YOU'RE WRONG.

Something was off about the library. Tables had been pushed aside, chairs stacked upon one another, and on the floor in white chalk was a large circle, decorate with runes, rose petals, red candles and dick drawn in chalk. In its center sat two ploughshare tortoises munching away at a cabbage. “Whatever is going on in your head,” Ozias’ voice cuts through the silence as he steps out from behind a bookshelf with a large tome in his hands and a popsicle stick protruding from his lips. “It’s not what it looks like.”

There’s a green flash of light from the fourth floor of house Mageia, the sound of glass shattering and a low rumble of the earth around the house came seconds later. Thud!! A cloud of dust obscures the world around Mako, but soon the dust settles, and there just a few feet away from laid a grimy blue suitcase. Chains wound around it, secured shut with at least three different types of locks. “Oi!” Ozias hollars out from the staircase leading up to Mageia, hands cupped around his mouth. “Keep away from my luggage you tart!” It jerks forward, rattling.

“I’ll take that,” Ozias snatches the last fruit tart straight out of the other male’s hands. He takes a big ol’ bite of it before tossing it onto his plate. Chewing on the mouthful as he reached for the mashed potatoes. “A bit dry,” he remarks, gaze glued to the foods spread out on the table. This one looked like a pouter, and quite frankly, he wasn’t in the mood to watch some doe-eyed twink mope over a tart. “Spared you the disappointment.”

Ozias drops himself down across the dour brunet, resting his chin on a fist as he leaned himself onto the table. He studies the man for a long silent moment before verbalizing his conclusion, “You look like a right bastard. How many?” he drumps his fingers against the wood surface. “Five? Six? Fourteen? Can’t be more than fourteen.” If his body count was that high, Ozias felt obligated to report the man to some kind of authorities.

“Oi, shitbrain!” Someone was clearly feeding these demigods something. Vertically blessed for the most part, more than a few them seemed to have the additional blessing of being disturbingly wide around the shoulders. “You’re blocking traffic with your wide fuckin’ ass!” He tries to shoo the demigod away from the entrance to Enzo’s shop. “Some of us are tryin’ to get on with our days here.”

between him and his brother solomon, he was the least fit of the two for the path of demigodhood. solomon was a hero. he was an intellectual.  he had his life all figured out, awards in his name, and wealth one could only dream of. he was liked and handsome and nothing like his younger brother.

and yet he was here.

  ozias the troublesome.

ozias the deficient.

ozias the despised.

ozias the disappointment.

ozias the embarrassment.

they had been outside, solomon chiding him for his aimlessness in life when the two had been dazzled by a ray of golden light. perhaps it’d been his greed or even his jealousy that flared within his blood, screaming for him to push his brother away from the blessed light and he did. he shoved the perfect one straight into the gaudy grecian fountain of his perfect gardens and basked in it all alone.  

ozias peered into the goblet, the memory of his calling on the forefront of his mind as he watched the shimmering liquid dance. did he belong here? yes---a small part of his mind assured him, but the irrational part of him insisted he didn’t. “doesn’t matter,” he muses under his breath. if he was, he’ll survive and he if didn’t, well... then, he’ll be doing his family a favor and sparing them any further humiliation.

he raises the goblet to his mouth, the disappointed voices of his family washing over his years as the ambrosia breaches his lips. it might have not been meant for him but, he was going to make this his.

fuck anyone who thought otherwise.

suck it, solomon.

this was ozias’ shit now.

“Are you asking if I’m surprised? ‘cause I definitely ain’t.” Snow shook his head while emitting one of his signature low chuckles. The other patron who’d joined them was the sort of clientele expected to live in this desert graveyard town. Old-fashioned and out of tune with more than just their harmonica. “Give ‘im a break. ‘can’t all be wise as you, Ezzie–or educated for that matter. Degrees cost a fortune and ‘lotta time.” Surely the scientist hadn’t forgotten, Snow said it mostly to maintain the other clients dignity while keeping the discussion from being dampened.

After refilling both of their glasses, Snow found a seat at the bar to be more comfortable for a spell. “Yeah, personally I’d take the cactus method. Being that ‘intimate’ with a toad would give you warts, right, or is that another urban legend?”

“They used to be a lot cheaper!” Ezra reminds the younger male, his face brightening up at the sight of his empty glass refilling with a vibrant pink liquid. “Not to mention,” he gave the other bar patron a pointed look. “Degrees took less time back then to complete as well.”

