Tommy’s done a lot in his life. Been on a world tour or two, played guitar for a lot of bands, been in strange places like a drag bar after midnight – and Sutan’s still owing him for that – but this… this is a new one on him. "Ummm... Adam?"
"Just roll with it Tommy. Juuuuust roll with it." Adam looks a little frazzled and a lot weird probably because he is wearing rabbit ears and clutching a glass of something pink and smoking but eh. There are bigger things to worry about.
"How much pot did we smoke last night?"
He asks because he genuinely doesn’t know. After the third go around of the smoke sticks, he kind of clocked out. Adam shrugs. "Either too much or not enough. Don’t know which yet."
"Oh. Fair enough." So it is.
There’s no way the amount of pot they smoked correlates to the weirdness of their surroundings, right? Mountains with pink snow, trees that look like cotton candy but blue, a sea that washes green around a iron picnic table and chairs….
No way it’s all connected. Really.
The neon fairies buzzing around Adam’s head, showing everything in glitter might though. Maybe.
However, the pot does not explain… “…Why are we naked, Adam?”
Tommy’s a pretty cool stoned guy, apparently, all deep and shit and he fucking loves tacos when he’s chasing the green dragon, but the one thing he doesn’t usually do? Get naked. Strip. Let it all hang out, free and easy in the breezy.
For some reason, the guy who’s happy enough to let it all fall down when he’s sober is harder to get naked than a nun during Mass when he’s high.
So he’s a little confused at why he’s naked now. And why Adam is too.
“I dunno why we’re naked.” Adam declares sagely. He sounds fucking stoned and it would normally be hella funny but now Adam’s staring at him with a very intense look and Tommy wonders if he’s like, grown boobs and not noticed.
Hey, he got naked and didn’t notice either. These things happen here, apparently. Shit happened.
“Why you got purplie curlies?” Adam asks – at least, that’s what Tommy thinks Adam asks. The guy can barely stand up straight, never mind get a sentence out in a straight line.
“Why are you looking, Adam?” Tommy resists the urge to check. Again.
“It’s a dream, Tommy Joe. Joe. Tommy. Person. Friend. Umm. You. I look a looooootta places when I dream.” Adam nods emphatically and Tommy resists the urge to start poking shit because if this is a dream, fucked up shit happens fast.
He’s an insomniac but it doesn’t mean he’s never dreamed before..
“You’re still high, aren’t you?” He asks instead and he doesn’t even need an answer. Adam looks like he’s in the middle of turbulence on a plane despite the fact both feet are securely on the pale orange sand.
“Veeeeeeeeerrrrrry possible.” Adam shakes his head in agreement.
As he sees it, he’s got two choices. Roll with it, or start picking out the holes in this fucked up universe with candy trees and the sea that’s been turned blue by a fairy with a huuuuuuge stein of … yeah, that’s beer. Foamy head and all. Looks pretty damn nice as well.
“Have another cake, Adam.” He hands Adam a pretty cupcake with silver rounds that look like buck shot and a rainbow swirl of icing that keeps on swirling.
It looks like an Adam sort of cupcake, if he’s honest.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Adam takes the cake with his mouth, not even bothering to use his hands and if Tommy feels a press of tongue against his fingers, he says nothing and lets Adam lick them clean of swirls.
When they get high, things happen and they don’t care in the morning.
It’s happened before, it’ll happen again and Amsterdam will happen again too – and not just because Tommy’s hoping Trespassing tour will play there. He’s just… there are rules and then there are times when rules can be broken.
Like, for example, the rules of the solar system.
“Adam. Look up.”
“Adam.” He asks again but the pretty glass stack of cupcakes on the table is a greater lure than naked Tommy right now. “Adam. Adam!”
“…Why?” Adam sounds confused and that’s probably the mass of sugar that’s in front of him that’s destroying his sense of direction or something because Adam goes weird around sugar and shit. Longest serving bandmember knowledge.
So Tommy gives him a hand. You know, as a friend and all that. He grabs some hair on Adam’s head, gives it a yank, and points to the moon.
“Your moon is a butt. “
“My what is a what?” Adam looks at him with huge eyes and Tommy thinks he might die of laughter because Adam sounds very serious right now.
“In your dream, your moon. Is a butt.” He leans forward, rests his head on Adam’s chest.
“My moon… is a butt?”
“Yup. Two cheeks, a crack, even got some curve in it so it ain’t inspired from me.” It’s true. It’s a very fleshy looking ass up there; bouncy and peachy.
“Why s’it my moon?” Adam asks.
“Dude. When I dream high, I get naked girls and orgies. You dream post modern.”
“I like that word.” Adam rolls a sound around his mouth, chasing it down with a sip from a tiny porcelain teacup. Wait, what?
“Oooooorgy. Orgy. Oooooooooooooooorrrrrrrgiiiiieeee….” He sounds like he’s warming up, running his voice through scales around the word orgy and Tommy can’t stop laughing.
“Man, you are baked.” He thumbs a tiny crumb of swirly icing off of Adam’s lip and it leaves behind a faint rainbow smear. “Baked like those cupcakes.”
“So I am.” Adam smiles up at him, the boyish face beneath the eyeliner and the concealer shines through. “Why aren’t you though?”
“I am. I think. Maybe. I dunno, but I’m here, aren’t it?” Tommy keeps on stroking Adam’s cheek as he shrugs. Maybe he is baked, maybe he isn’t, but he’s here in the world with the candy trees and the strange sea and Adam holds up another cupcake to his lips.
It tastes like the stage, and Amsterdam, and like Adam’s home last Friday night when they ended up on the couch together.
“You might be.” Adam is very matter of fact. “This is a very long dream.”
Tommy struggles not to laugh. “It’s been, like, five minutes. I think.”
Adam looks at his watch but the only thing it tells him is to look up at Tommy so he does. “But I’ve eaten like… three cakes…” He counts them on his fingers and this makes Tommy jealous. Adam’s nail polish is like four shades of black and is that even possible?
Oh yeah, he’s baked out of his skull as well if he’s contemplating shit like nail polish versus the unknown physics of a universe like this one.
“Five.” Tommy can count better than Adam when he’s high. “You wanna go see the dietician because you got cravin’s, boy.”
“M’not a boy.” Adam seems less preoccupied with the diet he’s supposed to be on – and Tommy hates it because Adam wants them to do it together, and he refuses to because coffee is not a fucking S.I.N, m’okay?
“Well, you’re the one sat on the beach, eatin’ a cupcake, building a sandcastle, wearing a party hat. Ya know.” Tommy would be more sarcastic but it’s kinda adorable watching Adam do something so carefree since all they’ve been doing recently is stressing him out with production/promotion bullshit.
“Still not a boy,” Adam sing songs under his breath and Tommy grins.
“Uh-uh…” Tommy strokes Adam’s hair and it’s kinda weird because it’s cycling between the black and grey and Tommy can’t decide which he likes more, because one is kinda cool and the other is way familiar.
Adam holds up a spade he pulled from the picnic basket and grins up at Tommy.
“Wanna build a sandcastle with me?” His party hat is slightly askew and he takes it off with the hand still holding his own spade, trickling sand into his hair and that’s just fucking cute, it really is.
“Yeah. Why not?” Why the fuck not indeed, Tommy thinks.