strong when she took it. Resistance just ruined the whole experience and while she could still technically have inhibitions intact while high on it, it was so much easier just to drop all those silly ideas. It was the kind of thing that would make her mother throttle her for bringing shame to herself and to Nazia. Having fun didn't mean that she was a tumble. Yes, her morals could be quite loose at times but there was no harm in enjoying life, was there?

When Gale asked what the drink was, Aziza just hummed to herself, waving their question off absently. Briefly hypnotised by the play of light in her drink, she missed the external signs of the horror going on in Gale's mind. Instead, she was lost in the anticipation and the excitement of the situation, not really looking at her companion properly again until after she'd downed the Desert Chaser. Its effects weren't immediate but she seemed brighter, warmed by the new heat in her belly.

"Brunno? Ent ye heard tha' afore? Dze... it's friend or brother. Close like, ye chen?" she explained, peering more closely at their face, leaning closer to get a better look, heedless of any sense of boundaries. To make matters worse, she actually stretched out a hand in an effort to stroke Gale's face. "Ye've actually got real nice skin. It goes benny wi' th'... th'... eyes," Aziza murmured, a slightly glazed look entering her own gaze as she tried to point at Gale's orbs and came far too close to poking one of them out.

Her depth perception was going a little funny and the pale skin... well, it was so interesting, wasn't it? It wasn't often that she got to see such a colour palette while she was on Desert Chasers and it seemed to have lots of little glittery bits embedded in it, pale but shining. Iridescent. And the eyes... the green in them was beginning to dance, breaking up to reveal blues and whites as well. So pretty. Soft pinks and very light browns seemed to be oozing out of their pores, coral lips reminding her of pretty twisty shells she'd sometimes found by the seashore at home.

She pulled her gaze away from Gale with difficulty, looking away from the colours that were beginning to bleed from them. Everything else was starting to bleed around her too, the act of turning her head creating an amazing blur that almost hypnotised her as her orbs moved on past. She could still make out the shapes of things, they were just more intense in hue, fuzzy and yet deeper, more layered as the full depth of everything seemed to come out to play. She had to squint at the bottle, the text dancing drunkenly in a manner that made her giggle.

"Tha's... ah wouldya stop moving so much, I cannae read ye when ye move," she scolded the letters, leaning forward over the bar in her effort to lift the meaning from the twisting letters. "Fuck it! 'ere we'll 'ave some o' tha' greenie stuff, oes, tha's th'one," she explained to the bartender, pointing a finger that weaved drunkenly too but that was because it actually was moving, not steady enough to actually indicate what she wanted. Still, there weren't too many green bottles around and he must have copped what Gale had been referring to before her.

He poured out a measure into a little vial, stoppering it and handing it to her, a confused exchange of coin taking place as Az forgot how money worked and how to add things. When the confusion was resolved, the young woman took the vial, pawing at Gale's arm in an effort to find purchase but giving up almost at once as her mind tugged her a different way and she moved back through the crowd. She managed to find a free pipe, plonking herself down onto the cushions beside it and ending up temporarily on her back. She rolled around, doing an impression of a tortoise lying on its shell before she righted herself - miraculously avoiding crushing the vial. She set it down, fiddling with the pipe and doing her best not to burn herself on its smouldering charcoal while she set about adding in fresh stuff, letting out any stale smoke and checking over various things to make sure they were in order before she unstoppered the vial with her teeth and poured out its thick liquid contents into the bowl.

The witch closed everything up and allowed herself to flop back down, clawing for one of the hoses. "Didja bring yer drink or didja finish it?" she questioned, squinting at Gale with some difficulty. So many colours. "Has the Chaser hit yet?" she added, bringing the hose's mouthpiece to her lips so she could inhale the vapour. Had she given it long enough to filter through? Well, she could taste something although her mind was struggling to process it. Was it a plant? Was it a fruit? She took another long puff. Mint? Yes, she thought it was mint or there was some in it at least. She wasn't yet sure if there was more to the flavour.

