[ The elder rolls his eyes, Gamzee's question providing answer enough. He takes the bong from his claws, brightly coloured glass unearthing hazy memories as he inspects it. He’s reminded of the hippie's van he'd driven off a cliff and the hallucinations he’d experienced prior. A grunt escapes Stan at the memory and the bell bottom jeans that still haunted him before he lifts the piece to his mouth.
Holding out his hand, a flame is brought to life in his palm and moved around the bowl. He takes a long drag, feeding the fire and pulling the smoke from the bowl until he removes it entirely. A sharp breath clears the remaining smoke before he places the bong down. He holds the hit, closes his eyes and sits for a moment in silence, smile spreading across his features.
Stan slowly exhales as he sinks back into the couch. Then opens his eyes, wide in surprise to find he's sitting in something sticky. And smelly. The elder frowns. ] ... This better not be what I think it is. [ That is, whatever it is he's sitting in. ]
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Holding out his hand, a flame is brought to life in his palm and moved around the bowl. He takes a long drag, feeding the fire and pulling the smoke from the bowl until he removes it entirely. A sharp breath clears the remaining smoke before he places the bong down. He holds the hit, closes his eyes and sits for a moment in silence, smile spreading across his features.
Stan slowly exhales as he sinks back into the couch. Then opens his eyes, wide in surprise to find he's sitting in something sticky. And smelly. The elder frowns. ] ... This better not be what I think it is. [ That is, whatever it is he's sitting in. ]