and I'll never go home again [ smoking/drugs ]

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Gabe supposed that when it was his turn to go, he'd rather stay that way than wind up back in the land of living. It was so commonplace these days as to be natural, as though it weren't an amazing thing for someone to show up an hour after biting the bullet, but some things- well. Death wasn't meant to be a mere inconvenience. Everything in the world ran through cycles, life making way for new life, and he didn't want to grasp at more time than he was afforded for that reason. Not to mention he'd rather not have a part in the newer generations' world-building; their futures were for them to build, not for old men who'd lived years beyond their time to influence. He was fairly certain he'd just fuck it all up, anyway. He'd already dug a pretty deep hole for himself and those connected to him. People filled those holes eventually, but they'd have to bury him in his.

Of course, he hadn't kicked the bucket yet, and he didn't plan to live as though he was about to. Not too fast, not too slow, and, when he had time, he could enjoy the smaller things. However, he could admit he hadn't done that very often, and had only started after he picked Laz off the streets. Marijuana hadn't exactly made it to the list of, "things to do to be more alive," and if it had, he wasn't at that one yet.

If Des had a list, it looked like he would've crossed that one out about five times at once. The hybrid -going through another brief, "Des was alive then he was dead now he's alive again," dilemma- gave the kid the owl equivalent of a raised brow, facial muscles quirking. "Do I still look as ugly as ever? I always wondered if this body was a stoner's idea."

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