we whisper in each others' ears to make diamonds out of dirt.

[nightmarist]

Who: Ronan Lynch & Jesse Pinkman
When: Shortly after this
Where: A hallway in the Moira
What: Jesse runs into Ronan after a fight.
Warnings: Blood and references to violence.

[Smudged with dirt and soot. Shirt torn and slightly charred. Drying blood smeared across his mouth. Fresh bruise erupting on his cheek. Frankly, Ronan looks like a mess. Not the life-threatening kind of mess, but very much like a boy who's just emerged from a brutal fight with someone of comparable strength, and it's not entirely clear from the looks of him whether he won or lost that fight.

In the end, it doesn't matter. He's sore and concussive and there's a burn on his hip where Kavinsky's literally-flaming fingers wrenched at his jeans. There's no emerging from that fight with any sense of victory. Ronan wants to find the nearest empty room and isolate himself there, away from all questions and concerns.

He thinks he might throw up. He hopes that doesn't happen in this hall. He wishes everything would stop spinning.

And now he's falling.]

Comments

[heisenbitch]

[ He gives Ronan a look, like 'whatever, asshole'. But then he's stooping back down and he's wringing out another washcloth. When he stands tall, he tosses that washcloth onto Ronan's chest. ]

In case you wanna clean yourself up.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan doesn't particularly care at the moment, but since the cloth's already there, he picks it up and scrubs the blood and soot off his face in a careless, half-assed way. He's not sure what to do with it once it's blood-soaked, so he drops it onto his stomach.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse is pulling the chair at the desk closer and then dropping down onto it while Ronan wipes his face. The smell of pot is probably seeping all the way down the corridor. Jesse doesn't particularly care. He pushes his hand into his pocket to pull out his pack of smokes. Looking down at it while plucking a cigarette out: ]

So, this guy's from your world, huh?

[nightmarist]

Yeah. We went to school together before he killed himself.

[Which is... such an inadequate way to describe their relationship, which had very little to do with attending classes and everything to do with intense late-night street racing and a wild drug-fueled dream bender in a field full of Mitsubishis, during which Ronan lost a week of his life and might have lost his life altogether.

The memory alone stirs something in him, which he's quick to quell with another hit of the joint.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesus... Looking back up at Ronan, Jesse hesitates with putting the cigarette between his lips. ]

Noah know him, too?

[nightmarist]

Mm...

[Ronan squints thoughtfully at the air.]

Noah knows him through me. Noah's seen him. But that's a different thing, isn't it? From knowing someone yourself.

[heisenbitch]

[ It's a good thing, at least, that the pot seems to be working. It was a 'yes' or 'no' question Jesse had asked; Ronan had given him almost a stoner answer. Pursing the cigarette between his lips, he fishes out his lighter and quickly lights the tip with a long drag. ]

Yeah. There's a pretty big difference.

[ He exhales the rest of the smoke, then adds: ]

Sounds like this guy's someone Noah oughta be kept away from, anyway.

[ Even if Noah is a ghost. Even if nothing can physically hurt Noah. ]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan says nothing for a moment, eyeing Jesse with that same pensive expression. Yes, he's stoned indeed. But he's also fascinated with Jesse's concern, because this is the first time someone who isn't being haunted by Noah has expressed any worry over Noah. It warms the cockles of Ronan's black heart.]

Noah does a good job of keeping himself away from K. I'm not sure K can even see him.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse thinks about that for a moment while he watches Ronan. He takes a puff of his cigarette. ]

So... this guy ain't, like... Like a ghost, then? Like Noah?

[ Even though he's dead? ]

[nightmarist]

Definitely not a ghost.

[Which is a good thing for several reasons, but mostly because Ronan can't imagine being relentlessly haunted by Kavinsky. A true horror story.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Huh. Weird. Jesse only thinks that, however, because he'd thought, going by Noah, that ghosts must be a common thing in Ronan's world.

After he takes another drag of his cigarette, he reaches for an empty Cactus Cooler can and taps ash into it. He glances back up to Ronan. ]

...This guy seriously kidnapped your little brother? Just 'cause you turned him down?

[nightmarist]

Oh, you know. He could have anything he wanted in the world, but he couldn't have me.

[Ronan sighs as he says that, mockingly wistful, before rolling his eyes.]

I guess that drove him a little crazy.

[heisenbitch]

'A little'? Faggot sounds like a psycho. Man, I woulda curb stomped his ass if that were my little brother.

[ God, just talking Ronan's little brother makes Jesse think about Jake. Jesse looks down, toying the cigarette between his fingers. Out of nowhere, he wonders if Jake is okay. If he's happy. If their asswipe parents are making Jake's life hell.

