( He didn't go through his ritual alone. They took him into a chamber with people he didn't recognize — natives? Maybe? And watched them refuse to consume the ritual food set before them. He'd have turned it down himself, if he hadn't seen the jelly explode in their faces in the grossest possible way.
He's normally pretty stubborn and recalcitrant, but he also knows how to pick his battles. If he has to choose between eating it voluntarily or snorting it, he elects to chew, thanks very much.
So he eats his ayahuasca like a good, growing boy and promptly starts tripping the fuck out. Internally, that is. Externally, he thinks maybe the Acolytes and the other witnesses are a little puzzled by his lack of reaction and his polite, )
Cool, so can I go now?
( Um, sure. I guess.
Holy shit, this is intense. Like, almost immediately intense. It's not quite "see the song of time, meet fake god Bill Murray and then real god who was sort of like a whale" levels of intense, but it's not a good time.
But, for the first time in longer than he can remember, he doesn't actually feel tired. He feels... good. Maybe it's because he's done this before. Maybe it's because he has so much experience with psychoactive substances and hallucinations, he's done more drugs than most people have — not voluntarily, he might add — but it means he knows how to ride it out.
And he wants to help. It's a compulsion he doesn't quite notice taking root until he sees a girl full-on shove some other chick away with both hands. The second girl walks off with a glare, but Jack tentatively approaches in her place.
He's a mild, unobtrusive presence. Skinny, average height for a guy (short, if you're not in Hollywood), reserved, calm. He has the perfectly polite, unassuming demeanor of a guy that works in customer service and might be a little bit dead inside as a result.
And he's holding a fucking red Solo cup. )
Hey. ( He offers the cup out to her with a muted shrug. ) Do you like really cheap gas station booze?
b!
He's normally pretty stubborn and recalcitrant, but he also knows how to pick his battles. If he has to choose between eating it voluntarily or snorting it, he elects to chew, thanks very much.
So he eats his ayahuasca like a good, growing boy and promptly starts tripping the fuck out. Internally, that is. Externally, he thinks maybe the Acolytes and the other witnesses are a little puzzled by his lack of reaction and his polite, )
Cool, so can I go now?
( Um, sure. I guess.
Holy shit, this is intense. Like, almost immediately intense. It's not quite "see the song of time, meet fake god Bill Murray and then real god who was sort of like a whale" levels of intense, but it's not a good time.
But, for the first time in longer than he can remember, he doesn't actually feel tired. He feels... good. Maybe it's because he's done this before. Maybe it's because he has so much experience with psychoactive substances and hallucinations, he's done more drugs than most people have — not voluntarily, he might add — but it means he knows how to ride it out.
And he wants to help. It's a compulsion he doesn't quite notice taking root until he sees a girl full-on shove some other chick away with both hands. The second girl walks off with a glare, but Jack tentatively approaches in her place.
He's a mild, unobtrusive presence. Skinny, average height for a guy (short, if you're not in Hollywood), reserved, calm. He has the perfectly polite, unassuming demeanor of a guy that works in customer service and might be a little bit dead inside as a result.
And he's holding a fucking red Solo cup. )
Hey. ( He offers the cup out to her with a muted shrug. ) Do you like really cheap gas station booze?