[ OPEN with closed starters ] the only way to fix it is to flush it all away

[heisenbitch]

WHO: Jesse Pinkman + closed threads + one OPEN trashfest starter
WHERE: Various cities and places
WHEN: October catch-all
WHAT: Jesse has been learning a lot about who he used to be here in MoM. The result: a junkie spiral into junkie ways of coping.
WARNINGS: Drug use, sex, dark themes, self-destructiveness, possible violence, swearing, #justjessepinkmanthings.

Notes: PM me or shoot me a message over @ nanageddon on plurk if you would like a starter or want to discuss something specific! New cr and established cr with the previous Jesse (though my Jesse won't remember your character, of course) are both very welcome!

► MONTH-LONG PARTYING, various locations; open

[ Jesse's birthday is where it all starts: September 27th, alone with his demons, trapped inside his own head, and desperate for escapism. Saying it was his birthday while hanging out at a bar in downtown Heropa was a good excuse to sweet talk some random chick he'd started chatting up into slipping away with him for a little fun and a few lines of whatever powdered poison he can get his hands on. Unlike home, however, when Jesse was able to get blitzed out of his fucking mind after only railing several lines, and feel sated after sex even if he still felt completely hollow inside, none of that happens here. His cells regenerate too fast, so he was left stone cold sober with his demons crawling around even louder inside his head, while the chick was passed out next to him in a blissful, drugged up, post-sex haze.

It leaves Jesse trying to chase another high, and another, bar hopping, club crawling, seeking out whatever vice he can get his hands on to try and numb the storm of despairing terror brewing in his head. Don't get high, had been Jesse's advice to himself when he'd first wound up here, don't ever get high again, and don't go home. Yeah, well, fuck you, Jesse thinks every time that video slips through his mind. Fuck you, Pinkman, fuck you for telling me to listen to myself when this whole life you've left behind here is proof of how sick you are. Home, Jesse has been realising, is where he wishes he could return. At least he could get high at home; at least he wasn't a prisoner in his own constantly regenerating body back at home, even if he was trapped in every other way.

And so, for the unfolding several weeks into October, Jesse winds up at various bars and clubs in Heropa, Maurtia Falls and Nonah. He uses his boyish, shamelessly flirtatious charm, sometimes also his ImPort celebrity status, sometimes his ability to lower people's inhibitions where they might need a little persuasion, to cajole them into depravities and gluttony and sin.

He hires out motel rooms and hotel rooms for several days on end, places to take people he meets at bars and clubs back to so they can continue partying way into sunrise and then crash all over his room, only to wake up at dusk to go partying all over again. If anyone is feeling particularly rough and hungover, Jesse draws it all out of them with a seductive healing kiss and maybe a caressing brush of his hand against their skin to inject just a little inhibition lowering persuasion into their veins, and all goes Jesse's way again.

The entire time, Jesse barely sleeps; stone-cold sober and unable to lose himself in intoxication the way everyone else around him is, Jesse seems more like a soulless voyeur to the hedonistic depravities he's surrounding himself with rather than an active participant. ]

[ OOC; This is open to anyone, both new cr and people who may have had cr with the previous Jesse! If your character is the self-destructive type, the instant hookup type, or anything along those lines, please feel free to run wild with this starter however you like. If you want to discuss anything first, feel free to hit me up either via PM or @ nanageddon on plurk! ]

► STREET RACING THROUGH THE NIGHT; closed to Ronan

[ Jesse had only meant to step out of the debauched party thriving in the seedy Maurtia Falls motel room he's booked out for several days to buy more booze and find a 24-hour takeout pizza joint. He'd had every intention of returning as soon as possible laden with beers and pizzas to keep the den of filth satisfied and eager to stay, but now he's out on the dark, mostly deserted streets… Jesse winds up driving.

He's going crazy in this whole new world he's found himself trapped in. He can feel it in his bones, pressing behind his eyeballs, festering away in his gut. And not being able to get high, to even escape for just a little while, is like being caged inside his own body. Whoever would have known that the gift of healing others, being able to save others and help others, could also be such a curse. This is his karma for all the awful shit he's done in his life: imprisoned in his own body and his own mind, with no way to escape what he doesn't want to face.

