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Who: Jesse Pinkman & Ronan Lynch; Jesse Pinkman & Joseph Kavinsky; Jesse Pinkman & Noah Czerny; Jesse Pinkman & Andyr Prince. (Will set up more starters if anyone wants one!)
When: Post-Moira crash into the Midway Hub
Where: Around the camp set up
What: #justpostwhatthefuckthings
Note: Warnings for swearing and other stuff I'll edit in if necessary. If anyone wants to do post-crash things with Jesse, shoot me a PM and I'll toss up a starter for you!

☲ closed to ronan

[ One of the things Jesse managed to salvage of his own belongings from the Moira was the tent he'd received upon being promoted to Tiruncula rank a month or so ago. It's pitched shoddily among other crew members' tents pitched nearby, a slipshod effort on Jesse's part with how little he really knows about camping. Not that it matters, not that Jesse even cares. Hours have blurred on by since the ship went down, and Jesse has steadily descended from blind adrenalised terror into a state of shock-induced apathy; all the horrific things he's seen has anesthesised him into an eerily indifferent calmness.

Sitting crosslegged just outside his tent, there's a cigarette dangling between his lips, smoke drifting up from the lit end, while he's washing his hands in a dented camping saucepan of water that he'd managed to acquire. Barefoot and dressed in just his filthy jeans, his equally filthy blood-caked t-shirt is lying in a heap beside him. The water is cold, shocking against his skin; goosebumps rise across his arms and chest as he scrubs water up along his forearm, washing away dirt and dried blood as best he can with what little water he has available to him. He focuses on the task like he hasn't got a care in the world, like nothing horrific or traumatising has taken place.

Realising someone is approaching him, slowing down in front of him, Jesse glances up with a puff on his cigarette. It's Ronan. Smoke billows from around the cigarette pursed between his lips as Jesse peers up at Ronan with a look that's full of acknowledgement, yet unreactive; that same eerily indifferent calmness. Turning his attention back down to what he's doing, he remarks around his cigarette with a curt casualness that's entirely out of place with the whole situation: ]

'Sup?

☲ closed to kavinsky

[ On the very outskirts of the makeshift camp set up by all the crew, away from the bustle of crew members and the grim reminders of everything that led up to the ship crashing, Jesse loiters in near darkness, smoking one of his last cigarettes. The only light thrown on him comes from the camp itself, dim and indistinct; the tip of his cigarette glows red and bright in the murky shadows with each drag.

That shock-induced apathy hasn't really lifted. As he stands on the edge of the camp, he watches the camp from this safe distance with an impassive casualness. Disconnected from it all, like a spectator to a situation that he's watching on a screen rather than a part of. That's not to say there isn't an endless hum of trembling anxiety trapped beneath the surface, waiting to tear through his bubble of indifference; that's not to say that his hands aren't constantly sweaty, or that his heart isn't constantly racing. But he seems disconnected even from that.

He stands slouched on the spot, hand shoved in his pocket, other hand bringing his cigarette up for a drag and then dropping away to his side with a flick of ash. It's like he's standing on a street corner and not on the edge of a camp that's stranded on a planet on the edge of the universe. However, a noise nearby has Jesse snapping his head towards it, eyes suddenly alert and sharp. He exhales a plume of smoke, shoulders tensing up while he peers into the darkness. Another noise, like a twig snapping under someone's shoe. ]

...Hey, who the fuck's there, yo?

☲ closed to andyr

[ A few days have passed since the crash, in whatever way that "days" can be defined on this alien planet. Where Jesse, during the first couple of days, had been eerily apathetic in the face of so much trauma and terror, that shock has been slowly subsiding, giving way to a benumbed yet anxious helplessness rotting away inside of him. The only thing for it has been to keep busy, and god knows there's plenty to do. Not that Jesse is skilled in any of the areas needed most, but if Mr. White taught him anything outside of manufacturing meth and applying himself, it's taking inventory.

