The spider had to have been aware of what was happening, but in spite of the coming danger it remained where it was. The pen, wielded by a steady hand, came within a fraction of an inch of killing it on the spot. It was a large, blue tipped missile that was entirely capable of crushing the arachnid, but the eight-legged beast did not shy away from the danger. It stood firm in the face of its doom, as if glued to the spot by some force that could not be seen with the naked eye.<br/><br/>"How brave of you. Or maybe," Scott added as he dropped the pen and took another pull from the joint, rolled to perfection like all of his joints. "You're just too fucking high to care." He inhaled and held it, feeling the momentary urge to cough but stifling it so he could make the most of his final hit. "Don't worry," he said in a throaty rasp as he continued holding in the smoke, "won't leave you hanging bro."<br/><br/>When he exhaled he directed the torrent of smoke at the spider, which, like it had done ever since the two of them began their session, once again didn't move. Scott dropped the roach onto the ground just outside the house's side door, which served as his only entry given that he was renting the basement. It joined the pile that was starting to get a little out of hand; there were many scraps in it, some bamboo paper, some Philly blunts, some dutches, and a number of cigarette butts. He knew he needed to probably clean all of it up at some point, but everything he smoked had sentimental value. Plus, he was a hoarder. Once, it had even come in useful - he'd had no money and no weed, but by going through a massive roach pile he'd put together enough shake to get a solid two hits. A victory for the ages.<br/><br/>"See ya, lightweight," he told the spider with a grin, and then he was off, mindful of the crinkling sounds coming from an inside pocket of his jacket.<br/><br/>It wasn't a long walk to his friend's house, and while he hadn't exactly been invited over, he knew she'd be home. At least, he hoped so, given the text message he'd received from her earlier in the day. It wasn't the kind of message that usually preceded an elaborate outing, and if it did, then he hoped she hadn't gotten herself into trouble.<span style="font-style: italic">Or at least, not too much trouble. Trouble itself is probably a given,</span>he thought with pursed lips as he approached Lily's front door.<br/><br/>He had a key, of course - both of them could get into the other's place anytime they needed to, something born out of long friendship as well as necessity. Sometimes getting the door was just too much to handle, particularly when someone was on acid. How did he know his best friend was likely in the midst of an epic trip? Her message, of course.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"acid fukr"</span><br/><br/>Lily always had a way with words.<br/><br/>Scott walked inside, shutting the door carefully behind him, and in short order he spotted her. She was sitting on the couch, looking rather alarmed about something, and she seemed too intent on eying her snake distrustfully to know she had a visitor. Luckily, that didn't matter. Ignoring the bong on the table for the time being, Scott sat heavily down in the chair across from her and removed the quarter ounce from his pocket.<br/><br/>"Granddaddy purple," he announced triumphantly to the room at large, as he shamelessly eye-fucked the contents of the zip locked bag. While Scott did his best to stay high as much as possible, getting<span style="font-style: italic">higher</span>was an increasingly difficult endeavor thanks to his mountainous tolerance. The only solution was to smoke some fire shit, and while it costed much more than the usual selection, that was a sacrifice he constantly found himself willing to make.<br/><br/>He picked out several gorgeous nuggets, but before he could drop them into the chinese food menu he'd produced from another pocket, he stopped to admire their beauty. Purple interspersed with blots of green, a crystalline dusting throughout that reminded him of winter's frost, the orange, fibrous hairs that tied it all together - it was artwork that only patient, ambitious breeding and nature itself could ever cultivate.<br/><br/>He sighed, taking a whiff of the majestic herb, before starting the process of crushing it up with his fingers. He knew some people preferred grinders, and sometimes the situation called for it, but when the weed was this good he needed to savor every aspect of it. "Fucking hundred-thirty for a quarter of this shit," he said, glancing over at his friend and then at her snake, as if to make sure they were both listening. Baozi gave him a tongue flick to indicate he agreed with how outrageous bud prices could be. "Still, you get what you pay for," he added, holding a nugget up so Lily could see it.<br/><br/>In a fairly short amount of time he was hefting a massive blunt in his hands, rolled to perfection with fingers that could've performed surgery if only he hadn't burned up all the brain cells he'd have needed for medical school. Another foray into the same pocket that produced the cigar he'd gutted brought forth a lighter, and then he was leaning forward, reversing the lit blunt in his mouth.<br/><br/>"Scottie shotty," he said with a grin, and then Lily was engulfed by a cloud of thick smoke.