If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-01-16 11:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | marijuana, peyote |
Who: Marijuana and Peyote.
What: Happy reunion funtiems!
Where: Central Park.
When: Saturday morning.
Warnings: Language, drug use, really happy Drugs.
The sun was bright, rays bouncing off brilliant white snow as Marijuana set off from the Highway, brushing off Cam's assertion that he should be taking it easy, resting and continuing to build up his power stores after the disaster of the street race. But he did let the mortal give him a quick once-over, Cam noting that the broken bones were healed, Marijuana promising that the internal damage that had come from PCP's car crashing down on top of his own had been fixed as well, that he didn't have a concussion anymore. It made the mortal both uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time; his boss had this ability to heal in a day injuries that would have had him in the hospital for weeks but at least Marijuana was up and out of bed. The god reached up to ruffle his second's hair lightly, again reassuring him that the only damage left were the burns that stretched up from his ribs, up across his side, over his chest to sneak up his neck and splash over his cheek but those were healing quickly as well, pink and shiny and only slightly startling contrasted against healthy, tanned skin.
Marijuana was feeling good. A day spent in a deep healing sleep, only waking up to let himself be taken care of by his older brother-husband, would do that to him. And now - now! - he was lucky enough to have his father-figure back in the city and the walk to Central Park, sans bodyguard, felt like it took far too long to reach the slice of nature within the steel-concrete city. But he eventually plunged into the trees and paths with a happy little smile, ambling with no real purpose or destination in mind as he kept his immortal senses on the look-out for his elder brother. He'd only been walking for fifteen minutes, not really paying attention to the paths, when he looked up to realize he was at the foot of the Strawberry Fields Memorial, his feet having taken him there without his mind's knowledge. The smile that spread across his face was bittersweet as he dug in his pockets for an offering, kneeling to leave a single joint on the edge of the circle before pushing that part of his past from his mind and continuing on, deeper into the park.
Soon enough, he felt it, the unmistakable twinge of another immortal plant in the vicinity and his grin was childish and giddy as he strode toward the source of the feeling with purpose, already gleefully happy to even feel his grandfather again.