[ staring at that baggy. just... out in the open. moving his stare from the bag slowly up to d33. this is the flattest look imaginable. bruh. ]
Your unsubtle ass better be glad no one law-abiding is up and walking around at this hour. Get inside before you get us arrested.
[ mickey waves his neighbor in, leaving d33 to close to door behind him, as he moves over to the couch, and the coffee table that's been set up with some drug paraphernalia. namely, a water bong. because reasons. and bubbles are funny when you're high. ]
[Arrested? D33 fumbles for a moment with the baggy before stuffing it into his pocket - though, by the time he does so, he's already inside, so what's really the point?
[He's tired, okay?
[He stands a bit awkwardly in the middle of the room - his go-to when entering new places. He tends to wait until he's invited to make himself any semblance of comfortable (what a joke that is), but he will hand Mickey the bag, at least. Then, he just waits patiently and quietly for the next step; if D33 is good at anything, it's taking orders.]
[ mickey, instead, flops onto the couch and goes about digging in the baggy, pulling out a nugget of herb, before noticing d33 is still being awkward. ]
Jesus, dude, sit down, stop trying to have a heart attack in my living room.
[ couch, you, sit. in the mean time, mickey's reaching for a little circular tin, putting the weed inside before turning the lid to mince it up. ] Gotta to this first. Grind the shit up, so it's in bits like this.
[The man obliges, taking a seat on the couch (a healthy distance away from Mickey), and then leaning in a bit to observe whatever actions he's taking. He nods thoughtfully - and he truly is fascinated by the process. Nervous, as well. But the pounding in his head and the drooping of his eyes makes it worth the risk, he tells himself - it's safe, he's been told by more than one person. It can't be all that different from being drunk, can it?]
Would I be correct in assuming that the intoxication brought on by this drug would be similar to that of alcohol?
Uuuh, nah, not totally. Booze makes you totally dysfunctional, it's obvious. [ motor skills, brain power, all of the above. you drink and you're down for the count. getting high, though, while more debilitating in some ways, doesn't make you checked out of life. ]
High, everything's just kinda slow, and you get distracted easy, but you can still, like, hold a conversation, play monopoly, answer the door. [ drive, technically, but while mickey is a terrible person and does drive intoxicated (( ooc: don't do it it's bad and mickey is bad)). Mickey goes about grinding up the herb, and packing it into the bowl for the water pipe as he talks. ] You get real relaxed, kinda loopy, think of weird ass philosophical shit. Life just feels a lot less, you know, big.
[The explanation is a bit overwhelming, but the way Mickey describes it, it does seem as though this "marijuana" is somewhat less inhibiting than alcohol. "Life just feels a lot less, you know, big" might be the most appealing part of it all. D33 could certainly use that right now, he admits to himself quietly. A smaller world, somewhere where it's easier to sleep.]
Very well, then.
[And then his eyes are on Mickey, waiting to follow his lead.]
[ less out of control, but more rewarding, mickey would say. definitely easier to sleep on than being drunk. the bowl all patted in, and water already in the pipe, mickey grabs a lighter and the whole set up, leaning back on the couch and starts instruction. ]
Okay, so, first time, go slow. Try not to cough, 'cause it'll hurt like a bitch. Watch close. [ one hand holds the base of the water pipe, the other holds the lighter, and he talks before lighting up. ] So, light up one part of the bowl, don't get greedy and do the whole damn thing. Inhale through the top, 'til it fills up with smoke, then take the bowl out, inhale the rest. Keep it in your lungs a few seconds, then blow out. Watch.
[ and as it's explained, so mickey does, leaving one half of the green uncharred for d33 to use, and after a moment, he exhales a slow stream of smoke up towards the living room ceiling. betty's going to be mad when she comes home and smells weed everywhere, but whatever. ] Your turn.
[D33 tries his best to follow Mickey's instructions, watching the man intently as he takes his hit. When the bong is handed his way, it's a little difficult to apply, but he goes about giving it a try anyway. It takes him a minute or two just to get the lighter working alone, but once he does, he puts his mouth to the opening of the pipe as he's been shown and lights the bowl.
[One generous breath later and everything he's sucked in comes pouring out (so much for holding it into his lungs) with a violent cough. He nearly drops the pipe but manages to clatter it onto the table while his other arm flies up to cover his mouth.]
Ach-- ugh, that--
[Hurts like a bitch, D33 can't help but think. He'll recover eventually (give him a good five minutes or so of ceaseless, painful coughing first).]
