Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heisenbitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2018-02-10 04:24 pm
heisenbitch) wrote in maskormenacelogs2018-02-10 04:24 pm
February catch-all; open & closed starters
WHO: Jesse Pinkman, various established cr & you!
WHERE: All over the place
WHEN: February catch-all!
WHAT: Post-Constellation heist, Jesse is canon + power updated, which is going to lead Jesse on a new path. (Plus some pre-canon/pre-power update Valentine's Day stuff.)
WARNINGS: Drugs, strong mentions of addiction, probable NSFW content, and general warnings that always come with Breaking Bad territory.
• • • BEFORE CANON UPDATE • • •
[ Jesse has no clue how he's managed to evade everyone and everything without being seen, but he's not about to stop and question it. He's in a car, peeling at top speed down the road, while the building that had been looted has sank far into the distance behind him. He's sweating like crazy, his heart hammering in his chest. His throat is dry and tight, and his hands are slippery with perspiration on the steering wheel. He keeps throwing wild glances in the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, expecting to see flashing lights squealing into view to chase him down. So far, nothing, and when he swings into the dirt drive that leads down towards the Constellation safe house, the car bumping all over the place with dust kicking up under the wheels, Jesse thinks that maybe, maybe he finally relax. Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. His best bet, for now at least, is to take refuge in the safe house for several hours, maybe even for the night, before risking making his way back to Heropa.
Finally reaching a nondescript building among a thicket of trees, Jesse pulls up underneath a canopy of trees, hard and sharp, tyres crunching and skidding over gravel. He throws the car door open and jumps out, and hurries towards the front door, which he barges through and bashes shut behind him by slumping with panting relief against it. Eyes falling shut, Jesse sags and tries to catch his breath - and leaps away from the door in alarm when he opens them again and sees a woman in front of a computer.
Instinct has him reaching behind him to fumble for the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, gaze wide and sharp, and he pulls the gun on her. Who the fuck are you? ]
[ Jesse sits alone in a booth at a Waffle House in Heropa, an All-Star Special in front of him that's mostly untouched and going cold, while he stares out at the Valentine's Day advertisements adorning store windows across the street. Having spent most the day working at Miracle Springs, Jesse is dressed much sharper than he usual, and so maybe it seems like he's waiting for a Valentine's date to show up. Or maybe, from the fact that he's eating a meal alone and seems a pensively maudlin sight, his date has stood him up.
Later, he's drifting from bar to bar in Maurtia Falls, before moving on to Merlotte's Bar & Grill in De Chima. At every bar he winds up in, he throws back shot after shot. He's drinking enough to kill several men from alcohol poisoning, but Jesse remains stone-cold sober. The truth is, Jesse has plenty of people he could be spending Valentine's Day with - Daisy, or Beth, or a countless string of other casual flings whose numbers he has stored in his phone. It's Jane he hasn't been able to stop thinking about tonight, though. Jane… God, Jane. Most days, the guilt-filled grief that sits in the Jane-shaped hole inside him is numb, like dead nerve-endings, but sometimes… Sometimes, like tonight, he misses Jane so much, it physically hurts. When more shots are placed in front of Jesse at the bar, he throws them back one after the other, like a guy desperately trying to drown his thoughts out. At least the bars will be making a shit tonne of good money out of Jesse tonight. ]
• • • AFTER CANON UPDATE • • •
[ Stepping out of a convenience store in Heropa with a fresh pack of cigarettes in his hands, Jesse finds himself being descended upon by paparazzi photographers. Jesus, he hates the media in this place, the way they swarm like a horde of mosquitoes looking to draw blood. Jesse tries, at first, to put on a smile for the cameras, strained and barely contained with irritation, while camera flashes snap away at him. But as the photographers enclose around him more, shouting in a squabble over the top of each other to vie for Jesse's attention, a sense of claustrophobic unease starts to grip at him. Jesse's eyes dart between camera flash to camera flash, and there's something about the explosions of light that reminds him of guns being fired. Guns being fired right in people's faces. Like Jesse did to Gale. Like he almost did to Mr. White. His thoughts become a rapid, frantic scramble, sounds seeming to mute out into white noise trapped in his head, panic choking him in his throat.
