Marijuana's eyes flickered briefly, the bland smile slipped just a tad, when Mischa brought up Will. Months ago... had it been more than a year? Marijuana wasn't sure, time was relative in his mind, but before the Greek fight, before Heroin, before everything. It was a reminder of simpler times, before his life had exploded around him, it was a reminder of a fatal mistake, letting Will leave his grasp and it took a moment for Marijuana to regain his composure. "You don't need to apologize for the wait, we run on a rather loose timetable around here. Tighter, now that Cam has the reins. He is a credit to his training."
Cam inclined his head in respect and acknowledgment of the praise but Marc had said something about truth and Cam's extracurricular activities revolved around searching out the truth. "What truths?" He asked, always-active mind struggling to break through a smokey haze and ask all the questions that had been collecting behind the barriers.
Marijuana's fingers twitched.
Cam's eyes instantly gained a world of clarity and he sat forward eagerly.
"Why do you always refuse first aid attention whenever you get hurt? Why do you speak of the sixties like you experienced them? Why are all your foster siblings so weird and, speaking of which, why did you marry one of them? Why are your eyes green sometimes? Why do you have bank accounts that stretch back to the forties? I checked the gravestone downstairs, where the seconds are buried, how did you know when and how Dave was going to die? Why- this shop has been in operation for thirty eight years. I checked the records, why did your father, Mike Jones, look exactly like you do? And, furthermore, in four years, you haven't aged a-"
Cam's eyes gained a brilliant sense of understanding but-
"You're an alien!"
Marijuana resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, instead only covering his mouth with his hand and hiding the stoned giggles that way, eyes dancing between Cam and Mischa merrily. "Apparently, I'm an alien." He remarked sardonically to the female mortal, settling forward with his hands on his knees while attempting to regain some sense of seriousness and moment.
"No, Cam. But I'm not human." The mortal jerked back from him, glanced helplessly over at Mischa while Marijuana continued to speak. "It's- hard to explain. Humans, they constantly use objects, concepts, that they don't really think about. The internet, cigarettes, drugs. Let's... take a look at pot, for example. Millions of people smoke- it, yes? All that usage, all that... faith, it gives pot power. Power enough for a personification of the drug to form. It's like... every joint smoked is a drop of gap and those drops form a full tank. The tank is the personification. A walking, living, breathing personification of a drug, alive as long as his drug is still used."
It wasn't logical. It simply didn't compute, didn't make sense. Marc was trying to explain it in a way that made sense but Cam's mind was whirling, new connections being made, new paths drawn, new maps forming- his boss was crazy, that had to be it, Marc was crazy and the crazy person was speaking again and Cam could barely listen, not with his world crashing down around him.
"Cam, I'm the personification of Marijuana."
Cam shook his head. "Marc, I am going to have you committed. That just- it's not logical." He looked helplessly at Mischa. She'd agree with him. She'd help him call the people in white suits to come take away his boss. She'd sort this all out.