So, that's what he's been doing: throwing himself into the task when and where he's needed. Taking stock of the supplies salvaged by noting each item down on a clipboard, and moving said supplies to designated inventory areas. He's an exhausted wreck, having barely slept, barely eaten, but keeping busy keeps the churning storm of helpless panic all knotted up inside him contained.

It's when the stocktaking hits a lull in productivity, while those in charge work out how to inventory new supplies recovered from the Moira, that Jesse, bitten with a desperate nicotine craving, heads through the makeshift camp to find a secluded spot. He hovers near the edge of a cluster of tents, cigarette pursed between his lips and lighter igniting the tip, and it's when he draws in a deep, grateful hit of cigarette smoke that his eyes land on a familiar face. Andyr, sitting alone. A face Jesse hasn't been able to forget. Unspeakable horrors he hasn't been able to forget. Jesse hangs back, loitering in the dim shadows, wondering if he ought to approach the guy at all. And then, eventually, he hesitantly starts towards Andyr. ]

Hey, man.

[ An equally hesitant greeting as he comes to a stop at a respectful distance from Andyr. ]

☲ closed to j

[ It's late, dark. Half the camp is asleep, or at least trying to sleep, in their cramped little tents and makeshift shelter fashioned out of salvageable materials from the Moira. Jesse isn't asleep, though. Sitting outside his tent, he's chewing on his fingernails anxiously in between taking drags of his cigarette, looking this way and that. Seeming to be looking out for someone. That someone being Daisy. He hasn't seen her and he doesn't know where she is, and he can't seem to contact her over the MID. He's worried. She knows where his tent is, though, having camped with him in it the first night of the crash. It's why he's sitting here waiting for her, looking out for her: maybe she'll show up.

As he takes another edgy drag of his almost-finished smoke, everything about him seeming restless and fidgety even though he's sitting still, he throws a glance the other way and spots J up ahead. Heading towards him, it would seem. ]

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[ Jesse squints questioningly at Ronan, though it instantly turns into a contemplative frown. He can't help suddenly feeling like a bit of an asshole. He slows in his step because his attention is more focused on Ronan instead of guiding the way through the dimness with the flashlight. ]

Dude... It doesn't make you like him if you, y'know, beat off. I mean, what if the person you're thinking about is someone you really into? Or love? Or who loves you? They'd want you to beat off thinking about 'em.

[ He looks ahead of him and takes a drag of his smoke. Only natural Ronan is going to feel sick about Kavinsky thinking of him like that, after the things Ronan has told Jesse he's done. So, changes the direction of the conversation: ]

Fuck that guy. C'mon, let's do another bump, then find something to demolish.

[Ronan isn't immediately dismissive of Jesse's position, but he thinks of Adam in all his sublime glory and divine beauty and he thinks of using that image for something as coarse and filthy and lonely as self-pleasure and the entire idea of it is just as ugly as thinking of Kavinsky. Because he loves Adam, he would never use Adam as mere pornography.

The look of disgust on his face probably says enough about that.]

Yeah. Let's.

[ Jesus. He's a kid and he honestly has that much of a hangup about it? Shit, Jesse can't help feeling sorry for him. 'You oughta be enjoying yourself at your age, man' is what the amped up part of him wants to start trying to persuade him. Even with how amped up he is, that disgusted look of Ronan's makes it clear he better not push it.

So, Jesse is silent for a few moments while sniffing and wiping his nose in between a drag of his cigarette. His nose is starting to feel a little numb. He's already itching for another bump. He's probably walking faster than he realises, brimming with energy. And, unable to stand the silence because it's so loud in his coked out head, he finds himself starting to ramble, his words coming out faster than they normally do: ]

No way could I do the whole Catholic thing, man. Y'know, having all that guilt about stuff that ain't even your fault. Wanting things that just come natural to you but feeling like there's always some big, scary guy standing over your shoulder, watchin' your every move. [ Another pinching wipe of his nose, another sniff. ] I mean, how d'you know when it's enough, yo? Y'know, praying for forgiveness and all that? Or doing the whole… contrition thing or whatever it was you said it's called? How do you know when you've done enough to put things right? 'Cause it just seems to me like God's just endlessly pissed off at everything you think or do or say. I don't get the point in that. It's like… [ A pause to take a drag of his smoke. ] Seems to me like it doesn't matter what you do, doesn't matter how much you try to make up for your sins or whatever. It's just never gonna be enough and you're just never gonna be good enough for this God you gotta endlessly please. Don't you don't sick of it? Just being like… endlessly beaten up by this God? Don't it make you feel worthless?

