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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[Eh... Normally he wouldn't be thrilled about looking this pathetic, but considering Schrader did this to him, he'll rub the guy's nose in it a little. He shuts his mouth and allows Joel to maneuver him however he needs to. Look at this kid, Schrader. Look how small and broken he is. You're a very mean man.

- Ow. Fuck, that hurts.]

[It's a slow day at the police precinct, and Anita is seated at a desk, her feet plunked on it while no one is looking, and her arms crossed over her chest. She's contemplating making up an excuse to get out early when she notices a guy checking out the place. From how he's checking out the place, he's either 100% new or looking for a job.]

...Hey. Looking for somethin'? [She swings her feet down from the table and stares at him.

Yes, she seems a bit too young to be working at the precinct. In fact, she is 13.]

[ A+ Emmy material, fellas. It's got Hank sitting there with nothing to do but stew in his own fury at this piss-ant and the inconvenient guilt that mucks his mood up even further. Jesse Pinkman probably deserved it, but that isn't the point. Pinkman's innocent until proven guilty, at least in the court of law, and Hank would never want to dirty his own reputation by contesting that. Not to mention, no matter what kind of bravado he carries or superiority he may have over Pinkman, Hank never wants to be That Guy. The bully. The fuck up. The hypocrite. The dirty cop.

He can choke down a lot of things before that, and so for now he smothers his pride and his concern for his career. Because really, this choice here is a mix of his own morals and a slightly newer devil-may-care attitude towards his sudden position. He's breaking no laws by letting them go, and Jesse seems to want to avoid the hospital. It's no surprise to Hank why -- most criminals will do anything to avoid police reports, but he still is in a position to put Hank over a barrel and he knows it. And the only way to accept that is to try and give no flying fucks about what happens if he gets fired. He doesn't know a single fucking soul here. He's not even sure how seriously he can take the law enforcement and government control in a world where sidewalks go flying and junkies are school nurses.

This will get out one way or another, and he's going to pay for it, and he's going to have to decide that he doesn't care. ]

Hey. Name of the hospital you're taking him to, and your name while you're at it. Then get going, before he does something else stupid.

[ It's the most he's willing to concede on this matter. You better believe he'll be following up. Out of a sense of duty as well as covering his own, hopelessly misplaced ass. ]

Edited 2014-11-18 12:24 (UTC)

[ Joel grunts as he hefts Jesse into his arms, his teeth gritted under the kid's weight. As he stands tall, he shifts Jesse in his arms to make sure he's got a good grip on him.

This really wasn't what Joel signed up for when he first agreed to be Jesse's drug mule. Last thing he ever expected was to find himself having to carry Jesse in his arms not once but twice, with the kid bleeding everywhere. Probably about time he demanded a goddamn pay rise.

And Christ. Last thing he wants to do is tell this Schrader guy his name - but like Joel had said, nobody is a no-name in this place. It wouldn't take Schrader too much effort to find out who he is. ]

Joel. And one of the hospitals in-- [ a grunt as he shifts Jesse's weight in his arms again ] De Chima.

[ Joel doesn't know what any of those hospitals are called. Just knows there's a bunch of them there. And as much as Joel would really love to stand chatting with Schrader (i.e., no, he doesn't), he gladly takes the dismissal as an opportunity to get going.

Off he goes, hurrying pretty quickly down the street. Gotta get off the streets before they really do start attracting unwanted attention. He cuts off to the right and heads into a small alley that leads between buildings and past dumpsters, and it's when he's certain he's out of sight of Schrader that Joel growls a little breathlessly between clenched teeth: ]

Jesus, I swear to God, kid--

[It doesn't hurt as bad as the time Ward basically crushed every bone in his torso, but it still hurts pretty bad. The parts that he can feel, anyway; his lower body's got a numbness to it that's telling him his spine is definitely fucked in some way. The worst thing is the headache, though, and that only hurts more and more as Joel picks up speed and starts jostling him around.

He's grateful when they reach that alley. Maybe that means they can stop for a second.]

I didn't think he'd throw the whole damn sidewalk at me, okay.

[ Joel is approaching the end of the alleyway - his place is only a couple of blocks away from here now - and he slows to a stop by a small, dingy alcove that smells of old trash and has graffiti tags scrawled over the drab brick wall. He needs a small break, needs to rest his arms and his shoulders; he awkwardly sets Jesse down, realising with irritation that he's gonna have to hold Jesse up against the wall because the kid can't seem to use his legs.

And so, he's got Jesse pressed up against the wall, his hands gripping onto Jesse's shirt in tight fists, while he catches his breath and gives his arms a rest, and Joel has a mighty annoyed look on his face as he peers at Jesse. ]

You gonna tell me who that asshole is?

[ Because from the way Jesse was talking to him, it sure sounded to Joel like Jesse knows him. ]

[Fuuuuuck, that hurts even worse. Is this Joel's idea of torturing him for information or something? Jesse needs a moment to adjust to that new position. He's looking mighty pale and his face is coated in sweat, but at least he's not vomiting this time.]

