Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heisenbitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2017-02-18 02:28 am
heisenbitch) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-02-18 02:28 am
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away
Who: Jesse Pinkman & various; one starter semi-open to anyone!
When: Feb 17 onwards.
Where: Around Monmouth & Region 1.
What: Jesse has returned from being [spoiler alert??] canon updated.
Warnings: Drug use, swearing, other stuff that comes with Jesse Pinkman territory. If you want a starter, feel free to hit me up via PM or over at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
nanageddon!
When: Feb 17 onwards.
Where: Around Monmouth & Region 1.
What: Jesse has returned from being [spoiler alert??] canon updated.
Warnings: Drug use, swearing, other stuff that comes with Jesse Pinkman territory. If you want a starter, feel free to hit me up via PM or over at
☲ closed to Andyr & Ronan
[ Several hours after stepping out of the Ingress Complex, Jesse had almost made it all the way back to Monmouth.
The Monmouth building had been just up ahead along the windy path cloistered with an endless archway of trees when Jesse had slowed to a stop. He had stood there, a hollow expression on his pallid face, staring ahead of him while listening to the surreal, calm serenity of the forest. Birds twittering in trees, insects chirruping, leaves rustling softly together in the breeze. The silence had been deafening. The exhausted, restless edginess all caught up inside his head, buzzing like static, had seemed even louder; amplified, even, by the silence.
Why the fuck should it have mattered, right? He's a dead man back at home; Jesse is sure of it. Maybe he ought to have been grateful the Ingress delivered him from the fate of Mike lodging a bullet in his head before rolling his body into a ditch, Except it seemed like a sick joke to him more than anything. And here he was, returning to Monmouth like he thought he deserved to belong here.
So, with the serenity and silence of the forest needling into him, he had turned around with his hands shoved in his black jeans pockets, and headed back to the noisy, bustling energy of Region 1 as quickly as the EN-line would take him.
That was close to a week ago now, not counting the three days he'd been missing inside the Ingress Complex itself. He has been drifting from club to club, from bar to bar, from one-night stand to one-night stand; a lifeless, hollowed out shadow of himself trying to drown out the suffocating memory of Gale's innocent, pleading face staring down the barrel of the gun Jesse had held at him playing over and over in his head like a skipping record.
Tonight, in another seedy club filled with partygoers, Jesse is slouched in one of the booths. Empty bottles of alcohol litter the table, along with drug paraphernalia - evidence that he has been partying hard with others in the club, though he's now all on his own. The heavy, dark bags under his eyes and his sallow face makes him look like a corpse. His close-shaven, skinhead-like buzzcut has stripped away any remaining boyish charm he might have had left. Just slouched there, dead inside, staring lifelessly at the table like he might as well be dead on the outside, too.
So hollowed out and anaesthetised by the pounding music drilling into his head and the drugs and alcohol numbing him into a near catatonic state, he doesn't notice the very two familiar faces approaching him through the swarm of sweaty, dancing bodies. ]
The Monmouth building had been just up ahead along the windy path cloistered with an endless archway of trees when Jesse had slowed to a stop. He had stood there, a hollow expression on his pallid face, staring ahead of him while listening to the surreal, calm serenity of the forest. Birds twittering in trees, insects chirruping, leaves rustling softly together in the breeze. The silence had been deafening. The exhausted, restless edginess all caught up inside his head, buzzing like static, had seemed even louder; amplified, even, by the silence.
Why the fuck should it have mattered, right? He's a dead man back at home; Jesse is sure of it. Maybe he ought to have been grateful the Ingress delivered him from the fate of Mike lodging a bullet in his head before rolling his body into a ditch, Except it seemed like a sick joke to him more than anything. And here he was, returning to Monmouth like he thought he deserved to belong here.
So, with the serenity and silence of the forest needling into him, he had turned around with his hands shoved in his black jeans pockets, and headed back to the noisy, bustling energy of Region 1 as quickly as the EN-line would take him.
That was close to a week ago now, not counting the three days he'd been missing inside the Ingress Complex itself. He has been drifting from club to club, from bar to bar, from one-night stand to one-night stand; a lifeless, hollowed out shadow of himself trying to drown out the suffocating memory of Gale's innocent, pleading face staring down the barrel of the gun Jesse had held at him playing over and over in his head like a skipping record.
