maskormenacelogs | (open) ▶ we got new players in town

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(open) ▶ we got new players in town

WHO: Hank Schrader, Jesse Pinkman, Rustin Cohle, and YOU.
WHERE: Around Cape Canaveral, then Heropa's police precinct, apartments, restaurants, and bars. Run into him anywhere, I'm flexible!
WHEN: November 16-22
WHAT: Maiming meth heads and making cliché X-Men jokes. In other words: he's settling in, okay?
WARNINGS: Mention of drug use, violence, and lots of F-bombs.

cape canaveral;

[ He's only just recently arrived, and it doesn't matter that he's been given a clean suit. Doesn't matter that it's a beautiful day. Doesn't matter that he's got an iced coffee just sitting there melting, or that he's probably getting a sunburn on his head that'll make him sorry. Doesn't matter what's good, or what's bad, because none of it is home. That puts it on a level with words he doesn't know. Florida doesn't even sum it up, and that's pretty bad on it's own.

Despite sitting out in the sun in his wheelchair, he's not lounging. He's not sitting like a guy would on a park bench, but instead like anyone might at an office desk. He isn't looking around with a casual front, although there is a newspaper. It's just a crumpled mess on the sidewalk beside him, the bullshit inside only further proof that none of this can be real. But even if it might feel like a dream, he isn't treating it like one. He's looking at everyone like they're a potential enemy (they are), and coming to terms with the realization he may not see his wife for a long time. That's the entire reason he had to leave the building in the first place: making too big of a scene over Marie's whereabouts. The jags thought he'd just cooperate because he can't walk on his own? He can still fire a gun.

Sucking air in through his teeth, he scratches angrily at the spot on his wrist they chose to violate, even if the tattoo isn't visible right now. He doesn't even want to think about what other Frankenstein crap they tried on him. His file wasn't reassuring. Working for the government doesn't entail this level of BS, that much he knows, no matter what Hollywood likes to dazzle laymen with. It's left him completely stuck on how to proceed.

Just when he'd finally had his motivation jump-started again, with Marie's tentative smile still alive in his memory and the Los Pollos logo sitting right in front of him, he's suddenly in the land of nod and unicorns, except these unicorns are just people with super powers. Supposedly. His inner child can't even get any enjoyment out of the prospects, not with everything he is invested in the life he had.

Fuck 'em. This isn't his government. Is it? Fuck. What he wouldn't give for a cigar and his wife's nagging opinions. ]

heropa;

[ So this is a world where the Jetsons didn't quite lie. It's not quite sci-fi, but it borders close enough to almost distract Hank from the gravity of this fuckfest. Almost. Hovering cars don't make him any more pleased to be shipped here, like some recruit in the 60's. Except he's supposed to believe this is still America. Well, fuck, okay then.

The only proper way to cope with that realization is collect as many books as he can on the subject...and drink. Drink a lot. While most of it will no doubt be at the apartment with a pile of texts, he'll still be frequenting bars and cheap diners a couple nights this week. He needs to see the kind of people that live here, anyway, and feel out new connections. It may be difficult when he practically radiates indignation, lurking by a corner table in his wheelchair, but it's hard to be friendly when so far you've only had possible enemies to meet.

He will be checking out the local precinct in the day, even if he's not ready to sign on for any work. As a fed, he isn't thrilled at the idea of working alongside city cops, especially as a Goddamn dispatch. He doesn't even get a proper badge. In reality (ACTUAL reality), he shouldn't give a single fuck about that, if he's to continue along the mindset that none of this is his, anyway; But it's hard to shake stereotypes and expectations, and somehow this seems even worse than a suspension. There's a mutual respect he'll offer street cops, with his history, but that doesn't make him want his old job back any less. Being a desk jockey and listening to panicked people all day? Thanks, no. He'll do nearly anything to change it.

Enough that his mind occasionally drifts back to that fairy godmother move Pinkman pulled on him. It had offered something like...hope. But hope from the enemy? He'd sooner deal with a physical therapist again than owe Pinkman his entire livelihood. He's no fucking Cinderella.

Tiana all the way. ]

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[ CONTINUED FROM this brewing shit storm. ]

Hey!

[ He'd already given Jesse warning, hadn't he? He sure fucking did, so it's not his fault if he reacts to the perceived threat like any good cop would: with earthbending.

