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ames de la mort. i was still in essay mode, so this will sound a bit weird. :p

The place was rather arousing, in her opinion. Hybrid feet kicked the dusty surface, sending up billows of the white ashes. Monet was on her second cigarette, barely feeling its roborant effects. She knew she would soon enough, so it barely phased her. Settling herself next to a tree barely higher than a shrub, she let out a contented sigh. With the burning weed at her side, she was well pleased with anything the past few weeks. Dialated eyes were becoming her trademark. Smirking, she extended her slender leg out before her. When dawn broke that morning, she had been feeling exceptionally feminine. Perhaps it was the bottle of wine she had consumed the night before, she didn't know. It was some kind of extraordinary aphrodisiac that was making her giddy though. And she was quite enjoying it.
The Storm subordinate observed the small, rolled paper intently. The stack of thick paper she had found in the human city did more than suffice for rolling the marijuana, and it burned quite well. And it must have been of fine quality, for the taste of the plant was emphasized by it. Overhead, the sky looked pregnant with rain, but it was a falsehood. The sun was dilluted by the clouds, light a lightbulb with a piece of dark cloth over it. Monet took another drag of her cigarette, giving her head a swim. It was the perfect place to be high.