Tonight, in another seedy club filled with partygoers, Jesse is slouched in one of the booths. Empty bottles of alcohol litter the table, along with drug paraphernalia - evidence that he has been partying hard with others in the club, though he's now all on his own. The heavy, dark bags under his eyes and his sallow face makes him look like a corpse. His close-shaven, skinhead-like buzzcut has stripped away any remaining boyish charm he might have had left. Just slouched there, dead inside, staring lifelessly at the table like he might as well be dead on the outside, too.
So hollowed out and anaesthetised by the pounding music drilling into his head and the drugs and alcohol numbing him into a near catatonic state, he doesn't notice the very two familiar faces approaching him through the swarm of sweaty, dancing bodies. ]
☲ for Carl, but open to other bites
[ The video game arcade Jesse comes across, tucked away in one of myriad labyrinthine alleyways that weave through the city centre of Region 1, hosts a strange, eclectic range of video games from various different worlds. Some are intricate, Matrix-esque looking devices, some are almost primitively simple, some are fashioned to seem to fit the anatomy of specific alien-like creatures only.
Some are just like the kinds of old school video arcade games Jesse spent hours and wasted dollars playing back in his truanting school days, and some are more modern looking, like the one Jesse is standing at. House Of The Dead 4; a gory zombie light gun arcade game.
Nightfall hangs heavy outside, and the bustling metropolis crowds out on the streets are starting to thin out. The video game arcade is a boisterous buzz of noise and flashing lights, and Jesse stands in front of the game, transfixed on the screen while he holds the gun outstretched, killing zombies here and there and everywhere. He seems almost like a zombie himself, with his empty, lifeless gaze and how he seems utterly anaesthetised by both the game and the noise all around him.
With his shaved head and his dark clothes and his hard, hollow stare, Jesse might seem close to unrecognisable to anyone who hasn't crossed paths with him in a while. ]
Some are just like the kinds of old school video arcade games Jesse spent hours and wasted dollars playing back in his truanting school days, and some are more modern looking, like the one Jesse is standing at. House Of The Dead 4; a gory zombie light gun arcade game.
Nightfall hangs heavy outside, and the bustling metropolis crowds out on the streets are starting to thin out. The video game arcade is a boisterous buzz of noise and flashing lights, and Jesse stands in front of the game, transfixed on the screen while he holds the gun outstretched, killing zombies here and there and everywhere. He seems almost like a zombie himself, with his empty, lifeless gaze and how he seems utterly anaesthetised by both the game and the noise all around him.
With his shaved head and his dark clothes and his hard, hollow stare, Jesse might seem close to unrecognisable to anyone who hasn't crossed paths with him in a while. ]
☲ closed to Murphy
[ Jesse sits on the top of a wall running along one of the alleyways, shoulders slouched and feet dangling while he picks listlessly at a slice of pizza hanging limp in his hand. Beside him is the pizza box - oily, greasy, lid flipped open with over half a pizza still waiting to be eaten. He had bought the pizza from a nearby cramped little pizzeria, hunger gnawing a hole in his knotted up stomach, but after just a couple of slices…
With a bored sigh, Jesse lifts the pizza to his mouth and takes a large, sloppy bite before making a face of disinterest. As he chews, he drops the half-eaten slice into the box with a greasy slap.
Fuck it, he decides. Time to head back into a bar or a club, cocoon himself back into pounding music and booze and whatever else he can get his hands on until he's exhausted enough to pass out for several hours. He flips the pizza lid shut and is about to jump off the wall when his eyes land on someone extremely familiar turning into the alleyway. Except… Ronan looks different somehow. His hair is all wrong. His body size is all wrong. How he walks is nothing like how Ronan walks.
Maybe the guy will notice this bald, dead-eyed looking scrawny guy up on the wall staring down at him with a weirded out expression written all over his face. ]
With a bored sigh, Jesse lifts the pizza to his mouth and takes a large, sloppy bite before making a face of disinterest. As he chews, he drops the half-eaten slice into the box with a greasy slap.
