thisavrou_log | closed

Entry tags:

closed

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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[With equal amiability, as he's pulling out his knife:]

I will murder you and leave your body where no one will find it.

[Which is to say: Thanks, he'll take some of that. He plucks the bag from Jesse with his free hand and digs out a decent hit of cocaine before passing it back. The knife point, as before, rises to his nostril and he gives the coke a good snort.]

Uh-huh.

[ The "uh-huh" is dry, entirely disbelieving, amused. If Ronan had said that to him when Jesse first met him, Jesse would be shitting his pants about now at that remark. The amiability would have made it all the more disturbing; the knife in his hand, even more so. 'You fucking weirdo', Jesse thinks to himself with studying Ronan with a smirk.

As the baggy is handed back to him, Jesse just as amiably retorts just to stretch the 'ladies first' line a little further: ] Thanks, Britney.

[ Bald-headed Britney. ]

[Increasingly less bald as the razorless days on this wasteland of a planet go on. Approaching a more Caesar look. Still a fairly apt comparison. Enough to get Ronan waving his knife in a mock threatening fashion.]

Watch yourself.

[But it's hard to actually be bothered by anything at the moment. That hit has him feeling all-over good.]

[ Jesse eyes the knife - he won't push it any further than he already has - and looks down to the baggy with a grin to himself while taking the flashlight out from under his armpit and wedging it between his legs so he can use both hands properly. He's about to portion a generous bump onto his hand like earlier, but it's hard to see in the dark; he doesn't want to waste any. He lifts his attention back to Ronan, with an incline of his chin to the knife. ]

How 'bout helping a bro out insteada waving that thing around?

[Ronan flashes a shark smile that's mostly invisible in the dark. He tucks the knife away and eases closer to Jesse, reaching between his legs just a little slower than he has to. Just a little clumsier than he has to. Maybe groping not-so-accidentally before he gets a hold of the flashlight.]

Sorry. My bad.

[He turns the flashlight around to illuminate the coke.]

Just take your time, yo.

[ 'Cause he's itching for this bump now he's got the baggy open in his hand. He's laughing, though, at Ronan groping around for the flashlight. He's happy. Not just because of the coke, either. He's realising how much he actually enjoys Ronan's company. Knowing Ronan likes his company, too, or at the very least likes him. It's lifted Jesse's spirits.

He squints at the glare of the light as it's turned on him, grinning at Ronan. Looking down, he's finally portioning out a generous bump of this mouth-watering coke; the moment he's bringing that bump up to his nose and sniffing as hard as he can, he lets out a noise of pleasure. The rush that accompanies it has him grinning broadly again, and he announces with an amped and excited exclamation at Ronan: ]

This shit is the bomb. Ohhh, man. Fuck, yeah! Makes me just wanna blow somethin' up or-or-- [ Which suddenly reminds him! His eyes widen with scheming excitement as he jerks his thumb at the wreckage. ] Hey, c'mon, yo! This thing ain't gonna blow itself up!

Edited 2016-12-09 10:39 (UTC)

[Ronan turns the flashlight to the wreckage, following Jesse's attention. He's not near as hyperactive as Jesse, but his heart is thudding in his chest and the prospect of setting fire to something has his nerves itching with excitement.]

Should I dream up some fireworks?

Wh--? You--?! [ Jesse's eyes have gone wide at Ronan, like a little kid who's just been told there's an exciting present waiting for him. ] Fireworks?! Dude! For real?! Fuck, yes! Blow this bitch up, yo!

[Kavinsky's rubbing off on him, Ronan will realize with some horror once he's sobered up. But Ronan in this moment is not sober, and bad ideas seem like good ideas, so he hands over the flashlight and searches around in his pockets for a moment until he finds one of Kavinsky's pills.

One of the pills he wasn't supposed to find.]

I'm gonna die for a minute. Don't freak out.

[Possibly the last thing one should say if one intends to avoid freaking someone out, but Ronan's already lying down in the dirt and dropping the pill into his mouth.]