[Ronan is content to let Jesse talk to himself for as long as he likes, the cocaine mostly just keeping him in a good mood by making shit not matter quite so much. Jesse insults him about twenty times in the course of that monologue, but Ronan merely listens and waits until he's finished. Then he answers only:]

No. It doesn't make me feel worthless at all.

[He's not sure how Jesse would even come to that conclusion.]

How? I mean, it's like God's made you his bitch, yo.

[ Jesse isn't even remotely aware that he's insulted Ronan through any of his spiel. That much is probably obvious with how genuine he actually sounds despite his coked-up motormouth. ]

[What a weird fucking perspective. Ronan looks downright confused by that statement.]

If your mom says, "Don't put your hand on the hot stove," is she saying that because she doesn't care about you, or is it because she's trying to protect you?

If it's my mom? She's sayin' it 'cause she thinks I can't be trusted and I'm too much of a useless asswipe to know any better.

Okay, but why would she give enough of a shit to say something? Maybe she thinks you're a useless asswipe, but she still cares enough to try and stop you from burning your useless asswipe hand.

[ A humourless snort. ]

She doesn't care.

Look, if you're tryna get me to understand God or whatever by using my mom as an example, you ain't gonna get anywhere.

No, it's the perfect example. You're just an idiot holding onto a grudge.

[And that's about all the hand-holding Ronan intends to do as far as theological discussion goes. He takes a running start before launching a kick at the ground, shooting dirt and rocks high into the air. Amusing!]

[ Yeah, he's holding onto a grudge. But so are his parents. If it makes him an idiot for thinking they're assholes for endlessly making him feel like shit, especially during the times when he'd wanted them to love him the way he desperately wished they would, then fine. He's an idiot. He doesn't care.

Jesse is taking a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it off to the side while Ronan kicks playfully at the ground. ]

Whatever. [ Stooping down to snatch up a rock from the ground. He stands tall again, without missing a beat with walking. ] Guess there's no point wondering about any of it, really, even if the whole guilt thing that comes with religion confuses the hell outta me. Ain't like there's any God out there interested in bothering with my sinful, insignificant ass. [ And he's lobbing the rock as hard as he can into air, the rock sailing out of sight into the dimness, like a little boy throwing rocks just for amusement. ] I'm goin' to Hell, anyways, whether God exists or not.

[ The rock seems to hit something metallic; there's a dull thunk noise ahead in the distance, followed by consecutive metallic thuds after that as the rock bounces off whatever it is. ]

Yo. Think that's a piece of the ship up ahead.

[Ronan has absolutely no patience or sympathy for Jesse's self-pity, especially not while he's high on cocaine. He can keep all of his weird guilt issues to himself, as far as Ronan's concerned.

The metallic sound is much more interesting. Ronan perks up and takes off in that direction, shouting into the darkness:]

Fuck yeah, let's blow it up!

[ It works, Ronan completely ignoring him in favour of making that announcement: Fuck YEAH, let's blow it up! is the immediately agreeing thought Jesse thinks, his coked and racing attention diverted to this than whatever it was he was about to go on to say.

He launches into a run after Ronan, the beam from his flashlight bouncing and slicing through the darkness. Up ahead, the beam cuts across something large and bulky and metallic looking. Jesse comes to a skidding stop when he's close by, shining the light all across the large chunk of debris. Frayed wires and jagged metal jut and dangle and poke out in all chaotic angles; it's a piece of debris that's beyond any kind of repair.