As he turns down yet another long stretch of dark road, he grips the steering wheel tighter before shifting the gears and sinking his foot down on the accelerator. The engine of his yellow Stingray hums louder. The street whizzes past faster and faster, the velocity pressing Jesse back into his car seat. His heart picks up, the speed of the car forcing all his thoughts to narrow right down to the road in front of him, to the thrill of adrenalin. Up ahead, a green traffic light turns amber, then red. For a dark, fatalistic moment, Jesse thinks about closing his eyes, roaring through the red light and letting the car wind up plunging him into whatever fate he deserves.

He can't do that, of course, not when innocent people may wind up in the crossfire. He may deserve it, but they don't. So, at the last second, he slams his foot on the brake, and the car comes to a skidding, screeching halt beside another car idling at the lights. His deadened gaze drifts over to the other car while he's bringing an unlit cigarette up to his lips, and his brows raise slightly at seeing that guy from the Swear-In event seated behind the wheel. Ronan. ]

► Motel room, Nonah; closed to Beth Childs

[ When Jesse pulls into the parking spot outside his motel room, he pauses to light a cigarette and then climbs out of the car. He fishes his motel key out of his pocket as he approaches his room door, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the chick he's picked up from the club tonight.

Jesse should look a lot rougher than he does; he's been partying nonstop for days now. He's barely slept, he's drank more than his own body weight in booze, and railed line after line of whatever powdered poison he's been able to get his hands on, if only to feel the immediate rush of it. Yet dressed in dark jeans, with a red t-shirt and black leather jacket, Jesse exudes a dark, sharp edge to him. Only the unshaven bristles on his face and the dark circles under his eyes from how hollowed out he is inside give it away that he's been at this for a while now.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, he reaches out a hand for the girl to take his, and he leaves the cigarette dangling between his lips while jingling the key in the lock with his other hand. He pushes the door open. His motel room is a bit of a mess. Bedcovers strewn across messily across the bed, a few empty beer bottles doubled as ashtrays, a greasy pizza box with half a cold pizza still inside. ]

Sure no one back at the club is gonna notice you're gone? No boyfriends or anything?

► RE: CAFE; closed to Gansey

[ Three o'clock in the morning. Turns out this cafe, which Jesse has grown a little familiar with, is not far from the motel room he's been crashing out in the last several days. "Familiar", of course, means nothing when absolutely everything is in Jesse's life since winding up here has been thrown into unfamiliar chaos. Even the shit he was caught up in back at home was at least familiar, even if the chaos of never knowing if or when he might wind up with a bullet lodged in his skull left him constantly nauseous with dread.

Back in his seedy Nonah motel room several blocks away from here, it's a familiar Jesse Pinkman scene, though: drugged out partygoers sprawled across the bed and the floor, marinating in stale cigarette smoke, and booze, and drugs, while music thumps away. He'd stepped out for a while to grab some more booze, maybe score some more dope, but wound up here instead. For now, at least. Slouched back in the seat at the table the far corner, Jesse scrawls little drawings on a paper napkin with a faraway look in his eyes. One of them pops to life suddenly on the table: a live cartoon of an anthropomorphic looking rat, which Jesse tilts his head at and peers at, his deadened eyes thoughtful and focused. What had that kid, Ronan told him? These things he creates will never obey him if they don't fear him. Or love him.

He extends a hand, resting the back of it on the table, and mentally commands the rat to come to him. It sniffs around, stands up on its hind legs, snatches up a salt shaker and tosses it off the table, where it goes skittering off towards the counter in a clattering shower of salt. ]

► MOTEL ROOM, DE CHIMA; closed to Crobat

[ The motel room is a trashed mess. Empty pizza boxes, stains on the carpet, empty beer bottles and wine bottles. Leftover crap from the partygoers he'd had here for the past few days. They're gone now, back to the club to keep partying, and Jesse said he'd follow them shortly, but he's not really going to. He's cleaning up the mess, with intent to check out despite how late it is, and head somewhere else. Where, he doesn't know. He hasn't thought that far ahead yet.