Wait, yes? Yes, that's definitely the ground right beneath them shifting when he jerks to knock Jesse's hand away and punch him down, but there's a multitude of shocking factors that stop Hank from landing a direct hit. One: the ground just moved and his wheelchair's breaks are off. Two: he doesn't want to get into a fist fight like a punk. Three: the ground moved. Four: That sure is a small chunk of sidewalk knocking right against the kid for him.

Five: he thought he just felt something, and it's not the wonder and awe at his own power, but the alienation from his own constant pain that he suddenly feels from Jesse's power.

And then there's that split-second fear he just killed the kid. No matter what a fucktard Pinkman is, Hank doesn't want him dead, and he certainly didn't consciously just do that. He may have read the file, but he hadn't fucking believed it, fuck!

FUCK THERE ARE PEOPLE AROUND. ]

Edited 2014-11-18 05:42 (UTC)

[ Right to the point, ain't he? Eh, Hank can respect it. It makes him sit up straighter.

Is there actually a simple answer for that, given his suspension and then disability status? Fuck it. ]

ASAC Schrader, of the Albuquerque DEA. Just Hank's fine. And you, cowboy?

Edited 2014-11-18 07:19 (UTC)

[As if it wasn't bad enough that Jesse just gave himself a minor spinal injury to prove a point. Suddenly there's a chunk of concrete swiping him out of nowhere and he goes down, flat on his face. He stood no chance against that ~~mineral~~ rock.

But he's not dead. Or even unconscious. He's a little more durable than that these days. Once that initial disorientation passes and he realizes he's on the ground now, he picks his head up off the sidewalk and spits out a mouthful of blood. There's another wisecrack about assault on the tip of his tongue, but he can't talk anymore. Mission accomplished, Hank.]

Several days into her stay in Heropa, Tess is finally getting on her feet, and for the first time in as many days she feels like she's getting comfortable in her old element. Legally-run dive bars aren't necessarily the most familiar territory, but they're as close as she'll get, and Tess feels most at home around seedy people. When you spend as much time as she has with criminals, dealers, junkies, smugglers and otherwise distasteful people as she does, you acquire a certain comfort around people who frequent dive bars rather than the after-six martini bars.

Tess has that comfort in spades, and that's why she's flitting between groups of people, striking up conversation, introducing herself in a nonchalant but friendly way. People should know her. It's habit to be relatively known. Most people are friendly back, too. People in dive bars don't judge as much, either: Tess fits right in with her scars and her messily-cut hair and slightly ill-fitting clothes and bandaging peeking out just beyond the neckline of her shirt. Anywhere else, she looks like she crawled out of an AA meeting in the shittiest part of town.

But that guy in the corner gets her interest most. The guy looks like a dog at the end of a chain, seething and bitter about being tied to a stake. People like that usually want something, and Tess likes knowing what people want. After all, supplying what people want is her market.

So she approaches him.

"You don't look like you're having a good time for someone drinking as much as you have."

[ Fuck. Jesse shouldn't be conscious, he knows that. It happened fast, but he knows that.

How did he fucking do that? There is a chunk of concrete missing from right behind Jesse, now cracked beside the bloodied shitstain of a junkie. ]

Shit, kid don't move.

[ Why the fuck did you touch me?! he wants to yell at him, but that's no longer the point. Hank hadn't even been attacked. He's fucked up and it hasn't even been a week. Leave it to him to already be pulling out his communicator to get ready to...call for an ambulance. Good job with dispatch here, Hank, you are ahead of the game! ]

Edited 2014-11-18 06:16 (UTC)

[ As much as the superpower shit breaks Joel's brain if he thinks too hard about it, he's finally, after about six, maybe seven months of living in this place, finally begun to just accept that it's a thing here. He doesn't get it, doesn't understand it, doesn't like it, but next to the world he comes from, he'd rather bizarre superpowers he doesn't understand than Clickers any goddamn day.

And so, when he's heading back to his and Ellie's apartment after walking her to work (partly just to spend time with her, mostly because he's still paranoid something bad might happen - it's hard to shake old survival instincts and habits), he would have deliberately turned a blind eye to the rumble in the ground and the sudden chunk of cement that comes ripping from out of the ground if he hadn't have recognised the person whom the chunk of cement goes slamming down on.

And look, as much as Jesse pisses Joel off, he's dealt with far worse assholes. There's something about the stupid goddamn kid that has had Joel kinda getting a little protective towards. Maybe it's the fact that Jesse is his boss and Joel looks out for him for his own interest. Maybe it's because Ellie annoyingly likes him so much, and so Joel feels compelled to bother just to appease Ellie. Maybe it's because the kid really is just a dumb, lost kid.

