As Heroin moved through the doors from the hallway that lead from the kitchen, and into the sun room, with Marijuana and Salvia not far behind, Morphine's eyes brightened. When he leaned in to embrace her and made reference to the company she had been keeping for the past several weeks, she smiled wryly and kissed his cheek as he moved into kiss hers, sliding her arms around him in a gentle hug. As their faces were close, "The company I have been keeping pales in your shadow," she said with a hushed murmur inaudible to the others and a dark smile reserved only for her twin, for truly, only he knew that part of her. For that part of her was in him. For everything she did was not only for herself, but for him.
In his presence, she felt a tangible lightness of being within herself. She took the white box and stared a moment longer up into the face she had known as well as her own, smile lingering in a smirk. "You flatter me, Hazel, truly. Your love for citrus shows in your skill with baking it into food," she let her expression become lighter as she set the box down on the table, eyes settling on Marijuana.
She could sense, very quietly and distantly, the slight discomfort. It was well masked in the smoke that composed him, in the polite way of speaking. "It is a pleasure to have you here, Marijuana. Truly." She tilted her head, following his gaze for a moment to the garden. A part of her had always felt connected to her garden and the soil beneath it, the roots in the soil and the minuscule roots of the flowers (for her garden had more flowers than trees, and the trees that were there were likely plum or cherry blossoms, and other fruit trees). She was the first plant alkaloid extracted from the poppy well over two hundred years earlier. The grandmother of modern medicine, in a way, and the most direct link to Opium himself. As she looked back at Marijuana, she could hear the visceral connection to the earth in his voice, which drew equally her interest and her respect. "How impressive that you can feel such things in the earth so fiercely, brother, it is..." She trailed off as Salvia literally bounced into her gaze and was eagerly holding a bag out toward her.
"How kind of you, Salvia!" Her gaze lingered on her brother's husband in momentary thought, before tearing away to light upon her youngest sister. Morphine's smile grew, and the delight in her eyes and across her expression were indeed genuine. It was no mask. "It is your plant? How marvelous." She studied the plastic baggie and its contents somewhat curiously, like an aunt studying a niece's artwork. "I love irises and tulips. And mm, yes, irises can be very tricky. I'm sure you'll make it very effortless, however." She had not quite experienced Salvia so much before - in passing, perhaps, and in various gifts she'd sent the little one over the past couple months for random and various occasions.
She glanced up at Heroin as Salvia mentioned their connection. And she let out a whisper of a laugh then. "It is very nice to see you too, Salvia. We do not look alike because we were born at different times, this is true. We are twins in ways you can't quite see." She could get very scientific and chemical about it, but she doubted Salvia's attention would last the duration of such a conversation. Although she had always seen herself in Heroin's eyes, in his face, she could sometimes easily forget that others, particularly those beyond the Opiate family, did not see this.
"Please, help yourself to the food or the garden, whatever it is you would like," she nodded gently in Marijuana's direction at his comment about how delicious things smelled. "I hope things taste as they smell. I am not quite as good in the kitchen as some," she looked to Heroin with an amused glint in her eye, and went about taking lids off things and moving cloths off of the baskets full of corn bread and beer-bread. She had been taught the ways of comfort food by Heroin himself during the early 1970s, when she was, quite literally, on house arrest following her... accident. Little brother wouldn't let her leave, so he taught her how to cook grand meals. She never complained.