Survival Of The Fittest

"This looks like a good spot!"

[Bert Wren continued from Just Dance.]

The closet was upstairs, a little ways away from a bathroom where something strange was happening and secluded enough from the noise of downstairs that it could easily be blocked out with the inner mind static of whatever was going to happen next. Of course, they had to make some concessions for space and time, and that meant picking a closet inside of another room. She hoped that whoever owned this bedroom wouldn't horribly mind or care about the smell that was about to consume it. The double layer room protection was nice, though if some couple came in here to get frisky they'd have to hit the gas, or offer some grass, or offer some ass? Or just shut up and watch. Bert had no idea what was going to happen. She left the bedroom door open as she went in.

"Here," Bert beckoned, looking behind her, "in here."

She felt in the pockets of the Heart It Franny Kate Spade bag she brought with her for the dime baggies of weed and the larger plastic bag she kept the roaches and paper in. They'd need to turn on a flashlight to wrap the joints (Bert's hands were shaking and Camilla was well Clueless), and maybe they'd use the bed as a surface for it before disappearing into the closet. She hadn't had the chance to try out any of the stuff she bought this time but she trusted the guy she bought it from and knew his usual stuff to be quality. Then again, who knew who he bought it from? But anyways.

Her hands trembled with anticipation as she laid the bags on the bed, turning the light of the phone camera on and pointing it up so that it bathed her face in harsh white light.

[Camilla Bell continued from Just Dance]

Camilla wandered in right behind Bert, and took a look at her surroundings. Feeling sorry for whoever owned this particular bedroom, she then brushed it off figuring that if the owner in question knew anything about what kind of party would happen here, they had to expect it. Or would they? The thought drifted back up to her shoulder as she took a seat on the bed. Maybe it belonged to the host though. Maaaaybe. Or maybe it's a guest room? Who knew? Ah well, at least it was far enough away from most people that, even with the door open, she figured nobody who cared about this kind of thing would catch them.

She had to look away, blinking for a moment as the white light unexpectedly burst onto her companion's face. Soon, she was looking down at the bag of weird smoking weed shit she assumed it was. I mean, that's what she thought weed looked like. And the other bag had some paper and other stuff in it. Probably more instruments of Smoking the Devil Lettuce.

In a way, Camilla could say she was excited, if she stretched the meaning. No, she wasn't really looking forward to killing a good chunk of her brain cells, but hey, what's being a teenager without a bit of experimenting? Something something that some adult said...

"Something something best years of our lives bullshit," she babbled to nobody in particular. Sounded like a joke. "Heh."

Bert smiled. "That," she said, "is the goddamn truth, right there."

She got a roll of paper out of one of the bags and held it between her fingers, then remembered that she hadn't ground the stuff yet. Did she have a grinder on her? She fished through her bag. No dice. Fuck. With a sigh, she got her keys out, grabbed a few pinches of weed, and put them in the paper.

"I hope you're watching and taking notes," Bert said, "'cuz I don't know if I'll be able to roll another for you later."

It didn't take long to break the weed into small bits, removing all the lumps from the mixture. She got a roach out from the bag, putting her keys aside, and put it on the leftmost side of the mix, tapping her foot and whistling "Gummo".

Camilla smiled in return at Bert's compliment. It felt like a compliment, anyway. Wasn't that the important part? Well, if it was an insult in disguise that would be bad. But what's wrong with taking an insult as a compliment?

She nodded, and watched as Bert broke up the stuff on a bit of paper and put a thing next to it that looked like a lump but kind of stretched out. So that's how the things they smoke weed with get rolled. The exact name for them escaped her now, but it began with a J. Would calling it a cigar do?

"Yeah, I'm watching," she assured.

The instructions in her head were clear-ish. First you put down the paper. Then you put the weed on it. Then you mash up the weed. Then you put the lump thing on one side and presumably roll it all around it. Simple enough.

"This is the tricky bit, Cam-Cam," Bert said, "you gotta roll with your thumbs and support with your indexes, from the middle outward. I did it the other way a few other times and like, shit spilled everywhere."

She did as she said as she said it, sans spilling. As the weed inside started to have that special little oomph that let her know it was ready, she tucked down the edges on either side with the edges of her thumbs. The paper that had nowhere to go went around it to keep it all together. She licked her finger like she was turning the page of a book and wet down the glue on the edge, sealing it together.

"It's like, fuckin' tying a shoe," she said, "and unless you're like me, and fuckin' tyin' a shoe took you years of tears, and pain, to master, you'll get the hang of it with practice knowwhatimsayin'."

She made sure it wasn't too light or too loose. Too tight and she'd have to fucking kill herself trying to get anything, too loose and she'd fucking kill herself with fire. Luckily, it felt decent. Bert's eyes wandered to her purse, where her lighter was sticking out, just begging to be ignited.

"Mind grabbing the lighter for me?"

Camilla snorted at that nickname. "Cam" was one she'd heard before, but "Cam-cam" sounded like something out of, who knows, a children's cartoon from Sweden? Or something like that.

That being said, Bert probably just wanted to make the point that this part was important, so she did her best to direct every ounce of unimpaired attention she had left towards the rolling process. Huh, who knew this last step would be so complicated? It sounded kind of complex, anyway.