[ well, he said try not to cough, but everyone coughs, so he was prepared. reaching out, mickey snatches up a cold bottle of water, straight out of the fridge, takes the bong from d33's hands and replaced it with the bottle of water. ]
Yeah yeah, you're alright, here. Drink. [ trading them out, mickey pushes the herb about some, moving the totally blackened bits out and takes another hit while he's waiting for d33 to get his lungs under control. it takes a lot more than one hit to get him where he wants to be, but he's been doing this for a while, and lately, often. he's been getting over some shit, okay? by... not getting over it. oops. ]
Breathe for a while and chill. You can take another after your throat stops trying to kill itself.
[ and that's probably all he'll need, little weed virgin that he is. ]
[D33 nods, leaning back against the couch while his chest continues to hiccup with decreasingly painful coughs. And then he does as he's told - he takes a while and chills.
[A long, long whi--
[Wait a minute. How long has he been sitting here, anyway. His brow furrows and he turns to Mickey - slowly, very slowly. Very, very, very slowly.]
I--
[Yep. One hit'll do him alright. He tries to form a sentence in his head before he speaks it, but by the time he's ready to talk, it's already disappeared again. And the next thing he knows he's letting out a breathless, somewhat concerned laugh? A laugh, nonetheless.
[ oh. mickey knows that laugh. d33 gets a wide grin back, and mickey snickers at him, getting ready for another hit. ]
Yeah it is, you fucking lightweight.
[ which is said more friendly teasing than mean, mickey smiling a little easier, a little more innocent than he usually does. give him another couple hits and he'll be at the same place. ]
Now, you just sit back and let your brain do it's thing.
[ run around in circle, think stupid crap, reimagine the world in things that seem a lot more deep when you're blazed. after those next couple hits, the bong is set aside, and mickey sinks into the couch, shoulder to d33's, as he lets the drug fog up his mind. ah, that's nice. ]
[D33 nods, though his smile does fade a bit - there is always that bit of paranoia to deal with. Luckily, there's enough going on in his brain right now to keep him distracted from it - at the moment, it's the fabric of the couch beneath his fingers that he decides to focus on.
[That would probably feel really good if he just...pushed his face into it a little bit...
[Yeah, that's the stuff.]
You're doing more?
[Mickey hasn't had a hit in about ten minutes, but D33 just now noticed.]
[ d33 is blazed as fuck and mickey can't help giggling at him as he nuzzles into the couch fabric, nose wrinkled up and smile all toothy and wide, watching this little nerd get his high on. too bad they don't have a cat or something, those are stupid soft when high. ]
I ain't the one making out with the couch right now, cupcake.
[ which you practically are, d33. it is soft, though, so he's not slighting him for it. instead, mickey's yanking the edge of the coffee table closer, enough he can stretch out an arm and just barely grabbing his pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the edge of it. ]
Nah, I'll be good. More you do this shit, more you get a tolerance for it.
[ also, more you can make sense of your head while high and get sentences out properly. sort of. ] Yo, you know what's fuckin' godly when you're high? Nachos. Want some?
[ mickey blinks at him long and slow, the high really starting to set in, body feeling the familiar kind of tingling where you're aware of every inch of your skin, how the fabric of your clothes sits on it, the air conditioning blows on your face. ]
You've never made out with anyone before? [ his eyes blink down to d33's lips, staring for a moment, and back up. the guy's weird, sure, and mickey's certain he's had Some Shit in his life, but he's good looking. no one's even tried with him? has he never been curious about it? ]
It's kissing, but for a long time.
[ and sloppy? how do you describe making out? wait, there was another topic. ] Making out, not nachos.
[D33 doesn't notice the glance - he almost forgets what they're talking about, in fact, and the mention of kissing has him furrowing his brow a bit. Then it clicks and he nods-- No wait, shakes his head. Then nods again.]
No, yes. Yes.
I've done that.
[More nodding-- Should he be talking about that right now? He's not sure--
[ mickey snorts a laugh, giggling at d33's confusion as he tries to work through this whole making out issue. ]
You sure? Need a minute to think it over?
[ as weird as it was to consider d33's never made out with someone, it's somehow weirder to imagine he has. d33, in general, mickey decides, is just weird. which is okay, but still funny. so, about those munchies. ]
It is. Nachos. [ also making out, but nachos is what they're concerned about now. at least it's not too difficult of a thing to make, which is good when you're blazed out of your mind. still, he'd rather not leave the newbie unattended while he goes for the kitchen, hauling himself up. ] Come on. So I know you're not suffocating yourself on accident.
[ with your couch nuzzling. it probably wasn't a good idea to get high while minding another high person if he wanted to be responsible, but whatever, mickey was never accused of being a good person. tag along, booboo. mickey's even offering a hand to help his loopy ass up. ]
[D33 tries to get up on his own at first, but it becomes clear after a moment that he's going to need that hand after all. So, he takes a hold of it, hoisting himself up with a small groan and then kind of...forgetting to let go of Mickey's hand. But just for a second! And then he's dropping it and, for whatever reason, wiping his hands off on his pants.]
This is, ah...