He's... this fed. From back home. Don't - Don't freak out or anything, okay? He doesn't really know anything. He's just been chasing me forever.

Edited 2014-11-18 14:51 (UTC)

[ The look that darkens over Joel's face says it all. He turns his head away for a moment, muttering a tersely exclaimed, "Jesus." Jesus, that's all they fucking need: a cop that's been chasing Jesse for ages now chasing him here in Heropa. ]

So, you're tellin' me we're gonna have that guy chasin' our asses here 'cause of you?

[What's with that accusation? As if he personally invited Schrader here.]

If you want out, man, just say it. You got money now. And I don't need you.

[...He says as he is not even physically capable of standing on his own two feet.]

Now she has his attention. Tess smiles.

"I'm taking some time off while I'm down here in Florida," she says. That's more or less true, too. "What do you do?"

Carl is taking a stab at using the police department. Granted he's more than ninety percent sure his dad isn't here. But he doesn't want to go to school and there's nothing else he can do. Sitting down at watch TV is something he can do, but he doesn't really want to do that either.

But at least he manages to clean up and get some fresh, clean clothes for once. His hair looks like it needs a serious comb over, but that's a typical boy thing.

He walks up to a guy who looks like a desk clerk. "Hi. Is this where you can find other imPorts, like me? I need to find someone."

[There is a long list of things that Kate Bishop enjoys eating: pancakes, waffles, breakfast food, bacon, burgers, and a few other things in-between. Oh, she definitely appreciates the great joy of greasy French fries. But the important part is that if it's on a diner menu, she's probably a fan of it in some way. Or at least, if it's on a diner menu and it's considered "difficult to fuck up," she's a fan of it. That narrows the list sometimes. Some diners try to expand on what they do well.

But the point is, she's in a diner tonight for a reason, with a giant burger, fries, and some obliterated appetizer in front of her (the appetizer was probably cheese sticks). She's also drinking a soda absently while she reads over some files. They're mismatched pieces of information, and from the way she's not protecting them, it largely means the information is available to anyone.

She's content to stick with this when a certain man enters and moves to a corner in the restaurant that isn't too far from where she's seated (having preferred to be not quite as close to the entrance herself). It's at that point that she starts staring. What becomes immediately apparent is that it's either Hank Schrader, or the guy who plays Hank Schrader in some other role (and coincidentally also ended up in a wheelchair). Either way, a few thoughts immediately occur to her: the fact that she currently has that meth in her possession because of her own investigation, that she needs to really talk to Jesse Pinkman, and right now, the time table on that just sped up. By a lot. Like a lot a lot.

If that's him. If that's who anyone has to worry about.

Kate knows that if it's Hank, staring at him openly is going to draw his attention, so she pulls herself out of her booth and decides to approach him, a smile on her face.] Hey there, I'm Kate, I can't help but notice that you have to be an imPort, right? Trust me, I've got a sixth sense for this. [Which, given their superpowers that they have, makes it all the more likely.] So, well, hello! [Again. Kate isn't a naturally awkward person. But she feels awkward now.]

Edited 2014-11-18 20:41 (UTC)

[ It definitely doesn't take him long to feel eyes on him once he's ordered his milkshake and fries, but at this point Hank is more likely to duck away from gazes than confront them. Rather than be suspicious, he feels more like everyone should be watching him now. What he did to Pinkman is prime YouTube material if not lawsuit material, so when a young lady approached him and immediately spouts off about imPorts, he has to resist the urge to openly cringe.

Is this a set-up? Did Pinkman send her? Is she an operative to lecture him on how to handle bystanders? Whatever it is, he doesn't look thrilled to see her, but manners and the balance of probability leave him giving her at least one chance.

This has not been his week, though. ]

...Not a reporter, are ya? I've got nothin' to say if so.

Just when he thinks he's done for the day with this horse shit, in walks a kid of all things. A kid strolling into a precinct without any guardian is only noteworthy right now because he's become acutely aware of the differences one can assume while here: that being that people shouldn't be expected to be brought with their families, and they shouldn't be expected to be safe from supervillains.

This is...not his job, if he can even claim to work his job yet, but he's filled out enough paperwork to at least be in the system. He's about to tell the boy to head down that hall, check the chick with the--, but aw damn, what else has he honestly got to do at this moment? Even the hat makes him nostalgic. Anything that reminds him of home, at this point...

"Wouldn't call it the imPort lost and found, kid, but sure I'll see if I can help ya. Who're you looking for?"

Edited 2014-11-18 21:32 (UTC)

[ That gets a passing look. A kid being here, Hank can only assume she's a cop's kid or a delinquent in for loitering, because otherwise she doesn't look dangerous enough to squish a fly.

He'll offer her an awkward, half-cocked grin. He doesn't get any jollies out of being mean to kids, even when he's busy. ]

No offense, missie, but I'm sure you ain't it.

And this is the moment where he watches her more closely than ever. No matter what, he's not interested enough to act on it, but it's still good to know who's who when peddling is the game. She could also have a completely innocent reaction, but Hank's not an especially optimistic type. He knows he should stop thinking like DEA, but that's never gonna happen.

