"Hmm." Marijuana hummed noncommittally when she said she didn't want to steal Dave away, eyes still fixed on her and he still couldn't help but feel wary. Out of all of them, Dave was the most important and already, even before the death that they both knew was coming, he was slipping away from Marijuana. Had probably already slipped away and Marijuana had that sick little mental patient to blame for that.
But when she started to babble about magic, Marijuana struggled to pay attention, struggled to keep his eyes from glazing over and when she told him not to fidget, he looked slightly sheepish and stopped spinning his engagement ring around his finger and instead shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and actually listened. But he wasn't quite sure where she was going with this and he didn't have a basis on which to make any comments. He was young, very young, compared to her and his only experience with organized religion, what she was partly blaming the loss of 'magic' on, were the occasional churches that viewed him as the tree of life, as a sacrament.
And Marijuana didn't like to think too hard about that fraying connection.
She seemed to pause and with her remark about the nauseating nature of what she was describing, Marijuana shrugged lightly. "I wouldn't know. Haven't been around long enough to personally witness the change."
But then they were back on Dave and Marijuana tilted his head slightly in contemplation. "His life is my power, yes. And my brother's, of course." They had seemed to work out an uneasy truce; Marijuana, Heroin, and Dave. Dave kept his mouth shut about how unfair - according to him - it was that Marijuana had cut off their romantic relationship, he still used, Heroin was civil to him and Marijuana made sure that Dave felt cherished.
Fetching her a saucepan from under the sink, he frowned as he set it on the counter. "Are you telling me there's a way I could know those alleys and corners?"