He crouches down to start picking up shards of glass from a beer bottle someone had dropped on the bathroom floor. Carefully, he places the pieces in his palm, and hisses slightly when one of the shards nicks his finger. Blood instantly oozes out, which Jesse ignores as he reaches the broken pieces of glass over towards the cheap wastepaper basket stashed by the toilet and dumps them in there. He places his already healing finger into his mouth to suck away the blood, and startles suddenly at a noise thumping at the motel window. Standing up quick and sharp, he whirls around with alert and guarded eyes. ]

► PHONE CALL > ACTION, TOWARDS END OF OCT.; closed to Dooku

[ It's all bullshit, isn't it?, Jesse thinks suddenly while he's gathering together all the trash in yet another motel room. All this government shit. Pledging allegiance to the military. The government dressing up heroism as freedom and patriotism, while keeping everyone in the dark about things people have a right to know. Using kids to fight their wars and battles.

It's not that Jesse hasn't already thought these things. He's thought these things many times over the past almost two months he's been here. With everything he's been trying to come to terms with, though, it's never really sunk in properly. Here he is, being a useless, pathetic junkie, a waste of human space because he can't deal with his shit, yet there are kids out there who are as trapped in this world as he is. And they deserve it least of all.

If he's going to be stuck here for who knows how long - the rest of his life, for all he knows - then what's he going to do? Keep this whole self-destructive charade up? Allow himself to be a victim of someone else's rules and regulations? What had he told himself in that video about this Count Dooku guy? Not to trust him but that he's also going to save everyone's lives. And he's gonna need money for that, isn't he? To fight the power? Revolutions, like war, cost money. And what's the best way to make millions? Billions?

Drugs. Money laundering. An empire operating in the shadows, hiding in plain sight. An empire that's already set up. The clarity that hits him is like a fast, jarring bump of the purest crystal hitting his mind. Suddenly, after almost an entire month of spiralling out of control and willing himself to be numb to everything, he is awake.

Jesse, for the longest time, winds up sitting on the edge of the motel bed, turning his communicator over and over in his hand while he stares off into the distance in ruminating silence. There's no turning back if you do this, Pinkman, you realise that, don't you? ]

Maybe that's just the way it has to be. [Muttered decisively under his breath as he flips his communicator around right way up and begins scrolling through the contacts for Count Dooku's name. He really doesn't know what he's getting himself into here. He didn't know what he'd be getting himself into with Mr. White, either. Or Tuco. Or Gus. Or the Juárez Cartel. But he survived, didn't he? Against all odds, he somehow survived. If those things have taught him anything, it's how to be smart about these kinds of things. How to think like a cunning coyote on his feet.

He presses Dooku's number and with a deep, steadying sigh to push down the nerves fighting for dominance inside his gut, he presses his communicator to his ear. ]

Comments

[h2no]

[crobat doesn't know about what jesse is doing, or has been doing, but it's been following him long enough to know where he is. not on anyone's command, of course, archie was being serious when he said it would follow him at night. crobat likes to make sure it doesn't lose the stealth ability the race is so well known for. can't fall out of practice.

the knocking, however, that's not part of the stealth bullshit it's doing. crobat literally just decided it wanted to come in and say hi.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse approaches the window slowly, and he inches a wary peek through the tacky motel curtains. His eyes widen in surprise, his body jerking in surprise along with it, then he's squinting in uncertainty at what he's seeing. ]

...Crobat?

[h2no]

[crobat grunts again, easily hovering outside the window. is jesse going to let it in?? the giant bat draws back slightly, wings glowing then lets off an air cutter at the window.

it only cracks the window slightly, but if there's anything outside the window... it's gone. cut in half.]

[heisenbitch]

WhoaJesusfuck—! [ Blurted out as one garbled string, Jesse jerking right back at that at the same time. The back of his legs bump against the messily unmade bed behind him. Only just managing to catch his balance, he steadies himself and stares wide eyed at the window, then lunges forward to snatch the curtains back fully this time. ]

Yo, stop, don't—! [ Curtain's dropped back down as he's lunging across to the door now, which he snatches open and pokes his head out of with those same wide eyes. ] Hey, hey, okay, okay. I-I get it, you wanna come in.

open partying in maurtia falls

[nastygram]

[The club is crowded, a building bursting at its crumbling seams. The hour is indeterminable: no moonlight, no windows, no clocks. Definitely the kind of place you can get lost in. Sickly neon and strobes on the dance floor, subterranean lighting at the bar. The bartop is a long sheet of glass, lit from within, turning the bartenders shadowy and indistinct.

Darlene is leaning on the bar, elbows planted firm, the rest of her weight balanced where she's rocked back on her chunky boot heels. Her silky track jacket is slumped down her forearms, leaving her shoulders bare. She's pushing her little finger through a sticky ring left behind by someone else's drink, considering the room at large as the faceless bartender mixes up her drink.

