(no subject)
Smeagol's sitting at the bar, again, looking rather morose and trying not to think, as usual. He puts his forehead on his hand, and drops his head onto the bar.
How long has it been since he's had a smoke? He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't know how long
"Wish I had pipe-weed," he mutters.
And then, pipe-weed is there.
Smeagol stares at it and sits up.
"I wish I had something to smoke it with," he adds, looking around for the mysterious source of this randomly distributed tobacco.
A long-stemmed pipe has appeared on the bar.
"I wish I had something to light it with," he says. Matches appear.
Moments later Smeagol's still sitting at the bar, surrounded by a cloud of very high-quality pipeweed smoke, looking much happier with his situation. A tab with his name quietly flickers into being, but he'll never notice it, and even if he does, he can't read.
How long has it been since he's had a smoke? He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't know how long
"Wish I had pipe-weed," he mutters.
And then, pipe-weed is there.
Smeagol stares at it and sits up.
"I wish I had something to smoke it with," he adds, looking around for the mysterious source of this randomly distributed tobacco.
A long-stemmed pipe has appeared on the bar.
"I wish I had something to light it with," he says. Matches appear.
Moments later Smeagol's still sitting at the bar, surrounded by a cloud of very high-quality pipeweed smoke, looking much happier with his situation. A tab with his name quietly flickers into being, but he'll never notice it, and even if he does, he can't read.