Excerpt:

As he passed the ships, there were plenty of groups of travelers outside their rides. A small group decked out in what appeared to be hiking gear crowded exuberantly around an electric grill. A couple with horrifically loud accents sat in beach chairs, gabbing incoherently. A disgustingly wholesome family had built a fire, of all things, and they were sitting around it having some sort of sing-along.

One ship he passed was by far the most dilapidated, fairly small with a chipped, garish yellow paint job and plenty of rust stains. At first, all he could see of the people lounging outside it was their apparently neon hair; three splotches of yellow, blue, and purple moving around lazily. As he approached, though, details materialized. There was a guy with a purple mohawk, reclined on the ground and smoking a fag. A girl with a curtain of blue hair down one side of her face was fiddling with some bits of paper in her lap. And the other guy, with a yellow mop of hair tipped in green, was on his knees, lunging at the ground and giggling.

Rian raised an eyebrow. They were druggies of some sort, that much was clear. Not really a big deal. Not exactly uncommon. But…were they really doing what he thought they were?

The guy on his knees smacked the ground and crowed in success. He scraped some black smudge off his palm and onto a bit of paper near the girl, who took it and rolled it expertly. For the first time, Rian noticed that this lot wasn’t totally barren. Well, it couldn’t be, if you wanted it to have an atmosphere, but still, you didn’t normally see black hopping bugs all over the place at a fill station. Oh god. They really were doing that, weren’t they?

Purple Mohawk noticed that Rian had come to a full stop in front of them, staring. He peered at him from under half-lidded eyes and waved his joint in his general direction. “…You wanna try it?”

Rian blinked and looked around for a second, hoping to dear god that he was talking to somebody else. Nope. “Uh…”

“You can’t just give these out to every dumb kid who passes by,” the girl said, not looking up. “Goddamnit, Hart, we’re supposed to be stockpiling right now, not smoking up. Not that you care.” Her ranting had trailed off into grumbling by the end.

The guy on the ground looked up, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Think about crickets less. Smoke crickets more. Heh. You should let the guy have some.” A cricket hopped by his peripheral vision. He fell towards it, reaching the spot a full second too late.

“Um, you know what, I think I’m just going to go.” He jerked his thumb towards the bar. “So…”

Purple Mohawk, presumably named Hart, sat up a little. “You sure? Wouldn’t mind you sticking around a bit. We don’t bite.”

Rian couldn’t think of a sufficient reply to this. He edged away, which turned into a baby step away, which tentatively morphed into walking away.

“Fuck it, Joss, you always scare the cute ones away,” Hart said behind him.

“He wasn’t that cute.” You could practically hear her eyes rolling. Rian picked up the pace.

The bar was loud and dark and reeking of drunkenness. Rian pushed his was to a stool and asked the bartender for the strongest stuff they had. He was shoved a bottle of watered-down beer. Typical. His wallet allowed for two bottles, so that was what he drank, staring into space and ignoring anybody’s attempts to talk to him.

Well. This traveling thing was some adventure. He should have stayed at the univ and written that bloody essay. But no, he had to go and have plans and try to make his life exciting…

The bottles were quickly emptied. Rian’s hunched shoulders relaxed, and he collapsed bonelessly onto the bar, head in arms. He wasn’t really that tired, though, so that got boring fast. He stood up, tossed some cash the bartender’s way, and shoved over to the back exit.

The cold air outside scratched against his lungs. Though that might have been from the smoke of at least six different people lighting up out back. He coughed once. And…oh god, was that Hart? Rian pulled his jacket closer and stared at the ground. Maybe he’d be too stoned to notice.

An overpoweringly sweet smelling joint was waved under his nose. “Is good,” Hart drawled. “Better than that shite beer they serve in there.”

Rian looked cross-eyed at the smoldering roll of paper. The smoke was already making his head swim. It’s a cricket, he told himself firmly. I am currently inhaling the burning entrails of a dead insect.

He glanced at Hart. Hart gave him a knowing smirk and glanced down at the joint.

Seconds later, Rian was following Hart back to his ship, joint hanging between his fingers.