Things get a little difficult to follow once the drooling and the laughing and the not hating everything in sight for once start, but he’s
pretty sure Weaver wasn’t so small just a few moments ago. He’s pretty sure she had more of a neck on her and not such a pointy face or ass too. Shit, he thinks, does she even have an ass now? Where did the rest of her even
go?
The old stallion blinks heavily, cocking his head and furrowing his brows with an obvious effort, struggling to keep track of his own thoughts. He glances back and forth between the dildo-face and the suddenly-raven, unable to make sense of the images that seem like a wild bombardment of action his sluggish mind. He doesn't remember Mortuus saying anything about hallucinations.
"Yuhsee ‘his?” He slurs to his companion, too high to manage telepathic speech, but the python is too distracted to answer anyway, his limbless body twisting and rolling on the ground in some bizarre display of euphoria, rubbing himself again the grass and his own disunited coils like a cat in a field of catnip, his little forked tongue lashing the air nonstop.
“Yer high as fuuuuuuck.” The stallion chuckles, bending down on his knees to prod at the snake, smearing saliva across both of them as he lists over and onto his side, ears flopping loosely atop his head.
“Feels good man. Should do this more often.”
"Did you say summing?" He asks the spikey mare, suddenly feeling as if he remembers the sound of her voice, but is unable to put the syllables together into words again in his memory. Everything about him feels detached, heavy, his mind and body delayed considerably between thought and action, and now that he's laid himself flat out between the rows of plants in the greenhouse he can't begin to imagine ever rising again. The earth seems to lean into him rather than the other way around, only it's solid presence holding him steady beneath the sensation of whirling all around him. He wonders if the feeling is a part of the drugs, or a direct link between his own mind and that of his still writhing companion, experimentally reaching out and fumbling to hold the python still.
"Talk."
OOC //
@Wessex @Weaver
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