Fuck it, he decides. Time to head back into a bar or a club, cocoon himself back into pounding music and booze and whatever else he can get his hands on until he's exhausted enough to pass out for several hours. He flips the pizza lid shut and is about to jump off the wall when his eyes land on someone extremely familiar turning into the alleyway. Except… Ronan looks different somehow. His hair is all wrong. His body size is all wrong. How he walks is nothing like how Ronan walks.
Maybe the guy will notice this bald, dead-eyed looking scrawny guy up on the wall staring down at him with a weirded out expression written all over his face. ]
☲ closed to Daisy
[ The entire time since Jesse left the Ingress Complex, he's been ignoring Daisy's messages. As the haze of days and nights blurred into each other, the messages kept trickling in every second or third day. Every time his TAB chimed to alert him of a new message, Jesse had seen it was from Daisy and switched the screen of his TAB off before trying to shut her out of his mind.
Just like he avoided Andyr, Ronan, pretty much anyone who matters to him, he avoided Daisy, too. Has he missed her? Jesus, yes. Were there moments he almost responded to her messages? Absolutely. What could he possibly say to her, though? Jesse hadn't wanted Daisy see him in the state he's in any more than he'd wanted Daisy around him. All he'd do is drag her down into his shit, something she doesn't deserve.
But he's been back at Monmouth now for a few days, since Andyr and Ronan dragged his ass home. Jesse hasn't left his room much; he's shut himself away, chain-smoking, pounding music flooding his room, occasionally only abandoning his room for a piss or when the suffocatingly empty loneliness of his room feels too much like it's starting to close in on him.
He's in his room now, though, cigarette dangling from his lips, a can of spray paint in his hand. His room is a testament to the state of his mind: clothes strewn about, an overflowing ashtray down beside his bed, empty bottles of beer lined up haphazardly along the window sill, a mirror abandoned in the middle of his bed with a razor blade and remnants of white powder dusted across the surface. Squinting against the smoke drifting up past his eyes, the spray can hisses as Jesse scrawls random things across the wall, next to a skull that's dribbling with wet spray paint. The room smells of paint fumes, and grinding electronic music reverberates from the stereo system in the corner, so loud Jesse can't hear himself think.
Little does he know someone is knocking at the door, not until there's a brief break in the music as the current song ends and the iPod shuffles to find the next one. Absorbed in defacing the wall, he stops mid-spray at the realisation someone is knocking. He glances over at the large industrial sliding door. Reluctantly abandoning what he's doing, he heads for the door, expecting to be greeted by Ronan or Andyr, maybe some other member of the Monmouth building demanding he turn the music down.
He rolls the heavy door open with an impatiently disinterested look ready on his pale, exhausted face, cigarette still smouldering and dangling from his lips. ]
Just like he avoided Andyr, Ronan, pretty much anyone who matters to him, he avoided Daisy, too. Has he missed her? Jesus, yes. Were there moments he almost responded to her messages? Absolutely. What could he possibly say to her, though? Jesse hadn't wanted Daisy see him in the state he's in any more than he'd wanted Daisy around him. All he'd do is drag her down into his shit, something she doesn't deserve.
But he's been back at Monmouth now for a few days, since Andyr and Ronan dragged his ass home. Jesse hasn't left his room much; he's shut himself away, chain-smoking, pounding music flooding his room, occasionally only abandoning his room for a piss or when the suffocatingly empty loneliness of his room feels too much like it's starting to close in on him.
He's in his room now, though, cigarette dangling from his lips, a can of spray paint in his hand. His room is a testament to the state of his mind: clothes strewn about, an overflowing ashtray down beside his bed, empty bottles of beer lined up haphazardly along the window sill, a mirror abandoned in the middle of his bed with a razor blade and remnants of white powder dusted across the surface. Squinting against the smoke drifting up past his eyes, the spray can hisses as Jesse scrawls random things across the wall, next to a skull that's dribbling with wet spray paint. The room smells of paint fumes, and grinding electronic music reverberates from the stereo system in the corner, so loud Jesse can't hear himself think.
Little does he know someone is knocking at the door, not until there's a brief break in the music as the current song ends and the iPod shuffles to find the next one. Absorbed in defacing the wall, he stops mid-spray at the realisation someone is knocking. He glances over at the large industrial sliding door. Reluctantly abandoning what he's doing, he heads for the door, expecting to be greeted by Ronan or Andyr, maybe some other member of the Monmouth building demanding he turn the music down.