"Here? Fuck if I know, sweetheart; jury's still out on that." As in he doesn't even know if he'll still have a job after this week. "Worked the streets back home for the DEA. Agent— Uh, just Hank here. Hank Schrader." At least he can offer his hand for a handshake, for a suspicious lady.

To her credit, Tess doesn't flinch at the news itself, her smile sticking to her face. In fact, she almost seems a little excited to hear it, and she shakes his hand firmly. Former DEA agent means he might have a bone to pick with his old bosses, means he might be bitter about being demoted or fired for getting stuck in a wheelchair. There's a lot of possibilities with that.

"Tess," she says. No last name today. "Nice to meet you, Hank."

She's casual enough to pass the test, which puts him at ease enough to reach for his beer once more. Good handshake for a broad. And he doesn't need her last name to be polite, damn, I mean it's a bar. Only reason he hands out his last name anymore is just in case someone he knows from home (that he might not actually hate) could find out. He's too tired to hide, maybe.

"Back at ya, Tess. Get you a drink?" Then, his bravado temporary falters as he makes a show of wriggling his ring finger. A chick like this might punch him in the nuts for looking at her funny, if her biker boyfriend didn't do it first. "No funny business, just pretendin' I got manners for the first five minutes this week. Lucky you."

Carl honestly didn't think his hat would attach such attention. The symbolism of the hat became lost to him over the years until it simply became his hat, with the simple knowledge it was Dad's hat.

The idea of using it to his advantage simply didn't occur to him.

"Well, I was told to go to the police to find people. I'm looking for Rick Grimes, my dad. He used to be a cop, so I was thinking he might have a job here."

"Sure, I'll take a beer," she replies, and she gives an amused snort at his finger-waggling.

He's relaxed. Good. Tess relaxes, too, folding one leg over the other and dropping her purse to the floor beside her.

"What brought you to Florida? Vacation with the wife?"

Holding up a hand, he waves for more of the same to the passing waitress. He can't even tell if she fucking noticed, but that's how it goes. She'll bring it or she won't.

The active suggestion that Marie could be stuck here visibly makes him cringe, nearly choking on his drink before shaking his head and wiping beneath his chin. Is it a grimace, or a laugh? Damn, the thought's nightmare fuel by it's own right.

Marie with super powers, Christ Almighty. Probably a supersonic scream, and the ability to turn him into a diamond factory just by association.

"Damn, do I look that old? Not ready to give up and turn in to the armpit of America just yet."

Sorry Florida but he doesn't know what he hates more: the people or the humidity. Oh, there's Pinkman. Yeah, he hates the people more.

"Wife's back in New Mexico. Not, uh, this Wonderland version."

It takes Tess a moment to even realize what he's talking about: retirement. People go to Florida to retire. Right. Truth be told, he can't be too much older than she is, and she's forty.

"There's much difference between New Mexico and Florida, other than all the Disney folks?" she replies, jokingly. "I grew up in Boston, never been more south than Virginia before the past few weeks."

He's not that old at all, but people make a lot of assumptions about guys in wheelchairs.

Really Tess did you just—

"Damn right there's a difference, but wouldn't matter to a Bay Stater. At least you got, you know, seasons." Like news channel seasons, yowch.

"Past few weeks... You that green? Least I ain't alone there." It's worth a beer clink once she gets hers.

I'm a detective, actually. PI, so it's mostly the small time stuff that people laugh about, but I've got a couple of bigger leads. [She mentally debates pointing out one of those leads, but it's not so much a lead as "I know everything about Jesse's operation back home, so I can probably draw the right conclusions here." Besides, the reason she hasn't acted yet is to keep Jesse from being buried by the weight of his poor decisions, but now it's looking like she might need to make him think twice about how he's handled that in the past.

Well, here she is now. If he's Hank, she needs to find out soon.]

But that's not why I'm saying hi. It's mostly a good Samaritan thing. I haven't seen your face before, but that sense told me what I needed to introduce myself. [Kate has a feeling he can read between the lines of obvious bullshit. But she's trying. She's chipper, anyway. At least she doesn't seem like the type to normally run with Jesse Pinkman.] Or I guess you could say it makes sure I'm a busy body. [Right. Chipper. Keep it up, Kate.]

[ Detective? Well, PIs aren't exactly his thing, but it's a heck of a lot better than a reporter.

...Depending. She could still have been sent by someone, but if so, saying she's a detective is fucking stupid. She seems more awkward than coy. It's enough for him to offer a more lenient grunt as he nods to the seat across from him. If she wants something police-related, she must have already found his name at the precinct, but she might be disappointed by his current status.

"Sense", what the fuck ever, honey. ]

Well...Kate, nice to meet ya. I'm Hank. But I really wasn't...lookin' for good Samaritans. [ Not trying to be an ass here, but he's naturally defensive over being mistaken for helpless or lost.

And if it's a new lure for street walkers and peddlers, he is definitely noping out. ]

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(open) ▶ we got new players in town

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