[Woaaah, standing up gave him a head rush. He squeezes his eyes closed for a minute, shaking his head a bit.]
Yes. Quite different from drinking. Quite...something.
[ this is a little gay. mickey isn't much more up to speed than d33 is but he's together enough to notice the hand holding going on. not together enough to be bothered by it, just more amused. ]
Told you it was different.
[ making his way to the kitchen, it takes a moment or so of staring at cabinets before mickey remembers what he's doing and where he put the chips and how cheese bags even work. it's a small miracle he can operate a microwave, and he definitely stands still idly watching the plate inside turn while it cooks, almost startled when the beeping goes off.
it's a big enough plate for the two of them to share, and he grabs out some salsa and sour cream and for some reason that he can't remember, oven mits, setting out the plate on the kitchen table as he flops down in one of the chairs. ]
[The "food of the gods" comment confuses D33 for a second because, as far as he knows, that could really be true wherever Mickey is from. But he decides a second later that these "nachos" were made in a microwave and are probably safe to eat even if he isn't a deity.
[What makes a deity, anyway? They certainly seem to exist in the worlds of others, though he is quite pointedly sure that they do not exist in his own. God, this place is weird. And have you seen those giant robot guys? What are they all about?
[He spends a good minute staring at the ceiling, brow cycling between being furrowed and straight while he spaces out.
[Then he smells the cheese and he's brought back into reality. The dish before him looks a little unappetizing, but after popping a chip into his mouth (and savagely burning the roof of it), he suddenly believes in deities after all.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Very well, then.
I thank you.
[That short enough for you, Mickey?
[D33 will be knocking on his door not five minutes later, baggy in hand - he really makes no attempt at being discrete about it.]
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Your unsubtle ass better be glad no one law-abiding is up and walking around at this hour. Get inside before you get us arrested.
[ mickey waves his neighbor in, leaving d33 to close to door behind him, as he moves over to the couch, and the coffee table that's been set up with some drug paraphernalia. namely, a water bong. because reasons. and bubbles are funny when you're high. ]
Gimme that shit, lemme show you how it's done.
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[He's tired, okay?
[He stands a bit awkwardly in the middle of the room - his go-to when entering new places. He tends to wait until he's invited to make himself any semblance of comfortable (what a joke that is), but he will hand Mickey the bag, at least. Then, he just waits patiently and quietly for the next step; if D33 is good at anything, it's taking orders.]
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Jesus, dude, sit down, stop trying to have a heart attack in my living room.
[ couch, you, sit. in the mean time, mickey's reaching for a little circular tin, putting the weed inside before turning the lid to mince it up. ] Gotta to this first. Grind the shit up, so it's in bits like this.
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Would I be correct in assuming that the intoxication brought on by this drug would be similar to that of alcohol?
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High, everything's just kinda slow, and you get distracted easy, but you can still, like, hold a conversation, play monopoly, answer the door. [ drive, technically, but while mickey is a terrible person and does drive intoxicated (( ooc: don't do it it's bad and mickey is bad)). Mickey goes about grinding up the herb, and packing it into the bowl for the water pipe as he talks. ] You get real relaxed, kinda loopy, think of weird ass philosophical shit. Life just feels a lot less, you know, big.
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Very well, then.
[And then his eyes are on Mickey, waiting to follow his lead.]
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Okay, so, first time, go slow. Try not to cough, 'cause it'll hurt like a bitch. Watch close. [ one hand holds the base of the water pipe, the other holds the lighter, and he talks before lighting up. ] So, light up one part of the bowl, don't get greedy and do the whole damn thing. Inhale through the top, 'til it fills up with smoke, then take the bowl out, inhale the rest. Keep it in your lungs a few seconds, then blow out. Watch.
[ and as it's explained, so mickey does, leaving one half of the green uncharred for d33 to use, and after a moment, he exhales a slow stream of smoke up towards the living room ceiling. betty's going to be mad when she comes home and smells weed everywhere, but whatever. ] Your turn.
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[One generous breath later and everything he's sucked in comes pouring out (so much for holding it into his lungs) with a violent cough. He nearly drops the pipe but manages to clatter it onto the table while his other arm flies up to cover his mouth.]
Ach-- ugh, that--
[Hurts like a bitch, D33 can't help but think. He'll recover eventually (give him a good five minutes or so of ceaseless, painful coughing first).]
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Yeah yeah, you're alright, here. Drink. [ trading them out, mickey pushes the herb about some, moving the totally blackened bits out and takes another hit while he's waiting for d33 to get his lungs under control. it takes a lot more than one hit to get him where he wants to be, but he's been doing this for a while, and lately, often. he's been getting over some shit, okay? by... not getting over it. oops. ]
Breathe for a while and chill. You can take another after your throat stops trying to kill itself.
