Who: Marijuana and Heroin. What: Boredom and the consequences thereof. where: The Highway, second floor apartment. When: Tuesday evening. Warnings: Language, drug references.
Wake up. Complain about being awake. Eat breakfast. Kiss Heroin goodbye. Wander downstairs eventually to weigh up counts and schedule drug runs until lunch. Eat lunch. Counter shift. Afternoon runs. Come back. Hang out with Cam. Wonder where Tommy was. Start dinner. Two weekdays back from their vacation and Marijuana was already being stifled by the routine of the Highway, like he had never really left with Heroin to go play in the sand on Fire Island, to break in their new mobile home, to carve driftwood into different shapes and present them to his husband proudly. And now there was nothing to break up the daily grind and that just gave him time to think about what he was doing, or, rather, think about what he wasn't doing. No parties, no social life outside his mortals, nothing to do when it came to his leadership role within the Drug Family, no major conflicts to sink his teeth into... hell, he hadn't shot someone since him and Cocaine had taken care of Ruis and his thugs. It just made for a very tedious existence in general; it wasn't that Marijuana was bored within his marriage to Heroin, it was that he was bored overall and needed something, anything, to break up the monotony.
He wasn't going to find that something staring at the living room ceiling, though. But that was what Marijuana had been doing since he finished dinner and placed it on the stove to stay warm until Heroin came home. The screen of the television was on, the initial intro to Halo playing over and over again, but Marijuana had given up on the game after a few minutes. Shooting people in a video game wasn't like shooting people in real life, after all, and it wasn't like he even needed to shoot people in real life in order to feel better, he just wanted something out of the ordinary, something new and fresh and interesting. Maybe it was time to go out hunting for a new mortal to 'rescue'? No, that was a bad idea, Marijuana couldn't train them properly and he had enough trouble just controlling his four as it was. Sighing lightly, Marijuana tapped his cigarette on the rim of the ashtray he'd balanced on his stomach, watching the smoke curl up into the air, dissipating before it reached the ceiling. There was some comparison he could make there - his energy dissipating because of lack of external stimulation, perhaps - but Marijuana didn't feel like putting in the effort necessary to craft witty or trippy metaphors in his head.
And for ten minutes, he just stared at the ceiling, eventually yelping when the cigarette burned all the way down to his fingers. Rubbing at the burns for a moment before letting them fade away into his skin, he heard the sound of the door open and smiled lightly; the only exciting aspect of his life had returned home from the studio. Pulling himself up with a bit of a groan, he barely managed not to knock the ashtray from his stomach, catching it at the last moment and placing it on the coffee table before he looked up at his husband, trying to chase the dreary look from his eyes as he stood, approached Heroin, brushed a kiss over his husband's cheek. "How was your day? I've already got dinner all ready for us. Oh, and Tommy called, he said that he's working out his volunteering schedule and would probably be home late." Tugging Heroin toward the kitchen, Marijuana forced the feeling of being stifled by routine away; there was nothing stifling about being with Heroin, it was just everything else that was getting to him.