In a bit of a daze from the pot, Jezebelle wandered off and stumbled onto a small open air tent. Inside, a rather cheerful looking woman was painting a young woman's face. "There you go," she said handing the girl a mirror. The face painter then looked at Jezebelle. "Oh, hi there. Would you like to have your face painted too?"
"Huh?" the goth girl replied.
"It's totally free. These paints have special ingredients in them that make the client feel less inhibited and free-among other things."
That sounded like some new way to get high, which Jezebelle was always looking for a new way to try. Normally she would have said something snarky, but this time she just shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
The facepainter's last customer got up and left-she had a ladybug face-and Jezebelle sat down in her place. The woman smiled in a way that reminded Jezebelle of her grandmother who died two years ago-and still missed, although she'd never admit it. "Very well, what would you like?"