...Roll with thumbs? That wasn't so bad. Imitating the hand position that Bert was making while rolling shouldn't be too difficult, assuming she could hold onto the memory of it. And it was all tied together kind of the way wrapping paper all goes together, kinda? Best analogy available at the moment.

"I learned to tie my shoes in... uh..."

Don't tell yourself you forgot, useless drug-addled brain!

"Yeah, I got it with practice," she said instead.

Bert nodded. "Well, yeah, that's good."

She held her hand out for the lighter for a few moments, waiting for Camilla to hand it over, before realizing that maybe she hadn't heard her and reaching for it herself. A red Bic was her flame of choice tonight. Bic's could sometimes suck, but this one lit pretty easy, even with her un-calloused hands.

With the doobie in one hand and the lighter in the other, Bert turned her gaze up at Camilla and smiled.

"Want the first toke? I'll coach you through it."

"Uh..."

First of all, Camilla knew she forgot something. Darn...

This was huge and not in a way Camilla totally liked. The joint- that's what it is! Maybe. Anyway, the joint wasn't a very big thing, she imagined it was fairly average for thingies of its kind. But the implications, those would be pretty big for her at the moment. As would the consequences! Hopefully someone was around to get her home... but who?

"Sure, sure"

She reached out her hand. Fuck the world.

Bert held the joint away.

"Okay, okay, hold up," she said, "I just wanna clue you in on something, first."

"Your first few tokes, you aren't going to feel anything. Yeah, you'll cough, and your eyes and mouth will feel like hay is inside of them, but like, you won't feel what you're expecting, until you do. It takes a little while to get through your system, so don't just keep puffin' just 'cuz you don't feel anything, or else you'll wind up over the moon. I'm talkin' at you from experience."

With that out of the way, Bert brought the joint back over, and handed it to Cam.

"Here. I'll give you a light."

Oh shit, more coughing. Ah well, it was too late to turn back now. And besides, what was a bit of coughing going to do?

"Huh."

But now, she had the joint or cigar thing in her fingertips, her shaking, notoriously unsteady fingertips, feeling the texture of the paper and every little molehill. Holy shit this was game-changing. Definitely not life changing, but something's changed. Gone horribly right, you might say. Is this how people make friends? What was she even thinking right now?!

She raised it closer to her mouth, not quite to her lips though, as it trembled with her fingers.

"Try to keep it like, low tempo," Bert advised, "don't use force, don't get mad at it, just let it fill you until you like, wanna stop. Take it into your mouth before you put it into your lungs, and like, don't forget to take the thing out of your mouth when you're done inhaling, I guess."

She flicked the lighter on and held it carefully to the end of the joint.

"And, like, do whatever you feel right doing."

A dimly lit figure appeared out the bedroom window for a split second accompanied by a thud. And then a smaller thud. And then silence.

The paper of the cigar thing- cigar just sounded better than joint, okay? The texture of its pea-under-the-mattresses lumps felt soothing, easing Camilla into taking a slow breath in. Wasn't it right that both the mouth and the nose contributed to smell? Probably, she was just sensitive to it in this moment. She let it fall out into her two fingers, and exhaled. There it was.

"...Well wasn't that something-"

Thuds in the hallway. Figures, didn't it? With the amount of alcohol going around, with drugs harder than weed almost certainly present, something was going to go bump in the night.

"Well wasn't that something..." she sighed, before putting the joint, cigar, whatever the fuck, back in her mouth.

Cam-cam was an absolute natural at this shit. So calm, so cool, so collected. Bert nodded in approval of her reaction to taking it in for the first time. Or, was it the first time? Maybe Cam was so cool of a gal that she had pretended it was her first time, to let Bert practice introducing someone else to the drug on her own. That? Would be something.

Bert was just about to go back to the paper and weed, smiling, ready to roll her own joint, when something thumped against the door. Startled, she turned around. It didn't seem to startle Cam too much, because she was just that motherfucking chill, but Bert hadn't had any of the good stuff yet and wanted to make sure that they didn't get interrupted before the fun really began.

"Sit tight for a moment," she said, "lemme check that out." Scooting over to the door and trying not to make much noise, Bert cautiously grasped the doorknob.

Twisting it and letting the door swing open on its own, Bert peeked her head outside.

"Hello?" she asked the air.

((Erika Stieglitz continued from Trapped in the Bathroom: Chapter 173 [HD 1080p]))

Another figure appeared by the window, crawling along a fairly wide ledge. Smelling the familiar scent of cannabis, Erika peered into the next window. Her eyes lit up as she saw two familiar faces. They were getting high.

So very high up here. Not all the way up, though. I'll need a really big ladder to get where I'm going.

"Hi CamBert! Are you kids doing The Drugs in here?" Erika cheerfully exclaimed from outside the window, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. She wore the bright, carefree smile of someone who was excited to commune with the enraged spirit of the Moon.

"It's nice out here but like - you might wanna stay inside, enjoy your jazz cigarettes. 'Cause, well..." She moved closer to the window, her voice a near-whisper. This was serious.

"...The Moon is angry. I think it stole somebody into space. So I'm gonna go see if I can cheer it up and bring her back to the party. Laters!"

She waved goodbye to the two of them before disappearing from view.

((Erika Stieglitz continued in The Good Times are Killing Me))