Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hostage) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2016-09-01 01:52 pm
hostage) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-09-01 01:52 pm
Entry tags:
- harleen quinzel | harley quinn,
- † darlene | n/a,
- † daryl dixon | the angel,
- † haen hithiel | chatterbug,
- † jack | n/a,
- † jesse pinkman | diesel,
- † joel | n/a,
- † kotetsu t. kaburagi | wild tiger,
- † laurel lance | the black canary,
- † mark vorkosigan | peter michael kane,
- † sarah manning | n/a,
- † shinya kogami | n/a,
- † the corinthian | n/a
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...
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.
. maurtia falls
Drink and poor health got to him long before the Corinthian's blade, exposure finishing the job in the wee hours of the morning. Dead for less than a full day, hidden from discovery by the dumpster he'd built his meager shelter against. Practically fresh, by the nightmare's standards. Fresh enough.
Jesse will hear the Corinthian before he sees him, a scrape against slick pavement and the knock of his elbow on the dumpster - the position makes it difficult to maneuver, and this is delicate work. Even then, only the heels of his black boots and the curve of his back against a thin shirt are visible, blocked from view by the rusting, steel container.
At least, unless Jesse moves closer.]
no subject
Once he spots the boots, Jesse leaps to the conclusion of blowjob followed by maybe puking? The first one would be none of his business, but the second might actually be something he can help with, so he takes another step closer.
...Aaaaaaand that's a guy snacking on a corpse. Jesse may not be able to see his face, but he can see enough.
He turns on his heel. Not running, but walking away at a reasonably swift pace. He gives no thought to whether he's being loud or quiet about it. He just really, really doesn't want to get involved.]
no subject
[casual advice from the hard voice at Jesse's back, a dark comment sharp as shaved steel. The Corinthian's blade pokes at the small of Jesse's back, his hand a hard grip on the man's shoulder. A single trail of blood leaks down beneath the left lens of his sunglasses, slipping just outside, thin line of his mouth. He wasn't able to get the other eye before he heard Jesse's shoes scrape in his abrupt, hurried turn, alerting him to an unwanted witness.
Unfortunate, but he'll do what needs to be done now. The only step which remains is determining what that is.
He presses closer, but the blade's pressure is steady - unchanging.]
Who are you? What have you seen?
no subject
[Jesse halts as soon as the hand lands on his shoulder and he feels that knife against his back. He exhales in a hiss, a tremor running through him, but he keeps his arms at his sides and doesn't make a move to fight.]
I didn't see nothing, man. Chill the fuck out.
no subject
Away. This time.
But it's still in view when the nightmare's face is, stone-hard and empty, inscrutable behind black lenses. He doesn't take his hand away.]
Who are you?
[he doesn't intend to ask a third time.]
no subject
Does it seriously matter who I am?
[Like, he doesn't see the point in answering that question. If he gives the right name, does that mean he doesn't get stabbed? Probably not.]
no subject
[he'd noticed the tattoo, glowing in the shadow of the alley. But the nightmare makes no move to bring his knife closer than it is, to cut into flesh and shade true blood.
More, anyway - the stains from his cold meal are still smeared across the blade. The Corinthian frowns.]
You aren't afraid. [no disappointment. There's more dull-edged curiosity, a twinge of surprise. This is about the time those lovely blue eyes of his should be filling with tears or rage, blood pumping with the urge to survive.
Where is that?]
no subject
[All annoyance and no fear. Of course, this weirdo could definitely kill him. But he'd have to know how. All he has to do is fuck it up for a second and that's enough of an opening to make this fight go overwhelmingly in Jesse's favor. If it looks like Jesse's just waiting for the guy to make his move, that's because he is. He doesn't have to lift a finger to win.]
no subject
Why? It wouldn't change my response, to know.
[not that he's actually expecting an answer. The Corinthian's hesitation is entirely his own, the result of dark aggression curling into darker curiosity. He taps the flat of his blade against the high arch of Jesse's cheekbone, the white of an eye reflected on its edge. Weighing some decision.
The knife drops, and the grip he had follows after. The barest inch of space returns between them.]
...Who are you? [there's less demand to the question, this time.]
no subject
Jesse Pinkman.
[For all the good it does to know a name.]
no subject
And his eyes; the eyes tell so much more.]
I'll remember that. I'm known as the Corinthian.
[perhaps he'll do some reading later; then again, perhaps he won't have to.]
Was it truly you confidence in your abilities that stayed your fear, or are you simply so often threatened in dark alleys?