Peyote liked to spend time among the plants and the trees of the city; compared to the concrete, there were hardly any green spots to be found, but where they were he would be, generally. He enjoyed the buskers and the people who walked around, lost in their own worlds of thought (thoughts that he would often deepen, and watch as their eyes widened with personal revelation. It was intriguing.
The last several days had been spent in pursuit of his latest goal - getting to know this strange city that still had the audacity to call herself New York - and today was no exception. The ancient drug god was continuing on in this endeavor even as he ambled across the green grass, unfiltered Lucky Strike smoldering in his fingertips, kind smile with a hint of mischief playing at the corners of his lips.
It looked like rain today...Peyote enjoyed the rain, it wasn't something he had seen all too often in the dessert. And so he stopped, looking up into the sky, eying the clouds and trying to guess at their intentions. Would he be caught in the rain? If he was, he wouldn't mind, really. It was just another experience, just another moment of beauty.
And as he stared off happily into the sky, he heard something crack rather loudly, and before he could at all process what was going on, he felt something crashing down atop him, and he tried to react in some dignified way - catching the person, perhaps - but they both ended up on the ground all akimbo and nothing even remotely dignified.
And so, seeing nothing else to be done, he began to laugh.
Peyote's laugh was deep and rather endlessly amused, and he just stayed there all squashed and twisted up for a moment as he laughed, and finally he stopped, wiping his eyes, and started trying to disentangle himself from this strange mess of arms and legs and...kitten.
"God damn," he said, grunting as he attempted to slide away from their collective tangle. "It's not every day I get...fallen on. Thanks for that, darlin'. You ok?"