When I am sleeping in the hot-tub in my room, I rarely sleep deeply. Today is no different and after mildly falling in and out of consciousness for an hour I finally snap to it for good and stand. I usually place my hands on my hips and look down into the water as I stand there for a minute or so to let my upper half dry out a bit, my eyes closed as I breathe slowly, but heavily. One of the nicer things about my morning routine is how regimented it has become. I always know that as soon as I step down and out of the tub, Ridley has a towel hanging on a hook within reach of my right hand.
I dry off like I usually would, standing on the fine fur rugs I created myself. They're always so comfortable feeling on bare feet. I would typically walk over to my desk with my towel hung around my neck and resting on my shoulders and begin to look over any documentation Ridley leaves on my desk she deemed important enough for me to consider reading, but not important enough to bother me with during breakfast. This morning, like most mornings, all of it gets trashed. I sit down at my desk, look it over briefly, notice none of it seems particularly relevant or personal and place it in my waste bin at the foot of my desk without a second thought.
I sit at my desk now, totally awake and in full form, rapping my fingers across my desk as I notice the distinct lack of a hard knock. I must have removed my rings last night when getting home which I usually do and slide out the typical drawer they would be in, finding them and putting them on. I have a particular weakness for rubies and love wearing a pair of ruby rings made from the finest rose gold and native gold you can come across. I love the effect copper has when you mix it in with gold, giving it that rose-red hue. Of course I made my own rings, no one else can match my technical expertise with precious metals. I return to rapping my fingers across my desk for a moment, now more clearly thinking as my eyes light up and I stop - turning my attention to my scale and the bag left on it.
I immediately reach my left hand to my scale, yanking the bag from it as my right hand fishes in my drawer for my pestle and mortar. I immediately turn the bag over to dump its contents into my stoneware and start the crushing and churning process - my blows into the bowl with purpose and practiced precision. Once I get it ground down to a powder like quality, I take a spoonful and turn it over in my mouth, dropping it on my tongue as I wash it down with the always present glass of water Ridley leaves for me at the base of my scale. In its final form the drug is called 'moon sugar' or something to that effect. I don't particularly care for its immense bitter flavor, but its one hell of a drug that can sharpen even the slackest of minds into a real focus and give enough energy for five men.
After I swallow my bitter 'medicine' I usually cough once, wincing noticeably at how awful it tastes. I've gotten used to it though and almost look forward to the disgusting flavor each morning since I know what comes after. I simply lean back into my desk-chair, laying my head back across the top of it as I look up at the ceiling briefly before I wrap my wet towel that's resting on my shoulders across my face lightly to block out light and typically pass out for a few minutes. The muffled sound of running watera,the ticks gold inlaid clock I made that sits atop my desk, along with the warm feeling my face gets from being covered is deeply relaxing. I sleep in my chair, fully nude, with a wet towel across my face - a sight to behold which is why Ridley locks the door behind her when she leave so none of my Free Company members can intrude on my little ritual. The last thing I need is for the world to see me like this drugged up and out of form.
[To be continued...]
I dry off like I usually would, standing on the fine fur rugs I created myself. They're always so comfortable feeling on bare feet. I would typically walk over to my desk with my towel hung around my neck and resting on my shoulders and begin to look over any documentation Ridley leaves on my desk she deemed important enough for me to consider reading, but not important enough to bother me with during breakfast. This morning, like most mornings, all of it gets trashed. I sit down at my desk, look it over briefly, notice none of it seems particularly relevant or personal and place it in my waste bin at the foot of my desk without a second thought.
I sit at my desk now, totally awake and in full form, rapping my fingers across my desk as I notice the distinct lack of a hard knock. I must have removed my rings last night when getting home which I usually do and slide out the typical drawer they would be in, finding them and putting them on. I have a particular weakness for rubies and love wearing a pair of ruby rings made from the finest rose gold and native gold you can come across. I love the effect copper has when you mix it in with gold, giving it that rose-red hue. Of course I made my own rings, no one else can match my technical expertise with precious metals. I return to rapping my fingers across my desk for a moment, now more clearly thinking as my eyes light up and I stop - turning my attention to my scale and the bag left on it.
I immediately reach my left hand to my scale, yanking the bag from it as my right hand fishes in my drawer for my pestle and mortar. I immediately turn the bag over to dump its contents into my stoneware and start the crushing and churning process - my blows into the bowl with purpose and practiced precision. Once I get it ground down to a powder like quality, I take a spoonful and turn it over in my mouth, dropping it on my tongue as I wash it down with the always present glass of water Ridley leaves for me at the base of my scale. In its final form the drug is called 'moon sugar' or something to that effect. I don't particularly care for its immense bitter flavor, but its one hell of a drug that can sharpen even the slackest of minds into a real focus and give enough energy for five men.
After I swallow my bitter 'medicine' I usually cough once, wincing noticeably at how awful it tastes. I've gotten used to it though and almost look forward to the disgusting flavor each morning since I know what comes after. I simply lean back into my desk-chair, laying my head back across the top of it as I look up at the ceiling briefly before I wrap my wet towel that's resting on my shoulders across my face lightly to block out light and typically pass out for a few minutes. The muffled sound of running watera,the ticks gold inlaid clock I made that sits atop my desk, along with the warm feeling my face gets from being covered is deeply relaxing. I sleep in my chair, fully nude, with a wet towel across my face - a sight to behold which is why Ridley locks the door behind her when she leave so none of my Free Company members can intrude on my little ritual. The last thing I need is for the world to see me like this drugged up and out of form.
[To be continued...]