Who: Edwin & Oliver When: After 8pm Where: Edwin's room
Edwin had made preparations for the night. He'd wandered down to the kitchen, collecting a bunch of snacks that he knew that he, at least at one point, had gotten the munchies for. He knew he needed something salty, so he brought up some chips, both plain and sour cream & onion, as well as a jar of pickles, which he wasn't sure he put in the salty category, but it wasn't sweet, and he wasn't honestly thinking about how to classify it as much as he was thinking about covering his taste bases. He had more sweet foods, because he didn't really want to narrow down their choices. He'd come up with oreos, shortbread cookies, a box of Lucky Charms, a slice of the cake he had to believe Jerome had made that day, and a bottle of Hershey's syrup. Then there were a couple of sodas and a half-gallon of milk, because chocolate milk might be nice...
He had a feeling that he was overthinking this.
Then he had his spread of markers, all of which were water based so they'd was off easy. He'd found one of the bigger boxes in the craft room, with the larger variety of colors. It didn't matter much, but if he was going to doodle on his man, he may as well give himself options. He seemed to be all about options tonight.
Then there was a pile of blankets on the far edge of the bed. Oliver had mentioned that he'd gotten high in the past, but just in case he was one of those who might react to weed by having an anxiety attack, he wanted to be ready to wrap him up and make him comfy and help him come down. He had a feeling Oliver wouldn't respond like that, since it probably would have happened in the past, and Oliver probably would have mentioned it. Still, it didn't hurt to be prepared. And they could probably find other uses for the blankets.
The joint that they had wasn't the prettiest, but that didn't worry Edwin at all. He'd smoked uglier joints before. He chuckled as he held it up in front of Oliver dramatically, like he was trying to get him to smoke it through peer pressure via some bad PSA. "Smoking fatty-fatties," he laughed. "It's from a song. Oddly not from the Reefer Madness musical. Have you seen that? I should have grabbed that. Eh..." He shrugged as he reached for the lighter that he had dragged out. "Creeping like a communist, it's knocking at our doors, turning all our children into hooligans and whores... I don't know why I'm singing."