She didn't particularly care. She patted the spot right beside her, inviting Gale to come closer and ready to sling an arm around his shoulders if he did so.
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Gale
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Wed Nov 28, 2018 10:41 am

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Hulali's Waters Smoking Den | Late Afternoon
32 DENTIS 2718
“Steel, iron, brass… none of the fancy ging winnin’ stuff. Tools, not weapons. Least, I guess some are also weapons – axe heads, knives… But other stuff, tools, utensils, so on. Though, slowly being taken over by those big old mills,” Gale awkwardly sipped at the rest, unsure if they wanted to continue. They could feel their mind begin to slip sideways, the tiny glass now half full being placed on the counter. Fingers flexed, the smith propped themselves up with an elbow. As the length of time seemed to stretch, growing thin as the unpleasantness began to crawl up. A heat that formed and rumbled from their depths did the weight sink.

It grew heavier as Aziza waved off the question, the motions seemingly warped and slowed. Limbs moved in waves, rippling and swirling as they were suddenly too close. Instinct made the smith lean away, hands attempting to move the lingering finger that looked to touch. A blink, they saw the face twisting into a ghastly visage of sunken eyes and tight skin. Muscles tensed in reaction, the head turning to see the other drawn and hollow faces that stared. The bared, rotten nails came closer; the smith screwed their eyes shut, shaking their head as they tried to formulate what was going on.

A crack open of the eyes returned the tormented faces to normal. The words were a slush of noise, the witch still too close for the liking of the smith. Their tongue grew thick, fingers finding the drink once more. It was hard to focus on anything; everything was snapping and grabbing at their attention. Disorientating, overwhelming of the senses, they saw the tiny pits within every surface, the pores growing deeper and darker as they threatened to drag them in. It held its own beauty however, the standing of the precipice and looking down into the abyss.

They could feel their heart begin to pound, the droning scrape of every breath as it buoyed and bubbled in their senses. A small sway, they grasped onto what they could – their drink while the Mug slurred. Was the ground moving beneath them? The floor rippling in waves, rolling and turning as the flecks of the ocean raced across it. Instead of blues it was amber, streaking into molten copper that sunk and seeped into the woodwork. The flecks ignited against the skin, veins raising against the surface of the flesh, a network of patterns racing across while the eyes. Gale looked upon the witch properly then, breathing light to the point the head began to fog.

As the metal form of Aziza pulled away, the smith could not help but bring themselves to follow. Heat began to prickle, the clunking sound of steel on iron – a comfort of the forge in some alien place. They saw the shapes melt in and out, the heavy weight of the drink that was no longer a drink. It was instead a crucible of molten metal, a white hot gold that licked and lapped over the digits. The smith staggered, feeling the support of the bar escape them as they were left in freefall.

“S-s-sorry,” Gale’s shoulder bumped against someone – their form twisting and shifting away. A blink, the victim of their bumping feature’s burned and twisted into a snarling expression that bled iron. Red, angry, flowing out, the smith beat a hasty retreat, head searching among the ever changing faces for the witch. They found her, before one of the tall water pipes, the eyes blinking as the green smoke plumed from the top.

“Me drink?” The smith asked, watching the flecks of copper bloom and grow. Their eyes looked down to the crucible in their fingers. It steamed, contents bubbling. They were certain they heard it hiss and whisper. Raising it, the smith spurred on by the sensations that took hold, drunk the last of it in a gulp. Wobbling, they gingerly placed it down beside the pipe. Orbs looked to the other, head turning to one side as they focused on those eyes – the darkest obsidian that looked to drag in all the light of the world. On their hands and knees, they closed the final gap at the mouth of the cushions before inevitably slumping alongside the witch, “I now finished it. I think it hit back… Chaser?”

Chaser.

They shook their head when the fingers brushed, something instinctual stiring inside. They barely managed to shift themselves some small inches away, before sensation slammed once more.

