SOMK: Halloween

“Hey, girl. Got any smokes?”

The tall, sugar-scented Sneasel motioned out to Frosted Lass.

“I got my lighter, but I musta lost my smokes somewhere. I’m tellin’ ya, I’m dyin’ for one right about now.” In her claws, she gripped a small, cannister-type thing with with a grate around a wick. She made a show of flicking it open and closed while she complained.

Right next to her scowled another of her team-mates, this diamond-feathered Skarmory with an aluminum-like sheen. He beat his beak against the signpost over the lodge, picked up a nail to sit in the hole, then beat it not-too-flush. He finished hanging his little paper cutouts of Zubats and Shuppets up, then angled that scowl back at her.

“They don’t. And you shouldn’t either. It’s a bad influence, and terrible for your health.”

“Aw, shit. Yer not one’a them are you?”

She tramped around the both of them into the foyer, clipping leaves of the decorative plants and stuffing them into a makeshift bag. Vark’s head snaked around the corner, squinting her way.

“And whatever could you mean by ‘one of those’? As well, don’t pluck at my Occa trees with those things!”

Snocone gathered two more, these ones being a bit more crisp and dryer than the healthier leaves, curled them into a crude thin cylinder and popped the lid on her lighter. The flame flickered and shrank as she drew a long puff; the tip heaved from a dark red to bright orange, and she clipped her lighter back closed, exhaling an acrid, but rather sweet cloud of smoke. She leaned back against the wall, satisfied.

“Damn, that’s not bad. Takes the edge off,” she held the burnt roll out to Vark and Frosted Lass. “Wanna hit? Y’sound like you need it.”

Vark bit at the sack of nails and tossed it her way. 

“Stop being a miscreant and make yourself useful already!”