What do you think of as you stand there, head and horns pressed against the wood? Do you think of a life where you don't shove your nose into your leather bag every time you're having a few troubles? Do you think of days where you were a well-trained fighting machine, ready at a moment's notice to destroy anything that stood in your way? Do you lament that you're now nothing more than a washed up fighter, require hours or days to get ready, to detox, to have a body that functions when you ask it to, how you ask it to? Or do you think of nothing, except the feeling of back against your flesh, the weight of the orb in your shoulder bag, the gentle breeze that pushes against you?

What you certainly do not think of, or care about, is the reasonably loud sound of another beast making his way through all the trees towards you. Screw it. Let them come. With a heavy sigh, you continue pressing your head against the tree, a new string of drool watering it- perhaps an offer of thanks, in that it's holding you up. And then you think you hear the rustling of wings. Interesting.

Tree stand up fine without you, the strong, masculine voice offers, breaking the silence that you were actually enjoying, and you grunt your discontent. “Well maybe,” you begin as you lift your head from the bark, turning oh so slowly to face him, voice harsh and gravely, “I don't stand up fine without the tree.” You're being ornery. You'd like to think you snapped at the.... monstrosity that stands before you, but the fact of the matter is that you're so high it probably took you way too long to say just those few words.

Then, as if you accent the point that you require the tree's assistance, you sway unsteadily, widening your hooves to a comically large distance just to keep yourself from tumbling over. To help with it, you lower your head, keeping your center of gravity closer to the earth. There's really no reason for the Tribal best to have his wings spread out. You're clearly not in any state to do any damage to anyone other than yourself, or perhaps anyone (hopefully not the orb) unlucky enough to get caught between you and the ground next time you fall down. You do that a lot.

Oxy

You watch him nod in response to your snarky comment, almost like he agrees with you, and you sigh. Sarcasm doesn't work on idiots, you remind yourself, the irony of the statement lost on you. Between the two of you, you're probably the most incapacitated at this point. As he takes a step closer to you, you try to get a good look at him, if at least to know what you're dealing with. Unfortunately, everything's still really blurry. He asks you a question, too, but for now you ignore it. You see brown, you see wings, you see antlers. And then- WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!?

A hissing noise in his antlers sets you off as you catch sight of the snake that has weaved into them so thoroughly. You have a flair for the dramatic and you show it, tossing your head about like a moron and whinnying out in alarm. Hooves churn below you as you try to pedal backwards. Unfortunately, the tree that had just been holding you up now becomes your enemy. Your rump hits it and you try to buck out, but you're so unsteady you just end up with your hind end sitting and your front end standing still. Way to go. That went well.

Furrowing your brow, you stare the blurry stallion down, as if its all his fault that the snake surprised you. “Keep your serpent contained,” you demand. Maybe you just shouldn't take so many drugs? At any rate, the effort to get up seems to much right now so you just stay sitting, front limbs digging into the dirt to prevent you from laying down completely. In an effort to pretend this never actually happened, you go back to the question the stallion asked you earlier- about the orb. “Anyways, its some kind of egg. I took it from an overly dramatic, electric blue pegasus wench.” Do you even know her name? You don't think so. For being high, you actually speak pretty well, if rather slowly. Too bad you won't remember of this tomorrow.

Oxy

Keep you contained, he fires back. You simply snort. And drool some more, of course. Your brown eyes catch sight of the snake weaving back and forth, then, watching her for a moment with unhappy scowl. What was she doing up there anyways? Didn't snakes belong on the ground? You roll your eyes, way past that stage of being high where you are the world's greatest philosopher.

But maybe you said something wrong, because things start to get a little out of hand. WHY YOU TAKE, is the next thing you hear, further ruining any quiet that had been present in the forest. You kind of killed the serenity a moment ago, though. Gaucho's shouting has little to do with it. Your ears suddenly fall back and you give a laughable attempt to stomp your forefoot on the ground. But sitting isn't really conducive to such actions and so you just sort of end up sliding your foot around like a fool. Oh well. You tried.

And then he's stepping towards you and you suddenly find that sitting isn't really the best position to be in. Or maybe it's that being drugged out of your mind is the problem. You really do need to work on this habit. More blurry snake weaving, more angry wings lifted out like you give any sort of care. And is that... Is that a bone in his nose? You shake your head in disbelief. Just another hallucination, you decide, before answering the Tribal man.

“First of all, she took something of mine first, you explain, brown eyes trying their best to bore into Gauchos. The attempt is probably just funny. “Second of all, she was going to let it free, or kill it or something.” You mull the girl's name around in your head for a moment then, trying in vain to store it somewhere in your brain that won't be erased from memory. “Finally, I didn't just take it, I challenged her. And I won. So it's mine now.” You say the last sentence with decided finality, darling the stallion to say its not rightfully yours.

Oxy

So why exactly are you explaining yourself to a stranger? It's hard to say. You know that feeling- the one where all your inhibitions are gone and you just fee like you need to tell all your stories to some stranger because you're best friends now, even though you only met a few minutes ago? Maybe this is something like that, something that your hazed mind is telling you is the best course of action. You're not really sure, and in a moment of welcome clarity you try to think about it, but as quickly as your brain was working, it is gone again, and you're left just as confused as ever.

