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o___o Dang, lady. I've no idea how you write so much.. usually I struggle to come up with posts half that length. XD I don't even know where this one came from... it's my longest Barrett post evaaar, so I hope you don't expect it again... but these two are so much fun :3 I'm glad the move went well, too
In his mind, Barrett ran through the greenhouse several times to get a handle on its final layout. He envisioned the shorter poppy plants around the perimeter (perhaps with a patch on one side reserved for tobacco) and a number of high quality, high yield marijuana plants growing in the centre—this mimicked Anselm's original setup. While he wasn't sure he had the real estate for mass production of much else, she would be helping him out of a jam with the poppy seeds and the structure did run nearly the full length of a house; he wouldn't mind quarantining off a section for her to experiment with these mystery medicinal plants. (Adept as he was in the cultivation of narcotics, he was no botanist or herbalist.)
He was feeling pretty okay about all of this, but when she proposed a pack-wide endeavour he faltered. This was his moonlight operation, something unofficial he actually preferred did not get back to his Alpha; Savina seemed like the sort who might worry. Lamentably, such concerns would not be unfounded (otherwise they would be easy to laugh off or wave away). For all the good canines—past, present, and future—this business brought before him, junkies and thugs were another very real possibility.
He already had one encounter that was too close for comfort. Ultimately, he was saved by the drug ring's disengagement from Crimson Dreams: it afforded him the freedom to run. If anything nasty got back to the pack that sheltered, fed, and accepted him, he would be obligated to fight—both to defend his home, but also to contend his continued involvement with Hilsburn. Ultimatums had a track record of horrifying the adolescent; he didn't want to choose between his trade and the protection of a pack, but he was convinced should anything sour make its way back to his leadership, he'd be faced with exactly that: a very uncomfortable decision, indeed.
Negative thoughts were quick to slip his mind under the influence of such a merry drug and he pushed them into the depths of his subconscious while they completed the tour. Strangely, the odds of him coming up with a satisfactory solution were greater if he did not ponder it directly. Instead he focused on the dolly. He considered briefly whether it would be best to manually untangle the severed grasses and weeds wound about its wheels, but inevitably opted for the brute force method. He sheared off the nuts and bolts securing the casters, then pried and hammered them free. It made a considerable racket, and he was sure to lay off the gas when she started detailing her own profession.
“Really?” he chirped, more as a metaphorical, conversational filler than a genuine inquiry. His heavily lidded gaze lit up; he was intrigued. Absently setting his tools aside, he rose to his feet and struck a few poses he'd learned in Taijitu—these were more combat and balance oriented. “Yoga... like this?” he wondered, having never heard the specific term before. Their teachings stemmed from the same trunk, perhaps, but were on a very different branch—the practise of martial arts could achieve nearly the same meditative effect, but the approach was completely different. She might pick up on these differences and correct him; if nothing else, it was clear he regarded the subject with an open mind.
The mention of incense also caught his attention. Suddenly the cogs that had been turning in the background seemed to click into place. Who could argue with things that smelled nice... especially if they might mask the tell-tale scent of marijuana that emanated from this place? Without great numbers the effect would be meagre at best, but eventually... plus it would be a more acceptable “front”... hmm, yes. “Tell ya what,” he said suddenly, “what if I quarter off part of the greenhouse for now. I'm usually here every other week to check in on things, but if I'm not here you can either leave the seeds at the door and I'll find 'em or plant 'em yourself. If we run outta space, I'll just put up another greenhouse!” Apart from the extra materials Anselm left behind, it would be trivial to make up the difference once his dolly was in working order. Perhaps everything would work out after all.
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