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</div><span style="font-size: 26px"><b>Rhys Adaar</b></span><br/><b>Chosen By:</b>Cromm Cruach (Celtic)<br/><b>Location:</b>Forest<br/><b>Date/Time:</b>Noon, Dec 21st<br/><b>Wearing:</b>Outfit shown- except shirt is dark grey v-neck t-shirt, iron faery star and leather cord necklace, platform<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fmedia.discordapp.net%2Fattachments%2F878904166888644642%2F993849148774297700%2Funknown.png%3Fwidth%3D559%26height%3D559&amp;hash=acdb5eaa0fd73e46da03337894f9bc45" href="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/878904166888644642/993849148774297700/unknown.png?width=559&amp;height=559" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">boots</a>, left ear<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fd1flfk77wl2xk4.cloudfront.net%2FAssets%2F95%2F587%2FXXL_p0118358795.jpg&amp;hash=580882ada38aa277b65f84f28bca3e78" href="https://d1flfk77wl2xk4.cloudfront.net/Assets/95/587/XXL_p0118358795.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">piercing</a><br/><b>Tagging: </b>Clayton Barker (<a class="username" data-user-id="7193" data-username="Letum" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/7193/">Letum</a>)<br/><b>TRIGGER WARNINGS:</b>None<br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/>The reason for the nickname made sense, though he has to wonder what kind of bugs… and why. The question was answered in short order, earning a quiet laugh at the candid comment about his nickname. “Yeah, my friends call me ‘liquid sunshine’ cuz of how I act. They say strangers are just friends I ain’t met yet. I call it Southern hospitality. Somethin’ I’d guess ya understand, of everyone.” It wasn’t so much that he was friendly, as polite. Though polite could come across as friendly when the person was wearing a smile, and it was rare that Rhys wasn’t grinning in some capacity. The interesting thing about worshiping a death deity was that the typical fear of death that most mortals had… well, it disappeared. Death became a comfort of a sort, though it wasn’t anything he’d been able to explain to anyone who didn’t follow a death deity.<br/><br/>“I figured that’s what ya meant, n’ don’t gimme the Cotton Candy. Can’t stand bein’ couchlocked. I think too much for that shit.” Whenever he was couchlocked, he found himself getting anxious at the number of thoughts and ideas he had that he couldn’t motivate himself to get up and<i>do</i>. It was an awful feeling, and Rhys tended to avoid it in favor of strains that bolstered creativity and reduced pain. Meaning this creamsicle-flavored weed had his attention, should it live up to Clayton’s hype. “Mine’s selectively bred and tests out at about 35% THC, so ya won’t find this shit anywhere else either. Pineapple Express tends toward about 20% for the average plant. Not enough for my…<i>high</i>tolerance.” He smiled, satisfied with himself at his own pun.<br/><br/>Rhys took another hit, holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling a plume that the slight breeze spirited away. It had clear notes of orange with a layer of syrupy sweetness, lacking the usual herbaceous note he had some to expect of weed. Furrowing his brows, he looked down at the joint for a moment as he contemplated the flavor. He looked up to Clayton, a brow arched curiously as sage and gold eyes twinkled with his amusement. “Tastes like you n’ I need to collaborate on some edibles. This shit would make some<i>kick ass</i>Southern butter rolls. Lie to me n’ say it won’t.” Really, any of his baked goods. He had a knack for making incredible treats, and had taught himself to bake as a coping mechanism. There were even a couple recipes he’d written himself, and he could only imagine how much a flavored strain could add to his flavor profiles.<br/><br/>Indicating the joint in Clayton's hand, Rhys tilted his head, giving a bare flash of a<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fd1flfk77wl2xk4.cloudfront.net%2FAssets%2F95%2F587%2FXXL_p0118358795.jpg&amp;hash=580882ada38aa277b65f84f28bca3e78" href="https://d1flfk77wl2xk4.cloudfront.net/Assets/95/587/XXL_p0118358795.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">string of gold stars and chains</a>that adorned his left ear. "I think that between you, n' me, we could brew up a motherfucker of a strain. N' make a killer batch of edibles outta it." Grinning, he appraised Clayton with a careful eye. He'd learned to read body language long ago, but he was a bit more interested in the subject at the moment. He wasn't necessarily a verbose person thus far, but it made him curious to know more. "Dare I ask what pantheon you're under? Ya clearly at least recognize mine with your careful phrasin'. N' why ain't ya gettin' your offerin' cleansed." Framing the last word with finger quotes and a tone that ached of sarcasm, he flashed Clayton a playful smile that held an edge of fang. He felt Cromm grip his shoulder, trying to caution him to be less blunt. It was always a point of contention between them, but there was no use mincing words here when they both knew what game they were playing.