Suddenly, streetlights, convenience store lights, neon store lights, all the lights around him start to crackle and hum before depowering into blackness. Energy sucks into Jesse from those lights so fierce and intense, without him meaning to, that he finds himself letting out a ferocious, almost animalistic sounding shriek. Without thinking, he throws a punch at the first thing in nearest to him him, which turns out to be a street lamp pole. The sound of metal buckling and snapping cuts through the darkness, and there's a bright shower of sparks as the pole begins toppling down like a logged tree. Metal groans and creaks, followed by an almighty clang of the pole smashing onto the road. People all around Jesse are scattering fast, shrieking in fright, and suddenly there's another humming crackle of electricity as all the lights that had powered out come flooding back on. ]
[ Jesse has been back two whole days. He doesn't remember disappearing from this place, and he can't wrap his head around the fact that he's been gone only a week when almost a month has passed back at home. A month that feels almost like a year. As utterly disconcerted and bewildered as he is at knowing he'd returned home, with time having lost all sense of meaning, he's numb to it all at the same time. He sees a long string of probably panicked messages from Beth waiting for him on his phone but he doesn't answer or even check any of them. Instead, alone in his beach house, he keeps replaying finding that ricin cigarette in his roomba over and over in his head. He keeps replaying the way he'd almost shot Mr. White dead in his own home over and over in his head. He keeps replaying in his head, over and over, the way he'd accused Mr. White of poisoning Brock, when it turned out Mr. White had nothing to do with it. Disgust at himself keeps surging up so violently within him that he keeps wanting to be sick. For that, he can't bring himself to contact Beth - or anyone else, for that matter - for a couple of days.
He knows he can't ignore Beth forever, though. She doesn't deserve that, even though she also doesn't deserve to have a piece of shit like him in her life. And so, finally, after he pulls out his phone and scrolls through all her messages, disgust at himself weighing even heavier in his gut, he decides to go and see her. Dressed in baggy jeans and a dark, drab t-shirt, he shows up on her doorstep late in the afternoon, giving her front door a reluctant and mirthless rap of his knuckles. ]
[ A few days after being Ported back in, Jesse returns to work at Miracle Springs. On the outer, Jesse seems exactly as he's always looked - dressed in casual but smart clothes, in keeping with the luxurious yet relaxing environment of the resort, while busying himself with clients in between sorting through paperwork, financial files, and work in his office. For anyone who works with him here, like Haen, they might notice Jesse seems more reserved and withdrawn than usual. Shut away in his office more, or ducking out to the staff area to chain-smoke even more than he already does, or seeming strained whenever he smiles.
To new visitors, however, such as Galla, Baelish or anybody else who may decide to drop in to check the place out, they might catch Jesse at a time when he's not long healed somebody. Jesse heals everything here, from terminal cancer to paraplegia to lost limbs. Regenerating from healing others is a painful process for Jesse, too - if he's regenerating a lost limb, he can often be heard gasping in agony from one of the staff recovery rooms while an arm or leg slowly rebuilds itself like a creeping vine. If he's cured paraplegia, he might be seen weakly wheeling himself from one of the treatment rooms, pale and exhausted looking and grimacing in pain. If he's cured terminal cancer, he might be seen hobbling through the hall to head outside for a cigarette, thin, gaunt, looking every bit as terminal as the person he's just cured. ]
OPEN TO EVERYONE (NSFW):
[ This is what happens to an addict junkie like Jesse who is desperate to escape himself but can't chemically get high anymore: He trades substance addiction for an addiction to some activity that might hijack the pleasure-rewarding centres in his brain the way drugs used to. The activity in Jesse's case: Sex. Sure, Jesse is the most sober he's ever been in his life, thanks to his regeneration powers never allowing him to get high or drunk, but forced sobriety hasn't cured the disease of addiction itself in his head. If anything, being held hostage by sobriety and a prisoner in his own body has made his disease of addiction infinitely worse.
