It had been a long, arduous fourteen months for Jonah. In the depths of the Hell's Warrens, he had been a very, very busy boy. Him, and a chosen crew of well-paid and ultimately rather worn/freaked out folks had been hard at work, constantly trucking all manner of items in past the secure door on the Hell's lowest, fourth level. Mostly, however, what was being rolled in through the doors seemed to be shipments of soil, fertilizer, lots of canistered water, plant food and a variety of building materials. Piping, scaffolding, paneling, tools of varying sizes and functions, along with no small amount of chemicals which, when combined, would be called a ridiculous risk to human health- At the very least, that is. The crews alternated in the warrens constantly, however Jonah himself seemed to be confined to the space for a great deal of the fourteen passed months, apart from his personal little excursions, more than a few of which consisted of several-week long absences, and he would most always return with a great deal of rarities; In particular, seeds, sproutlings and other iterations of strange, vibrant flora. One would not have to guess long, with his penchants, where he'd been getting those. It would however be worth noting that he, in those fourteen months, had been very often known to 'commission' the mortuary on Islay to ship the corpses of those deceased, with their families' permission, into the warrens. A morbid combination altogether, indeed.
Yet, behind the shut doors, magic was happening. The upper floor of the warrens, where the old crew had normally resided, had been completely reworked and renovated. Supports lay in places where they'd been missing or stripped, the doors had all been replaced, the crew quarters all had been redone and renewed- Even Jonah's own. The single two he would never touch, still, were in a corner past the corridor bend of the living quarter circle. A firmly locked shut door, with the name 'Banger Grim' scrawled on the tagline, remained old-looking, tattered and worn- A matching one with the name 'Druce Faolan'; Out of respect, their quarters were not touched, since they were the only two apart from Jonah that had not pulled all their crap out of the little two by three boxes they all 'lived' in back in the old days. A pair of full renewal kits were in the storage room at the opposite side from the living quarters, along with ridiculous amounts of fertilizer and soil bags on pallets.
However, if one were to look down and stare over the railing of the catwalk of the first floor, they'd be met by a glorious sight. A world of vibrant colours- Reds, greens, blues, purples, pinks, yellows and whites swayed gently under the breeze produced by ventilation fans to keep the stems strong and the plants breathing. The lower part of the warrens had before been their planning and staging ground- This was still true to an extent, but mostly the room seemed to serve a different purpose. Plast-glass cases and terraria containing all manner of Gaia-native flora were scattered along the walls- These held the toxic and dangerous plants, while the harmless, aromatic and fruit-bearing flora was planted in the room in planters of varying sizes, which in turn were incorporated in the general look of what seemed to be a gathering area, filled with all manner of seating and lounging surfaces. A bar was installed in a corner, but the centerpiece was a large circular table surrounded by spinning chairs, with a massive holodisplay in the middle of it, idly simulating Gaia in her full splendor, spinning around lazily in the thick, moist atmosphere which carried a myriad of floral scents- And a particular one, which tickled the nose in a particular way.
It came from the spark atop a lit Kalisti gold joint tucked between Jonah's lips, burning ferociously as he dragged on it, lounged in a corner beside a small, cheap audio system which played some sort of archaic electronic music- He never really liked it much, but it was better than grave silence and the hum of the ventilation. Behind him, a terrarium case with a whole row of Kalisti gold plants in it, healthy, strong and picked clean- Before him, the harvest, stuffed into a pack of dry-glass, airtight shut jars; Alongside it, a pack of rolling papers and a lighter. He smiled, because he knew- He had renewed his home- And he'd just finished calling all the Watchers to join him... in the Depths of Hell.