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I HAVE NO FLIPPIN CLUE... I GUESS I MADE THIS BEAT AND RAP RECENTLY.. WHO KNOWS, WHO CARES. I NEED A NAP. ---- kareem serene.. torchlight commission 2014. We need to talk. This is a dope beat

#SoundCloud #MOKA ONLY #dwellin #shoveoff #doctorincredible

Four floors up and one couldn’t even see down to the third, as the fog was that thick tonight. He had found himself in a new den, rather dissatisfied with who he had come across. Jerkles, a man of about five feet and a half, with the stature of a stocky lizard, was the dealer. He had found a way to harvest a similar strand to the ever so popular ‘Flower’. This one, called ‘Spicey 2.0’ wasn’t too special, besides the fact it was cheaper and easier to find (for some reason this man had decided to give it away like candy). The way Dwellin’ was feeling on it was hyper-aware about the too much moisture, and how cold the metal railing he leaned against felt, which, also made his hands clammy from gripping it. It made the rugged brunette remember back when he first got into the motion of checking out other dealers’ stuff. He had a sense of entitlement, really, and felt as if he was always better than even the bad-asses of the bunch.

Talk was mingling in the background, though he could definitely understand every word, every mispronounciation a bit too well. It was irritating him more than hearing the liquid from the misty fog puddling atop his head from the rickety, metal walk-way above his head. He sighed, and turned around to face the dealer’s door again; feeling just about ready to tell him his shit was okay (actually, it sucked compared to the real thing) and leave. He didn’t get the chance with noticing Jerkles had left the room. He saw a few blondes, a chick with black hair, and Jerkles’s main guy; an orc who usually stood by the door biding his time for a brawl.

"Th’ ‘ell he go?" Dwellin’ asked Port, the orc who was just a bit taller than the large merc; who was now running a hand through his oily shoulder-length hair. It was slightly wavy, curling up at the tips, and the fuzz on his face itched for some reason.

"Outta that back way. You don’ need to go there, though. So keep on movin’, or want some more?" There were plenty of seeds, which they used instead of the flowers that blossomed from them. The seeds were smoked, that, or broiled into an odd mixture that could be injected into the bloodstream. Much less effective than his own, as it was the scent of the flower alone that worked.

#random #dwellin #writing