He cruises bars and clubs late at night, looking for his next fix, even if he's already scored a fix only an hour earlier. It's not that Jesse wants a fix; he needs a fix, the same way a person dying of starvation needs food, or the same way a meth addict thinks he won't survive the night if he doesn't get just one more hit to stave off the agony of withdrawal. The self-hatred trapped inside Jesse is eating him alive like acid, and the only antidote to make existing more bearable is reckless, hedonistic pleasure to chase all that self-hatred away. With women preferably, but Jesse has long since stopped being picky about who he sleeps with. Men will do if it means getting a fix. ]
SPECIFIC TO DARLENE (NSFW):
[ Jesse finally comes across a familiar face, though, in one of the many clubs he trawls through. What had quickly started as making out at the bar rapidly progressed to Jesse taking Darlene's hand and leading her out the club to his car. Reckless driving, loud pounding music, the night breeze slicing through the rolled down windows, and this is how they wind up back at Jesse's beach house. Thanks to the cloak of blood magic protecting his house, it seems like nothing impressive or even remotely noticeable when approaching it from the long, deserted road that winds along the Cape Canaveral coastline. Might seem like a rundown, abandoned shack left forgotten on the sand dunes. It's when Jesse pulls into the driveway, passing the barrier of magic, that the house suddenly reveals itself for what it really is.
And so, here they are, in Jesse's house, seemingly miles away from all civilisation, with all kinds of drugs and booze at their disposal. Coke, pot, molly, whatever Darlene might want to juice up on. The subject of the Porter or the botched-up heist hadn't come up between them yet, fucking having taken up their time over the last couple of hours. It's inevitable that it's going to, of course, and why hold off talking about it any longer? Dubstep blares from Jesse's huge sound system in his living room while he's lounging naked in his hot tub, rolling a joint. ]
So. [ Casual as anything. He pauses to lick along the sticky tab of the cigarette paper. ] How long were you in the Constellation for, then?
WHERE: All over the place
WHEN: February catch-all!
WHAT: Post-Constellation heist, Jesse is canon + power updated, which is going to lead Jesse on a new path. (Plus some pre-canon/pre-power update Valentine's Day stuff.)
WARNINGS: Drugs, strong mentions of addiction, probable NSFW content, and general warnings that always come with Breaking Bad territory.
▸▸▸ FEB 9th; CONSTELLATION HEIST - closed to Raina
[ Jesse has no clue how he's managed to evade everyone and everything without being seen, but he's not about to stop and question it. He's in a car, peeling at top speed down the road, while the building that had been looted has sank far into the distance behind him. He's sweating like crazy, his heart hammering in his chest. His throat is dry and tight, and his hands are slippery with perspiration on the steering wheel. He keeps throwing wild glances in the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, expecting to see flashing lights squealing into view to chase him down. So far, nothing, and when he swings into the dirt drive that leads down towards the Constellation safe house, the car bumping all over the place with dust kicking up under the wheels, Jesse thinks that maybe, maybe he finally relax. Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. His best bet, for now at least, is to take refuge in the safe house for several hours, maybe even for the night, before risking making his way back to Heropa.
Finally reaching a nondescript building among a thicket of trees, Jesse pulls up underneath a canopy of trees, hard and sharp, tyres crunching and skidding over gravel. He throws the car door open and jumps out, and hurries towards the front door, which he barges through and bashes shut behind him by slumping with panting relief against it. Eyes falling shut, Jesse sags and tries to catch his breath - and leaps away from the door in alarm when he opens them again and sees a woman in front of a computer.
Instinct has him reaching behind him to fumble for the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, gaze wide and sharp, and he pulls the gun on her. Who the fuck are you? ]
▸▸▸ FEB 14th; VALENTINE'S DAY; HEROPA, MAURTIA FALLS & DE CHIMA - open to all
[ Jesse sits alone in a booth at a Waffle House in Heropa, an All-Star Special in front of him that's mostly untouched and going cold, while he stares out at the Valentine's Day advertisements adorning store windows across the street. Having spent most the day working at Miracle Springs, Jesse is dressed much sharper than he usual, and so maybe it seems like he's waiting for a Valentine's date to show up. Or maybe, from the fact that he's eating a meal alone and seems a pensively maudlin sight, his date has stood him up.