It's a dreadful sight, really; a dreadful reminder that the ship is well and truly fucked for any foreseeable future, and so is he and Ronan and everyone else that's stranded along with them on this fucking planet. But Jesse is letting out a laugh. What's even the point in dwelling on how fucked they all are? Being amped on coke makes that dismissive attitude come even easier. ]

Check it out, yo! [ Said with conversational, scheming wonderment while he pans the flashlight slowly around across the piece of wreckage. ]

[Ronan's circling the debris the way a vulture circles a carcass. His hyper-alert mind jumps from memory to memory, trying to place this specific piece of garbage on some specific part of the ship he might have been through, back when it was still in the sky.]

Just think...

[There's a sick, wicked little smile spreading over his lips.]

We were ten seconds away from having our guts shredded by something like this.

[ Jesse is tucking the flashlight under his arm now, still staring up at the debris while Ronan circles it. It's like Ronan is stalking prey or something, though Jesse is more focused on digging his hand into his pocket for the 8-ball. Time for another bump. Actually, seeing this huge hunk of metal is making him need a big bump right now.

He scrunches his face up at what Ronan says, like "huh??" But again - the coke seems to be his main point of focus. And maybe - maybe - he's honestly getting used to Ronan saying weird, creepy shit. ]

Trust you to get all creepy morbid, you fucking weirdo.

[ Retorted like he might as well be rolling his eyes rather than actually disturbed by Ronan's morbid sense of humour. ]

[Ronan seems positively delighted by that response, his eyes lighting up as he looks back over to Jesse. Then they drop to the cocaine and he slithers around the hunk of metal and makes his way to Jesse's side.]

We're gonna snort this whole damn thing tonight, aren't we.

Uh. Yeah? I mean, probably should make it last, but, uhhh... [ A glance at the 8-ball in his hand as he gestures to it. A pointed look settled back on Ronan like with a little smirk playing on his lips, like he's sarcastically teasing Ronan with an unspoken 'seriously, bro?' ] You only live once, right?

[ 'Cause they may not fucking end up living at all now they're stuck here, so why hold back, right? ]

I can always steal more.

[There's something delicious about stealing from a dream thief. Though he also suspects that Kavinsky doesn't mind.]

[ Jesse cocks his head, peering up at Ronan. There's a sly smile sliding onto his mouth. ]

You better steal more.

[ It's like he wants to get high with Ronan again. ]

[Ronan's eyebrows dart up in equal parts surprise and offense at the wording. He's a motherfucking raven boy. He doesn't have to do anything. But this is probably Jesse's addiction talking.]

You're lucky I like you.

[ That sly smile on Jesse's face grows puzzled. The look on Jesse's face might as well be morphing into him dubiously responding, "............................................................you do?"

But also picking up on Ronan being seemingly offended with that raise of his brows: ]

Hey, look, man, I'm just saying. I'm enjoying gettin' high with you. Be cool if we could do it more, yo, that's all.

[ Also, though: yes. It is Jesse's addiction talking. But he does also mean what he just said. ]

[Ronan plops a hand right onto the top of Jesse's head. This is an affectionate gesture, despite coming from Ronan.]

Don't worry, shitweasel. I'll keep the coke coming as long as it's fun for me.

[ Goddamn it. Way to highlight how much of a pipsqueak he is next you, Ronan, with your giant hand on his head. Still. That puzzled look on Jesse's face remains there for only a second longer before it's relaxing into a droll look up at Ronan. He's definitely learning how this freakball operates. ]

So, quit bein' a creepshow teddy bear and let's have fun, then, cueball.

[Ronan musses Jesse hair before he draws his hand away, a smirk playing on his lips.]

Let's. Are you gonna hit it or just keep staring at it?

[ Jesse jerks his head away from Ronan's mussing hand, pretending to be annoyed. A smile has started to work itself onto his lips, though. Jesse extends the baggy to Ronan. Only fair the guy supplying the blow gets first hit this time around. What had Ronan said to him earlier to be a smartass, though? ]

Ladies first.

[ Teasingly lobbed at Ronan with a boyishly amused look on his face. ]

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