Albrecht&Strom

Another loose cannon, gone bi-polar, Slipped down, couldn't get much lower

The thing about drugs is that they affect everyone differently. No one reaction is standard or even remotely guaranteed when every little detail about a character’s physiology can cause a substance to have greater or lesser effect, to entirely change the way it interacts with the mind and body. So maybe it’s because he’s an old bastard, or maybe it’s because he’s somehow managed to remain pitifully underweight despite living among abundance for almost two years, or maybe it’s just a matter of tolerance – more likely a lack thereof – his golden years having been too consumed with responsibility and much too strictly adhered to moral uprightness to leave room for any kind of indiscretion. Causation aside, when his wrinkled mouth picks up and begins chewing the proffered flower it doesn’t take more than a few minutes for things to begin to skew from normal.

One ear flops sideways, his expression uncertain, jaws still grinding away at what can only be a sloppy half-liquid of plant particles and saliva now, the old stallion reasoning that breaking down the substance completely might yield more effect than simply digesting it in his stomach acids. Though initially skeptical, he does admit to himself that the mildly bitter taste is making him feel something, lighter perhaps, mostly around his head and neck, and though he tries to swallow the excess saliva his chewing creates he can’t quite seem to keep up with it, his lips becoming visibly coated and eventually drooling a strand of green tinged spittle that melds into the auburn of his beard.

Sexy, he quips internally, earning a short chuckle from his companion, and then the mare is speaking, asking actually, which seems a lot more imposing than it should, the prospect of having to sort out his tongue – is it swollen? He wonders. It feels larger than normal for sure, kind of lethargic – and form coherent sentences almost exhausting in itself. Oddly, the feeling of effort doesn’t prick his temper.

“Cush oh yew a lotta news hit.” He fumbles, grinning in joint amusement at the suggestion and the obvious ineptitude of it's delivery, which causes a second strand of saliva to stretch downward from his bottom lip, the bearded flap of skin drooping lower and lower, as if striving to detach itself altogether, and to the stallions further amusement that's not the only thing that's dropping. (It's his dick y'all.)

Just then another figure enters the greenhouse, this one wingless but no less decorated because of it. "Jes lookit tis!” The stallion blurts, illogically pleased that their little rendezvous is growing in size, completely at odds with his usual hermit-esque tendencies."Shez got facking DILDOS ell uver'r ed. DAT shi's weird. At leas' mines whar i's pos'd te be.” Just to be sure, he gives himself a waggle, ducking his head between his front legs to ensure that everything is as it's supposed to be down there, his companion first wailing and then laughing hysterically as he loses his grip and falls to the ground in front of his bonded.

Upside down and staring into the drooling, sloppy face of his beloved, only the mystical bond between companion and equine gives evidence of his otherwise unreadable expression, the lack of lips or eyelids really minimizing observable emotion on the python's features.

Well, that's a first, they think in unison, the stallion laughing too now, neither one self-aware enough to be embarrassed.


"Talk."
OOC // xD @Wessex @Weaver