[ Jesse isn't exactly thinking soberly about any of this, either. The fresh bump of coke has made the hedonistic, impulsive, reckless part of him rear to the surface, all thoughts about what it actually means if Ronan dreams up something slipping to the back of his mind. The bloodied state he'd found Ronan in that time, when he'd first met Ronan - it's there in his thoughts but he's not thinking clearly about it.

Instead, like an excited kid, he's quickly sealing the baggy up and stuffing it into his pocket before hurriedly collecting the flashlight from Ronan. His mind is racing so much that it doesn't register at first what Ronan says - until Ronan is dropping to the ground and popping something in his mouth. The excited look on Jesse's face freezes with sudden dawning horror-- ]

--Wait. What?!

[Ronan is unconscious before he even catches those words. The back of his head hits the dirt and his hand drops onto his chest. Out cold. Out colder than cold. His chest rises and falls only twice more before he stops breathing altogether. He's gone.]

[ What's even happening here?! What is going on?! It's gone from fireworks to Ronan saying he's going to die for a minute, and Jesse's coked out brain is having a hard time trying to process the intense whiplash between the two. His flashlight is trained on Ronan with an unsteady hand and the moment he realises Ronan isn't breathing, the flashlight slips from his grasp and lands on the ground with a bouncing thud and jutting slash of light slicing through the darkness. His hands clap up to his head in horror while he stares in wild-eyed alarm down at Ronan. ]

--What the fuck--?! Ronan, man--! No--!

[ What the fuck has he just talked Ronan into?! ]

[Jesse doesn't have to panic for long. After about half a minute, Ronan's heart restarts with an involuntary jerk of his body. He drags in a gasping breath as if he's just surfaced out of water, and though he doesn't open his eyes yet, he's very much alive.

And right beside him, inexplicably, sits a box of fireworks.]

[ And Jesse, in those horrifying thirty or so seconds, which seem like a tunnel where time has suddenly slowed down, has dropped down beside Ronan. His hands shake Ronan furiously as if that will somehow wake him up, and his hands then snatch Ronan's face to turn his lifeless head toward him. He even gives Ronan's face a sharp slap and - nothing. His hands are on Ronan's chest again, about to frantically start chest compressions with an involuntary whimpering noise of panic starting to escape him - when Ronan scares the shit out of him again with that sudden gasping inhale.

And the box of fireworks that just pops into existence at the same time. Jesse almost falls back on his ass in surprise. He stares at the box in bewilderment, then his attention snaps onto Ronan, and a wave of relief so intense washes over him that he slumps over Ronan, forehead landing on Ronan's chest while he forces in a deep, shaky breath of overwhelming gladness. Which is instantly followed by an angered: ]

You-- asshole!

[Ronan's body remains paralyzed for those first few moments, while the astral Ronan can only watch with mixed wonder and annoyance as Jesse falls all over him. Such a dramatic reaction. Hardly warranted.

When Ronan returns to his body and opens his eyes, he gives the back of Jesse's head a light slap.]

Told you not to freak out.

[ Jesse jolts in surprise at that slap, his head lifting quickly from Ronan's chest. The look he's fixing Ronan with, though. Flat and annoyed and very much written all over with worry and relief. ]

Maybe the next time you wanna dream up fireworks, a little heads up before you suddenly decide to play Dead Donkey like an asshole might be nice. Jackass.

[ He gives Ronan a pissed off shove. But then, after heaving a deep, shaky breath that's tense with adrenalised relief, he's offering a hand for Ronan to take, to help him to his feet when he's ready. ]

Are you fucking braindead? That was a heads up.

[He literally said what would happen before it happened. But Ronan shakes his head and takes that hand, climbing to his feet like it was all nothing. Then he turns to the box, an overstuffed thing likely to explode with the force of dynamite once it's lit.]

How should we do this?

Uhhh, yeah, like a five-second heads up. Not even five seconds.

[ Ohhh my god. Whatever. Jesse's other hand smears down his face while he wills himself to calm down, then he's helping Ronan up. Once they're both standing, Jesse resists the urge to shove Ronan again just for good fucking measure. Don't scare him like that, asswipe.

