Ziggy gets a little distracted listening to Julius’ explanation. When he tips his head back, he sees a moth on the ceiling that flutters menacingly at him, the eyespots on its wings masquerading as the hungry, feral glare of a predator. It reminds him of one of those nature documentaries he watched as a kid. In the wild, survival was the only thing that mattered — eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. Those creatures whose only defense was the ability to make themselves appear deadlier than they truly were… He lets his head fall forwards once again, eyes meeting Julius’ own.
Maybe it was just the weed kicking in, but Ziggy was starting to see a connection between the kid and one of those animals he mentioned earlier. In another life, Julius could’ve been a porcupine, or perhaps a frilled-neck lizard if he thought the former was too boring. All that bluster seemed like a front for some serious teen angst. Ah, to be young and wild again. Of course, the whole thing could just be Ziggy letting his imagination get away from him; he had an unfortunate tendency of doing that whenever he found himself under the influence, but at least he hasn’t started to wax poetic about nothing at all.
Satisfied, Ziggy watches on as the newest member of their party of three finally succumbs to peer pressure. Shooting Venus a conspiratorial look, he sinks further into the couch, and tugs the collar of his hoodie up over his mouth. The change in Julius’ expression is nearly enough to make him burst into laughter, but he manages to stifle it with a cough.
“Yeah, herbs. They’re real good for you. Organic.” Ziggy downs the rest of his beer, and leaves the now-empty bottle on the floor next to the couch. He’ll get rid of it later. For now, he turns back to look at Julius, shrugging noncommittally. “They’re fine, dude, trust me. Don’t tell me you’ve never had an edible before?”
Before long, he feels the edges of his mind start to fuzz, and his muscles relax, a haziness in his arms and legs. Slow and steady, like slipping beneath the waves.
“Aren’t you guys hungry?” Reaching across the table, Ziggy pops open a pizza box from a place called Carmelo’s, and nearly gags when he sees what’s on it — feta cheese, mushrooms, and worst of all, anchovies. What kind of monster would do something like this?
“I’m, uh, pretty sure this breaks the Geneva conventions.”
Shuddering in disgust, Ziggy allows the lid of the box to fall closed, and tears into a yet-unopened bag of Cool Ranch Doritos instead. Before he delivers a brittle, orange tortilla chip straight into his ravenous maw, he pipes up again, this time with an exclamation directed across the hallway. “Yo, Ford! Get over here! I’m starving!”
When he turns back to Venus and Julius, Ziggy’s voice is muffled from speaking through a mouthful of chips. “Sho, what are y’all here for? Like, what’re you guysh shtudying?”
Maybe it was just the weed kicking in, but Ziggy was starting to see a connection between the kid and one of those animals he mentioned earlier. In another life, Julius could’ve been a porcupine, or perhaps a frilled-neck lizard if he thought the former was too boring. All that bluster seemed like a front for some serious teen angst. Ah, to be young and wild again. Of course, the whole thing could just be Ziggy letting his imagination get away from him; he had an unfortunate tendency of doing that whenever he found himself under the influence, but at least he hasn’t started to wax poetic about nothing at all.
Satisfied, Ziggy watches on as the newest member of their party of three finally succumbs to peer pressure. Shooting Venus a conspiratorial look, he sinks further into the couch, and tugs the collar of his hoodie up over his mouth. The change in Julius’ expression is nearly enough to make him burst into laughter, but he manages to stifle it with a cough.
“Yeah, herbs. They’re real good for you. Organic.” Ziggy downs the rest of his beer, and leaves the now-empty bottle on the floor next to the couch. He’ll get rid of it later. For now, he turns back to look at Julius, shrugging noncommittally. “They’re fine, dude, trust me. Don’t tell me you’ve never had an edible before?”
Before long, he feels the edges of his mind start to fuzz, and his muscles relax, a haziness in his arms and legs. Slow and steady, like slipping beneath the waves.
“Aren’t you guys hungry?” Reaching across the table, Ziggy pops open a pizza box from a place called Carmelo’s, and nearly gags when he sees what’s on it — feta cheese, mushrooms, and worst of all, anchovies. What kind of monster would do something like this?
“I’m, uh, pretty sure this breaks the Geneva conventions.”
Shuddering in disgust, Ziggy allows the lid of the box to fall closed, and tears into a yet-unopened bag of Cool Ranch Doritos instead. Before he delivers a brittle, orange tortilla chip straight into his ravenous maw, he pipes up again, this time with an exclamation directed across the hallway. “Yo, Ford! Get over here! I’m starving!”
When he turns back to Venus and Julius, Ziggy’s voice is muffled from speaking through a mouthful of chips. “Sho, what are y’all here for? Like, what’re you guysh shtudying?”
