2019-10-06 - Sunday Distractions

It is too early in the morning on a Sunday, a grey drizzly sunday, for Daisy to be up, but she couldn't sleep. It was a restles night, and eventually she had dragged herself out of bed and into the livingroom. Sprawled on the couch, she's still in sleep shorts and a tank, both green, in a rare matching moment. She's got a joint between her lips as she flips through channels, never lingering more than a few seconds on any single one.

Greg's door creaks open, and out he shuffles. In black slippers and blue checkered pajama pants, he rubs at his face tiredly with one hand while tapping away at his phone with the other. Stepping out into the living room, he slides his phone into his pocket and blinks blearily at Daisy. "Yo girl, you're live early on a Sunday." His gaze slides over to watch her wandering through the channels, and he grins. "Looks like you're using the time well," he comments, and moves over into the kitchen to snag his cigarettes off the bar and light one. He moves over beside the oven and turns on the ventilation in the hood, mostly missing it with his smoke while he stands there puffing away. "How's the next crop coming along? I don't really remember what you said the strain was."

"Live is debatable," Daisy mumbles as she takes another drag off the joint and lets the smoke curl away from her lips, her eyes on the screen. Her gaze slips away from the flickering channels and she pauses on some sort of cartoon, looking over at him. "It's Sunday. And on Sunday, there was rest." She watches him wander off into the kitchen to smoke, letting her head fall back onto the arm of the couch to watch him upside-down. "My babies are growing up big and strong. I'll go sing to them later, when I feel like getting dressed."

Greg hauls on his cigarette like a bellows, sucking down that morning nicotine. "Don't tell Greg I smoked in the trailer," he comments with a lopsided grin. He sucks it down to the butt and holds it under the water from the sink before tossing it in the trash. "They're loving your buds down at the dispensary. I've been talking to some people to try and expand our range of edibles. Like... ones that are actually edible, maybe." He hesitates only a moment before grabbing his marble slab, a little orange bottle, and all the required fixings. Thus equipped, he heads into the living room and guides his ass towards one of the couch cushions. Incidentally the one where Daisy's legs are at.

"Your secret is safe with me," Daisy says solemnly, crossing her heart and giving him a little eyeroll. "You know he'll just beat you the way you like if I do, and I don't want to listen to that all night." She laughs then at the mention of the edibles and says "Step 1: Do not let Greg make them." When he goes to almost sit on her legs, she pulls them up, but only long enough for him to sit before she drapes them over his lap. "What do you want to add? There's got to be distributors for that, unless you want us to start up baking, too. I could see what I can come up with."

Greg sets his slab on the arm of the couch, shakes a couple of little red pills out onto it, and begins the process of turning hard little pills into convenient thin lines. "I dunno, it's just, most of what you can get tastes like shit. It's edible, sure, and it's got weed in it, but fine dining it ain't, ya know?" He makes two lines on the slab, snorts one, and holds the slab out toward Daisy. "You want? I dunno, I just think we could get a different segment of the market, yo. People that smoke don't give a fuck that it tastes like the inside of a nug, but I want to sell something to the ones that don't."

"Sure, I get that," Daisy says, "So, let's start looking stuff up online, see if there's some suggestions out there on how to make stuff that doesn't taste like crap, and see if we can't cook something up, or.. if there's a cheap enough supplier out there.. just buy from someone other than we've got." She nods when he holds the slab out, and props herself up with one hand to lean over it, her hair almost falling into it and scattering the powder everywhere, and snorts the other line, blinking a couple of times, and then resting back, letting her eyes close and resuming her comfortable sprawl.

Greg settles back, hanging his head over the back of the couch. "Yep, that's it," he comments with a grin, his eyes closing for a bit too. "I think most people are approaching the problem wrong. They're taking good weed and turning it into food. That's like, halfway there. I think the winning move is make good fuckin' food, and then put weed in it." His head comes up, and he squints at Daisy. "That make any damn sense outside my head?"

"It does," Daisy laughs, tilting her head to look over at Greg and reaching up to ruffle his hair. "You have your moments," she admits, only a little grudgingly. "We should get some of those fancy fancy pastries from that Vyv Vydal guy, and put pot in those. We could sell them for a fortune and then retire to an island with palm trees and drinks with umbrellas." She idly muses at that.

