Marty doesn't know what half of this shit does, but he's taking it anyway. Some out of necessity-- painkillers are pretty useful when there are creepy crawlies out to eat the town-- and some are just for fun. Anything that isn't necessary or fun is getting tossed into the "profit???" pile on the now-cluttered countertop. He can sell... sinus pills to somebody when this is over, he's sure. Okay, then. Tossing that in the pile now.

Marty Williams: prescription drug dealer. He's found his new calling.

He's counting his stash when the door creaks open. Marty swings his pipe up and rests it on his shoulder, preparing for battle all casual-like.

Ignore the blood he's just gotten on his shirt. (He should really clean this pipe.)

Once he gets a look at the interloper, Marty relaxes a smidgen... not that it's obvious with the lackadaisical way he's carrying himself. He's pretty sure Wolfgang's just some skinny chick looking to score some free shit. Or... skinny dude. Okay, the latter's more or less confirmed when the new guy speaks. In any case, there are enough pills to go around, so what does Marty care.

"I think I found some medieval Ritalin," he remarks lazily, tossing a bottle up and down in one hand.