Besides, you guess if you have to have company that the Tribal stallion isn't all that bad. He's dealing with your stupidity pretty well, all things considered, and he hasn't tried to beat you when you're down, so that's a plus... Maybe he's not so bad. Not that I'm looking for a friend, you remind yourself, thoughts echoing in the fog of your mind, images of Parelia coming and going, a winged mare who you let your guard down around. You're not going to make that mistake again.

And then he's smiling, leaning in, getting close to you and you tilt your head backwards, still leery of the snake even though she's stopped her bobbing and weaving. “Of course she was mad,” you spit back, trying to stifle a laugh, because even though you're trying your best to be mad there's just something too funny about the caveman's theatrics. “And if you like her, you better teach her not to scream every time she attacks,” you offer as you think of how she gave away her position every time she got close. Not that you'd mind if she did. One day you're going to find her and end her pitiful existence. At the thought, your ears raise up from your head and you try to force your body to stand. A few pains from your sides remind you why you're so overly drugged, but eventually you make it back to standing, swaying a little bit but ultimately leaning your right side against a different, near-by tree. I don't stand up fine without the tree. As far as company goes, Gaucho isn't too bad.

Oxy

The weight of the orb against your shoulder is something you're not used to and so from time to time, you shift. And suddenly, you panic. Internally, this time- no chaos on the outside. But you panic because suddenly you're not sure if you should have taken the orb from Ampere after all. Are you even ready to take care of something so small and helpless? Can you give it a better life than you have? Do you even want to? What are your obligations to this... creature that is brewing, growing, living on your shoulder? Maybe you're coming out of your high, just a little bit. You're getting to that philosopher stage you were thinking about before. Better fix that.

You start to reach towards your bag, cautiously keeping an eye on the Tribal man, when suddenly he asks what exactly is in there. As he comes closer to the leather you lay your ears back again, gently grinding your teeth in a reminder to him to stay away- your like of the stranger only goes so far. But then he does something else entirely, like it's a secret, and you drop the attitude, the corner of your lip turning up. “What do you know about drugs?”

Still, you watch him cautiously, unsure of what exactly his motives are. Your head turns left to right, trying to see whats around, but you find nothing except forest. Is there some sort of ambush waiting to jump you? But still, even if there is an ambush, you're not going to be in an state to fend them off more or less high than you are now, not without days of detox time. You reach into your bag, pull out a couple of the vines and swallow them down, enjoying the way they settle into your stomach, promises of a blurrier future to come.

Oxy

Snarls. You watch him with a raised eyebrow, though who you are to look like that is really up for questioning. After all, weren't you just being nasty too? But for all your bad-temperedness you decide to just sort of stare at him. He's still blurry. And the snake is still.... interesting? Confusing? You're not really sure what word fits the description. For a moment you try to stare into her eyes but everything is wavy and fuzzy. Not at all conducive to focusing on things. Oh well. You move on.

Now, you don't know what a kak-tus is. You don't know what a cactus is either, so the tribal man's odd pronunciation has nothing to do with it. You come from a forest land, lots of rain, not too much dry heat. Definitely no plants with spikes on the outside. You narrow your eyes for a moment, wondering if your companion is pulling your leg, but the more you listen the more you're convinced he might actually know what he's talking about. Kak-tus. “Is there Kak-tus here?” You look him over for another moment. Someone to toke up with would be fun. “You'll have to show me sometime.”

Seeing things you don't normally see. Hallucinations sound fun. Much better than blurry day-vision. And numb lips... You could deal with that. What kind in there? You ultimately decide not to grind your teeth. He told you about his Kak-tus and he didn't have to. You guess the least you can do is let him in on your little secret. He should feel special. He's the first you've shared with.

You dip your excessively large nose in the bag, shoving the orb around maybe just a little too harshly but it's decidedly in the way. Eventually you get to what you were looking for though, pulling out two or three of the flower-covered vines and tossing them Gaucho's way. Or trying to at least. Who knows with your lack of coordination. “Locoweed,” you add on. “Makes your head slow down.” And makes you wobbly, but obviously you two have covered that already.

Oxy

You can't help but rumble your approval as the stallion ingests the plants and then, shortly there-after, begins to feel the effects. You briefly remember the days of your youth, when you first encountered the plants, when the effects came upon you so more rapidly. But now? It seems to take so much more than before, you've got to take larger doses more often and the effects take so much longer to get on board when you wait too long. Lucky, you think with a sigh. You wish you could go back to the old days. Maybe you just need stronger drugs.

At least he finally understands how you feel, grabbing the tree awkwardly with his wing, taking a stumbling step towards. I don't stand up fine without the tree. Sorta seems to be the theme of this whole meeting. Good tree. And this time your rumbling turns into a full fledged laugh. Maybe now you're beginning to understand why everyone gives you those weird looks all the time, and treats you like a fumbling fool. Not that you give a care in the damn world, but... Well, he does look kind of weird, a grown stallion stumbling about like a foal.

