Welcoming the hand shake, Whitney immediately gathered that this was a southern gentleman- he seemed quite polite, and had the most welcoming smile… hopefully he’d be the perfect company for how the night had already treated her. “Mark,” With a nod, the girl listened as she followed her new acquaintance down to his room; it didn’t take her very long to finish her apple with a few chomps before responding. “Oh yeah, I see- something about tonight just isn’t letting us rest, hm? And yes! I’ve had this little thing with me for about a year now- it has all my ramblings in it of course,”
The petite brunette made sure to adjust her dress and couldn’t help but let out a little laugh as her doe eyes peered around the room, only to focus on the curls tucked into the covers- perhaps that one was the partying friend. “Oh my- okay, noted!” After slipping off her sandals, Whitney still tried her best to be polite and stay somewhat soft-spoken, she didn’t want to wake the stranger from his sleep, no- even if Mark was sure he couldn’t be bothered. Ever observant, the girl gathered that Mark was the more organized and orderly one of the two; from the way he kept his clothes folded in his luggage, and even the tucked bag of green between his colorful shirts. It was honestly refreshing, since she would consider herself more on the calm side of the spectrum rather than a wild child.
“Mind if I have a seat?” She asked softly, that friendly smile still upon her face- the girl was raised to be polite to strangers like most and it never faltered, continuing on to her adulthood. She always tried to be kind. “Oh, Hmm.. I guess a couple would be good, yeah- and if we don’t smoke it all you can always save the rest for later!”
mark broke from concentrating on getting the bag open to look up at the brunette again from under a lifted brow, hardly expecting such manners – it wasn’t that the people in the band’s circles were rude, but they were leisurely and much less concerned with etiquette. “not at all, go ahead ‘n’ make yerself at home, sweetheart.” taking her suggestion into account, he went quiet for a moment as he rolled a few joints between thumbs and forefingers; his sinewy tanned hands appeared to have retained a muscle memory for the process. like someone in the midst of an artistic approach, he spoke inattentively, doing his best to maintain conversation and fill the unassuming silence expanding between them.
“so ‘bout that journal–,” he murmured, casting a curious glance towards the book clutched in her hand, “–whatcha got in there ? writin’ a manifesto ?” a clean, jowled smile spread into his cheeks with a sleepy yet playful air as he finished up a fourth joint and set it amongst the others. on the other side of the room, martin stirred in his bed again, flopping within the covers before settling again with a strident snore. ideally, mark would’ve had a record on instead of a soundtrack of his drummer’s unconscious sounds. in one swift motion, his lithe body was up again, taking a pair of the joints and handing one off to her on his way towards the sliding window just beside her chair. he opened it quietly, took in a breath of the clear indigo evening air, then fetched his matchbook from the breastpocket of his ochre button down.
“i jus’ like t’ keep some air goin’,” he explained, words muffled as he spoke around the joint pinched between his lips. striking a match, he lit hers first before his own, their faces illuminated in a fleeting orange glow before it was out and plumes of lazy smoke curled into the space around them. mark savoured every inhale with his eyes reverently shut, occasionally stretching an arm over to dab the ashes into the ceramic ashtray he’d set on the windowsill. maybe this would get the words to flow again.
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