Who: Marijuana and Sato. Wes and Matt at the beginning. What: Jan hurt Cam. The damage needs to be repaid. As always, Dave gets the short end of the stick. Where: Highway kitchen. When: Thursday... afternoon? Warnings: Possible language, definite drug use, dream-dealing.
It had taken a Tuesday night of watching Bill and Ted's Bogus Adventure with Marijuana and Heroin and a Wednesday filled with nothing but work for Dave to recover emotionally from his little brush with a rapist-god but as Marijuana did his best to make a dent in the mountain of dishes overflowing out of the kitchen sink, a good half of his mental attention was on his second. Dave, out on a run with two of Wes' guards, could feel the attention and did his best to shrug it off, to communicate to Marijuana through their ever-increasing connection that he was fine and that the memory of GHB's predatory eyes wasn't haunting his thoughts and dreams. Of course, Marijuana didn't buy it for an instant but his focus was making the poor mortal stoned out of his mind and as Dave reached the drop point, Marijuana pulled back and left Dave sober, for the most part. They didn't need yet another violent incident occurring after all that had happened over the past two weeks.
Marijuana focused back on the dishes, the Beatles playing softly over the sound of running water.
The peril of being the god of munchies was the fact that in troubled times, Marijuana shoveled food into his mouth at a blinding pace. And what with Heroin's whirlwind of cooking - Marijuana thought it was helping his fiance's anger over the familial situation - and Marijuana's own stress-baking... Marijuana looked down at his body and tried to convince himself that, no, he hadn't gained eight pounds since Sunday. Of course not. But that thought just led to deciding that doing the dishes was boring and opening the fridge, Marijuana took out three bottles of beer and a tupperware container filled with spaghetti.
Cold pasta and beer solved everything, really.
But he polished it off within in a record-breaking four minutes, downed one of the beers, scratched at the unhealed track marks on the inside of his arm before starting on the next bottle. A quick glance at his cell phone itinerary had him sighing lightly at the fact that he had a run - fifty thousand dollars worth of heroin - in an hour but Marijuana didn't want to work. He just wanted to eat and concentrate on attempting to fix his idiotic family and reassert his position as their 'leader'.
He lit a joint as 'Revolution' began to play and Marijuana smiled nostalgically.
---
Down in the shop, Iron Maiden played, a contrast to the more mellow music playing upstairs, as Wes and Matt manned the counter, handling customers and calls like a well-oiled machine. It was a slow day; Wes' duty was to watch the door to Marijuana's apartment and make sure no threats made it past him and Matt's duty was to stay out of trouble. But that was difficult for the young meth addict and, high as a kite on the lines he'd snorted a few minutes earlier and the joint clasped between his lips, Matt was wielding a bright pink Sharpie with concentrated determination.
"What are you doing?" Wes asked eventually, after ignoring the felt tip tracing over his arm for a few minutes.
"Connect the dots, silly!" Matt giggled and as Wes looked down at the rather lewd shape forming as Matt traced lines from freckle to freckle, the older man rolled his eyes. "What, did you finish all your colouring books?"
Matt frowned as he finished off the drawing of male genitalia on too-freckled skin and dropped the Sharpie in favour of swatting Wes lightly upside the head - really, he was the only one who could get away with that, aside from Marc - and pouting lightly. "I did! Buy me more."
Wes was about to capitulate and offer to go out shopping with the boy when the door opened and his eyes were drawn to the front of the shop to assess the newest visitor.