The suddenly insistent cries from the Caveman send you sort of stumbling on your own, jerking your head up in surprise and stepping back, your balance tree just a little too far away from you to keep you upright. You do the legs-spread-wide thing again. Best to stay standing, you think. And what the hell does he want anyway? Hit me. Oh.

Hit him? You're just supposed to.... hit him? Ok. Well. Nobody ever had to tell you do that twice. Though, admittedly, you're a little cautious about starting a fight right here in the woods. You're certainly in no shape. But, if he insists. You're a little too wobbly to rear, you know that, so you decide just to bash your shoulder into him, maybe sending him reeling into the tree he was just using as a kick stand. You take the necessary steps forward, thrusting your shoulder out as much as you can manage, trying to use your weight against his own massive frame, and then losing your own balance and stumbling around a few steps yourself. But you laugh, because maybe for the first time in a really long time, you're actually having fun.

“Okay, okay,” you say, probably without giving him a chance to recover. “Me now.” You can't remember the last time you got hit while you were this high. And now that Tribal man over there got to see what it was like, you kind of what to know yourself.

Oxy

Ok, so maybe you got a little more than you bargained for when you asked the tribal stallion to hit you back, because obviously he doesn't know how to hold his (metaphorical) liquor. You brace yourself, or think you're bracing yourself. Who knows what you're actually doing, because there is no good way to guard against an attack when you're this strung out. But you're too caught up in the moment to think so much about that. And well... even if you had thought about it, it wouldn't have prepared you for the Tribal man's fall.

As he trips over the tree root (which you don't actually see, so it makes you wonder what exactly the hell happened) you have basically no time to respond. You were too close, he's falling too fast, and even if you would have had time to move his large wings would have surely knocked you over anyways. Like they do now. Body, wings, whatever it is that hits you, puts you way more off balance than you ever expected to be. And so, much like your new friend, you crash to the ground in a flurry of hooves and body parts, your burn scars protesting at all the motion. A whining grunt escapes your mouth as you finally come to settle on the ground, thankfully avoiding completely smashing the orb in your bag. Note to self- don't ever fight while you're this high.

And so it is that you're on the ground when the stallion suddenly commands you to look at the sky. And.... well, why the hell not. You roll down so you're on your side, eye looking up between the trees and seeing... the sky. Maybe you're just too used to the weird way it looks or maybe the effects are hitting Gaucho a little bit harder than you, but whatever it is, you don't see much. But that's not really what catches your interest. “Gods don't throw parties for mortals,” you grumble out finally, a little over all the god-worshiping nonsense. It's not that you don't believe, you just don't believe they care about the mortals as much as everyone says they do. Because you've never had their good graces. And you've never seen their good graces upon anyone else. Even the orb you have on your shoulder was from a mysterious hag, not the gods themselves.

So you roll your gaze from sky to the Tribal man, who has now happily perched himself on his back, keeping careful eye on the wings, should they choose to flail around again.

Oxy

Gaucho know Sun God. You raise a metaphorical brow as the stallion begins to roll towards you. If you were standing you would take a step back, try to get away from the awkward near-kissing position the two of you are currently in. As it is, if you wanted, you could stare deeply into his eyes like a lover would, trying to learn of his heart and soul, his past present and future. Good thing you're not into that sort of thing. Man or woman, doesn't matter. Because if you're staring into their eyes, they're staring into your eyes and you're quite certain you don't need anybody knowing your history, your story to come, your deepest dreams and ambitions, or anything else in that category. You're guite happy by your lonesome, grumbly self.

Still, you've grown rather fond of your inebriated friend since he interrupted your little tree-leaning exercise. As if reminding you of the genial truce that has come to exist between the two of you, your burns pulse gently, still protesting the attack you brought upon yourself. “Sun God's daughter?” you mumble with curiosity as he mentions it, awkwardly shoveling towards you, and when he finally gets to the point you burst out laughing. She hot. Burning in flames or pin her up against a tree hot doesn't matter to you. The ideal of this comically overgrown caveman finding something attractive is perfectly hilarious to you and he seems to find it just as funny, laughing along with you.

Gaucho. Shame you won't remember that tomorrow. However, as he's finishing speaking, it's not Gaucho you're looking at. Something behind you has caught your eye. A darkness, a black fog rolling in. You've seen this before. In the swamp. Grunting, suddenly very aware of your mortality and the fact that you're laying on the ground, you begin to flail to get up. If you thrash into Gaucho on the way up, it's certainly not on purpose, but hopefully he'll understand. “Get up, Sun Man,” you toss out sometime during your way up. “We've got company, and it's not your God.”

Backing up to give the man room to rise, you toss your head towards the creeping fog in case he missed it before. “Oxy,” you add, almost as an afterthought, but your mind is suddenly no-longer with Gaucho. You've got to gather the horses left under your charge. And so as soon as you're certain the overly-drugged beast has risen to his feet and is headed somewhere other than into the shadows, you begin to move, to gather what remains of your straggling herd and find them somewhere else to go. The Lesbians will have to figure out where you went on their own.


OOC| This was the best, let's do it again some time!

Oxy