Suddenly, Jesse misses the shit out of his little brother, and he tries to swallow it down as he quickly sucks another drag of his cigarette. ]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan pinches the joint between his fingers and holds it up to aim while Jesse is momentarily caught in his reverie. Then he flicks it squarely toward Jesse's forehead. It's large enough to be difficult to miss.]

[heisenbitch]

[ That sure snaps Jesse out of his momentary reverie. He jerks back with a surprised jolt when it hits his forehead, eyes landing on the joint falling on the floor before shooting Ronan a look. ]

What the hell, yo.

[nightmarist]

Watch your fucking language.

[heisenbitch]

Seriously?

[ ...And then, it suddenly dawns on Jesse: Ronan's a faggot, too. Jesse had already wondered if that was the case with how Ronan was talking earlier about this Kavinsky guy wanting him, but Ronan's reaction confirms that for him. Why else would Ronan care so much?

Quick. Backpeddle, Pinkman. Ronan might be bruised and battered and burned but that doesn't mean Ronan won't punch his face in. ]

I was talking about this Kavinsky guy or whatever, yo, not you.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan holds Jesse with his stare, dissecting the dawning realization in Jesse's features as his brain works through what Ronan always assumed was the extremely obvious. He says nothing. No dismissal, no forgiveness. He just wants Jesse to squirm with it a bit longer.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse is squirming alright. He holds that dangerous stare of Ronan's like he's trying not to be intimidated, but somehow, Ronan manages to look even more intimidating with his face all busted in.

Intimidation wins over. Jesse breaks eye contact, looking down with a brief, uneasy jiggle of his leg. He reaches down to pluck the joint up from the floor, then he looks back up to Ronan and holds the joint out for him to take back. A wordless gesture of contrition. Look, he's sorry, okay? Please don't kill him. ]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan accepts the joint, bringing it to his lips for another hit. Nothing about the gesture appears merciful, but at the very least he doesn't seem to be making a move to attack.]

Curbstomping seemed a little redundant after he died. There's not really anything satisfying about kicking a corpse's ass.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse slumps back in his seat with begrudging concession. That begrudging attitude quickly subdues as Ronan going on to comment about curbstomping brings Jesse's thoughts back to this Kavinsky guy kidnapping and apparently trying to murder Ronan's younger brother. Not to mention the fact that this kid apparently killed himself. ]

There a reason he's got such a Fatal Attraction hard-on for you?

[nightmarist]

[Sarcastically, with a gesture toward his swollen face:]

Is this not a beauty worth killing for?

[More seriously:]

You'd have to ask him.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse lets out a wry snort under his breath at Ronan's gesture to his busted up face. He looks down, tapping ash into the soda can again. ]

Heh. Yeah. Right. Just walk up to him and be all, "Hey, dickweed, you realise there're easier ways to get cock than kidnapping kids, right?"

[ He takes a contemplative final drag of his cigarette before slipping the butt into the can. ]

Guess some people jerk off to making other people's lives miserable 'cause they're such miserable assholes themselves. It's like they feed off of it or something.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan doesn't dispute that. Even if he'd been inclined to accept Kavinsky's little proposal and give up his life with Gansey and Adam and Noah, it would only have been a matter of time before he ended up like Prokopenko. Kavinsky would have grown tired of him and replaced him. Goldfish. Mitsubishis in a field.

He shuts his eyes. Even through the haze of weed, his head throbs. His whole body aches.]

...You should stay away from him.

[heisenbitch]

[ Not that Jesse can hold any moral high ground to that little nugget of so-called wisdom about people jerking off to other people's misery, because he's done nothing but brought misery to everyone who's wound up with the misfortune of getting too close to him. Mr. White flashes into his mind. Jesse can vaguely remember thinking - vaguely because it's been so long since he's seen Mr. White that his life back in New Mexico seems almost like a distant memory now - how much he would despise Mr. White at times because of how much he jerked off at making Jesse miserable.

And suddenly, right at that moment, a stab of guilt twists into his gut. Mr. White was miserable because of Jesse, really. It wasn't Mr. White who was the sick one - it was Jesse.

He sets the makeshift soda can ashtray down on the floor beside him, then drops his face into his hands, rubbing his hands wearily down it, before letting them fall away. He glumly slouches forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

He glances up at Ronan remark. Which, despite that stab of guilt still churning over in his chest, takes Jesse by surprise. Why would Ronan give a shit enough to even advise him of that? ]

I'm nobody. Doubt he's gonna give two shits about me.

[ Watching Ronan lie there with his eyes closed. His face looks as badly busted up as Jesse's had looked when he'd first wound up in this place. That Schrader asswipe had done a real number on him; Jesse remembers how badly he'd been aching. ]

...Need another joint or something?