Whatever the reason, Joel's eyes widen at the scene that unfolds ahead of him, and without another moment's hesitation, he picks up his pace, all broad shoulders and menacingly tight jaw and an effortlessly threatening stride.

Jesse will be fine. He recovered from that savage beating he got from that Ward asshole just fine. A chunk of cement landing on him is probably nothing next to that. He's got his eyes trained on the guy in the wheelchair, anyway. While Jesse is lying sprawled on the ground with blood dripping from his mouth, Joel steps right past him, dashes an arm out towards the crippled guy, and snatches the front of his shirt in his rough, broad hand. His other hand is making a grab for the guy's communicator, ready to wrestle it out of his hand.

Is Joel enough of an asshole to haul a crippled guy out of his wheelchair and toss him onto the ground? Yeah, probably. He doesn't, though. Not yet, anyway. ]

You wanna explain to me what the hell you think you're doin'?

Edited 2014-11-18 06:38 (UTC)

[Oh. Oh no. That's Joel.

Jesse's partially relieved, because he's pretty sure Schrader was about to call the authorities or some shit and that's the last thing Jesse needs, honestly. Even an ambulance is more of a hassle than he really wants to deal with.

But this is Joel, which means the chances of this escalating to murder just jumped by... a lot.]

Nnn...

[God, fuck. Something's wrong with his throat. He can't raise his voice, so he stretches out his arm to slap at Joel's ankle. No. Bad Joel. Don't break the cop.]

[ He's so damn stunned by the scene himself that he can't even speak when the operator first picks up, and then he never gets the chance once the communicators yanked free and he's suddenly being jerked around like the bitchass punk currently sprawled on the ground.

Hank's reaction to that is lightning quick, though, muscle memory and years of experiencing forcing his hand up to grab the other man's collar with just as much ferocity, though he instead shoves to keep him at a distance. His legs are weak, but not his arms. If anything, his arms have gotten stronger from his therapy.

The fucking chair's breaks are off, though, so it's just another move that falls short of impressive. It only riles up his defensive tone even more, but remembering his former job and his current one, Hank forces his immediate shout down to a growl. ]

My name's Hank Schrader. That kid needs a fuckin' ambulance, if you couldn't tell. I work with the police, and I perceived a threat. [ Wrongly, he knows now. ] Got nothin' else to say. [ without a goddamn lawyer, anyway. ] So either give that back and get your damn hands off me, or call them yourself. He needs to get to the hospital!

Hank is most definitely having trouble getting......back on his feet. In all the ways, not just as a terrible cosmic joke.

For now he's just keeping it to beer, as he's not so fed up that he's willing to get pissed in front of a bunch of strangers who could be dangerous without mutant powers. He already saw how those can get carried away, and it never takes very long for Hank's mind to wander back to that most epic of fuck-ups. So yes, maybe he's keeping away the whisky and tequila, but the number of beer bottles cluttering the side of the table is not slight.

The woman approaching him throws him all the more off, especially in his broody state. His first guess would be a hooker, but she's the worst fucking hooker ever by the looks of her get-up. If she's just hitting on him, well...he's not stupid enough to suspect that, either, really. He's a creepy guy in a wheelchair, and his wedding ring's clearly visible for anybody who gets close, even in this shitty lighting.

Sitting up a little straighter at the presence of a lady, he gives her a once-over that seems to still leave his judgement undetermined. But he can vaguely remember seeing her around the bar talking to other people. Friendly, but not annoying and shrill like those green recruits with their brand new IDs still in paper.

"Must be 'cause they can't brew worth a damn here. Don't tell me you're having a blowout over this piss water?"

Edited 2014-11-18 07:08 (UTC)

[ If it wasn't for Jesse suddenly slapping at his ankle, and with such urgency, the way the wheelchair guy makes an equally strong grab at Joel's collar would have been enough for Joel to simply reach behind him to grab out his pistol tucked into the back of his waistband. He's kinda surprised by wheelchair's guy's strength, and in between that and getting ready to haul the guy onto his gimpy feet to toss his ass down, he throws a glance down at the kid.

I got this, he's about to say. And then, wheelchair guy begins to talk, and the only important word Joel hears in all of that is police.

It clicks then that Jesse had been trying to warn him by slapping at his ankle like that. Joel stares down at the wheelchair guy - what did he just say his name was? Schrader? - and all urge to toss this guy down on his ass, maybe threaten him with his gun, immediately dissipates.

