She would never fit in, but there was something about white, pink, blonde, pure beauty surrounded by sin and filth - it seemed no one had taken over Dave's cleaning duties - of the Highway that made her presence, stark contrasts and mixed metaphors, stand out against the dinge and dirt and grime. Marijuana mused to himself that the dirt closing in around her made her even more beautiful - and more repulsive; she did stand for everything he hated, after all - before that thought was clouded by smoke and sent down deep within his psyche.
The bittersweet smile that Marijuana directed at Rehab was hard and brittle. "They are appreciated." And her condolences were, enemies that they were. To speak about Cam's predecessor even to Rehab would be cathartic. With the mention of Dave's name, Marijuana's smile flickered and Wes' shoulders tensed. They were, after all, avoiding even speaking the named of the passed second. But Marijuana looked down at the offered basket, mind turning over slowly. Every interaction with the goddess of Rehabilitation was a chance at sullying everything she stood for. He reached out to take it and when he spoke, his voice had turned gentle, almost soothing. "Yes, far too young. But the time that was given to him was more than he would have had. He was happy here, Mira. For the most part."
He glanced down at the basket in his hands. "Would you like to sit with me briefly?" He nodded toward the back room. "I wouldn't mind sampling some of these baked goods in your presence, so that I can offer you my compliments and appreciation in person. There are videos of Dave playing. Wes can make tea." Listening in on their conversation, Wes quirked an eyebrow. No one was supposed to know he could make tea.