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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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[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.]

[ Pipsqueak. He'd shove Ronan in exasperation for all the insults relating to how tiny he is next to him, if he wasn't far more excited about these firecrackers. While Ronan scampers off with the box, Jesse collect the rocket firecracker and head back a good several more yards, so he and Ronan will be at a safe distance. He crouches down and inspects the rocket, then starts lining the firecracker up with the debris. By the time Ronan has joined him again, Jesse is positioning the firecracker with the wooden stake wedged into the ground. He leans in close so he's eye-level, lining up the rocket with the best target for the firecracker to aim towards. ]

They're all gonna fuckin' hate us back at camp. [ Or maybe some of them will think it's as awesome as he and Ronan will think it's going to be. ] Whatever. They're missin' out.

[ And, okay, with the rocket secured in place and ready for launch, Jesse glances up at Ronan with an excited gleam in his eyes while fishing his hand into his pocket for his lighter. ] You wanna light it?

We'll be way the fuck out of here before they figure out it's us.

[Ronan has no intention of explaining the existence of dream fireworks to the rest of the camp. He takes his place by Jesse's side but shakes his head at the offer, getting nice and comfortable for a view of the explosion.]

You can do it.

[ Jesse meant in terms of the explosion this is going to cause. But Ronan is right - they'll both definitely be way the fuck out of here before anyone figures out who's behind it.

He raises his brows up at Ronan like "you sure?" before excitedly turning his attention to the rocket, anyway. A snap of the lighter and he tentatively lights the fuse at the base of the rocket, which flares alight in a ball of sparks. Jesse hurriedly jumps to his feet and backs away to stand beside Ronan, watching, waiting, eager eyed and full of rapt anticipation.

The suddenness of the rocket taking off has Jesse exclaiming, "Whoa, shit!" with a startled, delighted laugh, and the speed of the thing rocketing towards the debris is almost as fast as the blink of an eye. It sails straight for the hunk of metal with a slight bend to its path - and hits bang on target. ]

[Ronan is perfectly content to let Jesse have all the fun. Few things please him more than watching others enjoy his creations - even if this particular dream thing is ripped straight from Kavinsky's psyche. (They've been spending too much time sharing one mind. Ronan knows it.)

As the rocket hits the target, the debris bursts with shrieking whistles and shocks of colorful light. Pieces of metal go flying into the air, riding sparks and pinwheels of fire. The noise is thunderous, echoing louder than it should over the valley, almost deafening from this short distance. Ronan's laughing like a madman, but he can hardly hear himself over the roar. He throws an arm around Jesse and slaps him on the back in congratulations, as if he's done all the work.]

Fuck yeah, man!

[ It's a terrifying, thrilling, exhilarating thing, watching the fireworks come to life, knowing he had been the one to light the fuse. The spectacle of colour bursting into the dark sky is electrifying; Jesse lets out a loud whoop of a laugh, barely able to hear himself over the ear-shattering explosions. As Ronan is clapping an arm around Jesse's shoulders, Jesse is pumping a fist into the air in adrenalin-charged victory. In unison with Ronan: ]

Yeah, bitch!

[ And he lets out another ecstatic, roguish laugh while turning to Ronan with that hand coming at Ronan in a triumphant yeah, bitch! high five. ]

[Ronan slaps that incoming hand, absolutely elated. Another successful dream thing, another step toward becoming himself again. Over by the trash heap, fireworks are still whizzing and crackling, probably for far longer than fireworks ought to. Ronan throws his other arm around Jesse in a hug and takes him for a little spin, whirling around and around while sparks rain down.]

[ The moment Ronan is grabbing him and hoisting him up off the ground, Jesse throws an arm around Ronan's neck as he's being spun around in circles. He clings on with that one arm, other arm pumped back into the air, the deafening pepper of explosions drowning out his laughter. He probably weighs almost nothing next to Ronan's strength and stature, and he doesn't care that Ronan is spinning him around and around, because in that moment he's the fucking happiest and most exhilarated he can remember feeling in a long, long time. ]

[The fireworks eventually die down and leave nothing but a smoking hunk of metal emitting the occasional leftover pop, and Ronan eventually has to stop spinning because otherwise he'll fall over. So they find themselves collapsing against the side of a boulder, Ronan's chest heaving with panting and snickering. He keeps one arm around Jesse's shoulders, regardless.]

Ah, beautiful.

[ God, by the time slows with spinning him around, Jesse realises how dizzy he is. His legs, like jelly and all uncoordinated from everything tilting and spinning in his vision, cause him to stumble and collapse with Ronan. His arm stays anchored around Ronan's neck, the stupidest, most thrilled grin on his face, pupils fully dilated with the rush of coke.

The silence settling over the darkness makes the ringing in his ears ring all the louder. Amplifying the silence, the darkness. It's like hitting that point of dissatisfaction where the high of a drug has descended into its inevitable, disappointing comedown: the only way back up is more. ]

Man-- [ Slumping against the boulder while hanging off Ronan. ] 'Beautiful'?! Are you kidding?! More like-- [ His other hand balls into a fist and lands a playful punch to Ronan's stomach. ] Fuck, we shoulda saved some! You got me wanting to blow up more shit!

[Ronan lets out a laugh when Jesse punches his stomach, and he hooks Jesse into a weak headlock to keep him from doing it again. Though this kind of just ends with the both of them pressed temple-against-temple, Ronan slouching so close to him.]

There's nothing else to blow up out here. Unless we find more space junk, I guess. Whatever. Enjoy the moment, fucker.

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