Alright, then. Joel shoves the guy back into his chair, letting go of his shirt at the same time, and he takes a step back. Still holding the guy's communicator in his hand, though. Definitely not giving that back just yet, not if this guy works for law enforcement.

Joel throws another glance down at Jesse. He properly notices the state the kid's in, then, the blood drooling from his mouth and the way he seems completely incapacitated. Oh Jesus, not again. ]

The kid'll be fine. I'll take him to the hospital myself.

[ No, he won't. But this Schrader guy doesn't need to know that. ]

Edited 2014-11-18 07:15 (UTC)

[Thanks, Joel. You're a pal. Jesse doesn't think Schrader's going to let this go so easily, though. He can't agree with Joel verbally, so he's just nodding his head as much as he can while barely being able to raise it a few inches off the ground. Real convincing.]

[ Um. The fuck.

He promptly brushes his shirt off, forcefully like he needs to establish that he's sitting pretty but clearly he can stand if he wants to, okay. Do you see that fucking concrete, don't touch him.

And Pinkman don't move your head what are you doing you dumbass. Hank is just not looking convinced, and considering this is in public, his reputation is already on the line. He can't just assault Pinkman in the public eye and then let him get carried off by the Brawny mascot. ]

Oh yeah? You got one of those Jetson cars right on hand, then? He needs to go, now.

"It's not up to my standards," Tess says, which isn't exactly a lie, even if she's drank much worse too often to claim those standards are based on any good taste. Rather, her standards are based on how much she can sell it for, and to the right buyer, lousy beer is still beer.

She slides into a seat in the nearest chair, which she drags a little closer.

"I used to work in distribution. Unfortunately for you, plenty of people will pay good money for piss-water. It's far easier to sell than most."

That gets him to watch her a lot more closely. Distribution can mean so many things, and she's acting awfully smooth. Some habits are hard for him to shake, even if he needs only a minute of hard thinking to remind himself he no longer works for the DEA. Would he even give enough of a fuck to do anything, anyway?

For now he'll assume she dabbles in nothing stronger than moonshine, because he's too damn tired and upset by the week to focus that much on doing a job that's no longer his. Fuck 'em is a remarkably soothing mantra, when mixed with terrible beer at least. It helps the bitterness stew, really.

"Yeah well, I got my standards. Not enough to go completely dry, I guess, huh. Shouldn't talk. What's your trade now, ya don't mind my asking?"

Matter of fact, I do.

[ At home, that is. Which is a good few blocks away from here. Whatever - isn't like he's going to be driving Jesse to the hospital, anyway. He can fling Jesse over his shoulder, make it look like he's taking him off to infirmary. He's done it before - flung Jesse over his shoulder before, that is. Hopefully this time, the kid won't puke all over him.

But first matters first. He's gotta smooth this over somehow. Whether Joel believes this guy is in the police or not isn't the point - the point is, Joel isn't going to take any chances. Last thing both Jesse and himself needs is the police hot on their tail.

Time to switch on some of that mediating Texan charm of his. He's a pro at it, having spent years smoothing over feathers Tess ruffled back in the zone. ]

Now, look-- [ He's crouching down by Jesse now, one hand on the kid's shoulder while looking up at Schrader, a hand held out palm-down at him in a cool, calm manner, like he's only interested in reasoning with him. ] I know I treated you a bit rough just then, wasn't aware you were law enforcement. Just thought you were givin' the kid a hard time, is all.

[This is possibly the first time Jesse's ever heard Joel use that tone, and he's giving such a side-eye right now. Is this going to work? This probably isn't going to work. Okay, he needs to focus on healing his voice, like... pronto.]

[ Now if anyone should be worried about retaliation here, it's Hank, and Jesse probably knows that assuming his brain isn't complete pudding by now. Joel's immediate turn-heel is old news to Hank; a story that's been preached to him a million times over. In truth, he doesn't even have a badge to flash anymore, but he doesn't care enough to correct that misunderstanding.

Fuck all if Jesse presses charges here, Hank's first week in. But really, it's not just self-preservation that has Hank calming down and seeking out help for the brat, but genuine guilt that's rattled his bones and paled him considerably. He has no idea what Jesse's powers entail, and the possibility that he could still die from internal bleeding is very much on Hank's mind.

He might still get suspended, or fired, but it sure isn't going to be because he rolled on away from an assault he initiated. Taking Pinkman down is something that should be done by the book so that he can be as smug as possible. Hurting him like this or killing him is definitely not how Hank envisioned...any of this.

Not again. ]

It was a mistake.