Later, he's drifting from bar to bar in Maurtia Falls, before moving on to Merlotte's Bar & Grill in De Chima. At every bar he winds up in, he throws back shot after shot. He's drinking enough to kill several men from alcohol poisoning, but Jesse remains stone-cold sober. The truth is, Jesse has plenty of people he could be spending Valentine's Day with - Daisy, or Beth, or a countless string of other casual flings whose numbers he has stored in his phone. It's Jane he hasn't been able to stop thinking about tonight, though. Jane… God, Jane. Most days, the guilt-filled grief that sits in the Jane-shaped hole inside him is numb, like dead nerve-endings, but sometimes… Sometimes, like tonight, he misses Jane so much, it physically hurts. When more shots are placed in front of Jesse at the bar, he throws them back one after the other, like a guy desperately trying to drown his thoughts out. At least the bars will be making a shit tonne of good money out of Jesse tonight. ]
▸▸▸ FEB 22nd ONWARDS; JESSE'S NEW POWERS HULKING OUT, HEROPA - open to all
[ Stepping out of a convenience store in Heropa with a fresh pack of cigarettes in his hands, Jesse finds himself being descended upon by paparazzi photographers. Jesus, he hates the media in this place, the way they swarm like a horde of mosquitoes looking to draw blood. Jesse tries, at first, to put on a smile for the cameras, strained and barely contained with irritation, while camera flashes snap away at him. But as the photographers enclose around him more, shouting in a squabble over the top of each other to vie for Jesse's attention, a sense of claustrophobic unease starts to grip at him. Jesse's eyes dart between camera flash to camera flash, and there's something about the explosions of light that reminds him of guns being fired. Guns being fired right in people's faces. Like Jesse did to Gale. Like he almost did to Mr. White. His thoughts become a rapid, frantic scramble, sounds seeming to mute out into white noise trapped in his head, panic choking him in his throat.
Suddenly, streetlights, convenience store lights, neon store lights, all the lights around him start to crackle and hum before depowering into blackness. Energy sucks into Jesse from those lights so fierce and intense, without him meaning to, that he finds himself letting out a ferocious, almost animalistic sounding shriek. Without thinking, he throws a punch at the first thing in nearest to him him, which turns out to be a street lamp pole. The sound of metal buckling and snapping cuts through the darkness, and there's a bright shower of sparks as the pole begins toppling down like a logged tree. Metal groans and creaks, followed by an almighty clang of the pole smashing onto the road. People all around Jesse are scattering fast, shrieking in fright, and suddenly there's another humming crackle of electricity as all the lights that had powered out come flooding back on. ]
▸▸▸ FEB 24th; PORTED BACK IN... - closed to Beth
[ Jesse has been back two whole days. He doesn't remember disappearing from this place, and he can't wrap his head around the fact that he's been gone only a week when almost a month has passed back at home. A month that feels almost like a year. As utterly disconcerted and bewildered as he is at knowing he'd returned home, with time having lost all sense of meaning, he's numb to it all at the same time. He sees a long string of probably panicked messages from Beth waiting for him on his phone but he doesn't answer or even check any of them. Instead, alone in his beach house, he keeps replaying finding that ricin cigarette in his roomba over and over in his head. He keeps replaying the way he'd almost shot Mr. White dead in his own home over and over in his head. He keeps replaying in his head, over and over, the way he'd accused Mr. White of poisoning Brock, when it turned out Mr. White had nothing to do with it. Disgust at himself keeps surging up so violently within him that he keeps wanting to be sick. For that, he can't bring himself to contact Beth - or anyone else, for that matter - for a couple of days.
He knows he can't ignore Beth forever, though. She doesn't deserve that, even though she also doesn't deserve to have a piece of shit like him in her life. And so, finally, after he pulls out his phone and scrolls through all her messages, disgust at himself weighing even heavier in his gut, he decides to go and see her. Dressed in baggy jeans and a dark, drab t-shirt, he shows up on her doorstep late in the afternoon, giving her front door a reluctant and mirthless rap of his knuckles. ]
▸▸▸ MIRACLE SPRINGS - general starter for Galla, Baelish & Haen, but also open to anyone
[ A few days after being Ported back in, Jesse returns to work at Miracle Springs. On the outer, Jesse seems exactly as he's always looked - dressed in casual but smart clothes, in keeping with the luxurious yet relaxing environment of the resort, while busying himself with clients in between sorting through paperwork, financial files, and work in his office. For anyone who works with him here, like Haen, they might notice Jesse seems more reserved and withdrawn than usual. Shut away in his office more, or ducking out to the staff area to chain-smoke even more than he already does, or seeming strained whenever he smiles.