Why did you partake Gale? Why did you indulge? Slowdown, Gale. Slowdown.

Blinking dumbly, the smith pawed for one of the hoses. They contemplated the end, momentarily confused by the implement – the eyes followed the motions of witch, and so they mimicked. As they did the voice, thick in accent spoke, “Do the spoke of Mugrobia have copper in their veins?” Perhaps an odd question, but it was a logical one based on what the smith was seeing, “Be… ‘cause it’s blooming – surface. Face,” the fingers of the free hand attempted to gesture, perhaps now registering that they were mostly on their back and that Aziza was towering above, “It’s… all over your faces.”

The cushions slowly began to consume, the sinking feeling dragging the smith closer to the floor. After prodding themselves into the face a few times, they finally managed to stick the end of the pipe in their mouth, “it’s s’fair… dunno. Like foe. Maybe.” The smith coughed, withdrawing the piece as the still hovering hand gesturing, “Canye touch? I think?”

Mint, peppermint to be more particular. The lingering taste of base tobacco too – a base for most narcotics. The head rolled, the sluggish sensation beginning to numb. Too much and too fast, or just the right speed, “So… so wassit we are doin’ now? Makin’ me all feel mung.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Aziza
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Sat Dec 08, 2018 7:23 pm

Dentis 32, 2718
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When the human said that the drink had hit back, the witch started giggling. She couldn't help herself, the idea was just so funny that the laughter bubbled up and once it was bubbling within her, it didn't want to stop. It became a background sound, a snigger or a high-pitched giggle popping out as she talked, even escaping when she was smoking. Her humour was just so high, her spirits raised simply because of the environment that she was in. If the Mugrobi hadn't been on drugs, she still would have been in a good humour. Aziza was always strangely starved for company, delighted at every face she came across, both new and old. The new faces were always the most exciting ones of course, full of possibility and new experiences. In truth... the spoke just seemed to like everyone.

"Desert Chaser's th' name o' th' drink, ye chen? It's uh... Nasa'i Ubo stewed in... dze, din't know wazzit is. Al'col. Spirit? Oes but ent strong. Least... ent as strong as True Sight. Ent ever had tha' but I've had strong'r 'an this," she rambled, probably not making a great deal of sense but definitely making better sense than if she'd drank actual True Sight.

She giggled as Gale tried and failed to work out the hose, the blond's face whirling in and out of focus. The hit was a good one, the colours and sensations fantastic. The new drug, she didn't know what that would do yet or how it would interact with what she'd already taken. It was good though, an interesting experience, especially alongside this new friend of hers. Was Gale enjoying it as much as her? No, she got the impression that he was uncertain.

Maybe he doesn't know what he's taken, some lucid part of her mind whispered, a bubble of horror accompanying it. She promptly popped it, allowing the giddy joy to return. Any horror or guilt was dissipated almost as soon as it appeared, the young woman simply pleased to have Gale here. So close. She wriggled closer, throwing her arms out and around to envelop him, almost slinging her hose around his neck in the process. If he wanted to escape then it was probably quite doable but the Mugrobi was rather stupid at the moment, too stupid to realise that someone was trying to get away from her and actually allow them to do so.

If she was allowed, she'd settle herself with her head on his chest, curling herself up so she could rest under his chin.

"Copper? Din't think so. Like... th'metal?" she slurred and giggled. She raised her hand, twisting it this way and that, watching the play of colours within her own skin. There was definitely the colour of copper in there, Gale had that right. She jammed the mouthpiece between her lips, holding it there while she used her newly freed hand to pinch the skin on the back of the other. Where did it come from? Was it in the blood? If she had a knife... She found herself looking for one then got distracted by Gale's skin.

"'S'Pretty," she mumbled, fingers seeking bare pale flesh to stroke. "Soft an' nice."

The witch just wanted to snuggle into the other body, allow the cushions to swallow her up as she enjoyed what she was breathing in. It was nice having a warm body beside her. Aziza liked warm bodies and she didn't usually mind what she got up to with them; she wasn't picky.

