trans_9 | The Smoker's Lounge [open]

There were many flaws involved in having your life uprooted and moved onto an multidimensional-migration-ship-thingie. Chief among them was dependency issues. Addictions. At least, this was chief among them in those with an addiction to nicotine. Sure, the ship cured the physical addiction before it released you, but there were other things involved. There were mental and social components that the ship just couldn't fix.

Luckily, there was one man on the ship who had something to help; when he was popped, Nicholas d. Wolfwood had come across a small device that produced 'syntho-smokes', a clean-burning, odorless solution to all their smoking needs. No smell, no cancer, fake smoke, technically worthless, but you still smoked it like a cigarette and got your nic-fix taken care of. And luckily, this man was Will's roommate.

Of course, he'd gotten the tech guys to duplicate the pack, so he had one as well, but they still bummed from each other all the time. It was just what you did; smoker bonding. There was even a small sign, stolen from a hotel in the city, affixed to their door denoting it as a smoking room.

They just called it The Smoker's Lounge; their room where every smoker on the ship sooner or later found themselves to get their fix.

Sadly, Will hadn't explained any of this to Kala before bringing her to the room (as per their rooming arrangement). He also hadn't told Wolfwood she was going to be staying with them. All things considered, he'd been forgetting to do a lot of important things lately.

But, no time like the present. He looked back to Kala, her hand still in his, as he opened the door to the room and a wall of synthetic smoke poured out.

"Welcome to the Lounge."

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"That's alotta smoke," she observed, peering through it, her tone soft and curious. It wasn't real smoke or the air would have been thick with the scent of it. The soft breeze the generally drifted around her cleared the air a little as her white eyebrows arched. At home, it was pipes. Longpipes with sweetgrass, that's what those who smoked favored--at least in her village.

Wolfwood had been in the middle of shaving. And as such, felt rather odd when a woman entered the room. He stared at her for a moment, cream on half of his face, shirt off, and cigarette dangling out of his mouth, before speaking.

"Not when you get used to it..." He said slowly. "I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood, traveling priest. This is my room. You would be?" He didn't mean to be rude, he just wasn't sure what to do about the random girl in the smoker's lounge.

"This would be Kala. She'll be stayin' with us for a while, at least until this whole 'nightmare king' thing blows over." Blin said, stepping in behind her and lighting his own cig (hey, it's what you do when you enter the lounge. It's practically a rule).

"I'd offer ye one, lass, but something tell me ye don't smoke. Anyway, preacher, there was a bit of an incident...enough to make me worry for her safety."

"Mhmm," Kala murmured, her golden eyes fixed on Wolfwood for a long moment. "That is, if you don't mind. I'm quiet and don't take up too much room. And I never did get in the habit of smoking anything. Antedans generally smoke pipes as it is. It always seemed too much hassle when I was on the road. The less I had to carry, the better it was."

She carefully extended her hand.

"Like Will said, I'm Kala Fierro. It's nice to meet you."

The priest eyed her for a moment.

Then hia face softened.

"You're welcome as long as you'd like, darling. We may not help with your nightmares, but we certainly will keep you up. We talk a lot." His smile and sentiment were true and untainted, something about the priest gave a true patent of trust, though something dark was obvious about him in the way he observed his cross severely in bouts as he spoke to her, and the way he eyed her with the quiet caution of a warrior.

Blin was going to ignore Wolfwood's emotional colors for now; the fact that he was wary was bothersome, but not unusual. They'd discuss it later, after she'd fallen asleep.

"Aye, that is true. We do tend to talk quite a bit." He shrugged. "Smoker's habit, really. Ye never smoke alone if ye can avoid it. As far as what we smoke, it's an Earth thing. Cigarettes. Came from the old days of frontiersmen... From what I understand, one day they took a break from Rapin' the locals and found the tobacco they smoke. Eventually, they started to roll it in papers instead of smokin' through pipes, and the cig was born."

He stepped around her over to his side of the room and set his guitar down next to the bed. "This'd be my bed; yours for now. If ye need some rest after what happened earlier, feel free."

Kala murmured something soft about talking being just fine with her (it was comforting, let her know she wasn't alone) and had already managed to wander over to Will's bed and sank onto the edge of it by the time he'd gotten finished with his sentence. Her eyes were heavy enough that she just closed them.

Funny things to smoke in papers.

"Can sleep on the floor," she murmured distantly. "S'your bed..." Kala had slept in worse places that the rather cushy planty floor of an alien space ship.

The Smoker's Lounge [open]

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