Lion Head Mesa we don't talk about Cicero, no, no, no

Her eyes set upon the grayscale form of Sayf, and she rolled, lounging on her side, gaze looking him up and down with interest. Please, she said, the poppies already starting to grasp hold of her. I would love company.

She waited for him to settle beside her, then slowly proffered the leaf, the small, dark seeds stark against its light skin.

Poppies, Maegi explained, bi-colored eyes burning into his countenance. Have you had them before?

Her own speech was a little slurred, now, limbs growing heavy in opiate bliss. But she waited for his response; he was free to flee, if needed; she would not judge him. She tilted her head, slowly, wondering.