Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you're a nineteen year old juggalo with mental problems.

Gamzee pulled an old violin case out from under his bed and pulled it up with him as he sat back up, plopping the beaten up old thing on his duvet. Calloused thumbs quickly flicked the latches and he opened it up to expose the contents. The violin was long gone, and he'd replaced it with his stash and paraphernalia. Two pipes, a short bong, and several empty lighters. Most likely all of them were empty. He had to make a mental note to pick some more up next time he stopped for gas.

The smell of dried marijuana filled his nose as he took a deep breath, the smell instantly calming him. His body knew what was about to happen, and the bliss he would soon feel. Experienced hands opened the jar he kept his main stash in, carefully selecting a decent sized nug and packing the bowl of his favorite pipe. For some reason, he had the brilliant highdea to soak this glassware in a bowl of faygo for a while. Ever since then, it tasted AMAZING every time he lit up. Though, the taste was fading, sadly.

Where the fuck was his lighter? Fuck. He rummaged around, picking up lighters and holding them to the sunlight filtering through the half-drawn blinds of his bedroom window. Empty… Empty… Empty… Fuck, this one was empty too. Why the hell did he still have these things? Dammit, that one was empty too.

A light blue lighter was finally scavenged from the heap and he shook it against the light, humming happily as he saw just the slightest bit of liquid through the thin plastic. Hell yeah.

He placed the pipe between his lips, thumb blocking the ventilation hole with one hand while the other flicked at his lighter. Shit, was it out of fluid? Just when he was about to put it away, he gave one last flick of his thumb and smiled to himself as the flame finally lit. Good. He inhaled shallowly to get the bud lit at first, the crystalized green turning into a bright red cherry at the corner of the bowl where he lit it, smoke wafting away. Gamzee sighed before taking a long drag, stifling the need to cough after he let go of the hole in the side and hit a bunch of smoke at once, and exhaled through his nose, contorting his face into an expression of disgust at the taste that suddenly filled his mouth and nostrils. Ew… Remind him never to do that again.

A pleasing buzz rattled through his body, painted lips curling into a small smile. Damn, this was some good shit. His brother had really set him up this time. Well, Kurloz hadn't actually set him up. More like he took it from his grow op after a bad day. The mute adult wouldn't mind though, he never did. His brother was such a quality motherfucker.

Gamzee flicked the lighter again, having a bit more trouble this time than before. But, it eventually lit, and he cornered the pipe again. A shiver trickled down his spine as the smoke filled deep in his lungs, capping off after they were full with as much as he could take. He flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Smoke was already accumulating in the room. He parted his lips, allowing himself to release the captured smoke in small puffs and watch them dissipate.

Three hits and he was already feeling good. This sesh might not last long after all. He just needed to get high, then he'd put it away. Just a bit more than a buzz… After all, he promised Tavros he'd quit smoking. Or at least, try to cut back. Hey, at least cigarettes were a big no for him.

Today he couldn't keep that promise to Tavros. The juggalo sighed heavily and sat back up, crossing his legs in a bizarre fashion so his feet rest atop his knees. Guilt clenched at his gut and his heart, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Today… Today was just too much for him to handle.

The voices were back, and louder than before. Two cackling male voices whispering orders to him every waking moment. They only seemed to go away, or at least calm down, when he lit up. The things they said… God… Kurloz told him it was the Messiahs speaking to him, and he should feel blessed, but he didn't. Though he worshiped his Mirthful Messiahs, they certainly didn't provide him with much mirth.

Deep brown eyes flickered to the window. Based on the sun, school was probably out by now. If he wasn't already in the doghouse for smoking, he would be once Tavros found out he skipped class. A panic attack became too much for him to handle, and he found himself jumping out of the second story window mid algebra lecture. At least he remembered to grab his bag before instinct kicked in and he ran.

At the memory he felt his ankle begin to throb. He'd landed on it at an odd angle, and though he didn't feel any pain at the time, it was bothering him now. Probably just a mild sprain. He'd get it looked at tomorrow.

Gamzee placed the now cashed pipe on top of his windowsill and lay back against his duvet, eyes closed. Smoke swirled around the room, still getting into his lungs with each breath. The hotbox would provide him with a bit of a higher high, there was no need pack it again. He didn't want to get blazed.

A soft cackling echoed in his ears.

Fuck.

Yes, yes he did want to get blazed. Out of his fucking mind.