If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-01-22 14:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | marijuana, media |
Who: Marijuana and Media.
What: Discussing a dead mortal and folklore figures.
Where: Paradou, meatpacking district.
When: Saturday, late morning.
Warnings: Minor drug use.
On the twentieth, as Marijuana sat and wrote a note to Heroin, the ring he'd purchased from Jesse James sparkling in front of him on the table, an idea had formed. He picked up the ring, gazing into the green gemstone and contemplating Jesse James. The man had been mortal but... society's focus on him, their continued fascination with him, had brought him back. Marijuana had slipped the ring back into the box and headed downstairs to scrawl out a quick note to Dave and contact Media before Heroin came home. And now that his meeting with Media was fast approaching, Marijuana felt budding hope in the pit of his stomach. He slipped out from under Wes' watchful eye, driving himself toward the meatpacking district, and as he drove, he tried to school himself; there was no need to get his hopes up when all he had was a scrap of a crazy idea and no clue whether Media would take the bait, no clue if what he would ask of her was even possible.
But if there was one person who could make something out of nothing, it was Media.
He smoked three joints on the drive. Well, three joints and the bowl of hash he thought necessary when he passed within fifteen blocks of Die Droge and had to shove down a shiver of discomfort. By the time he arrived at Paradou, his eyes were even more bloodshot than normal but that was the only sign that marked him as a stoner. His cheeks were free of their usual scruff, he had donned a pair of black dress pants and a grey dress shirt, making sure his sleeves stayed down so he didn't reveal the numerous track marks that came from the same addiction that had killed Dave. Marijuana sighed, fiddled with the weed leaf necklace and claddagh ring attached to the necklace, both taken from Dave's cold body and removed every night when he slipped into bed with Heroin, only to be put on again in the morning. Marijuana gave his name to the hostess as he simultaneously tried not to be too hopeful and too negative about his chances today; what he was going to propose was unprecendented but he couldn't help but hope. Glancing at his watch as he was led to the table, he realized he was a few minutes early and shrugged mentally. It gave him time to prepare.
He sank down into his seat, twisted his wedding ring anxiously around his finger and began to compartmentalize, mentally sorting through strategies and tactics before he felt the tell-tale approach of another immortal. As Media approached the table, Marijuana stood - he did have some manners, after all - and inclined his head briefly, a small smile gracing his lips. "Dear friend," His voice was smooth, at ease, casual. "I hope you don't mind me choosing this little restaurant for our meeting." Marijuana smirked slightly. "When I heard they have an entree called 'Wake and Bake', I simply couldn't help myself."