A bright light from the dance floor strays out into the surrounding crowd, falls over Jesse's face and illuminates him, briefly, until it moves on. There's some girl leaned on the post next to him, talking. Darlene only met Jesse Pinkman once, outside a club. Basically a year ago. But she has seen him around the network; she has done her research.

So yeah: even halfway to wasted, Darlene recognizes him. A smirk crosses her face. She leans across the bar to yell at the bartender.

A few minutes later, she has two drinks in hand, and she's shouldered her way through the sweaty press of the crowd gathered at the edges of the dance floor and grouped around the cocktail tables and waiting en mass at the bar. Most of them are bombed out of their minds, easily shifted without much force. The rest are easily managed, responsive to jabs with her elbows and sharp orders. She clears the distance between herself and Jesse no time at all, without slopping the two drinks that she's carrying.

Her smile isn't very nice, as she walks right up, a point that she underscores as she shoves one of her two drinks at the girl chatting Jesse up.]

Here. Bye.

[Confused, the girl takes the drink, because her only other option is to drop it on the floor. Darlene ignores her.]

You look like shit.

[A greeting with a certain cruel familiarity that she has not yet earned. So what. Darlene's smile hasn't gotten any nicer, but she's standing close--either more of that assumptive familiarity, or just because she wants to be heard over the pounding beat of the club. Or both. And to be fair, he does look a little shitty. Or maybe he always looks like this. Either way, no hate. Darlene shrugs a ratty fall of hair off her shoulder and sips her drink.]

[heisenbitch]

[ It's not like Jesse is very interested in this chick who's chatting him up. Or that he's chatting up. Seems more the former than the latter. Jesse is only interested in a single outcome here; it's an outcome that has nothing to do with getting to know this chick and everything to do with heading back to his motel room and getting laid. Except she's talkative. Trying way too hard. Why talk when they could be fucking, right? While taking tasteless sips of his whiskey that won't even get him drunk, he's phoning in the "uh-huhs" and the "cools" and the half-assed answers, while wondering to himself if he should just abandon ship and seek less talkative opportunities elsewhere.

—And whoa, okay. Random chick suddenly butting her way in. His glass poised mid-air towards his lips, Jesse watches with idle bemusement at this new chick getting talkative chick to bounce with a drink shoved dismissively into her hand. Well, okay then. He watches talkative chick stare at new chick with gaping outrage, and Jesse thinks he should feel bad for her, but winds up giving her an unapologetic "sorry, I guess" shrug of his shoulder before he's turning back towards the bar. Drink finally raised to his lips again, he eyes that unpleasant, coyote-like smile this new chick is zoning in on his personal space. He looks like shit, does he? He doesn't doubt it. ]

That's one way to cut through the chat-up line bullshit, I guess.

[ His tone is an unspoken: Do I know you? ]

[nastygram]

[The corner of Darlene's mouth pinches up into something a little smirkier.]

I'm sorry. Did you want some chat-up bullshit line? Invite your girlfriend back. She seemed pretty hot to give you whatever you wanted.

[She punctuates that by sipping again at her drink, this time with the straw. A little extra tongue to pull it around to her mouth. The ice cubes clink gently against the side of the glass as a little more liquid drains out of the glass.]

Darlene.

[--She says, after she swallows. Bumps her glass against her decolletage. This is her introduction.]

I can't remember what the shit I told you before. Hazard of getting shitfaced while having like ten id's. It is way easier when I'm in the zone. And I do not look like shit.

[Just FYI. She raises her hands a little to show off how not-like-shit she is looking.]

dive bar in Maurtia Falls

[cleptes]

((ooc: Hey! Just to let you know that Bela here had previous CR with Jesse and about a year and a half ago, her store was a money laundering front for his drug business. So they're on good terms and flirted a little in the past!))

[The venue mightn't be a champagne bar but damn if it didn't serve some good liquor. Strong stuff. Bela was a fairly regular customer of this place and the bartender usually gave her a discount for 'lighting up the place with her charm'. A reason which she thought was bullshit. Just to screw with him Bela would sometimes use a little of her persuasion ability to make him give her free drinks for as long as she was around. A nudge in the right direction. There was even a time when he gave her a full bottle of scotch which Bela quite happily accepted.

