As you glare at the little filly, you feel the drugs begin to pull tighter at your mind. They grasp and claw, weaving into the grooves of your brain and becoming one with you and your thoughts. They cinch down, pulling just a little too tight, wanting to be just a little too close. Your lower lip begins to sag and you quickly pull it back into place. And then you sway just a little too much, but you move your foot out slight to keep yourself standing. You've got to keep it together. You shouldn't have eaten those plants. For someone who enjoys them so much, you think this thought far too often.

As for the filly, she's lucky. Just as you grow weary of her blabbering, are grated well past your breaking point by her stupid words, the glass horn's lesbian lover joins the scene. The filly's lucky because you were certainly about to move towards her and smash the shit out of her brains. Eris is in your way. Snorting your disappointment, you listen to your “queen's” words and have to avoid rolling your eyes. Self control is getting more difficult but somehow you manage it. You want to tell the lesbian to go somewhere else, to leave you be, that you had the phantom seeker had this rather under control. But it wouldn't do disrespect her in front of a prospect. Instead, you sit and stew. You see the way she ignores you, pretends you don't exist. You see the way she cheers for Circuta and treats her like a house pet while you are left chained to the tree outside with hardly a scrap of meat thrown your way. Slowly, your ears go half-back. The lesbian would have your undying loyalty, if only she would provide you respect. Instead, she's alienating you, making an enemy of her own family member. But suddenly, her wink is an odd puncuation to your thoughts. It cuts them short, leaving you wondering what exactly she wanted.

So I am no warrior to you, Temptress? He buys into her game the same way you have. And just as you have fallen prey to the sugary girl's temptations, he will too. And she answers, they're back and forth intimate. Between the thickening sheets of fog, you almost feel as though you are watching a moment not meant for the eyes of others. Yet it must be, because you are here. And the phantom seeker is defending you, moving towards you. Your body leans towards hers, desperate to feel the touch she teased the sand weaver with, though you can't say why. You are but a moth to her burning flame in this moment, a drug induced lust for the girl's perfect frame beginning to rage within you. Instead, you shift uncomfortably. Whispers in the back of your mind remind you this meeting is about the sand weaver. Not you.

As for the looks between the seeker and the lesbian, you do not notice them. You are too busy fighting your internal war. You cannot say you would disagree with them, though. The small thing has made an enemy of a group too crazy to know when to stop. She should be frightened. If she is not, there is something wrong with her head, and perhaps she belongs with the lot of you. But time passes by, and with each moment you are sinking further into a sea of green haze. This meeting must conclude soon, or you will certainly fall to their feet and stare like an invalid at the sky. The drugs beat out your rational mind this time, as you speak a little slower than before. “The sun passes by,” you say with agitation. Time is ticking. Make your choice. And yet, despite your words to the weaver, your eyes do not leave the filly. You take a wobbly step towards her, a rumbling noise vibrating your chest. It pains you to take a step away from the sugar lipped seeker, but blood is stronger than sugar water. And you want the filly's blood.

we all look for ways to make the pain go away