Who: Marijuana and Heroin, partially completed scene to be finished via comments. What: Discussing Coke and MJ's Excellent Adventure. Where: The Highway. When: Friday evening. Warnings: Language, discussion of violence, drugs, and drug trafficking.
Marijuana: Marijuana licked a stray bit of warmed chocolate off his finger and leaned back against the couch, regarding the empty plate that had previous held a wealth of raspberries, regarding the fondue pot that still had a generous amount of melting chocolate within its depths. He had been loathe to bring up the plans he'd made with Cocaine while they were eating and loathe to bring them up when there was the thought of bringing the chocolate into the bedroom. If there was anything that could kill the mood, it was something along the lines of 'Oh, by the way, honey, I'm taking off with your ex-lover to go attempt to decimate a rival cartel' but it wouldn't be fair to put off the discussion simply because Marijuana wanted to have sex with his husband that night. Sighing lightly, he turned off the fondue pot to let the chocolate cool somewhat in the off chance that they would end up taking it to the bedroom and turned to face Heroin, hoping his fingers weren't still sticky when he reached out to take his husband's hand lightly, lacing their fingers together. "I guess we should talk about what he wanted, yeah?" He asked, a regretful tone lacing his voice as his insides squirmed uncomfortably; he hated the very thought of Cocaine, abhorred the thought of thinking about Cocaine and Heroin, and despised the fact that he had to discuss anything Cocaine related with his husband.
Heroin: Curled comfortably into a couch corner, cheek laid tiredly on knee-tops, Heroin, for his part, regarded his husband with light hazel eyes; there was a spot of chocolate that lingered on Marijuana’s lower lip, Heroin would lick it off in a kiss, but later, when he was less drowsy, less full-content and less anticipatory. So far, they had been quite good at dancing around the dinner. The distraction of dessert made that easy, just as easy as reading Marijuana. Whatever the other shoe was, Heroin was just as happy living in the moment before it dropped, when they were sharing chocolate, sucking smears off fingers and nibbling on raspberries cupped in each others palms. Much better to enjoy while there was something to enjoy and let the world wait – it turned too quickly anyway. He swallowed the sigh as the moment ended and the shoe started its descent; well, it had been nice while it lasted.
Heroin uncurled and leaned forward, balanced precariously on kneecaps that creaked a little as he leaned a little too far forward for any human to balance, caught Marijuana’s shirt and kissed the last bit of chocolate away. Might as well give the moment a proper send off; lips lingered, Heroin nibbled before he settled back, knees brushing Marijuana’s leg. “I guess we should. Was it about your similar business contacts?”
Marijuana: The sigh that came from between Marijuana's lips as Heroin leaned in wasn't regretful that time, it was happy, almost blissful, as he leaned forward himself as Heroin settled back. Chasing the kiss, chasing the moment, not letting Cocaine nip at their heels, it was worth becoming slightly unbalanced and having to catch himself with a hand clasping Heroin's shoulder lightly. Shifting, he smoothed out the wrinkles he'd created in Heroin's shirt, enjoying the stretch of easy, chocolate-filled interaction before Marijuana dropped the bomb. "Yeah." He really didn't want to talk about this, but it was necessary. "Most of my pot, and most of his product, comes across the Mexican border and there's a bunch of shit going on down there that I don't quite understand but the result is... a rival cartel is moving in on our contacts, trying to snuff them out. My shipments are coming late, some aren't arriving at all, and while I've been having good shit shipped down from BC to solve the shortage, that hurts my profit margin. And I shouldn't have to do that, you know? Not because some fucker wants to move into territory controlled by my people." Marijuana realized he was babbling and squeezed Heroin's hand lightly in apology.
"He had pictures. His people, my people, tortured and killed by Ruis and his thugs. Not only is this Ruis stealing from us and killing our own, he's also turning our people against us." Perhaps Marijuana should have mentioned the issues he was having with his suppliers earlier, but it didn't affect his heroin trade and he'd been coping with the problem. To see Inigo and Ismael the victim of a mortal who thought he could steal from two of the Four, however; Marijuana needed to act. "He wants me to accompany him down to the border to..." Marijuana chose his words carefully. "Evaluate the problem and assist him in finding a solution." Marijuana was almost afraid to look at his husband but he did, his gaze trying to impart just how important this was; this was his livelihood and he needed to defend it, even if he had to do it with Cocaine.
