If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-04-24 13:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | marijuana, shrooms |
Who: Marijuana and Shrooms
Where: Basement, the Highway
When: Friday afternoon
Warnings: Drug use, Organic non-linear-ness.
Dealing with the baku had been unpleasant but at least they knew that it had happened and that, hopefully, Heroin's dreams would be left alone in the future. Still, Marijuana's dreams were plagued with rivers and lakes of black, of Heroin getting swallowed up deep within them and changing, warping and as he drove back to the Highway, he did his best to push those images from his mind. For now, he needed to concentrate on Tracer, concentrate on the fact that his brother was letting him come home, that he would be in his temple again soon, his base, his Highway. For once, he didn't have music playing and he pulled into the back parking lot, Dave waiting for him with an eager grin.
The mortal laughed loud and threw his arms around Marijuana, who pressed a kiss to his cheek and after a murmured exchange, Dave ran off to take care of business, of deliveries and Marijuana was looking up at the back end of his home nervously. Keeping his immortal senses locked away, he couldn't tell just who was there and just who wasn't as he slipped quietly through the back door, treading lightly on the carpet and watching the stairs with nervous, still-blackened eyes. But there were no sounds and he sighed in relief before slipping down the basement stairs.
Bypassing the bedrooms, Marijuana breathed a sigh of desperate relief at the sight of the dirt, his dirt. This was the dirt where his seconds had been buried after they died, this was the dirt that had taken his blood and given him absolution. This was the dirt he had risen from and Marijuana just collapsed, laying down on his back and letting the soil ease up over his arms and legs, comforting and calm; not trying to drag him down.