"Umbrellas," Greg agrees, shooting a mock scowl at Daisy as he reaches up to rearrange in his curls. Into what precisely is unclear; there is no discernible difference. "The kind of shit you drink out of pineapples, fam." He gives a snort of that particularly charming one-nostril variety that's used exclusively to draw the nose candy in. "For real though, if we do shit right, we could all be set for life here. I gotta get Felix off my back, and then it's smooth sailing all the way to moneytown." He grins, reaching up to rub at his nose. "I'm sure that'll be easy."

"We do enough business, Felix won't matter all that much. So long as he keeps getting what's his, we're golden. Then we can do our little.. side trips into the Other, and keep that over there, you know.. outside of his domain," Daisy opines, flashing a smile at that scowl and blowing him a kiss before stretching her arms back over her head and letting out a breath in a whooosh of air before saying, "Or is Felix on you for something in particular?" One brow lifts.

Greg eyes Daisy as she stretches out, grinning. "Yeah, you know... it's kind of distracting when you stretch around like that." He shakes his head, chuckling, and pulls out his phone to have somewhere to put his eyes and not look like a creeper. "Anywhomst, he'll probably leave us alone as long as he gets paid, you're right." He shrugs as he taps out a quick text. "I just fuckin' really don't like having to answer to someone. I don't know if you ever had the pleasure, but he's a scary motherfucker. Offered to have my dick cut off so I could snort it... just a real charmer, ya know?" He chuckles again, low. "I think maybe he'll leave me alone, but I think maybe he'll card me out a line of Greg dick too, and I'm not sure I'm in control of which way he lands on it."

Daisy lifts one leg that's in his lap and gives his thigh a little shove with her toes before settling it back down, "Oh, am I distracting you?" She's careful not to bump his phone though. "You're the one who came and practically sat on me," she points out with a little bit of a laugh, watching him as he texts. "No, can't say as I've ever had the pleasure. But then, I also don't have a dick for him to cut off, or fly above the radar enough for him to notice me -- just the way I like it."

Greg laughs, shaking his head. "I'm managing to keep my focus," he says, but he makes a big show of shooting a squinty, comically overdone peer towards Daisy. "I'm trying to keep Felix from even knowing about you guys, so he doesn't fuckin' think he owns you too. That ain't the plan." He yawns as he keeps going through texts, almost certainly setting up deals for the day. "I'm sure he could come up with some pretty creative ways to fuck you up too, don't worry. That ain't even the whole thing though, 'cause what I'm really worried about is we get building up a good business and this motherfucker strolls in thinking he owns it all, or he's entitled to part of it."

"Challenge accepted," Daisy says with an amused little smile and reaches over, lightly tickling his side with two fingertips while he's trying to read his texts. She is still listening, though, and smiles, "Aww, you really care! Grant will be relieved. I always knew you loved us." She flutters her eyelashes at him, taking another drag from her joint and then offering it over to him. "Yeah yeah, I'm sure he could have someone lob off my tits and use them as serving bowls or something.." she says, waving her hand, as though quite certain that there were plenty of threats that could be levied against her, as well. "That's bound to happen if we do it in town. The other alternative, is that we get someplace outside of town.. and then just bring what we need here for the dispensary."

Greg jumps and twitches away from even the slightest of tickles with the sort of semi-amused glare reserved for the extremely ticklish. "I will pin you down and ruin you," he informs her in a warning tone. He reaches out to nab the joint, puffing on it, and he gives a pleased expression. "Damn girl, you grow by far the best shit I ever smoked." He shakes his head as though his sense of reality can't even handle it, offering back the joint. The phone buzzes away on vibrate, and Greg gives a small bass giggle. "They are hungry as fuck today, yo."

"Promises, promises," Daisy smirks, pulling her legs out of his lap and curling up next to him. She takes back the joint and takes another toke from it, leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen, totally shamelessly, not even a hint of remorse in her peeping. She then turns and blows a bit of smoke along his ear. He didn't think she was going to /stop/ distracting him, did he? "I got lucky with some good strains to hybridize, and it doesn't hurt that they like to grow for me, either." Her lips twitching into a smile, she says, "Good. That's good for business."