[ Doesn't need a damned lawyer to be able to say that. He'd admit that no matter who asked. ]

And you shouldn't even be moving him. I'm sure you wanna help but he needs emergency professional personnel, so unless you're a doc, you need to hand back my phone. Nice and easy.

Well, it was a mistake on my part, too.

[ Hopefully a mutual admission of mistakes will appease the guy, even if just a little. And Joel is real hesitant about handing the communicator back but he complies, does his best to make it seem like it's no big deal: he holds out the communicator the guy without argument. ]

Look, think it's best you let me handle this, let me get him to the hospital myself. The, uh, the superheroes in this place, [ god, after all these months, Joel still feels like an idiot talking about superheroes ] like me and you and this kid down here, get a lotta media exposure. We call in paramedics, there's probably gonna be cameras and a whole bunch of attention we don't need. Ain't gonna look real good for you if they start spinnin' stories 'bout a police officer attacking and almost killin' a kid on the streets.

[ It's true, and Hank knows it. Not like he even has a reputation here yet to trash, but boy would that be a shitty way to start one. Even worse than the pit he'd got himself stuck in back home. The thought of that's gut-wrenching, but so is this whole situation.

He keeps himself steady as he takes back the communicator. A job's a job's a job even if he hates it. ]

Ain't gonna look any better if I just let some no-name walk off with him without question, either. Imagine those stories if he doesn't make it. Y'think I'm an idiot? Someone probably already got this on their phone.

[ Fuck the 21st century. Fuck this one even more, because if it has hovering cars it must have some kind of mega Internet. He'll be dialing again, anyway. ]

It's my responsibility to make sure he survives. We don't have time to debate, pal, it is what it is.

[Okay... Okay, he's got some of the swelling down. Jesse props himself up on one elbow, and his voice is hoarse but at least he can say something for himself:]

Listen to him, Schrader. The game's changed. We're all high-profile now.

[ Did you just fucking talk, Pinkman. How is your jaw not still on the ground.

Beep. Hanging up.

He's listening. ]

[ Alright, well, good. Looks like the guy isn't going to call the paramedics. That's a start. Joel throws a quick glance down at Jesse, though. The way the kid just addressed Schrader made it sound like he knows this guy or something. Joel will sure be grilling Jesse about that when they're somewhere more private.

Attention back on Schrader. ]

Believe me - none of us are no-names here. Not me, not the kid, not you. [ A fact Joel hates, which is why he keeps as low a profile as he can. ] It'll be a helluva lot worse if you go ringin' them paramedics instead of lettin' me deal with this.

Besides... I ain't gonna die.

[He sounds so sure of that for a guy who had blood pouring from his mouth a minute ago and who still doesn't seem capable of sitting up.]

[ And that, of course, is where Hank is in the dark. How differently the media and events like this are handled. The fact that he was able to do that at all still barely resonates with him, leaving him with a shock that he has to ignore in order to pick up the pieces this time.

Even with what they're saying, the fact of the matter is someone saw this, and he doesn't trust that this won't get out somehow. Of course, that'll happen anyway, but wouldn't it be better for him to get ahead of it?

There's the chance Jesse won't press charges, but somehow that's just not occurring to him as a possibility. He feels as backed into a corner as they do. The fact that Jesse is talking at all is the only thing making Hank hesitate. ]

Christ, Pinkman, stop talking. You wouldn't be so sure of that if you looked in a mirror right now. You got creamed by the sidewalk and you look it, okay?

[ And Hank is more shocked and alarmed than anyone. Gee, guys, maybe these super powers AREN'T such a fantastic idea. ]

[ Yeah, well, Joel knows Jesse sure ain't gonna die, and he sure doesn't want to stand around in the street discussing this. Doesn't want to give this Schrader guy a chance to change his mind and call the paramedics. Time to get Jesse to his feet. Or flung over his shoulder, at least. ]

Look, I got this. [ He gives the guy a final pointed look. Then he turns his attention to Jesse. ] Shut it, kid. We'll get you to the hospital, alright?

[ Subtly but promptingly looking at Jesse as much to say, play along with me here. Too bad if this ends up being humiliating as hell for Jesse. Better to be humiliated than get the cops involved. Gripping Jesse's arm, Joel rolls him slowly and carefully over onto his back - the slow and careful part is for the sake of appeasing Schrader more than anything - and then slips one arm under Jesse's neck and anchors his other under the kid's knees.

Christ, this is like deja fucking vu. ]

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(open) ▶ we got new players in town

▶ pinkman

▶ cohle

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