He rolls the heavy door open with an impatiently disinterested look ready on his pale, exhausted face, cigarette still smouldering and dangling from his lips. ]
☲ closed to Adam
[ The front door of Monmouth opens, and Jesse steps into the dark front hall clutching a bottle of liquor. Shutting the door behind him, he slouches towards the hallway, taking a nonchalant drag of his cigarette. It's the middle of the night; Jesse has no idea how late it actually is, nor does he really care. He smells of booze and stale cigarette smoke, another night having been blitzed away in a noisy, crowded bar, and he's only finally come home because he supposes he's going to have to eventually sleep at some point.
Exhaling smoke into the air, he purses his cigarette between his lips so it dangles there while flipping on the kitchen light. The booze is thumped down on the kitchen bench, followed by Jesse shrugging his leather jacket off his shoulders. Carelessly dropping the jacket over the one of the kitchen stools, he moves over to the fridge and opens the door.
He takes another drag of his smoke while scanning the contents of the fridge with disinterest. Hearing movement behind him, Jesse glances over his shoulder. Oh. It's Adam. ]
Yo, what's up? [ Said casually as anything with the cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips, like any awkwardness he recently may have expressed around Adam has been utterly forgotten. It's like Jesse doesn't even care now. Zero fucks to give, about anything, and that's not just in his whole attitude, it's also etched into his sallow, exhausted face and his haunted, almost eerily apathetic eyes, even into the close-shaven head he's now got. His attention returns to the fridge, adding, easy as anything: ] Want some pizza?
Exhaling smoke into the air, he purses his cigarette between his lips so it dangles there while flipping on the kitchen light. The booze is thumped down on the kitchen bench, followed by Jesse shrugging his leather jacket off his shoulders. Carelessly dropping the jacket over the one of the kitchen stools, he moves over to the fridge and opens the door.
He takes another drag of his smoke while scanning the contents of the fridge with disinterest. Hearing movement behind him, Jesse glances over his shoulder. Oh. It's Adam. ]
Yo, what's up? [ Said casually as anything with the cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips, like any awkwardness he recently may have expressed around Adam has been utterly forgotten. It's like Jesse doesn't even care now. Zero fucks to give, about anything, and that's not just in his whole attitude, it's also etched into his sallow, exhausted face and his haunted, almost eerily apathetic eyes, even into the close-shaven head he's now got. His attention returns to the fridge, adding, easy as anything: ] Want some pizza?
☲ closed to Blue
[ Jesse didn't mean to fall asleep on the couch downstairs. He had come home once again in the middle of the night, and too restless to simply hang out in his room, he'd loitered around in the living room instead, smoking, his exhausted mind churning and churning. Eventually, he must have passed out.
Something clattering in the kitchen nearby nudges Jesse out of sleep. He cracks his eyes open, squinting against daylight lighting up the room. He realises, as he wearily lifts his head from the armrest, that someone had tucked a throw over him while he'd slept.
Christ, he thinks as he drops his head back to the armrest, he feels like death. His mouth tastes dry, stale, and his throat feels rough like sandpaper from all the cigarettes and joints he smoked the night before. And just like that, as his brain catches up to the fact that he's conscious, a heavy, sagging dread sinks down onto his chest and into his gut. The same heavy, sagging dread that follows him everywhere he goes, makes Gale's pleading face and the blasting kick of the pistol Jesse had held point-blank at Gale erupt in his mind on a loop if he pays too much attention it.
Grasping the throw, he tugs it off him and slowly shifts his legs off the couch until he's sitting up. Shoulders hunched, he smears his hands down his worn out, wan face, then runs his hands up over his close-shaven head. That's when he spots the girl over by the entrance of the living room. ]
…Hey. [ Though he's mildly surprised to see some stranger here in the house, Jesse isn't fazed by it. If anything, the way he regards the girl while stretching a hand out to his pack of smokes on the coffee table is bordering on indifferent. ] What's up?
Something clattering in the kitchen nearby nudges Jesse out of sleep. He cracks his eyes open, squinting against daylight lighting up the room. He realises, as he wearily lifts his head from the armrest, that someone had tucked a throw over him while he'd slept.