"Ent nuffin mung. 'S'all benny. We're jus'... cuddlin'. I think. Why?" she questioned, twisting awkwardly to try to catch her companion's eye. "Did'ye have summat else in mind? Summat ye wanted t' do?" Aziza asked, a smirk curving her lips. She wasn't trying to be suggestive but she might have come across as such. Who knew? They were both high and neither of them could see things quite right.
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Gale
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: Artful Gunner
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Mon Dec 10, 2018 8:30 am

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Hulali's Waters Smoking Den | Late Afternoon
32 DENTIS 2718
Mung was an understatement for Gale. The scene jumped and turned around, the finger tugging at their collar; it felt tight, a small choking sensation that was eased when the heat was released. The voices began to grow deeper, slower as they blinked. The laughter was contagious, it was hard not to do the same. Wisps of smoke escaped, pooling out – yet somewhere the smith registered the hollow tone in the back of her throat. After a few short breaths and a cough, the smith inspected the end of the hose with curiosity. They needed a single point of focus, something else beyond the sinking feeling.

“True what?” the smith murmured, catching the shifts and turns of copper. The approaching warmth came quick, snorting as the witch made herself comfortable. It was an odd position, one where they were not expecting to find themselves. The heavy weight, the breathing, head upon the bound and flat chest – had Azira been more sober of mind no doubt the woman would have begun to grow suspect. Cheeks puffed, growing flush as the sense and sensibilities slurred around the skull.

Orbs blinked, hairs rising as a shiver escaped. Cold, why did they feel cold?

“Oes, like the metal. Though, if there was copper in ye blood… ‘nd all over the place, though…” the smith sighed, “If there was... why ain’t you green?” The scientific properties of copper bloomed within the mind of the smith, turning them over several times. Yes, copper turned green after years of exposure, surely by that fact the Mugrobi would be similar. The smith blinked again, “Less… the green ones ain’t ‘ere. Maybe?”

Yet as the thoughts came round did the question seep past the ears of Gale. It took a moment longer for it to be registered, and a moment after that to adjust to the weight, the turning of flesh and the dark eyes that looked. The smith exhaled, the cold sensation continuing. They saw their breath, plumes of white escaping as it drifted free. A white frost traced its way across the ceiling, chest growing tight and beat pausing for a moment.

“Huh?” Gale made a noise, eyes rolling down. They did not meet the gaze, but they knew where it was focused, “It is? We are?”

What is happening?

Shivering the smith could feel themselves become acutely aware. A sharp, split second of clarity to what was going on. The cold sunk in, too sharp while the foreign fingers found bare skin. The pulse quickened after that, juddering and picking up in speed as the curl of the lips met their gaze. The world was still sluggish however, not behaving as they wanted. The smith attempted to shift away, but the arms fell heavy – a creeping paralysis taking hold. Nerves burst into life, sensitive to the gentle touch.

“No, ne,” Gale breathed, a slight tremble in the back of their voice, “Didn’t have anythin' else. Don’t-”

The eyes had grown a little wide, the last bit of control sent to tensing the various muscles. They slumped back properly after that, the arm holding the hose growing limp and inevitably slapping against their stomach. The fingers twitched, small, weak spasms that were beyond immediate control. All around, the frost crept in ever closer – growing darker as deep shades of red stretched across its network. Even now, looking down they could see the frost cling, sticking to their skin and stiffening against the layers.

“And I’m not lookin’ either,” they pushed the words out from behind tight lips, “Just lookin’ for a smoke ‘nd chill. ‘nd. And…”

Idiot. You’ve got yourself all defenceless now. She’ll think you a freak.

“I can’t feel anythin’,” the murmur escaped, head rolling back while eyes went to narrows. World blotted out, it was one less sensory for them to have to deal with – more so as a heavy, nauseating weight began to form, “That a normal thing? Fuck, I… don’t know.”

