Franke sees something so disgusting that it simply must die.
based on a conversation i had with flicq and andy on the something psychonauts discord!
Something So Disgusting That It Simply Must Die
If the word "despair" had a visual next to it in a dictionary, it would be what Franke Athens was witnessing. The joint she had just rolled tumbled out of her twitching fingers. It bumped off her knee and scuffed her sneaker. While she would have adhered to the five second rule under normal circumstances, what was happening stunned her so severely that she could not focus her half-lidded gaze on anything else.
She wished the lights around them blinded her. Pink and cyan colors flashed above her head but only cast shadows on the other partygoers. The pumping drumbeats and heavy synths from the band playing on the rickety-looking stage became television static in the back of her mind. It was such a ridiculous situation that the normal insanity of a house party, with the scents of beer and cheap perfume wafting around her, became tame, mundane, and boring compared to what plagued her.
Like a rodent, Benny nibbled into his blunt. Bits of paper became stuck in his teeth. He swallowed and grimaced, his eyes screwing into a squint. But he cleared his throat and bit into it again, poorly masking his discomfort with the strained smile on his face.
"You know, I'm really starting to feel the high," Benny said, his smugness palpable enough to make a shiver run down Franke's spine. He chomped down on the tip, and his entire body convulsed. He sounded like he was choking on his own tongue, throat bulging as he hunched forward. He clawed at his neck and squeezed his eyes shut again. Small tears slipped down his ruddy cheeks while he choked down the sliver of the blunt.
Brown, flaky cannabis residue clung to his upper lip when he straightened. He flashed that same, cocky grin at her. He coughed, and as soon as his mouth twitched, she noticed his tongue curling in on itself.
"Now, that's the good stuff," he choked out, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
"Dude," she said, slowly getting up from her seat and stubbing out her fallen blunt, "that's not how you smoke weed."
Benny's gaze dipped. His smile remained, seemingly frozen on his face. He twisted his weed between his lithe fingers. He puckered his lips and examined the ends of the joint, twirling both sides to his face as if deciding which end to smoke before dropping his hand.
In silence, Franke followed his every moment. He flicked his joint into the crowd, letting it vanish among mingling bodies. Benny pushed himself up by his knees, his chair rocking behind him. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and stalked off into the crowd, his head bowed, a lingering odor of shame wafting from him.
Franke sat back down and rested her legs on Benny's chair. She slipped out her smartphone from her vest pocket and rested her thumbs on the dark screen. Taking in a deep breath, she smelled the comforting scent of marijuana smoke and looked up, wondering if she had subconsciously lit up during that embarrassing exchange.
Chops adjusted his beanie, a joint dangling between his lips as he nodded at her. "So, uh, did I just see that? Did what I think saw really happen?" he asked, smirking and gripping his phone with both hands.
"I wish it didn't. I'm gonna, like, be cringing the entire night now," she replied. Noticing the red light on Chops' phone faded, she grinned. "Were you recording that?"
"Well, when I am gonna catch a golden opportunity like that again?" he retorted, and they high-fived, bonding over the one of the worst things they had ever seen engraved in their memories.