Too low to dig, I might just touch hell.

[hostage]

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.

Comments

[mirrordarkly]

[the Corinthian's answer to that is to yank at the young man in his grip, a neat movement intended to spin him, back-first, against the nearest wall. He moves the knife first.

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.]

[hostage]

[It's far too easy to slam Jesse against the wall. He doesn't bother to struggle against it. He just looks emotionally wearied, really. This looks like it's leading to a stabbing, and that's super unpleasant.]

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.]

[mirrordarkly]

If you return.

[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?]

[hostage]

Well, yeah. You shouldn't mess with a guy when you don't know his powers.

[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.]

[mirrordarkly]

[the nightmare gives a slight, one-shouldered shrug.]

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.]

[hostage]

[As soon as the knife goes away and the dude's grip eases, Jesse slowly raises a hand and presses it to the guy's chest. It's not a shove, really. More of a gentle nudge, a light push to maybe add an inch or two to the space between them. If he gives at all. Otherwise things just got super homoerotic.]

Jesse Pinkman.

[For all the good it does to know a name.]

[mirrordarkly]

[guess things are about to get steamy then, because the Corinthian doesn't seem inclined to move just yet. He looks down a moment, white brows twitching up, before just... ignoring that and looking back at Jesse's face.

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?