Eyes began to grow damp, confusion ruling as the emotions bubbled up. There was no control; they could feel the last elements of it slipping away from their grasp. Unable to piece together the situation, the world gave an unpleasant jerk out from beneath them. They were forced to work only within that moment, all jumbled and based upon reactions to whatever coursed through their veins.

“I think… I think…”

Think what?

“I think I want to go home?”

The smith managed to throw their forearm across their eye sockets.

“I don’t know. I don't know what's goin' on anymore.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Aziza
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Sun Dec 23, 2018 6:05 pm

Dentis 32, 2718
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"True Sight," she repeated with a hiccup. "Dint matter wha' it is. It was jus' a high anyway."

She didn't particularly want to have a conversation about drugs, just let this more mellow hit take her and cradle her in a bubble of warm bliss. Smoke and cuddle and enjoy the closeness with Gale. Funnily enough, even if she had been in her right senses, the witch wouldn't have paid much attention to the feel of the smith's chest beneath her head. Gender things were less important to wicks, less stereotypical and so if someone wanted to express themselves a certain way then they didn't see the problem. Even as wicks went, Aziza was pretty laid back about such things. It probably helped that she'd had a chance to meet plenty of people and knew that even when people weren't hiding gendered characteristics, people weren't necessarily what they might appear to be. Such observations were vastly helped by just how many people she'd seen in various stages of undress. Unbeknownst to the smith, they'd encountered perhaps one of the least judgemental people possible.

Still, she was more than a little confused in her senses right now. What was more, she wasn't trying to hang on to any sense of sobriety because where would be the fun in that? As such, she had no idea why she was meant to be green, the oxidised version of copper not at the forefront of her drug-addled mind. She just wanted to enjoy herself, enjoying a body close to her that she assumed was enjoying itself too. Aziza simply let everything slide by her, not even paying attention when Gale started shivering.

In fact, the young woman was very slow to realise that there was something very wrong. The signs of distress had probably been evident for quite some time but she hadn't copped it. However, once she did understand that her companion wasn't enjoying themself, the witch allowed concern to creep into her mind, a slim thread of sobriety wending its way through her mind. The black girl sat up, a little unsteady as colours shifted around her, everything a little sluggish now.

"Hey, it's okay. Yer all righ'. We'll get ye up now," she murmured comfortingly, reaching out to feel the other's forward with the back of her hand, her medical instincts available but not very well directed. She next moved her arm around Gale, trying to get under the smith so she could lever them up from the back. If she could just wiggle her arm under them, she was far from weak, the other hand moving to support their neck so it wouldn't loll as they definitely did seem off.

Her mind made a feeble attempt to gather her field, mona seeming to lurch drunkenly around her. Was it the mona or her perception of the particles that made them whirl and wobble like that, slippery in her confused grasp. No, there was no way that she could cast anything and trying it... wouldn't end well. She realised her hold on it, settling for doing things the mundane way: by hand.

She put her back into the effort, intending to pull the other into a sitting position and not expecting help from the smith. They seemed unlikely to be either a hindrance or a help. If she could get them up though then she would do her best to prop them up with cushions, keeping a steady hand on them even in spite of the whirling. It'd be so much easier just to keel over but her new friend was hurting and she couldn't bear to see anything hurt.

"Easy, brunno, easy. I've got ye," the Mugrobi murmured soothingly, moving to cradle their face. "Hey! Brunno! Oes, ye! Git me water, ye chen? Lots. Jug of it," she ordered a passing countryman, watching as he stared at her dumbly. "Dze! Git it now, ye chen? Off with ye!"

The man wandered away, whether he'd return with what she asked for or not remained to be seen. If he did return with it though, she intended to pour it over the smith's head, most of it at least. Nothing more sobering than a good dousing. They should probably drink some as well but one thing at a time.

If they'd allow it, she'd take their arm, rubbing it as if to restore warmth. Aziza wasn't entirely in her wits but... she was trying.
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