Marijuana was tired, stressed and worried about his family. When he had been the only drug god in the city, he'd built himself up a mortal following. When his brothers and sisters began to trickle in, the ones who came first were the younger ones, the weaker ones, and it had been quite simple to assume power over them. Now? Heroin was back in town, more of them were coming and did Marijuana really want to lead over the older factions of his little pantheon? The weaker siblings had always accepted his word as law but he was making autonomous decisions without any input and it didn't sit well with him. Maybe someone else was willing to take over.
It was on his mind even as he played Halo with Dave on a tiny TV they had set up on the counter, it was on his mind when Psyche dropped by and he did his best not to mention his part in the most recent Greek power struggle and it was on his mind even as they walked toward Will's apartment. Marijuana did his best to push the brewing thoughts away as his anxiety grew. This mortal, while not exactly useful in the way most of his other mortals were, was an excellent artist when he wasn't in junkie mode and Marijuana felt responsible for him.
After all, it had been Marijuana who had cleaned him up, gotten him off the hard shit and had engineered a switch to weed so Will could still have some sort of intoxicant while he painted. And oh, how the artist had improved and Marijuana frequented his art shows. Will was supposed to call every week and Marijuana had completely blanked on the fact that the artist hadn't checked in. He had been way too busy but that was no excuse and he rubbed at his eyes as they walked toward the apartment building.
Eventually, they were climbing the stairs and Marijuana paused as he thought he felt... something quickly whip out of the range of his immortal senses but really, he was stressed and his mind could be playing tricks on him. "The door's unlocked," He murmured to Psyche with a frown and pushed it open. Stepping in, Marijuana sighed as he walked over to the drafting table. Sifting through old drawings, he looked over at Psyche briefly.
"Did he talk about me often?" He asked quietly as he glanced down at a incredibly detailed drawing of a butterfly. "He always... was so grateful. I can't see him just taking off without telling me." That's what was really bothering him at the moment. If Will was alright, why hadn't he called? The fact that he hadn't didn't bode well for his safety and Marijuana didn't want to lose any of his mortals.