Heroin: The silence stretched between them. Heroin’s hand stayed on his husband’s thigh to trace circles, to touch, to stay connected as he rolled the words thoughtfully through the quiet space, half-aware of Marijuana’s heart – always faster than Heroin’s – reassuring for its sound. Someone able to move in on both Marijuana and Cocaine’s operations, that was someone to watch, someone to handle carefully and only in one way, for all the consideration Marijuana had put into his words. Heroin’s fingers stopped mid-circle, drummed on cloth on skin and resumed tracing, now in sweeps, curved lines like the arc of a perfect pitch, paused when they reached the inside of Mari’s knee and picked up the beat of his heart in their drumming. Ba dum ba ba dum. “Any connection to… is there any reason to believe Ruis is more than mortal? Or connected to someone who is?”
That would be a drastically different problem, one Heroin was unsure of facing and his fingers tapped impatiently; product was life, product was worship, territory, power, no one could be allowed to steal from the gods, not like that. The dreamscape, where it pushed into the physical, remembered chains and intestines and examples made of anyone bold enough to try. But those were other gods, other thefts and Drug Gods handled things slightly more… directly. Yes, directly, Heroin’s attention snapped around Marijuana with eyes of sharp silver, like a chain. “Who are you taking? Kris has connections to the Cartels and can cross the border without difficultly. Maria as well…” Underneath the business cold, Heroin’s heart twisted sharply at sending his girl – woman – bodyguard out of his protection.
Still thinking, thinking faster to avoid the thrumming tug of his mortals in danger, Heroin pulled Marijuana’s hand into his lap. “Why didn’t you tell me about the disruptions, Geliebte?” And why the pretty words, careful words, and careful as Heroin was not to compare, he ached a bit to think Marijuana was keeping him safe from the substance, the world that worshipped them both. “My human life may have been made differently, but I’m still a drug god. Still one of the Four, we could have talked about this.”
Marijuana: Heroin's touch reassured Marijuana; his husband still wanted to remain in contact, even though Marijuana was planning on leaving to take care of a rather dire issue, leaving to spend time with Cocaine, however grudgingly. "No, not that-" Marijuana wouldn't speak Cocaine's name aloud, it would twist between them and bring up every insecurity that the older Drug caused to twist through Marijuana's mind. "-he is aware of." The touch to his knee grounded him somewhat and Marijuana wanted to reach out to touch Heroin in return, but he wasn't sure if contact would be wanted or appreciated; his hands wound around each other slowly, continuously, in his lap. The cyclical movement, however, stopped abruptly as Heroin's eyes snapped to his. Marijuana didn't dare look away, although the shift in Heroin had Marijuana's own eyes shifting slowly to a dull green, the colour of stale and mouldly marijuana. He was too worried for them to be vibrant and when he spoke again, his voice was level and almost final. Risking his mortals, risking Heroin's mortals, was not something Marijuana would do. "I would need all of my mortals here to run the shop in my absence and even if I did not, I would not want to risk their lives when this is something that he and I would be able to handle on our own." Heroin had his cold, Marijuana had his apathy; it settled around him easily, like a cover of sticky tar that would keep emotion at bay.
He hadn't really said he was going yet. Would was better than will and it gave the illusion that he hadn't made up his mind yet. Still, Heroin's question managed to break through his tenuous barrier of apathetic darkness and he let out a shaky breath, looking a bit baffled. "It just didn't seem important. I mean, my heroin shipments don't come across the Mexican border. They come to the harbour. And there all always disruptions, occasionally, they've just been coming closer and closer together. I didn't notice the pattern, although I really should have, since all I'm-" Marijuana blinked, shook his head, and looked down at his hands, his eyes lidded and everything within him confused with and uncertain of Heroin. "I just figured the situation down there was causing delays. That's what my people told me. Of course, I know now that they lied, but..."
He wasn't getting anywhere with this line of thought and conversation. Marijuana shifted, unsure if he wanted to be closer to Heroin or further away, unsure where Heroin wanted him. Really, he wasn't quite sure of anything, except for the fact that he wanted to make this trip, needed to make this trip, needed to act like a Drug and one of the Four, needed to release some of the darkness he kept at bay on a daily basis. "I didn't purposefully withhold the information from you, or mean to imply that you're inequal in our marriage, or within the Four, or the Drug Family." Marijuana leaned against the back of the couch, his eyes raising to gaze at the dead screen of their television, but he was looking through it instead of at it. "This is something I feel I need to do, but not if it makes you uncomfortable."