If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-06-24 12:42:00 |
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Current music: | voices - pagoda |
Who: Dave Henderson and Dylan Hayes.
Where: Highway parking lot.
When: Noon-ish.
Warnings: Language, a decided lack of hard drug use, kissing.
Talking to Marijuana around ten had helped with Dave's anger. It was just so hard, trying to let go of what they'd had, trying to forget, having to watch Marijuana lavish Heroin with attention and gifts and love while completely spurning Dave. His anger was justified, in his head, but he was hurting the two gods he cared about the most. Marijuana deserved better from him. Heroin didn't deserve his hatred even if Dave wanted nothing more than to hate the beautiful, ethereal, wonderful drug god. But he couldn't, not when he needed the heroin just to keep going even if the heroin was going to kill him in the end. Work helped. Schedules helped. Accounting with Cam helped. But what would probably help the most at the moment was getting out of the shop - even if it was just to the parking lot behind the shop - and seeing someone who wasn't caught up in Marijuana's undertow.
At least, not yet. Dylan was caught in Heroin's but so far, Marijuana had left Dave's new friend alone, for the most part, and Dave was thankful for that, hoping it stayed that way as he dug a bucket of chalk out from under the counter, Cam giving him a rather odd look, one mixed with worry. Dave just rolled his eyes, tugged down his sleeves and hoped his baggy shirt hid just how skinny he was getting as he headed out back to take a seat on a pile of lumber to wait for Dylan. Well, the shirt might hide the way he was becoming closer and closer to one of those 'heroin chic' models but the bags under his eyes... he could do nothing about that except crack open a Red Bull, sit back and hope that Dylan wouldn't say he looked like shit.
He knew he looked like shit. He just hated being told that he looked like shit.