[ and that's probably all he'll need, little weed virgin that he is. ]
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[A long, long whi--
[Wait a minute. How long has he been sitting here, anyway. His brow furrows and he turns to Mickey - slowly, very slowly. Very, very, very slowly.]
I--
[Yep. One hit'll do him alright. He tries to form a sentence in his head before he speaks it, but by the time he's ready to talk, it's already disappeared again. And the next thing he knows he's letting out a breathless, somewhat concerned laugh? A laugh, nonetheless.
[What is happening to him?
[Finally:]
It's...working...?
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Yeah it is, you fucking lightweight.
[ which is said more friendly teasing than mean, mickey smiling a little easier, a little more innocent than he usually does. give him another couple hits and he'll be at the same place. ]
Now, you just sit back and let your brain do it's thing.
[ run around in circle, think stupid crap, reimagine the world in things that seem a lot more deep when you're blazed. after those next couple hits, the bong is set aside, and mickey sinks into the couch, shoulder to d33's, as he lets the drug fog up his mind. ah, that's nice. ]
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[That would probably feel really good if he just...pushed his face into it a little bit...
[Yeah, that's the stuff.]
You're doing more?
[Mickey hasn't had a hit in about ten minutes, but D33 just now noticed.]
Will you be okay?
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I ain't the one making out with the couch right now, cupcake.
[ which you practically are, d33. it is soft, though, so he's not slighting him for it. instead, mickey's yanking the edge of the coffee table closer, enough he can stretch out an arm and just barely grabbing his pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the edge of it. ]
Nah, I'll be good. More you do this shit, more you get a tolerance for it.
[ also, more you can make sense of your head while high and get sentences out properly. sort of. ] Yo, you know what's fuckin' godly when you're high? Nachos. Want some?
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[Yeah, D33 doesn't know what that means, and he shows it by sitting up a bit from the couch, wrinkling his nose down at where he'd been.
[But then he's lying back against it again, just his cheek pressed into the fabric now.]
I don't know what that is.
Nachos, either.
[He waves a hand a bit, trying to be dismissive - he ends up staring at the motion a bit too long though before he pockets it again.]
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You've never made out with anyone before? [ his eyes blink down to d33's lips, staring for a moment, and back up. the guy's weird, sure, and mickey's certain he's had Some Shit in his life, but he's good looking. no one's even tried with him? has he never been curious about it? ]
It's kissing, but for a long time.
[ and sloppy? how do you describe making out? wait, there was another topic. ] Making out, not nachos.
Nachos is chips covered in cheese.
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No, yes. Yes.
I've done that.
[More nodding-- Should he be talking about that right now? He's not sure--
[Did somebody say cheese?
[His eyes light up.]
That sounds delightful.
[Pause.]
Nachos.
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You sure? Need a minute to think it over?
[ as weird as it was to consider d33's never made out with someone, it's somehow weirder to imagine he has. d33, in general, mickey decides, is just weird. which is okay, but still funny. so, about those munchies. ]
It is. Nachos. [ also making out, but nachos is what they're concerned about now. at least it's not too difficult of a thing to make, which is good when you're blazed out of your mind. still, he'd rather not leave the newbie unattended while he goes for the kitchen, hauling himself up. ] Come on. So I know you're not suffocating yourself on accident.
[ with your couch nuzzling. it probably wasn't a good idea to get high while minding another high person if he wanted to be responsible, but whatever, mickey was never accused of being a good person. tag along, booboo. mickey's even offering a hand to help his loopy ass up. ]
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This is, ah...
[Woaaah, standing up gave him a head rush. He squeezes his eyes closed for a minute, shaking his head a bit.]
Yes. Quite different from drinking. Quite...something.
[Anyway, he's following him into the kitchen.]
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Told you it was different.
[ making his way to the kitchen, it takes a moment or so of staring at cabinets before mickey remembers what he's doing and where he put the chips and how cheese bags even work. it's a small miracle he can operate a microwave, and he definitely stands still idly watching the plate inside turn while it cooks, almost startled when the beeping goes off.
it's a big enough plate for the two of them to share, and he grabs out some salsa and sour cream and for some reason that he can't remember, oven mits, setting out the plate on the kitchen table as he flops down in one of the chairs. ]
Food of the gods. Or some shit. Eat.
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[What makes a deity, anyway? They certainly seem to exist in the worlds of others, though he is quite pointedly sure that they do not exist in his own. God, this place is weird. And have you seen those giant robot guys? What are they all about?
[He spends a good minute staring at the ceiling, brow cycling between being furrowed and straight while he spaces out.
[Then he smells the cheese and he's brought back into reality. The dish before him looks a little unappetizing, but after popping a chip into his mouth (and savagely burning the roof of it), he suddenly believes in deities after all.]
This is divine.
[Shit always tastes better when you're high.]