Dylan was not so enamored with his pet that he didn't notice when GHB entered the room. On the contrary, his glassy eyes darted up almost immediately when he heard the footsteps in the hall, the familiar sound of liquid sloshing against glass. Dylan did a lot of drinking at GHB's place, more than he was used to, but it all contributed to the relief he could feel under a chemical haze, so it was good. He stroked the top of the snake's head lightly before setting it back in the tank. He slid the top of the tank back in place and folded his hands in his lap. He looked up at Henri, his eyes traced the odd shadows cast on the drug's face.
He stood quickly. "I don't care." He said, his voice thick. "I don't care what he's doing, he can do what he wants." It wouldn't be too hard for Dylan to stay away from the popular culture. All he had to do was sell drugs, eat, sleep, and wait for the virus in his blood to kill him with a cold or a kidney infection. He hadn't stopped taking his medication, he wasn't ready to join the walking dead, not yet. There was still the highs to live for. He reached out his hands, fingertips running lightly over Henri's stomach, a gesture as intimate as it was searching. "I decided." He said quietly, "As I was walking over here." Suddenly, he couldn't bear to look the god in the eyes, "I want you inside, you can- pleased, just do whatever it takes. Please?"