Tonight though? She was going to pay for her drinks. Monday night was surprisingly lively for the place and Bela strode on into the bar with a confident air, nodding at the regulars with a smile. Dressed down in a pair of jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket, she's got her hair down with an attitude to match. Depending on how much she was willing to drink Bela may or may not take the day off tomorrow. Maintaining the professional business woman look was vital in her business - but that was for the workplace.

Sometimes, one needed a distraction after a hard day's work. Even moreso after the shitty month and a half that Bela has had. The bastards who had trashed her store had yet to be found and adequately punished for their actions; Bela wasn't going after them herself though, she had friends looking into it. Her efforts had been channelled into putting her store back together which, much to her relief, was achieved. It didn't make her any less angry though. It stung, what they did. She thought her business was safe.

When Bela reached the bar she asked for a whiskey. Neat. Strong drink to start off with but whatever. She was fine with it. The glass is placed in front of her and she picked it up to take a sip, enjoying the warmth and the smell. Perfect. Bela brought the glass down again, casually looking around the room. She spotted a familiar face, someone she hadn't talked to in sometime.

Bela approached Jesse, drink in hand. She smirked.]

How's tricks?

[heisenbitch]

[ Tossing back another drink, Jesse looks over at the person greeting him as he swallows. Well, hello there. Jesse guesses, from that smirk she's giving him, that either this hot chick knows him or is just extremely confident. He's too hollowed out inside to care about the former, and the latter makes him switch on the opportunistic charm.

He swivels his barstool towards her slightly as he sets his empty glass down, and despite his rough, unshaven appearance and the flatness in his gaze, there's deliberate boyish charm radiating from those blue eyes of his. ]

Way more interesting now, by the look of things.

[cleptes]

[Oh, she's confident alright. But catching up with an old ally was also something that Bela was interested in. Most of her time had been consumed by rebuilding her business so her social life had taken a hit. The lack of recognition goes unnoticed by her: it wasn't like Bela had referred to him by name either.

His response draws a soft laugh from her as she leans a hip against the bar, resting her drink atop the surface.]

Turning on the charm already? I like it.

[The smirk turns into a smile. Not a false smile at that - she was being genuine with him.]

Can I buy you a drink?

After the fun bar therapy session with Foggy

[morethan084]

[If she was at all sober she wouldn't be doing this right now. Since Daisy wasn't and it's all she's been thinking about for two weeks now, Daisy calls him before she can stop herself.]

[heisenbitch]

[ He's stretched out on a bed in yet another seedy motel room. There are girls asleep beside him on the bed. He's bare-chested, jeans on but unbuttoned and unzipped, and he lies there staring mirthlessly at the ceiling while smoking a cigarette. His communicator buzzing suddenly tugs him out of his thoughts, and when he picks it up and sees Daisy's name, a twist of anguished guilt wracks its way through him. His thumb hovers over the decline button, then at the last second he swipes the answer button instead. Shit.

He puts the communicator to his ear. ]

Hey.

[ It's a low, hollow greeting, like his lifeforce has been drained right out of him. ]

[morethan084]

[She really doesn't expect him to pick up, so when he does Daisy's hand flies to her mouth as tears well up in her eyes.]

Jesse?

[Yeah. No shit.]

Gunfire over phone

[dun_moch]

[The phone is allowed to ring once, twice, three times before it is picked up. And even then, there is a loaded pause before Count Dooku speaks. When he opens his mouth, his voice sounds like it is coming from somewhere deep, dark, and cold.]

Hello, Jesse. I have been expecting to hear from you.

[Jesse's first lesson of dealing with Count Dooku: learn to expect melodramatic portentous bullshit.

Second lesson: the Count is always planning, always looking for the advantage. He noticed when Pinkman's name appeared back on the Network as an active user, just as he saw the ID trying to contact him when his communicator began beeping with the incoming call.

