Very new. Very Bunhill.

“What’s he got there?”

The envy Succubun, if she was startled by Bonemeal’s presence and question, didn’t show it. Turning her head to give him a stare, his mixed gaze momentarily settled on those antler-horns, her head turned back down to the lapels of the passed out drunk clenched in her fist. She promptly dropped him back behind the dumpster, before turning the half-crumpled packet in her hand and scanning it with her eyes, “Pack of Bunhills.”

“Oh, Bunhills? Shit.” Brows rising as he stepped up to get a better look of the guy, the muttering from this sleeping drunkard made him seem especially pitiful, “Didn’t seem like the Bunhill kind of guy.” Holding out his hand expectantly without looking at her…when she didn’t pass over the crumpled packet he stuck his hand back in his pocket, straightening out his posture again to look sidelong at her pointedly, is tone less curious and more flat now, “...not gonna share the wealth?”

Watching her pocket the packet, he couldn’t very well argue for her prize, she looked like she could beat the shit out of him to hell and back. Letting out a little sigh from his nose, and then waving dismissively as if unbothered, the skeleton-themed Succubun still just had to pester, “Okay, keep the packet of Bunhills–could I bum one of your Marlburrows?”

Thinking he was going to be made to wait for nothing again, Bonemeal was pleasantly surprised when with a motion that caught his gaze, he realized she was holding a cigarette out to him. Taking the cigarette presented to him, that Marlburrow, he stuck it into the side of his mouth, in between his lips. He could feel himself smiling.

As cool as he might imagine it would be if he could light the cigarette with the hellfire of his body, show off to a dangerous looking fellow Succubun, the hellfire was no true fire. If it couldn’t burn him, it couldn’t burn anything. Sticking his hand into the pocket of his loose fit snuggy hoodie and rummaging, feeling his light leather wallet against his skin in there for just a moment, Bonemeal produced a matchbook he had picked up from a night of drinking in The Rabbit Hole.

Ripping a match out and folding the matchbook closed again, he struck the cardboard stick along the strip on the book. The flame further lit his face as his hellfire did, he pulled the flame to the end of the cigarette. After a beat he thought to offer a light, but Jackal pulled a lighter out of her pocket to light her own cigarette instead.

Light the Bunhill.

Snorting as he took a drag of his cigarette, and seeing her flick her gaze sidelong at him, maybe she thought he’s pick a fight now. Instead, he shrugged, “You had a pack of Bunson & Hedges last time…” Her focus on him left him again, and she shrugged absently, giving him no real answer.

It wasn’t uncommon to see Jackal standing at the edge of this, or other, alleyways. Lighting up and smoking a cigarette. Bonemeal couldn’t say he was any different either.

The flowershop owner came out a few minutes later, shooing the two off claiming 9am was 'too early' for them to be pulling this shit...

...imagine their shock when they found the drunk passed out behind the dumpster.