To new visitors, however, such as Galla, Baelish or anybody else who may decide to drop in to check the place out, they might catch Jesse at a time when he's not long healed somebody. Jesse heals everything here, from terminal cancer to paraplegia to lost limbs. Regenerating from healing others is a painful process for Jesse, too - if he's regenerating a lost limb, he can often be heard gasping in agony from one of the staff recovery rooms while an arm or leg slowly rebuilds itself like a creeping vine. If he's cured paraplegia, he might be seen weakly wheeling himself from one of the treatment rooms, pale and exhausted looking and grimacing in pain. If he's cured terminal cancer, he might be seen hobbling through the hall to head outside for a cigarette, thin, gaunt, looking every bit as terminal as the person he's just cured. ]
▸▸▸ FEB 22nd ONWARDS; BARS & CLUBS IN ALL CITIES - open to all, with one part closed to Darlene
OPEN TO EVERYONE (NSFW):
[ This is what happens to an addict junkie like Jesse who is desperate to escape himself but can't chemically get high anymore: He trades substance addiction for an addiction to some activity that might hijack the pleasure-rewarding centres in his brain the way drugs used to. The activity in Jesse's case: Sex. Sure, Jesse is the most sober he's ever been in his life, thanks to his regeneration powers never allowing him to get high or drunk, but forced sobriety hasn't cured the disease of addiction itself in his head. If anything, being held hostage by sobriety and a prisoner in his own body has made his disease of addiction infinitely worse.
He cruises bars and clubs late at night, looking for his next fix, even if he's already scored a fix only an hour earlier. It's not that Jesse wants a fix; he needs a fix, the same way a person dying of starvation needs food, or the same way a meth addict thinks he won't survive the night if he doesn't get just one more hit to stave off the agony of withdrawal. The self-hatred trapped inside Jesse is eating him alive like acid, and the only antidote to make existing more bearable is reckless, hedonistic pleasure to chase all that self-hatred away. With women preferably, but Jesse has long since stopped being picky about who he sleeps with. Men will do if it means getting a fix. ]
SPECIFIC TO DARLENE (NSFW):
[ Jesse finally comes across a familiar face, though, in one of the many clubs he trawls through. What had quickly started as making out at the bar rapidly progressed to Jesse taking Darlene's hand and leading her out the club to his car. Reckless driving, loud pounding music, the night breeze slicing through the rolled down windows, and this is how they wind up back at Jesse's beach house. Thanks to the cloak of blood magic protecting his house, it seems like nothing impressive or even remotely noticeable when approaching it from the long, deserted road that winds along the Cape Canaveral coastline. Might seem like a rundown, abandoned shack left forgotten on the sand dunes. It's when Jesse pulls into the driveway, passing the barrier of magic, that the house suddenly reveals itself for what it really is.
And so, here they are, in Jesse's house, seemingly miles away from all civilisation, with all kinds of drugs and booze at their disposal. Coke, pot, molly, whatever Darlene might want to juice up on. The subject of the Porter or the botched-up heist hadn't come up between them yet, fucking having taken up their time over the last couple of hours. It's inevitable that it's going to, of course, and why hold off talking about it any longer? Dubstep blares from Jesse's huge sound system in his living room while he's lounging naked in his hot tub, rolling a joint. ]
So. [ Casual as anything. He pauses to lick along the sticky tab of the cigarette paper. ] How long were you in the Constellation for, then?
no subject
ASL? Like... sign language? Yeah. Oh, yeah. Flipping the bird's about as much sign language as I speak.
no subject
Please. [He cocks an eyebrow as he signs it.] Way better ways to [He flips the bird.] than [He flips it again.].
no subject
[ This has taken his mind almost completely off Jane, for the moment. Just what he needed, perhaps. ]
no subject
[Well, to each his own, Hearth guesses. He takes a sip of shitty wine himself, then swivels to meet Jesse face to face.
[First, he demonstrates another common one - bending one arm at the elbow in front of him and sticking his fist up through it.]
no subject
'Up yours'?
no subject
[Next, he makes the sign for "mother" - a thumb to his chin, fingers spread out. He quickly flips it into the same "fuck you" finger that we all know and love.] Motherfucker.
no subject
Oh! What about bitch, yo! How d'you say bitch?
no subject
Easy. [He takes his right hand and brings it up against his chin, holding it up in a perfect, vertical straight line.] Bitch.
[Then he points to Jesse and cocks a brow, very nearly smirking.]