He has been waiting for Pinkman to make the first move, the better to evaluate the situation. Because of course Pinkman would have planned ahead and left himself information in case of a Port-out, but Dooku does not yet know what kind of information that was, or what this returned Pinkman may or may not remember from his previous association with the Constellation. The fact that he is calling suggests to the Count that Jesse told himself Dooku is an ally, and that this Jesse has had a lengthy adjustment to go through before reaching out.]

gusinator intensifies

[heisenbitch]

[ It's a good thing Jesse is no stranger to melodramatic, portentous bullshit. When the phone is finally answered, that formidable voice greeting him ripples icy ominousness down Jesse's spine. It's a greeting that tells Jesse everything he needs to know: Do not fuck with this guy. Perhaps for the first and only time, Jesse is grateful for the message he'd left for himself. There's a lot of shit in that video message that's left Jesse angry and deeply mistrusting of himself and his own judgement, but Don't show him this video and don't trust him seems to be the one piece of advice that's sound and solid.

He swallows at being greeted so familiarly, and though his stomach knots up with quiet uneasiness, Jesse forces himself to remain stoic and outwardly unmoved. Dealing with scary assholes like Gus Fring has taught Jesse a lot about the importance of composure. And so, he responds evenly, careful to sound as neutral as possible despite how shaky he is inside: ]

Sorry to have kept you waiting. A lot's happened. Probably best we talk in person.

[dun_moch]

I quite agree.

[Another pause before the Count responds. He hadn't expected a new Pinkman to be prepared to meet so soon. He had prepared himself to wheedle, convince and promise.]

There is a place that we met once before, in Maurtia Falls. Do you know of it?

[A little test of how much he knows, how prepared he is.]

Nonah; Random Bar; sometime between the 5th and the 10th

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl was not in a good place. Mentally. Physically, it was debatable. The bar was just off the beaten path enough that he didn't expect anyone to immediately recognize him without his bike or his vest or the fact that his shirt had sleeves. They went to his elbows with how he had them rolled up, but they were there. He still sort of looked like himself, but just different enough that most people didn't glance at him twice so long as he kept his head down and hands in his pockets.

He didn't have much in the way of cash and was mostly relying on flashing the imPort tattoo to score a free drink or two if he could get away with it.

Unfortunately it seemed another imPort was already trying that.

Daryl came right up to Jesse, leveling a glare at him, before sliding into the seat next to him and grunting in a low tone once the bartender had moved off, "Cheapskate."

[heisenbitch]

Jesse had taken to drumming his hands in a restless fidget against the bar, waiting for his drink refill, when there's suddenly a gruff, imposing looking dude looming into his personal space. Turning his head quickly to him, a squinting 'who the hell are you?' questioning look crosses his face as he edges back from the guy with a short jerk. That hard glare is both intimidating and bewildering. Jesse is in a reckless enough place to not overly care how intimidating it is, even if he can tell straight up that this guy could probably lob a savage punch if so inclined.

"Uh," begins Jesse, the 'uh' drawn out in confrontational inquiry, "do I know you?"

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl's eyes narrow further, brows knitting into confusion alongside outright offense as he looked the man up and down. He didn't look that different than the last time he saw him. Less bandages from wounds he'd taken from other people, but generally the same. And he hadn't ported out at all... had he?

The annoyance remained but some of the hostility faded as he tried to figure out if the man was fucking with him or not.

"Yeah. You do. The hell you playing at?"

closed to mickey (@gentrify)

[heisenbitch]

[ Mickey isn't a mess so much as rowdy handful as Jesse shoves Mickey into the passenger seat of his banana yellow car. The Halloween party they're leaving is mostly slumbering in the aftermath of drink and celebration now; Jesse doesn't particularly want to leave any more than Mickey does, but it's time to leave all the same.

Jesse, with fake blood smeared down the sides of his face, guyliner smudged around his eyes from some chick that had come at him earlier in the night with her eyeliner, and dressed in a skull t-shirt, leather jacket and dark jeans, swings the door shut and moves around the car to the driver side, fishing around in his jacket pocket for his smokes. He yanks the door open, slumps into the car, and slams the door shut. ]

Puke in my car and you'll be cleaning it up the hell up, I don't care how shitfaced you are.

[ It's a casually commanded warning as he purses an unlit cigarette between his lips, then pauses to quickly light it. Unlike Mickey, Jesse is stone-cold sober; the curse of having the power to heal is that Jesse can't get drunk, or high, no matter how much he drinks or tries to get doped off his face. He can't help feeling a little envious of Mickey really. In fact, the state Mickey is in reminds Jesse of how recklessly plastered he himself got many, many times during his wasted youth. In a way, it makes him miss those simpler days.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales, smoke billowing in the car, and he turns his head to look over at Mickey. Like Mickey, Jesse isn't ready to call it a night yet, either. Nothing is waiting for him back in his cheap motel room other than beer, stale pizza, and long hours of lying on the bed wide awake, because that's another curse of Jesse's healing power: He has little need for sleep. Between that and how trapped he is inside his own head, unable to escape through the usual routes of drugs and booze, Jesse is an endlessly restless, unsettled thing, his head making him feel a ticking timebomb. A prowling animal imprisoned and pacing endlessly back and forth inside a steel cage. ]

So. Now what?

