Who: Marijuana and High School (both Sean and Courtney). Where: High School's apartment. When: Sunday, midmorning. Warnings: Language, drug use.
Marijuana was awake early like he usual, stretching and raiding the fridge next to the bed for cookies and milk, being extremely careful not to get crumbs on the bed for Heroin's sake. After lazing around in bed with his husband, he eventually forced himself up to watch the last new rays of sunshine break over the horizon. Munching on cold pizza and juggling a joint and a beer in one hand, he wandered over to the couch and eventually took out his cell phone to check in on his employees, to check out the daily marijuana news and to see if anything - like the Christian pantheon imploding - had happened in the immortal networth. Nothing of importance was seen and Marijuana merely yawned, scrolling by the ramblings of gods who didn't matter before alighting on Sean's post.
High School. Now, they mattered and so did keeping up a friendly relationship with them. He loved the power he received from the mortals they shared, loved the worship of tens of thousands, loved shaving a few years off his apparent age and spending time among them, whether to toke or get them hooked on heroin as a present for his husband. He loved the back hallways where the stoners met, he loved shop class where the stoned made bongs, he loved the art offices where the teachers toked... he loved it all. And if he needed to sacrifice a lazy Sunday morning to head over to their place and keep up the good relationship? Well, it was no big deal. Eventually, Marijuana got dressed, tugging on jeans and a Floyd t-shirt, filling his pockets with joints, cigarettes, his wallet and cell phone and, after he'd made it down the stairs and Wes gave him a point look, a gun was slipped into the waistband of his jeans at the back, covered by leather jacket. Dave, after hearing where Marijuana was going and what he'd be doing, rolled his eyes and disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with a backpack filled with food to needed to make a large breakfast. Marijuana blinked, surprised he'd forgotten about that, but shrugged it off and headed to his car.
It didn't take too long to drive over to their apartment in his Lambo, didn't take too long to be drawn by Sean's presence up the stairs. Marijuana paused at the door, figuring if Sean was in bed with a hangover, the last thing the god would want to do would be to answer the door. So he knocked, waited a moment, then pushed it open slowly. "Sean, man?" He called out softly, stepping inside.