If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-05-20 19:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | heroin, marijuana |
Who: Marijuana and Heroin
When: Wednesday evening
Where: Dave's apartment
Warnings: Drug use, language, sexuality.
It was Blues' mention of Grunge that had pulled Marijuana up somewhat from the lake. It was his suspicions about Jazz. It was Blues himself. But once he was up? No. It was Trip, his Trip, leaving him yet again. The pain he'd been burying with anger flared up full force and Marijuana had thrown himself into baking. New recipes always held his attention, always made him neurotic and turned him into a perfectionist, always made him forget all else. And so, with ZZ Top blaring, because he'd listened to the entire Nirvana discography already, Marijuana was still baking, baking, baking. He'd been at it since around eight, completely taking over Dave's kitchen and when his second had wandered in around nine, he'd been too groggy to recognize what was going on at first.
At first.
A fatal mistake to make. Marijuana instantly had him in a chair, forcing sample after sample down his mortal's throat, asking for opinions in a forceful, needy voice and Dave had complied. Until, of course, after about nine hours of constant weed-laced food, he was on the verge of passing out and Marijuana just sighed, took Dave's high away, and started again. The kitchen was an utter mess. Marijuana was an utter mess in nothing but Dark Side of the Moon boxers. Somewhere along the line, a can of whipped cream had exploded, both Marijuana and Dave were covered. The cherry fights had erupted as well and there were at least ten in Marijuana's hair and sticking to the bits of weed butter all over his body. Flour coated his face and limbs, tattoos were covered by a mix of ingredients but Marijuana didn't care.
He merely hummed along to 'Bad to the Bone' and drew another pie out of the oven, placing it down on the counter. Well, it wasn't a counter anymore; every available surface had been taken over by pies with little labels on them and Marijuana waited for this one to cool before holding out a small piece to Dave with bare fingers. "What do you think?" He asked his mortal, who swallowed and gave Marijuana a long, detailed, completely false and unhelpful response.
Marijuana only sighed. It had to be perfect.