Still, the young woman wasn't quite ready to go home yet, not while her mother was likely to still be up, ready to gripe about this and that. The dry heat of the season played havoc with the woman's condition, her poor health going downhill when the heat stole the moisture from her very breath and her hacking coughs kept her from her rest. Nazia was irritable and bitter, ready to scream at her daughter for the smallest things and Aziza had no desire to go home to her and her questions and pointless rage. So instead, the Mug had decided to hang around Old Rose Harbour, on the denk while she waited for time to pass.
The witch bummed a cannabis spur from a Mugrobi that she knew, taking the time to flirt with him, keeping his interest until she'd gotten a light and could sashay away, certain that his eyes were firmly fixed on her as she departed. The idea that he might follow her, taking her forwardness for real interest, wasn't something that occurred to her. The Mug witch simply went through life doing as she wished but never meaning any harm. The effect she had on other people just never occurred to her. Her mother said that she paid less attention than a leaf carried along on Hulali's waters.
She found a low wall to perch herself on so she could enjoy her spur in peace, colourful skirt gathered up while her dark legs were left to dangle, one foot idly swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm, softly striking the wall behind it. She took a long drag, inhaling as much of the pungent smoke as she could before releasing her breath in a sigh of contentment. She took her time, the narcotic burning steadily and adding to her mellowness. Aziza smiled in a slightly dreamy way, hardly minding the heat or the sweat that slicked the back of her neck in spite of her putting her braids up into buns.
The young woman was friendly by nature but the drug wore down any remaining barriers, leaving her smiling at those few souls who passed by, her gaze lingering far longer than necessary on each one - intimate and inviting.
She was more than halfway through her spur when she slipped into a sharing mood. She glanced at her spur, realised that it wouldn't last much longer and then decided to call out to the next guy that came along.
"Junta, kov! D'ye want some o' this?" she called out, waving the cigarette in a lazy arc through the air, a lopsided grin on her face. "C'mere, dint be shy."