The pull on my flesh was just too strong, stifled the choice and the air in my lungs.

[hostage]

WHO: Jesse Pinkman & OPEN
WHERE: various locations
WHEN: June 10 - 17 (Road Not Taken)
WHAT: If Jesse was never a drug dealer... (Conflicting memories and confusion are welcome.)
WARNINGS: Domestic as fuck.

HEROPA - COFFEE SHOP ( OPEN TO ALL )

[It's a morning routine now that he's unemployed. At least, he thinks it is. As far as he remembers, he's been a regular at this coffee shop for the past six months. It's strange that the barista doesn't recognize him when he orders his usual triple espresso, but Jesse chalks it up to the early hour and takes his favorite seat by the window. The position is ideal for drawing, with light shining through to illuminate his sketchbook while he sits facing the interior, giving him a view of the other customers. He immediately gets to work on gesture drawing, sketching his fellow patrons in thirty-second bursts while attempting not to stare too obviously.]

HEROPA - AROUND TOWN ( OPEN TO ALL )

[Everything just seems off this week. Jesse couldn't find his art supplies anywhere in the studio, which leaves him wondering if he got absentminded and misplaced them in the park the other day. He ends up having to buy another easel and set of paints, which isn't cheap, so he's doubly frustrated with himself by the time he settles in for his daily session of en plein air. He takes up a spot by the street corner and begins without flourish, quickly applying dabs of acrylic to his canvasboard to capture whatever scene is in front of him before it changes.]

CAPE CANAVERAL - BEACH HOUSE ( CLOSED TO HOUSEMATES )

[He's starting to feel like he's going insane. Nothing is where he left it. It's like someone came in and rearranged the whole house while he was asleep, and the more time he spends at home, the worse that feeling gets. As if he's back in his world without his powers and he's misplaced his Adderall, the way everything's scattered. Eventually it gets to be too much for him, and Jesse starts tearing through the house in search of his sketchbooks and canvases and everything else he knows should be around here somewhere.

...Which leads him to the discovery in the study upstairs. In the back of what should be his supply closet, he finds a refrigerator instead. And inside that refrigerator are bags upon bags of blood, seemingly prepared for a transfusion. If this was a hospital, which it isn't. When Jesse turns to rifle through the rest of the closet, he finds that the bags inside it aren't filled with art supplies, but with cash. Cold, hard cash. Thousands - maybe millions - of dollars. And behind those bags, resting on racks affixed to the walls, are dozens of guns.]

Jesus... Oh, Jesus Christ.

[What the hell is going on?]

Comments

coffee shop au

[5055034455]

[Saul drifts in not long after Jesse gets settled. His plan today is to load up on caffeine, work on campaign plans, and not be annoyed, but then he catches sight of a familiar figure in the coffee shop and he's immediately annoyed.

He's still pissed off about the way Jesse called him Jimmy. He's been stewing over it, actually, turning that one word over and over in his head. Who the hell does Pinkman think he is, pulling that shit? And to do that after everything that went down — it's low. Even for them.

He tells himself to just ignore Jesse, to get his coffee and find somewhere else to camp out for the morning. Sure enough, once his coffee's in-hand, he marches over toward Jesse with one hell of a speech on the tip of his tongue.

And then he does what he always does: opens his big mouth.]

You know what, Jesse? You're in no position to judge me. I bent over backwards to help you, I went miles out of my way to make sure you stayed out of trouble, and I am trying — despite the voice in my head that's telling me I'm an idiot who needs to move on — to maintain a functional relationship with you here. And okay, fine, maybe deep down, you hate me, maybe you're never gonna forgive me, and maybe we're not really friends, that's all fine, but when I reach out to you and you throw shit back in my face? That's not okay. That's fucked up. I would never hold anything over your head like that. Alright? So don't do it to me.

[It's only at the end, when he seems to finally draw a breath, that his eyes drop down and he notices the sketchbook.

And then his face just goes like, What.]

I hate this

[hostage]

[Jesse listens to that entire speech with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape as he tries and fails to find a moment to interrupt with a question. This is clearly something the guy needs to get off his chest, and Jesse doesn't want to be rude about it, but...]

Sorry, uh... Do I know you?

♥

[5055034455]

[Saul would throw his coffee if it didn't cost so much goddamn money.]

Are you —

[A pause for air.]

No, you know what? I'm not even gonna ask if you're kidding me. I already know you're not kidding me. I can see it in your eyes. Fuck. I hate this fucking place, I can't —

[Their surroundings go uncomfortably quiet, which is when Saul realizes he's making a scene. Another pause, another breath.]