[gentrify]

[ by the time mickey made it out of the party, someone had half tried to get frankenstein make up on him, before he got distracted and fucked off to do something else. it's all smudged on the side of his cheek now, looking like just an odd few streaks of ink and color that thankfully are dry enough not to come off on the headrest of jesse's passenger seat now. ]

Don't get your panties in a bunch, I'm not gonna puke. [ mickey grumbles, as he digs around in his pockets, likely trying to find his phone or his house keys. he's actually more sober right now than he'd really like to be, so maybe it's a pill or two he's seeking out instead. ] Only person who ever out-drank me is my illegal Russian wife, and those teenagers didn't even make it half way to the bottles I emptied trying.

[ this is not As Wasted As He Has Been. granted, he's been wasted enough to full on black out and wake up in a strange place the next day not remembering the night before, so it's possible this is not a great guide to rule on. mickey lets out a huff, falling back against the seat, and seems to think on the question of now what for a passing moment or so, staring out at the street lights. eventually, he shrugs, the mental effort too much for him. ]

I dunno. Wanna fuck?

[ it is incredibly unclear for about five seconds of blank staring whether or not that's supposed to be a joke. after all, he was just talking about having a wife, even if he doesn't wear the ring here, ever. but, after those five seconds, mickey's lips crack into a grin, snorting out a laugh. probably a joke.

mostly, anyway. ]

[heisenbitch]

[ Those five blank seconds of silence are long enough to have Jesse skirting a sidelong glance over at Mickey while taking another drag of his cigarette. It's a dumb, drunk joke, he is certain of it, although those five seconds of silence seem almost too long... but, just as he suspected, as that drunk, obnoxious laugh bursts out of Mickey: A dumb, drunk joke.

Jesse rolls his eyes as he's turning over the ignition. The car roars to life; a smooth, growling purr that vibrates through floor and the seats. ]

Wow, [ very dryly, while shifting the car into gear ] not sure if that segue from your illegal Russian wife means I somehow remind you of her. Should I be flattered, or should I be offended on your illegal Russian wife's behalf?

[nightmarist]

[It's hard to miss a Stingray speeding up toward a red light only to come to screeching halt beside him. Ronan looks over, one eyebrow raised, and a slow smile spreads over his lips as he recognizes Jesse behind the wheel. He rolls down his window and hangs one elbow out, leaning to shout over his thumping music:]

Nice toy.

[Deftly, his other hand switches off the stereo and the air. This, if Jesse's at all familiar with street racing, is a challenge.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Ronan's window rolling down prompts Jesse to do the same, passenger side window buzzing down. He lights his smoke and cranes his head a little to peer out curiously out at Ronan's car while taking a long drag. Sleek, dark, viperous. Silent approval in Jesse's eyes.

His gaze drifts back to Ronan. Jesse isn't as familiar with street racing the way Ronan is. He's not unfamiliar, however, and he knows a shark-like, challenge-issuing grin when he sees one. Stupid idea, racing a kid, yet a slow, conniving little smile curls onto Jesse's lips in response all the same as he exhales smoke. Shadows from the night thrown gives that smile of his a sinister edge to it.

Jesse leans forward to hit the off button on his stereo, thumping music suddenly echoing to silence in the dark street, leaving just the idling rumble of the engines growling at each other. Jesse looks back over to Ronan, a hand settling on the gearshift. A mild taunt called out to him: ]

Past your bedtime, ain't it?

[nightmarist]

The night is young! Unlike you.

[Ronan revvs the engine, an explosive sound that vibrates into his bones. Racing is such a rare luxury now that he's far away from Aglionby boys and Aglionby cars, now that his favorite rival has turned over a new leaf and gone straight. (As straight as Kavinsky can get.)

The light remains red. Ronan watches it out of his peripheral. His palm feels hot against the steering wheel.]