nonscriptum: they'll come for me (they won't come for money)
π™½πšŠπšπš‘πšŠπš— π™³πš›πšŠπš”πšŽ ([personal profile] nonscriptum) wrote 2020-10-05 06:49 pm (UTC)

[ Ian clearly did this often enough back home to be incredibly deft at the process and Nate experiences the strong urge to make another California comment. He refrains for both their sakes, because he agreed to come over but it wasn't exclusively for the temptation of engaging in recreational drugs. It wasn't even, like, 50% of the reason. More like 10%.

The company's nice.
]

Ha. You have no idea.

[ Nate has lost count of how many gunfights he's been in, which is perhaps a fact that should probably concern him as he takes the lead and the lighter. He remembers a bong in Harry's place a long, long time ago, some ridiculously over-the-top glass thing that got pulled out when Harry wasn't feeling his nicotine itch. This one is a little more similar to the waterpipes Nate has seen in Laos. ]

Can't believe you didn't wanna serve tea with your thuα»‘c lΓ o.

[ He says amusedly, flicking the igniter. Mouth, mouthpiece. Lighter, weed. Nate doesn't fill the chamber completely with smoke because it's been a while and he doesn't exactly trust himself or his memory of similar experiences yet, tugging the bowl out and inhaling.

He doesn't cough - the hit isn't hard enough - but the sensation of smoke in his lungs reminds him too potently of explosions and he grimaces when he exhales.
]

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