Christ, he thinks as he drops his head back to the armrest, he feels like death. His mouth tastes dry, stale, and his throat feels rough like sandpaper from all the cigarettes and joints he smoked the night before. And just like that, as his brain catches up to the fact that he's conscious, a heavy, sagging dread sinks down onto his chest and into his gut. The same heavy, sagging dread that follows him everywhere he goes, makes Gale's pleading face and the blasting kick of the pistol Jesse had held point-blank at Gale erupt in his mind on a loop if he pays too much attention it.
Grasping the throw, he tugs it off him and slowly shifts his legs off the couch until he's sitting up. Shoulders hunched, he smears his hands down his worn out, wan face, then runs his hands up over his close-shaven head. That's when he spots the girl over by the entrance of the living room. ]
…Hey. [ Though he's mildly surprised to see some stranger here in the house, Jesse isn't fazed by it. If anything, the way he regards the girl while stretching a hand out to his pack of smokes on the coffee table is bordering on indifferent. ] What's up?
☲ closed to Lúcio
[ Jesse had stumbled out into the dark alleyway with some random woman he'd been railing lines and throwing back shots with. While music had pounded inside the club, Jesse had been getting busy with her up against the wall, and now, half an hour later and with the woman having returned inside to the club, Jesse is leaning back against the wall smoking a cigarette.
He plans on venturing back inside, eventually. He'd stayed outside initially to bask in the afterglow, but that's all but faded now, and the dark loneliness of the alleyway is hardly proving to be distracting company. Dressed in black jeans, a red t-shirt, leather jacket and skinhead buzzcut, Jesse is a shady-looking character loitering out here on his own. Doesn't help that any spark that once lit up his boyishly handsome face has extinguished into a despondent, hollowed out expression written into his eyes and his pallid skin.
A final drag of his cigarette, and he drops it to the ground to crush it under his foot just as the door he's standing beside opens. Exhaling smoke into the air, Jesse looks quickly over at the person - or, potentially, alien - stepping out into the night, and to his surprise, it's Lúcio.
Usually thrilled to see Lúcio, Jesse seems anything but right now as he quickly looks down, fidgeting his cigarette down by his side. He's well aware how different he looks, how odd he's behaving. While that's not something he cares about with people who mean nothing to him, it's a different matter with people who don't mean nothing to him.
Still, he greets, trying to sound casual, off-handed, like his old self: ]
Lúcio, man. Hey.
He plans on venturing back inside, eventually. He'd stayed outside initially to bask in the afterglow, but that's all but faded now, and the dark loneliness of the alleyway is hardly proving to be distracting company. Dressed in black jeans, a red t-shirt, leather jacket and skinhead buzzcut, Jesse is a shady-looking character loitering out here on his own. Doesn't help that any spark that once lit up his boyishly handsome face has extinguished into a despondent, hollowed out expression written into his eyes and his pallid skin.
A final drag of his cigarette, and he drops it to the ground to crush it under his foot just as the door he's standing beside opens. Exhaling smoke into the air, Jesse looks quickly over at the person - or, potentially, alien - stepping out into the night, and to his surprise, it's Lúcio.
Usually thrilled to see Lúcio, Jesse seems anything but right now as he quickly looks down, fidgeting his cigarette down by his side. He's well aware how different he looks, how odd he's behaving. While that's not something he cares about with people who mean nothing to him, it's a different matter with people who don't mean nothing to him.
Still, he greets, trying to sound casual, off-handed, like his old self: ]
Lúcio, man. Hey.
☲ closed to Riptide
[ It's the dead of night. The streets of the seedier part of Region 1, usually buzzing and bustling with street vendors and noise and crowds, is dim with emptiness and murkily lit streetlamps. Seated on the crooked street curb, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms loosely hooked around them, Jesse is a lone figure as he stares glumly at the road. Behind him, the bar he had spent most of the evening absorbing himself is now dark and vacant, doors locked shut. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, and as he lifts his arm from around his knee to bring his smoke up to his lips, a scuffling noise nearby catches his attention.
He turns his close-shaven head quickly, deadened eyes suddenly looking a little sharp as he peers down the dark street. Something is approaching him. Swallowing, he fidgets his cigarette between his fingers with unconscious nervousness, his expression hard, on edge like he's bracing to defend himself.
