As far as Marley was concerned, pre-party favor could only mean one thing -- hence why her lips quirked into a mischievous little smile to rival that of her half-sister. Gone were the thoughts that they should have taken her Prius to the party rather than Monroe's Mercedes in order to try to minimize the amount of pollution that would be going on that day and instead replaced with the usual nineteen-year-old glee that came with the promise of excellent weed. Thus, Monroe didn't have to ask twice before Marley was unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching into the back, retrieving the Prada bag from its seat and plopping into into her lap.
"Hey, pull over," she suggested as she started digging through the brightly colored bag. "I saw online that the sheriff's gonna be at the party," she sounded particularly disgusted at the mention of the sheriff, not even bothering to mask her distaste for the head of their small town's law enforcement, "We can't exactly roll up smoking all nonchalant. Especially with everything going on." She rolled her eyes, breathing out a sigh at the mere thought of shitfests galore until she remembered that, hello, weed and pulled an already rolled joint and a lighter out of Monroe's expensive handbag. "Dude, you're the best," she laughed, sliding one end of the joint into her mouth and lighting it once her sister had put the Mercedes into park, reaching over to roll down the window on her side. No point in covering the car in pot-smell -- that wouldn't do.
Marley had already taken her two long hits and was in the process of passing the illegal paraphernalia over to Monroe when she spotted Olli, meat in tow, through the open window. "Fuck," she hissed as the woman walked up to their car, putting out the joint as quickly as possible and conspicuously stashing it back into the purse. "Uh, hey! Yeah, we're going... over there. For, you know, the barbecue. And everything."