Sorry. [Quietly, now.] I'm sorry. You have no idea who I am? You don't recognize my face at all? Not even —

[He sets his coffee down, does the Better Call Saul! pose. Forced smile and all. It's so strained. It's a smile that says, please, God, please let this spark some kind of memory.]

[hostage]

[Lucky for Saul, that does spark some recognition. Jesse's mouth forms an O and his eyebrows raise before furrowing again. Because... why is Saul Goodman, the lawyer with the stupid commercials from Albuquerque, now here to deliver a heartfelt speech to him? To Jesse, specifically. He didn't miss the fact that Saul addressed him by name.]

"Better Call Saul", yeah.

[Said with minimal enthusiasm and maximum confusion.]

So, uh, I guess I pissed you off?

[5055034455]

[So many times, Jesse.

So. Many. Times.

Saul drops the pose and rubs at his temples.]

In a word, yes. But I'm gonna guess that as far as you're concerned, we have no reason to know each other.

[morethan084]

Jesse?

[Daisy had just gotten back from work at the local emergency clinic only to walk into an extremely messy house. Looking upward when she heard him. Making her way up the stairs, Daisy did not expect to see what she did.]

...What the hell is this?!

[hostage]

[Jesse leaps to his feet when Daisy appears, throwing his hands in the air like it's the cops who just walked in.]

I don't - I don't know! I was looking for my sketchbook and just...

[He gestures helplessly, at a loss for words.]

Is this some kinda joke?

[morethan084]

[Daisy flinches when he jumps, keeping her distance from him as she tries to understand what all of this is.

She's never even seen him hold a gun, and yet...]

Did someone break in? Downstairs is a mess.

[hostage]

No, that was - I mean, maybe somebody did, but the mess is all me. It's like nothing's where I left it. I feel like I'm going crazy, and now - now this.

[He waves at the guns and the rest of the very obviously illegal supplies surrounding him.]

heropa; coffee shop

[itistolaugh]

[ Harleen called out of work. Too many things were just wrong and years on Arkham staff taught her that when something feels wrong, stay the hell away. But she doesn't feel right at home either, so she's idling away her morning at a coffee shop until she figures out something to do.

Something about the young man with the sketchbook is familiar, but in a way she can't place which usually means danger. She's been watching him for a while and he doesn't seem to have anything more dangerous than a pencil sharpener (which in some hands is dangerous enough), so when the tug of familiarity finally outweighs the risk she picks up her coffee and joins him at his table, glancing at his sketchbook. ]

You're good.

Hi. Um. Sorry, but do I know you?

[hostage]

[Jesse pauses as she approaches, setting his pencil aside so he can turn his focus to her. The compliment gets something of a bashful smile out of him, because it still makes him self-conscious when people watch him work. But her next words have him looking a bit troubled.]

...I don't think so?

[Then again, his memory's feeling a bit fuzzy today. He offers:]

Jesse Pinkman. Ring a bell?

[itistolaugh]

[ She turns the name over in her mind, but nothing comes up. She shrugs and rubs the side of her neck. ]

No, I got nothing. Sorry. I've being having the weirdest deja vu lately.

[hostage]

[If he was in a better mood, he might make a comment about how he'd never forget someone who looks like her. But he's got that same weird feeling she's got, and it's enough to distract him from flirtation.]

Don't worry about it. Just one of those days, I guess.

around heropa

[textualhealing]

[Alternate Universe crisis or not, dogs still needed walking.

Jeff hadn't put too much thought into this place, into why his roommates were acting like something wasn't quite right, or why his face was plastered on TV without being him. That guy wasn't him, that guy was charming and happy and fully limbed, apparently free of burdens. Jeff hadn't been like that for years.

Still, the dogs around the house didn't seem to give a shit and Sharkbait still attached to him just the same, needy for food, attention and walks that didn't involved anything too strenuous for his lazy butt. So here they are, wandering aimlessly around town, the dog unleashed as Jeff seems more intent on using his hand to idly tap away at his phone.]

I never knew you drew.

[Jesse's got an audience in the form of a disheveled, one armed Winger and a drooling bulldog, the former of them leaning in to observe, while the latter plonks to floor panting.]

[hostage]

[Jesse sets his paintbrush down and glances at Jeff, eyebrows raised. He hates that, Jeff leaning in like that, but he feels sorry for the guy, so he's not about to say anything rude.]

It's pretty much all I do. Um, when stuff's not blowing up, I mean.

[He takes this moment of interruption to pick up his spray bottle and spritz the palette with water. Can't have paint drying while he's chatting.]

[textualhealing]

Huh.

[Not much care for how rude he may or may not be for interrupting and invading personal space, in fact Jeff doesn't appear to care about much at all, even the gaps in his memory.]

I don't remember that. I remember stuff blowing up, I remember your face, but I don't remember you painting.

[hostage]

Well, that's... weird, I guess.

[He doesn't know what else to say about it. For the past day or so, that's been a common thing he's heard, but he has no idea what to make of it. How did everyone fail to notice this is his whole shtick?]

coffee shop; rolls in late with starbucks

[earnedmystripes]

[Kotetsu hasn't really talked to Jesse ever since the day reunion-gone-wrong where he'd learned some unfortunate truths, save for the time they'd all gone off to Antarctica to save their kidnapped friends, anyway.

He's found himself torn between trying not to think about it and thinking way too much about it. His sense of responsibility as a Hero clashes with his personal feelings toward Jesse, and all that gets further tangled up in the fact that he's got no details or much of anything he could substantively do beyond giving RISE a heads-up about the vague generalities of what Jesse's doing. He's wondered, too, if Olivier might be amenable to lending Jesse's cause resources under the table, to edge him away from feeling the need to do things illegally, from that whole lifestyle that he didn't even seem to like but clung to anyway as some kind of "necessary evil" crap. She did have those secret tanks that she'd brought out during the Russian invasion, after all.

Mostly, he's frustrated he can't seem to convince people like Jesse and Yuri of the good he knows they're capable of doing with their lives.

Which is why when he walks into the coffee shop and by the corner where Jesse's holed up, Kotetsu briefly considers turning on his heel and walking out again, but then they happen to make eye contact, and--is that a sketchbook? ...Is Jesse drawing him?

Kotetsu blinks a few times, utterly perplexed, brows furrowed at the sketch.

Awkwardly:]

....I didn't know you drew.

[hostage]

You kidding?

[As far as Jesse remembers, this is hardly the first time he's ever drawn Kotetsu. He used to do it practically every day back at Xavier's, didn't he? That's why Jesse looks so confused when Kotetsu says that, setting his pencil aside to give him a better view of the sketch.]

[earnedmystripes]

[And Kotetsu blinks, a couple times, looking a bit confused himself.]

Uh...no? I'd never seen you draw before.

[He looks down at the sketch of himself a bit sadly; it'd be nice if this was the kind of thing Jesse was doing with his life instead of...the way he was living now.]

This is really good, though. You ever think about making it more than a hobby?

[hostage]

[What the hell is up with everyone today? Mass memory loss?]

Uh, yeah. Remember? I quit Xavier's to start doing this full-time? Don't tell me you're going all Alzheimer's on me now, old man.

Joel's bar

[shittybirthday]

[ It's past midnight. The bar has been closed almost half an hour. Joel has been wiping down tables, upturning stools, sweeping up the floor, keeping himself busy. Every now and again, he throws a glance over at Jesse by the bar; and every now and again, his thoughts stray to how... strange everything has been the last few days.

Joel has been nothing but his usual genial, good natured self... except apparently genial and good natured is hardly how people know him; hardly usual for him, according to the wary looks he's been receiving and the skeptical, sometimes bordering on blistering comments people have given him when he's tried to be nothing but friendly and conversational. Not being able to put his finger on why everything just feels so off keeps making his mood tank.

But at least there's Jesse. Being around Jesse at least makes his day better and makes the confusion rattling around in his brain seem less important. He pushes the pile of swept up dirt into a pile near the bar, sets the broom against the wall, and heads behind the bar. He picks up the rag and starts wiping down the beer-soaked counter, throwing Jesse another glance. Joel flashes him a tired but warm little smile. ]

Want another beer?

[hostage]

[Though Jesse's been distracted and withdrawn all evening, when Joel speaks to him, he looks up with a smile that matches Joel's warmth.]

You really wanna waste your whole inventory on somebody who can't even get drunk?

[shittybirthday]

[ A small, amused "heh". At least he's gotten a smile out of Jesse. ]

The boss don't have to know.

[hostage]

Mmm. I'll take another, but only if you're gonna sit down and drink with me.

[He feels like an asshole, just sitting here while Joel keeps on working well past closing time.]