It's a dog approaching him. The dog - a Pomeranian - is scampering along the street, nose to the ground, sniffing curiously at a rock here, a piece of litter there, some weird ass alien-looking piece of junk over here. Jesse's shoulders sag, and he lets out a muted dry huff at himself. Just a dumb dog.
Which sniffs its way slowly towards Jesse. Reaching his shoe, the dog pauses to curiously sniff at it, then lifts its head to bark in that annoying yapping way Pomeranians bark. A fond little crooked smile slides onto Jesse's mouth because, annoying Pomeranian or not, he's got a giant soft spot for animals - until the Pomeranian suddenly turns and cocks its leg up at his shoe. ]
Hey, yo, hey—!
[ Jesse is already hurriedly moving with an alarmed kick of his leg, dropping cigarette ash onto his shirt, but too late: a stream of dog piss hits his shoe and is spraying up onto his jeans. ]
He turns his close-shaven head quickly, deadened eyes suddenly looking a little sharp as he peers down the dark street. Something is approaching him. Swallowing, he fidgets his cigarette between his fingers with unconscious nervousness, his expression hard, on edge like he's bracing to defend himself.
It's a dog approaching him. The dog - a Pomeranian - is scampering along the street, nose to the ground, sniffing curiously at a rock here, a piece of litter there, some weird ass alien-looking piece of junk over here. Jesse's shoulders sag, and he lets out a muted dry huff at himself. Just a dumb dog.
Which sniffs its way slowly towards Jesse. Reaching his shoe, the dog pauses to curiously sniff at it, then lifts its head to bark in that annoying yapping way Pomeranians bark. A fond little crooked smile slides onto Jesse's mouth because, annoying Pomeranian or not, he's got a giant soft spot for animals - until the Pomeranian suddenly turns and cocks its leg up at his shoe. ]
Hey, yo, hey—!
[ Jesse is already hurriedly moving with an alarmed kick of his leg, dropping cigarette ash onto his shirt, but too late: a stream of dog piss hits his shoe and is spraying up onto his jeans. ]
no subject
tokyoisland civilizations or something.The only way Carl knew for sure he would find out was to play it. He places a coin in the slot, it comes alive with a growl of music, and the rest is history. It's when the tragic pain of death and accompanying music plays for about the sixth time he goes over his lesser coins to find he is out of "quarters". Figuring that is it unless he wants to trade and spend his real cash, he gives a bummed out sigh but moves on to the door.
However, one sight on his way out manages to get him to stop. There clear day was a big sign that read House Of The Dead 4 with unmistakable walker-zombie imagery. This was the second time in his life that he was caught unaware by the impossibility of zombie games, the first time being the other world that grabbed him. But this time was no less surprising as the first. His stomach churned with disgust for how anything like it could exist for fun.
Then he actually notices the zombie of a "zombie" person playing the game, who looks vaguely familiar, but not quite familiar enough yet. He doesn't even realize the dirty, judging look he gives along with a grumble under his breath.]
no subject
Boom, boom, boom. Zombies' heads exploding. Gale's head snapping back. Blood spraying from the zombies gaping gunshot wounds. Blood spraying from the blast of the bullet Jesse lodged in Gale's skull. Zombies and Gale beginning to blur into one.
Suddenly, the screen goes red as a zombie he hadn't killed attacks him, and GAME OVER flashes up on the screen. Realising his heart is racing and his hand is aching from how hard he's been gripping the video game gun, he lowers the gun to his side.
And he remains standing there, staring at the screen. His gaze is intense, utterly transfixed. Another game? Or should he walk away? He swallows hard. Another game, he slowly decides, and he finally looks down to dig a hand into his pocket for another coin.
That's when he finally realises someone is standing right nearby out of the corner of his eyes. Jesse looks up at them, with a demand to know what the fuck they're looking at it on the tip of his tongue.
Oh. It's Carl. Jesse is surprised to see him, and in fact, he almost seems a little surprised by his surroundings, like he's belatedly coming back into focus on what's around him. ]
Carl. Hey.
[ Jesse regards him for a moment with his stark, haunted eyes, then slowly lifts the plastic video game gun and holds it out at the kid. ]
Wanna play? My shout.
[ And he motions to the game with his other hand: two-player game. ]
no subject
Anyway, by the looks of it Jesse seemed pretty out of it. Dead couldn't quite describe him, but the guy looked pretty vacant like someone who was. He still couldn't figure out why he was familiar though, until Jesse seems to snap a little to life and turn to him, making his skin crawl when he recognizes him by name up to the point where it his facial features facing him clue him into just who he is looking at.]
Jesse? Holy shit, you look like crap.
[No, right now the last thing they need to be doing is playing video games. Tell him what happened.]
no subject
Wow. Good to see you, too. [ But then, he dismisses Carl's reaction, because he absolutely doesn't want to talk about what happened or why he looks like shit, and he motions to the video game. ] Wanna game or not?
no subject
No. I dunno... You're not gonna tell me what happened to you? [Of course he pushes more.]
no subject
Nah. Ain't stuff a kid needs to hear about.
[ He manages to make that sound so flippant. Jesse has developed quite a knack for seeming eerily detached from all the shit that's constantly churning over in his mind, though. Pushing his hands into his jeans pockets, he looks back to Carl. ]
How 'bout pizza, then? Wanna grab a pizza instead?
no subject
[Because if there is one thing Carl knows it's when and how to divert things. It isn't going to work on him, though. Even the expression on his face looks as if to say nothing would surprise him. He's seen enough crap to understand.
His arms cross over his chest, with a deep humph. However, he won't push it too much.] Or don't. If you don't wanna talk about it, then just tell me that. You don't have to pretend nothing is wrong by distracting me with video games or pizza. I get it.
no subject
I don't wanna talk about it.
no subject
Okay. We won't talk about it then. [pause] Um, if you wanna get pizza, go ahead? You still look you need it.
no subject
But as much as he knows a shitstain like himself shouldn't in any way hang around kids being the kind of monster Jesse sees himself to be, he cares an awful lot about kids. Wants to protect them, wants to look after them, wants to make sure they're okay. What happened to Tomàs back at home, being shot by those street-level dealers of Gus' has really knocked that urge to protect kids even further into Jesse.
So, with the kid acquiescing to pizza, Jesse pushes his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and jerks his head in the direction of the exit. ]
C'mon. Pizza it is, then. [ And he moves away to lead the way to the exit. When he steps out into the dark, streetlamp-lit street, he pulls his crumpled pack of smokes out of his pocket and pauses to light one. He blows a cloud of smoke into the air, then turns to look at Carl as he pushes the pack of cigarettes and his lighter back into his pocket. ]
How you been, anyway? Haven't seen you in a while.
no subject
Fine, I guess. [He starts to say, feeling strange thinking about how Jesse won't tell him anything but will ask what's been up with him. He tugs the fabric of his button down shirt closed in response to the cold hitting him as they step outside.] There isn't really much to say.
[C'mon you can do better than that, Carl.]
I got a farm house, with some friends from home.
no subject
No shit. That's awesome, yo. That must be real nice.
no subject
Sure. It's pretty nice. I'm not complaining about it, but I'm not gonna get used to it either. It's not home.
no subject
[ He taps ash off the end of his cigarette, then jerks his head in indication that they start walking. He moves into an ambling pace. There's something restless about Jesse, fidgety and anxious, a stark contrast to the easy, ambling pace he's taken to strolling. ]
Same friends from home, though?
no subject
[He quietly agrees, continuing to follow just slightly behind. The smell of smoke perfuming in the air is unpleasant, but Carl is used it and doesn't pay mind to it. Jesse doesn't seem alright but stays quiet until they get closer to the pizzaria in question.]
Yeah. I would be staying by myself if they weren't. They're the only ones I know I can trust.
no subject
Well, it's good you got 'em around. The last thing a kid deserves is to have to be on their own.
no subject
What about you?
no subject
Living on a farm, too, funny enough. With a buncha guys I know.
[ Approaching the pizzeria now. A final drag of his smoke, then he drops the butt to the ground and crushes it under his shoe. ]
What kinda pizza you like?
no subject
Carl is a little relived when he sees the pizza place finally in view and they could get off the dark street.]
No, man. I'm not hungry. Get whatever pizza you like.