Nothing, not even a ghastly falsehood about such a small loveable creature could sour his mood now that his cosmo had been refilled. “Urban legend,” he replied, sighing happily as he brought his drink to his lips. “Warts are caused by HPV. Now, warts you see on toads, those are actually the glands that produce the psychoactive poison. But,” Ezra held up a finger, eyes flickering between the two men to ensure they were listening. “There’s a whole entire-- very complicated-- process you have to go through to separate the poison from the psychoactive component.” He pauses again. “Very complicated.” Not really.

Aiden wasn’t usually much of a drinker, not only because he rarely had the extra cash for that kind of indulgence, but because he disliked both the idea and the mere feeling of inebriation. Today was a little different. He had spent another long day toiling away under the sun, and after times like that, he preferred to wind down in darker environments. There he sat alone, nursing a cold drink and basking in the similar cool of the room. 

“Aren’t toads delicacies in some places? Maybe he means ‘high’ in that ‘drunk off good food’ type of way.” Aiden replied, setting his glass down on the counter. He shook his head. “Sorry man, I dunno much about cacti, or— or masculine-making plants in general, I guess.” 

“Mescaline,” Ezra gently corrects him. “And no, we were previously discussing the difficulty of finding wild psilocybin mushrooms in desert environments.” He gives the budding tryptonaut a sidelong glance.  “He is no epicure, I can assure you of that.”

A short, sharp sigh escapes Ezra, and he quickly downs his bright pink Cosmo. “Mescaline is a naturally occurring psychedelic alkaloid,” he blurts out, deciding he’d give both men an explanation despite neither of them asking him. “It’s a lighter trip, much like LSD, but without the ego death. It’s much easier on the stomach than say ayahuasca or toads but really-- LSD is perhaps the easiest in that department. Harder to acquire, though. At least compared to mescaline.”

a DRINK – that’s all she wanted. delfina considered herself one of the very few remaining NORMAL people remaining in town. and she wasn’t wrong. she couldn’t step outside her house without someone dogging her for something weird – alien abductions, body doubles, lizard people. all of this – in THREE MONTHS !! sometimes she debated with samantha, her dog, about returning back to the city and just writing parking tickets for a living. but this was NEW and she really wanted to be as far away from her ex-girlfriend as possible ( can you believe she made her CRY ?? ).

anyways, she just wanted a beer. not ian malcolm asking her about toads. she hated toads. “dude –” oh god – he really did look like ian malcolm. don’t imagine him with a button down shirt. “stop talking.” NAILED IT !!

Cop. COP. COOOOOOP. “You know, sheriff, you’re right.” Ezra wags a finger at her, eyes wide and a tight-lipped smile spreading across his face. He turns back to the other guy and says to him in a voice loud enough for her to hear, “Go for something legal! I believe cannabis is legal in Nevada,” he glances back her as if to confirm his claim. “They breed all kinds now, I’m sure someone’s bred one that’ll get you to trip.”

Trying his best to look like he didn’t want to just bolt to bolt out his seat and scurry away from the scene, the herpetologist turned again to face Ramos and took a slow sip of his raspberry cosmo. “You know, I remember a time when everything was still legal. My parents were travel agents for a while,” he gives her a wink. “That’s what we used to call LSD dealers. Get it? Travel agent because... well, they booked trips.”

//-- have you seen EZRA FORD around town? We’re trying to make sure they’re still in town, especially with everything that’s been happening lately. HE is a SIXTY-THREE year old CISMALE. currently residing in Perfection Valley, but they’re originally from TUCSON. they are best known for being a HERPETOLOGIST, and i hear they’re pretty ADVENTEROUS yet also INDECISIVE at times; i hope they continue to survive.

tw for drug use

Athena twirled the knife around on the table in her bored state and contemplated ways to get the hell out of the boarded up Inn dining room. The small room’s windows were covered with both wood and aluminum foil to prevent anything from seeing in and hopefully prevent the fucking things from seeing them with those –those stupid things on their heads! It was like they were related to rattlers and how the snakes saw heat because that seemed to be how they found people. 

“Even if it goes against my principals, do you suppose an explosion would work to get rid of them all?”

“Well, that depends.” Ezra drawls out, his fingers tapping away at his cellphone screen. He’s stretched out over six dining chairs, looking almost entirely at home and comfortable in a position and situation that really shouldn’t be. “Did you ever find out if the tunnels lead to a colony?”

He tears his eyes away from the screen to peer up at the biologist. “Because if it’s multichambered like ants or termites, then... no.” A splash of colors and the slight vibration of his phone pulls a frown across Ezra’s face. “Well, this is unfortunate. My unicorn just died.”

The scientist let out a huff, turning to the person occupying the other stool next to him. “Can you believe this guy?” He gestures rudely to the offending stranger. “Why get high off a toad when you can literally go to any plant nursery and easily buy mescaline producing cacti by the pound? I don’t get it.”