Greg really twitches at the smoke and air along his ear, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and he arches a brow to give Daisy a sidelong Look. "You're trouble," he informs her with a slow grin. All the while, his thumbs keep tapping away at the phone, setting up the work. "I don't hate the out of town idea," he goes on, picking the conversation back up. "We could start to kinda build our own thing out there. There must be some land around that's not too damn pricey."

"Me?" Daisy says, eyes wide in mock-shock. "I'm the picture of innocence, sweetness, and light," she protests, though she can't quite keep a straight face while doing so. And though she does keep attempting to distract him from the phone by staring at him, making faces, she carries on the conversation at the same time, never quite losing that thread either. "That's what I'm thinking. Find an area that's not someone's territory right now. Set up a small greenhouse and whatnot there.. and grow things out there. We already bring stuff in here. We don't need to tell anyone that what we're bringing in is our own, you know? Then we could start making edibles out there, too."

Greg flips the game by putting the phone away and turning to smile while he really takes in all of Daisy's faces. He reaches out one finger, veeeeeeery slowly tapping her on the nose. "Boop!" He grins, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes -- it immediately returns. "You know, I really like that idea. And it might give us a place not quite so right under Felix's nose to build strength. One way to do this is to get big enough before he can notice so that by the time he catches on, it's too late to do fuck-all about it." And with that he sticks his thumbs in his ears, crosses his eyes, and sticks his tongue out at Daisy.

Daisy crosses her eyes as the finger approaches her nose, and wrinkles it when he boops her, before laughing. "Mission accomplished," she says when he puts the phone away, throwing her arms up in the air as though taking a victory lap without moving from her spot on the couch. She grins when his curls fall in front of his eyes again and she reaches out to draw them back again with a couple of fingers. "How do you not run into walls?" she asks him with a grin, before letting them fall again. "Right, that's my thought though," she says, switching back to business seamlessly, "If we're doing it all obvious on his turf, then it's a) asking for dick removal surgery, and b) way way too obvious. Doing it elsewhere, and just bringing in reasonable amounts like we would from any other source.. is less obvious, AND," she says, "We can also move stuff from there elsewhere if we get strong enough, therefor establishing our own trade outside of Gray Harbor that has nothing to do with him. That cash is ours." Then she laughs, "Don't stick it out unless you plan on using it." She reaches out with her thumb and forefinger curled as though she might try to catch his tongue, but she's not moving fast enough to actually be making a true attempt at it.

Greg raspberries quite rudely before his tongue retreats behind the safety of his lips. "You fuckin' wish I would," he says with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. He reaches up to push at his hair again, sighing with defeat as it does nothing. "I almost hit a duck the other day, actually," he states, whatever the hell that means. "I probably should get a haircut. Or a hat." He grins, running a hand through his hair. "You think I should buzz it?"

Daisy just smiles, not rising to that bait, a serene beatific sort of smile. Though her brows knit and she tries to imagine, "How did you almost hit a duck? I mean, they can fly.. it'd probably just you know, fly out of the way?" One would hope. Though quickly she says, "No.. don't cut it. I like the curls." She reaches out to draw one out and let it sproing back into place, not actually pulling it taut or anything like that. Just far enough to cause the recoil.

Greg's eyes threaten to roll back into his skull as he rotates them up, trying to watch what she's doing. "I, uh... don't think he was expecting me to be wherever I was," he supplies helpfully. "I'm not sure who was more surprised... I almost fell off my skateboard." His eyes roll down from her hand to her face, and he grins at her. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, so it was more a possible mutual collision rather than a running-over-an-aware-duck scenario," Daisy observes idly, her eyes finally dropping from his hair back down to meet his eyes. It's only then that she really realizes she was playing with sproinging his curls, and she laughs a little. "Sorry." She pulls back her hand then.

Greg reaches up to push at the damned hair one more, pointless, time. "I give up," he grumps. "This is why I pretty much always wear a hoodie. Holds my shit back." He shakes his head; might as well lean in to it, right? The resultant chaos fails to be more or less than what it was before. "So, any big plans for the day? Or you just going to laze around the living room half dressed?" He grins like he's not the pot calling the kettle black.

