Chocolate || Peter and Meg
Peter was overjoyed with her offer, of course, since he’d only been able to find semi-passable weed in this area; with his lack of hookups. “Never heard of it,” he replied, leaning casually against the door jamb of the stall, which he noted were a pale mint colour. “I’ve tried purple haze, though, is it the same thing?”
He watched her fiddle with her ziplock bag for a moment, before holding out his less-intoxicated hand to help her out. He popped open the bag and plucked a smallish nugget from inside, holding it up to inspect its green-and-orange-and-purple leaves. “Looks delish,” he said, seating himself on the floor at the doe-eyed girl’s feet and starting to tear up the nug into bits.
"They’re closely related," she told him. Rummaging around, Meg looked for her pipe. Flipping it from finger to finger, she slowly reached out, offering it to the ginger boy. "I’m Megara, by the way," she said, "Friends call me Meg." It seemed rather rude for her to offer the goods without at least telling him her name. Especially since he had found her attempting to hide away while she got higher than a kite.
He couldn't help but be amused by the careful nature of her gesture, like he was the spooked horse that might run off at any moment. She was the tentative mare, with wide eyes and cautious movements. Maybe Peter was the Whisperer, trying to coax the mare into letting him ride. Well, that could be taken literally or not.
"Peter," he replied, taking the pipe and lifting it to his lips. He produced a white lighter from his pocket, the sleek surface covered in Sharpie doodles by his own hand. He lit up and breathed in, all too thankful to start flying. "Mmmm," he purred, letting the skunky smoke spill out from his lips.
