[closed]

[gentrify]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky + Mickey Milkovich
WHERE: Some Maurtia Falls dark hangout bar probably
WHEN: 8/15
WHAT: A couple butch gay dudes with hella mobster names and too much hair product do some shady business.
WARNINGS: All this + all this too.



[ mickey does not wear one of his four new hawaiian shirts he's picked up in novelty stores around the florida coast, much as he would've gotten a lot of personal amusement out of doing an illegal arms deal in it. he doesn't quite want to get made in this universe just yet, and he already sticks out enough just being a imPort alone. makes business a little tricky, but mickey's only ever known the one kind of business. instead, he's in his dull colors, sat back in a corner of a shady bar, cigarette smoldering between his fingers as he rolls the bottom of his beer on the table top and waits for his contact to show. ]

Kavinsky - what is that? [ he says, once the man shows up. ] Russia? Ukraine? Brooklyn?

[ there is maybe a concern about how legit this guy is, but mickey intends on inspecting the product before trading for it either way. but really, that's just small talk, and small talk is something he isn't that great at anyway. so. ]

Guy I know says you might have some left over stock you're looking to get off your hands.

Comments

[pillz]

Bulgarian. [jersey still clings to kavinsky's accent-- faint. faded out.] By way of Russia, probably.

[kavinsky doesn't know much about his ancestry beyond the last couple of generations. something to do with a scumbag father, and his scumbag father's scumbag father before him. he's breaking the chain now, stopping the cycle. trading in ck jeans and designer butch tank tops for argyle and buttondowns. at least today, in the interest of looking the part, kavinsky's dressed in grey and navy, sweater and slacks. he'd thought for a minute about dreaming himself a leather jacket, but the whole idea had made him laugh.

he looks out of place, but they still know him here, a little. and furthermore, they know jesse pinkman.]

I do. Thought about burning it, but I figured the last thing I needed was a detonation event.

[gentrify]

[ the jersey accent, actually, is something of a relief. at least in that mickey isn't dealing with actual mob right now, that'll have Boris show up on his doorstep and drag him off to cap him and dump his body in a river somewhere if he says the wrong word to the wrong person. not looking for that. ]

Ukrainian. 'Bout the same route through the Motherland, probably.

[ Chicago is thick on his voice, like worn as a brand, though the level of pride carried with it isn't clear. like many things in mickey's life, it just is what it is. that's about all he has for small talk, aside for a snort and a smirk around the cigarette between his lips. ]

Helluva fireworks show, though. [ and you'd without a doubt end up with some homicide charges, if he'd done that somewhere close to any kind of civilization. but anyway, about that product moving. what kavinsky's wearing doesn't mean much to him - mickey's seen all kinds, and looking too thug usually means too eager to try to seem legit, so less is more, and discretion is key. ] How much you asking for it?

[pillz]

[chicago. kavinsky recognizes it! highly regionalized fuckboys unite, at least temporarily. (at least at this stage, kavinsky has no idea what the future holds, with regard to his life of crime.) (the future holds such bright shiny.)]

Three thousand dollars and a favor. For eventually. Something that fits, promise you don't have to suck my dick. [kavinsky smiles at the other boy as benignly as possible considering they're talking about blowing up safehouses full of illegal weapons with your standard colorful explosive, incendiary properties. at least they aren't also talking about prostitution! there's no irony or suggestion in kavinsky's face. he means it. non-sexual favors. possibly just murder.] Second part isn't negotiable until it's collection time, but I've been going to therapy and I think I'll be pretty reasonable.

[he steals a pretzel out of a nearby dish, but his eyes don't move from the chicagan boy's face, steady. not blinking enough. standard supercriminal spoop.]

[gentrify]

The 3 thou' I'll do, but open ended favor?

[ everyone knows dealing in open ended future favors with people selling illegal arms in a seedy ghetto bar is a bad idea. but mickey has next to nothing to deal with, aside from some pocket change (in gangster terms), and three thousand is a really good price for a full stock of goods. mickey's taking a moment to think it over, covering it with a deep drink from the beer he'd ordered, looking out to the rest of the bar, fighting the urge to chew at a lip or fidget in any other way that gives off how unnerved he is with the choice. in the end, he clears his throat, stating terms in determined words. ]

No, I ain't sucking your dick, and one more, I'm not offing anyone for you. [ which is about the only line he's drawing. he did say negotiable at time of collection, so hopefully he isn't going to have anyone holding a gun to his head for something he really doesn't want to do. hopefully. ] But broken bones or burying bodies I can do.

[ yeah, that's nothing. anyway. ]

Just don't get fuckin' weird with it, okay? I get to look the goods over before we make a deal outta this?

[pillz]

[kavinsky's smiling. not too wide, not too offputting, he doesn't want to act like it's in the bag because that's the quickest way to overturn the bag and empty out its contents, clanging, onto the floor. kavinsky isn't about that life. he wants what he wants, which is a little extra walking-around money, and a clean start. (he has no idea he's going to fall forward into the world of drug-dealing in a couple weeks, okay.)

(that's multiple whole weeks.)]

Yeah. Got some of the goods at a warehouse not too far from here, if you want to check them out. Nothing weird, not now nor when it comes to collection time. [he taps his fingers on the bar-top twice, not moving to stand just yet. he's curious here for a moment, eyes crinkling.] You're not sleeping with Jesse? Am I hearing that right?

[gentrify]

The fuck? [ One brow shoots up and the other curves down, mickey giving him a look of 'what the fuck are you smoking right now, are you even a real criminal'. since when is that a thing you even talk about? ] No. I'm not. Do I look like fucking wannabe arm candy to you?

[ because that's what fucking the boss of a crime circle gets you. arm candy for sugar daddy that then owns your ass. even if he were single, even if he were interested, he wouldn't go there. ]

How brain damaged are you to try fucking a cartel drug lord?

[ this world is weird as hell. ]

[pillz]

[is this time for kavinsky to be self-conscious? luckily!! he doesn't know how to do that anymore.] You only ever fuck arm candy? [he asks.] I might've been doing it wrong.

[he has definitely been doing it wrong. it has absolutely nothing to do with arm candy, really, and everything to do with chronic misery and a dependency on sex in addition to other inadvisable substances to supplant the basic necessities of the human soul. jesse pinkman served a lot of purposes, and they were never really out in public together.]

Come on. Get your ugly thug ass up. [it's then that he does move to stand, bending an arm behind him as if he needs to stretch.] I got babies to kiss and boat shoes to buy.