Daisy grins and shrugs her shoulders, "I like it the way it is." But she leaves him alone now. Her victory was won, and she stops picking on him, or poking at him. She glances down at herself and then shrugs, "I can go get dressed if it bothers you." She starts to uncurl from the couch then, setting her feet on the floor. "But no, no plans today. I'm debating between shower or crawl back into bed at the moment." She eyes the hall, as though one of the doors might suddenly light up and give her an option to choose from.

Greg grins as he stands up, stretching and yawning. "Just fucking with you -- but it got me untrapped, didn't it?" He grins, and slaps lightly and playfully at Daisy's shoulder. "Jesus, don't be so serious all the time." He wanders back over into the kitchen and lights another cigarette. "Greg be damned," he says as he sticks his head under the range hood. "That punk bitch can't tell me what to do. I live here too, goddamnit."

For the slap to her shoulder, she slugs him in the arm. It's not hard, but neither is it light either, "Oh yes, I'm so terribly serious, always. Poor you, to have to deal with such a stick in the mud." Then she smirks, "Were you trapped? Really? Believe me, if I wanted to trap you, I'd use far better restraints than sitting next to you on the couch." She wanders then, toward the kitchen and reaches into the fridge to pull out a chinese food container, giving it a sniff and wincing, hurling it into the garbage, and then reaching for another. "We should boot him out. Stage a coup. Take over the trailer for England. Or France. Or .. something." She loses track of what she was saying as she locates a container that looks less dubious than the others.

Greg leans against the stove with his cigarette in his lips and shoots a dark scowl at Daisy, rubbing his arm. "You got me right in my gunshot scar," he whines. Complains manfully, that is. "That's right. I'm a hardened criminal with gunshot wounds and all. You better bring your A game on me, biatch." He gives a grin around his cigarette and a playful wink as ash falls from his cigarette to tumble all over the front of him. He appears not to either notice or care, though. "Yo, I put some pizza in there last night." He cranes around to try to look in the fridge. "Unless Grant wolfed it." He plucks his cigarette from his mouth, pointing at the trash can. "He'll probably be pissed you threw his breakfast away."

Daisy raises both brows as she pulls a chicken finger out of the container, and a little container of duck sauce. She dips it and eats it cold, feigning sympathy for his wound. "Oh, you poor poor little hardened criminal, so abused and battered, worn down by the world. Would you like some moldy cheese to go with that whine?" She then glances over at the trash and shrugs, "If he really wants it, do you think he'll let it being in the trash stop him?" She takes another bite of her chicken finger, leaning one hip up against the counter comfortably.

Greg frowns at the trash can, and slowly shakes his head. "No," he answers in a defeated tone. "You think we should start locking the can?" He chuckles, rubbing at his arm again. "Hey, it really hurt when it happened. It seems like it healed pretty good, though." He pokes tenderly at the jagged scar dashing across his upper arm where a shotgun slug slashed a groove on its way through his flesh. "Actually it really fuckin' sucks to get shot at. Next time I want to creep in and out of that motherfucker like some shadows."

Daisy pushes away from the counter and walks over to look at the scar on his arm, "Shit, man, I thought you were kidding. That sucks." There's some genuine sympathy there now, a little frown curving her lips downward. She offers him a cold chicken finger as a peace offering. "Sorry for slugging you?"

Greg waves it off with a grin. "It really doesn't feel bad at all anymore." He also waves off the chicken finger, making a face. "Too early for me," he says, standing next to the stove's digital clock which reads something close to noon now. He puffs on his cigarette, and looks over towards the window overlooking the front lawn. "I suppose I ought to get the fuck about it," he says with heavy reluctance. He sniffs himself, and makes a face. "After I decontaminate."

Daisy finishes off the chicken finger herself, then, and tucks the last couple and the little container of sauce back into the fridge. "Yeah, guess it's that time. Besides, wouldn't want to keep distracting you wandering around half-dressed like some people." She pokes his half-dressed stomach as she wanders by and heads off toward the hall and the bathroom there.

Greg gives a frown after Daisy, shaking his head. "Just like I said... trouble." He once again puts his cigarette out with water before throwing it in the trash, then heads towards the door to his room. "And it's your fault for looking!" he yells.