Receiving line, open to well-wishers.
Eventually, Heroin and Marijuana left the tent, exiting through a flap at the opposite side as the one they had entered through, gazing out over the set-up for the reception, Marijuana squeezing Heroin's hand tightly as he saw just how many important gods had gathered for this one event. All he wanted was to take his husband - and that was a mindfuck right there - home to the Highway and to bed but there were guests to thank and important people to socialize with. A glance told him that the booze tent had been set up - and oh, did he want to get a buzz going - and that Tommy had set up his table beside it, fully prepared to take donations for their foundation to provide bail money for imprisoned stoners and pass out his party literature. It also told him that dinner wasn't quite ready yet, which meant they'd have to make nice with the various guests instead of sneaking off into the forest to... well, Marijuana didn't let himself fantasize about the wedding night just yet, he had a reception to get through first. Gazing up at the stage, where Cam was supervising the sound check, he smiled at the thought of Lou Reed and David Bowie performing the mix of Velvet Underground's Heroin and Cheech and Chong's Up In Smoke for their first dance as husband and husband but he was broken from his contemplation as Matt came up to them, laughing and hugging them both before bouncing off between the elegant tables and the low-lying couches that were spread out over the grass.
With the ceremony over, Heroin was almost boneless with relief. Married. The word hadn’t quite settled, even if forever had. His hand tangled with Marijuana’s, Heroin turned into his lover and nuzzled at his temple, too truly happy to worry about Victorian propriety. They were, after all, Drug Gods. And the rush of power, the entangling with Marijuana, marriage had all left Heroin too high, too happy, too beyond to care about anything but his new husband, his brother-lover-husband, his Marijuana. Forever. Fuck. Heroin dipped his head for a quick, reassuring kiss, though who it reassured… Heroin wasn’t sure either of them needed to know. Not with the reception, the dance, the receiving line and dinner—a sudden smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. Ritual, no matter the time, no matter the culture, it never really changed. And he leaned more confidently against Marijuana; there was a whole night of celebration to enjoy and then, of course, the wedding night which Heroin was emphatically not blushing over; no drug god, much less the fully illicit Opiate, blushed like a damned nineteenth century virgin about his wedding night, it just wasn’t possible.
A glance over at Dave had his second nodding discretely before ducking into the booze tent and mixing his boss a rather strong whiskey and coke, the mortal showing up at Marijuana's side quickly and fading into the background after handing over the drink. Marijuana took a gulp, wrapped his arm around Heroin's waist and brought up his stoned grin to grace his face and not show his guests that, really, he'd rather be alone with Heroin in a bed or in the tent or up against a tree...
He took another gulp of his drink and smiled at the first immortal to approach them to offer congratulations, barely realizing that his arm had tightened possessively around his husband's waist.