#soontobequeen

Slow breathing.

Rising chest. Falling chest.

Muscles slackened, and mind cleared.

Beau felt his body give out, though the pipe was tightly gripped by his lips. He'd suck in the strange air, and let it's properties remove his spirit from his body, slowly lifting him from his body, and taking him back to where all people come from and will go to, before and after like: the spirit world. His eyes closed, he allowed himself to phase through, and his energies, which were all to thickened with aggination would come from his body, relaxing him in ways that he could only with the presence of the All Maker.

Opening the side of his lip, he blew out the smoke that accumulated in his mouth, and would murmur words of prayer, hands up  infront of him, palms up towards the air.  It'd been a while since he'd spoken his own language-- much too long, but with no one watching on hearing him in this castle, he felt all too safe! Yes, this was the room assigned to him, which in accumulative, was larger than the home he lived in in Jexel! Already he felt the grandeur, and though it was something which was quite interesting to experience, he hated every moment of it. It was too luxurious...too decadent.  Only people who'd live within the Kingdom their whole lives would appreciate such rubbish as important! Feeling this anger beginning to boil, he'd draw in more breaths-- taking hits from the pipe before blowing out slowly...smoothly and chanting the words to the All Maker again, pleading to give him Zen.

Though true Zen was found in death, it did not mean that he would not experience it on his time within earth. After all, with enough Ayahuasca, Beau was more than calm: he was happy.  Of course, he didn't want his room to smell like too much of the root. The Scent itself would give him a headache if he didn't air it out, and the last thing he wanted to do was air out the room. It would be too cold to sleep in! This warmth was too blissful to give away! Of course, he wasn't really thinking that far to begin with. With the more he took, and the foggier the room became, his mind would do the same. All he knew was that he'd put more into the pipe, and with a few strikes of the tinder box, he'd place the small burning piece into the pipe to continue it further.

Soon enough, his eyes were drooping down, and the least he could say was that he was disoriented. Of course, to him, that was entirely normal! He'd stay as still as he could, as he sat on the bed, and simply meditated under the influence. Though he was simply this, in his mind, he believed he was in the spirit world-- even seeing right before him! 

Alcohol. Alcohol was a necessity for Eirik. To say he was a bit dependent would be pretty accurate. The Norwegian drank quite often, alcohol being pretty important to him. Thus, the bar was a great option for tonight's outting.

The Norwegian made his way to a tavern, his feet carrying himself slowly as he glanced to the buildings along the way. He wasn't in the nicest part of the town per say, but he wasn't close to being in one of the worst. In fact, the people residing in such a place were those who at least had some money, it seemed. It was a popular place, but Eirik always found himself sitting alone.

But when he walked into the building, his hand resting upon the wooden edge of the door, Eirik noticed it wouldn't be as empty as he'd hoped. The building was pretty packed-- people standing at the bar and sitting at al of the tables. There were people dancing and singing. There were musicians playing music. And the knight frowned, scoffing as he glanced over the crowd. Ew. People.

But there was at least one empty space at the bar. He made his way over, slipping onto the stool. The heels of his shoes rested upon the metal bar at the bottom of the stool, his toes hanging off. His arms were crossed on the wooden bar beneath his elbows and briefly he raised his hand to order a drink. Akvavit. Only the strongest would do.He was promptly brought a bottle and a small glass, the bartender placing them in front of him.

The stables were one of the many places Arthur loves. When he was a kid, he used to sometimes sneak out of the mansion to go to the stables and look at all the horses his family owned. He had a favourite horse, too. He used to ride that horse every day, whenever he was allowed to, at least, and even entered races with it. Those were some of the rare, fond memories Arthur had, the ones that Arthur was sure he will never forget even when he turns old and forgetful. However, death is cruel and heartless, it knows no mercy, so one day, when Arthur was about to go for his weekly riding lessons, he came to find his horse dead by an unknown cause. The vet said that it was overworked—but that was impossible; the horse was only Arthur’s and everyone knew that no one was allowed to make it work.

Anyhow, Arthur is still fond of horses, and he still loves to ride. So, on a fine day like that one, it was no surprise at all to find Arthur strolling about the castle stables, looking at all the horses that were there. “My…” He said to himself. The stables were far bigger than the ones he had, with more horses, as well. It was amazing, and Arthur wondered if he will be able to call one of those horses his own. He saw some sighs, showing where are certain horses; those for work, riding, races, and other jobs. Arthur took one more look at the signs and followed the one to the riding horses. He was asked who he was and what he was doing there by a few workers, but upon telling them his name, they just pointed out the horses that were free to be used.