Jesus, he needs another hit after that. He's digging his hand into his pocket to fish out the 8-ball again, eyes sweeping down to the box at Ronan's question. He studies it a moment in silence; he needs a second to regroup himself. After one more determinedly steadying sigh: ]

...Fuck, man. How the hell do you do that? [ Bring things out of his dreams, that is. Baggy of coke in hand, he's still staring at the box in growing mystified wonderment now Ronan scaring him half to death is dissipating. He glances over to the wreckage. Back to the box. Chewing his bottom lip in thought. ]

Either we do it the slow way and set 'em alight one by one. Means they'll last longer that way. Or... we fuse 'em together and run a homemade fuse line out from the debris. Like string or paper or something flammable like that. Or rope of some kind dipped in alcohol or fuel. Ignite it all of it from a distance.

[ Which will take a while to set up and will be fiddly as hell. He sniffs hard, sniffing cocaine backdrip down his throat, which sends a renewed small rush amping through him. He quickly wipes his nose, then bites his thumbnail in thought. ]

Or. We just pile 'em all in and toss a molotov in there, and run like hell. [ Jesse looks at Ronan. Despite the scare Ronan had given him just moments ago, there's a slow smile creeping onto his lips. ] Got any booze? That's, like, eighty proof or more?

[Ronan assumes the question of how is rhetorical. And anyway, he doesn't have an answer. He half-listens to all of Jesse's theorizing, gesturing for the cocaine whenever Jesse's done with it. He doesn't have any more booze on him, so he shakes his head.]

What if we light one firecracker and shoot it at all the other firecrackers?

[ That small smile on Jesse's lips spreads a little wider. All of his suggestions are useless, really, given the circumstance they're in. But Ronan's idea - that will most definitely, surely work. He looks down to quickly portion out another bump on his hand, which he sniffs up hard and fast and with a sharp intake of breath that's accompanied with a grateful, rushed exhale. He hands the baggy over to Ronan. ]

Guess we better find a rocket firecracker among all these, then.

[ Small or big rocket - either would work. He steps over to the box while Ronan is helping himself to a hit and crouches down, reaching for the flashlight at the same time. Carefully, he starts rummaging through the box, pulling firecrackers out one and a time to inspect them with fascination. What a crazy, fascinating, disturbing, incredible gift Ronan has. Jesse can't help marvelling as he's going through the box: ]

Man... you're really something. [ He glances up at Ronan. ] You're a crazy, incredible weirdo.

[ Meant in the best possible way. ]

[The knife's back out just long enough for Ronan to snort up a good hit. He holds still for a second while it kicks in, his heart seizing a few times in a way that's probably not super healthy, but the rest of him feels so elated that he can't be bothered to worry about it. He pockets the cocaine and the knife, turning back to Jesse with a grin.]

I know. Did you find anything?

[ Looking back down at the box, Jesse rummages more, pulling out different shaped and sized firecrackers. And then: ]

Yo... check this out. [ From the very bottom of the box, he's retrieving a rocket-shaped red firecracker, mounted on a small wooden stake. It's not huge but it looks like mad fun to light and watch explode.

Jesse looks up at Ronan. A mischievous grin spreads across his face. ]

[Ronan enjoys this reveal, even though he was already perfectly aware of all the contents in the box. It's kind of like he's Santa Claus.]

Nicely done. Now I guess we just pile the rest of these on the space trash and set it off.

[ Jesse sets the rocket firecracker aside to pile the other firecrackers he'd pulled out back in the box. Hefting the box in his arms, he stands up and turns to Ronan. He looks past him at the debris, making a calculated guess as to whether he's tall enough to jam the thing into the big hole he can see the box would fit well into. Naturally, he's not. So, he's shoving the box against Ronan's chest for him to take. ]

You do the honours, hotshot.

Sure thing, pipsqueak.

[Ronan cheerfully takes the box and hops on over to the space junk. Fitting the stuff into the hole doesn't take much of a stretch for him, obviously, and he's bounding back to Jesse's side a minute later.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject