maskormenacelogs | Too low to dig, I might just touch hell.

Entry tags:

Too low to dig, I might just touch hell.

WHO: Jesse Pinkman & OPEN
WHERE: Various
WHEN: Throughout September
WHAT: Average day-to-day encounters with Jesse.
WARNINGS: Language, drugs, gore, body horror...

HEROPA - THE PARK ( OPEN )

[Coming off a healing tour of the local hospital's ICU, Jesse heads straight for the park across the street and settles himself on the grass beneath the shade of a willow tree. He's a mess - as he always is after a long round of healing the sick and injured - and doubly so since he's dressed in his rattiest torn jeans and dirty t-shirt combo. He self-reports as homeless on his paperwork, and today he looks the part.

Hands wrapped in gauze from fingertips to shoulder, there's not much Jesse can do while he waits to regenerate. He sprawls out on the grass and stares skyward. Bleeding through his bandages, he probably makes an alarming sight. But he's not unconscious. Just resting.]

NONAH - BEER GARDEN ( OPEN )

[Fresh out of a business meeting with some of his more respectable contacts, Jesse's looking remarkably clean-cut tonight. He's not in a suit, but with his pressed denim jacket and neatly styled hair, he fits in with the young professionals around him. He's not a regular here. He just looks like he could be.

Since he's dining alone, he takes a seat at a communal table around a fire pit and orders one of the fancy overpriced pizzas off the menu, along with the special craft beer the waiter kept pushing on him. His mind isn't really on dinner. He pulls a notepad from his pocket and starts crunching numbers with abstract notes. A few things to jot down before he forgets.]

MAURTIA FALLS - THE STREETS ( OPEN )

[It's the kind of night he used to love. Bass thumping in the club, throngs of revelers bumping and grinding around him, beautiful girls snorting rails off the bar... Nowadays it's overstimulating, and if Jesse could get a headache, he'd have one. Instead the pressure's more discarnate, less tangible, like the air's too heavy. After a few hours, he's having trouble maintaining the necessary smile and the social lubricant of easy conversation. People look to him for charm and entertainment, and when he can't give that to them anymore, that's when it's time to excuse himself.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Jesse swipes a hand across his sweaty forehead before lighting up a cigarette. It's better out here, with the music and shouting muffled behind him. When he exhales, a sigh of relief escapes with the smoke.]

DE CHIMA - THE OFFICES OF PKE ( CLOSED TO MARK VORKOSIGAN )

[Jesse's about five minutes early for their scheduled appointment. The last time they sat down together was in a grimy dive bar, and Mark was going by a different name. This time around, the setting's more professional and so is Jesse. He may not be wearing a tie or carrying a briefcase, but he fits the part of an upstart entrepreneur. He's flying under the radar. That's the whole point of this.

When he's called in, Jesse walks into Mark's office with a notebook tucked under one arm. He smiles as he approaches Mark's desk, offering his free hand.]

Hey. Thanks for seeing me.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mr. Pinkman.

[ Mark's a brand new guy overall, really - or, really, a guy who's trying out a new persona. Whereas before he'd been fearful, tense, sullen, in this office he exudes smarm, an oily sort of self-confidence. It's not charming or likable. It's not even terribly convincing - he acts more like a pop-culture stereotype of a businessman than he does an actual professional. But at the same time, he's surrounded by very real signifiers of very real wealth: his suit (well-cut), his cufflinks (polished wood with silver trim), his office (tastefully appointed in a sleek Scandanavian style) all speak to having money. Which makes him seem a bit more credible, and which separates him from that kid in the dive bar.

Also: he's quite fat now. No mistaking him for Miles or Gottlieb. Something he takes immense pleasure in.

He shakes Jesse's hand. Not even a sign that he recognizes him from any prior business dealings - since those had been of a rather different sort than these will be. ]

Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Something stronger?

[Preferable, as far as Jesse's concerned. The whole point of this is to keep the stink of his criminal business off of his public persona. And though "Peter" wasn't exactly in the same line of work, it's nice to see Mark putting up a confident front, too. Smarmy or not. Actually, the smarm might be a plus.]

I'm good, thanks.

[Jesse settles into one of the chairs, setting his notebook on his lap. Nothing to look at just yet.]

I won't take up too much of your time. Just wanted to shoot around a few ideas.

[ Mark nods, and makes a calculated sort of gesture: flipping his hand out and spreading his fingers. Go on. ]

My business, and my time, are all about hearing ideas.

[ And sitting in judgment. And sending away people if he doesn't like what they're proposing. It's a bit of a power trip. ]

[It's adorable, is what it is. For someone like Jesse, who doesn't need money or approval in reality. But he jumps right into the sales pitch, because this sort of thing is where he excels.]

You know I'm a healer, right? Disease, injuries, addiction... All of it. I can cure it. Now, I'm definitely not the only imPort who can do it, but the demand's still huge. I got more people begging me for help than I got time in a day. Been volunteering at hospitals for years. But that's me going in and doing somebody else's job for 'em. And I'm thinking, "Why's somebody else getting the credit for this instead of me?" Those doctors are making millions. I'm curing diseases they couldn't cure if they worked their whole lives, and I'm the one living out of a motel room.

So I wanna stop going to them and start making 'em come to me. I wanna open a health resort. I'd say clinic, but you know, that's a little shaky on the legal side since I ain't a licensed doctor. But a resort, where sick people can come and stay a couple days and walk out healthier than anybody they know? Tell me that doesn't sound like money waiting to be made.

[ That's - a really good idea. A really good idea, actually. Mark sits up slightly, a bit of his pretend-coolness dropping away as he's taken by excitement over this possibility. Because the first thing his thoughts jump to isn't the money, or the second thing: his first thought is Miles, and the prospect that maybe Miles' bones could be strengthened by this. If Jesse's powers are so fantastical, what's to say that they couldn't repair some of the soltoxin damage? And the prospect that his brother might get less fragile -

And the second thought is one he's been considering for a few weeks now, ever since Lord Vorkosigan pointed this out to him. The clone brain-transplant trade would be gutted if he could just find a safer, more reliable alternative. What if Jesse could be that alternative? Jesse or this clinic of his? It could cause Bharaputra's business to crumble. No more clones being slaughtered. No more sacrifices. No more killing.

But like hell he's going to discuss those possibilities. Too sentimental. He knows what Jesse is like in shadier situations, and he thinks that being soft will make him look weak to someone like that. So instead, he goes right for thought number three: money. ]

It does. I have to admit that.

[ His face and eyes are engaged. But he'd be doing a damn bad job if he let excitement overwhelm skepticism. So: ]

But it only sounds like some money to be made. After all, this is a business which all depends on you and your abilities. If you get Ported out tomorrow, the whole thing crumbles. Do you have other healers on board, or is it only you?

[It's nice to see Mark taking an interest. Jesse's smile brightens and he waves off all that concern.]

No other healers, but I got something even better:

Drugs. A hundred percent natural, a hundred percent legal. It's a product I been working on for a while now and I got enough supply that I could disappear for six months and you wouldn't even need me. This stuff does everything I can do, just a little slower. So unless it's an emergency, you just get somebody hooked up to an I.V. of the stuff and you'll start seeing 'em improve like magic.

[ Huh. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. Sounds too good to be true. So: ]

What's the catch?

There's no catch.

[In the interest of maintaining plausible deniability for Mark over here.]

I got a location in mind, I got plans for construction, I got a list of potential staff out of all the people I've worked with in local hospitals if you wanna vet 'em.

[He drums his fingers on the notebook in his lap.]

And numbers, of course. Estimating I'll need about ten million from VCs to cover those initial costs, but with the demand I've seen - I shit you not - we'll see a return of fifty by this time next year, if not more. It's a safe investment no matter how you slice it, but it's more than that, too. It's a gold mine. You see it, right?

Edited 2016-09-02 20:19 (UTC)

[ He, admittedly, doesn't like that assurance. That there's no catch. He's suspicious by nature, and so that confident, cheerful declaration makes him more nervous than anything else. Still, the possibility...Never mind making millions, this has the potential to be a multibillion dollar business. Especially if there were some way to really manufacture it...

He runs his hand over his hair, feeling suddenly nervous about it. Half because of his mistrust, and half because - this is a potentially life-changing business idea... ]

Why not make it as a pharmaceutical? Take it directly to market. So you wouldn't have to commit yourself to the health resort.

A few reasons.

[But it's a question he anticipated.]

Most important is that I can't mass-produce it. I've only got a large back supply 'cause I been building it up for a while now. But since it takes my power to make more, there's only so much I can produce in a day. It's never gonna be enough to hit every pharmacy in the country.

But more than that, I want it to feel exclusive. We're selling a miracle here. It's gotta feel like a miracle, something different from what every other doctor's trying to sell 'em. For you and me, powers feel like an everyday thing now. But for them out there? This is once-in-a-lifetime stuff. I want everybody who walks through that door to feel like an angel just came down from Heaven to give 'em a second chance at life.

I dunno about you, but that ain't the feeling I get when I wait in line at the corner pharmacy while Billy Bob in front of me is picking up his Viagra.

[ It's valid. Mark rubs at his (second) chin, considering that. A more moral, conscientious man - the likes of Miles - would protest that the importance of saving lives over a deluxe experience. Mark is...very much not Miles. ]

We'll need lawyers on retainer. Rafts of lawyers. Good ones.

I got Jeff Winger on retainer already, but I'm up for hiring a team.

[Jesse is admittedly not all that familiar with the laws surrounding this kind of thing. (He misses Saul so much. So much.)]

[ A grunt. ]

You've met Americans, right? [ Right - he is one. ] They like to sue. And we're going to be dealing with one a week, easy. People who're suing because their whoever died after being turned away from the resort. That sort of thing.

[Jesse smiles and nods. In reality, he has no intention of turning anyone away. Sure, the rich ones will be the ones who get a room at the resort. But he'll find a way to get his blood to those who can't pay. He'll be layering in more than enough of his illegal funds to make up for it.]

Whatever you think's best.

[ He likes that answer. So he rubs his chin, asks - ]

How much of a stake are you proposing in return for my funds?

Fifteen percent.

[And that's extremely generous, in his opinion. It'll amount to more than his current launderers make. Significantly more.]

[ He thinks about that, even as his lips quirk up in an incredulous (calculated) smile. ]

For how much of an initial investment?

Ten million, which is a tiny fraction of what this business is gonna be worth in a year. Of course, if you'd rather make it a loan and work out interest instead of shares... You know. Whatever feels safe to you.

[ A loan? Instead of shares? Yeah, right. Nearly as much risk, much less potential reward. Still... ]

You'll understand, though, just how huge that investment is. My company's available funds aren't much more than that. If this were to fail, I'd be destitute.

[ Left with eight million, actually. But, still, it certainly wouldn't be great. ]

It won't fail.

[All the confidence of a man with ten million dollars in dirty cash sitting in a duffel bag at home right now.]

Fifteen's my offer for the full ten million. You're my first stop and I'm happy to keep shopping. I prefer working with imPorts, but... You know, I don't have to.

[ He leans back in his chair. ]

It's hard out there for imPorts looking for loans, you know. ImPorts have a habit of disappearing. Banks tend to be skittish.

Yeah, but my blood doesn't disappear with me. I got a product that still guarantees their money back and then some. I'm sure I'll find somebody.

[ He makes a noise of acknowledgment, then steeples his fingers. ]

How widely is it known that your blood is the crucial ingredient in this healing?

[With a vague wave at the air:]

A couple imPorts know, but it ain't something I share with the natives, on account of how I don't like the idea of somebody chasing me down and draining my blood to cure their sick grandma or whatever.

[ A nod. ]

But people know. And how does that saying go - two can keep a secret if one is dead...?

I have something that I can offer you that most investors can't.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject