cape_kore | video

[ Jesse lets himself in easily enough, and heads to the kitchen. Seeing Pinkman for real gives him a similar feeling - shit, it's only been two days, but Jesse had been getting used to having him around. Used to having him as a friend. Pinkman had been one of the first people he'd actually befriended, here.

So when Pinkman looks up at him, the first thing Jesse does is set down his booze and punch Pinkman in the arm. ] Fucker, don't let 'em take you anywhere again. [ He says, angrily, and then - disregarding the scissors and water bottle entirely, wraps his arms around Pinkman and hugs the hell out of him.

And from Pinkman's shoulder, muffled: ] No homo. Asshole.

Hey, whoa! [ Jesse yells out and jumps that step away when Finch punches at him, rubs his arm deliberately and starts to move to lean back against the counter. ] Cool it, man, I thought we were-

[ And he flinches away initially, instinctively, when his voice cuts off. He can't remember the last time he's been hugged- no, it was months ago, Brock, after he was okay. It's all he can think about when his free arm finally wraps around Finch's back, and he bangs a fist two times on Finch's back as comforting as he can manage. ] Yeah, yeah, just don't pop nothin' while you're huggin' me like this, I know ya gotta restrain yourself.

Edited 2013-06-05 01:47 (UTC)

Shut up. [ Jesse grumbles, holding Pinkman more tightly. Yeah, he knows dudes don't hug, whatever, but he missed Pinkman and he's going to hug him. He can't handle losing more friends. It takes him a few moments to pull away, but when he does, he sniffs once and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away. ]

Cool it on the gay jokes, alright, I'm fuckin' serious. I know yer gonna get all fuckin' - whatever [ And he pulls his hand out of his pocket to wave it around ] but just take it, for once. Least dirty way possible.

Just glad you're back, is all. [ Casual sniff, and he leans against the counter, not looking at Pinkman. ]

[ Jesse gives a half of a laugh, a huff of a thing, before he looks up at Finch properly and, oh, he means business. And the smile slips right off Jesse's face, replaced with something quite a bit guiltier. ]

Sorry, man. [ He ducks his head as he says it, wrinkles his nose as he turns the scissors in the bottle to widen the hole. He keeps working on whatever he's doing, doesn't look up again as he stabs another hole into the bottle. ] Hell yeah, bitch, back in business.

[ He waits a beat before he speaks up again, offhandedly, ] Kinda think I missed it.

[ Jesse sighs at that, wishing he had something to thunk his head against. He usually doesn't mind, and it bothers him now that it bothers him. Whatever it is, Pinkman's apology soothes his uneasiness a little, and he squirms, waving his hand again. Don't worry about it. It's fine. He'll get over it.

And after that beat, Jesse looks up, with a weary sort of smile. ] Yeah? You said you was gone months.

... S'probably much calmer here than it was at home, huh? [ Jesse doesn't know much, but he can imagine meth dealers don't have quiet lives. ]

Yeah. [ Jesse doesn't look up at Finch for a moment as he turns the bottle over, flips on his lighter to burn a bubble into the plastic on the side of the thing. ] Almost half a year.

[ He's quiet for a few long seconds as he thinks it over, eyes flickering to Finch once or twice, almost guilty like his look from before. Calmer. Yeah. That was one word for it. It's a long debate before he speaks again, and it's after he blows away the smoke from the water bottle. He leans up against the counter and something clunks - he clutches at something at the small of his back and tugs his shirt down further. Doesn't really explain a thing. ]

Robbed a train.

[ Half a year. Jeeze. Just like Kenzi - she'd been gone for about the same, Jesse thinks. The silence doesn't bother him, not much, because he's too busy watching Pinkman MacGyver the shit out of the water bottle. Is that a bong? Because if it is, Jesse's impressed. And also maybe a bit fidgety.

That clunking noise is suspicious too, and Jesse jumps, slightly, not expecting it. And that...

A beat. ] Wait, y'did what? [ He'll be getting back to that clunking noise in a minute, but first: ] You robbed a train? Y'can't just say that and not explain.

[ Yeah, he picks up on that, his eyes moving to Finch again. He stops making his monstrosity for now. ] Yo, it's just weed, okay? They just Doc Brown'd my ass, I got, like- [ He waves a hand around. ] Like, anxiety.

[ And he ducks his head a little, mashing a square of aluminum foil into one of the holes on the water bottle. Technically, it's a bowl. ] I'm off the crystal.

[ But the second bit, he's getting to it, it gets a grin, something at the corners. ] Yeah? Like Jesse James. [ His grin springs full out then. ] Why, you want details?

Edited 2013-06-05 18:56 (UTC)

I ain't saying nothing! [ Jesse says defensively. He probably would've if it was meth, though, so Pinkman's justified, really. Jesse doesn't have a problem with weed (he's actually concerned about that anxiety bit) and he's really, really glad to hear that Pinkman's off the crystal. It relieves him a little, and he relaxes, with a small sniff.

Look, maybe he mumbles something like fucking good under his breath while he shifts against the counter, but whatever. He's not judging, he's really not, and he'd never tell Pinkman to stop.

As for the train: ] -- Dude, fuck yeah. [ Okay, okay, he grins at that. Pinkman's is infectious. ] C'mon. Tell me, I wanna hear all about it, you crazy wild west motherfucker.

[ And Jesse hears it, stiffens in the slightest and pauses what he's doing, but he doesn't call attention to it, just starts moving his hands again, keeping busy, keeping busy. He's not gonna think about how long it's gonna take him to traipse back to the blue again, and he's really not going to think about who it was that put that thought in his head in the first place. ]

[ In fact he's still grinning, shakes his head a little as he methodically tapes down the foil, nods along. ] All right, all right. So-

[ He hesitates again, wondering why the fuck he's telling this story considering what went into it, the consequences that they'd already run through from the idea that nobody else could've known about this heist. And now he's blabbing it to Finch? But it feels kind of like he should. ]

So, like- Methylamine. Hard to come by, real hard, New Mexico's dry as shit and we kinda need it, for, [ and he waves a vague hand, as if the gesture means, you know, cooking meth, ] well, anyway. [ He's at the last step of his project, starts to rummage in his pockets for- there it is, his weed, and he unrolls the bad with one fell swoop. ] Major rap, can't let anyone know we took this. We're talkin' watering down the methylamine so's we don't clue anyone off at the weigh stations and everything. Switch it out with hoses and everything, [ and he holds the bag and the bottle in one hand so he can snap with the other a few times, ] quick, quick, quick.

[ He has to admit: This is pretty exhilarating to talk about. ] So we block the tracks, get the pumps goin', switch everything out and, [ he snaps one final time for emphasis, ] bang, bang, everything falls into place, we get straight out in the nick'a time. [ He looks up at Finch finally, eyebrows raised. ] Yo, I was layin' on the train tracks when the thing took off. Close motherfuckin' call.

[ Really, who is Finch going to tell? He knows better, anyway. If someone from Pinkman's universe came around Kore, Jesse would keep his mouth shut, because he might not be a dealer himself but he's sure as fuck dealt with them before. He knows how risky this shit is, and how much trouble Pinkman could get in if he told.

So he listens. Watches Pinkman as he finishes getting the bag and bottle together, hands still in his pockets. Telling it is exhilarating and listening is pretty intense as well, and Jesse can stop the half grin on his face. It really is wild west, or even Ocean's Eleven, all sorts of big-time heist. And Pinkman sounds so entirely convincing that even if he were lying (and Jesse doesn't think he is) it'd still be entirely believable. ]

Jesus fuck, man. [ Jesse says, with a low whistle. ] So I was right, much calmer here. Whatta badass, you. [ No, seriously, feel free to preen a little, Pinkman, because he does really sound impressed! It's super cool. And because he REALLY can't help it: ] So like, did you lose an asscheek in this heist or something? Cause your ass hitting the counter shouldn't be makin' a metallic clanking sound unless you got a literal ass of steel.

[ And he is raking in the pride for a moment or two, even gives a bit of a laugh when Finch calls him a badass, shrugs his shoulders like 'what can you do?'. ]

[ It doesn't get to last very long, his smile slowly fading off his face when he asks about the noise, and Jesse almost instinctively clutches at the gun again to make sure it's still there, tucked safely back there where the motherfuckers left it, left him - why here? Why leave it with him? Was he going to need it? Or was it just to taunt him for whatever reason? Jesse's a deer in the headlights for a split second before he looks down at the bowl in his hands, with an incredibly unconvincing, ] What? No -

[ Kind of telling when he doesn't even join in on the joke, and Jesse busies himself with packing the foil for a moment, doesn't look up at Finch for those long few seconds until his thumb is pressing down the weed into the makeshift screen and - he sets the bottle and the bag aside, reaches back into his waistline and sets the gun onto the counter without a word. ]

[ His jaw works as he does, but he just picks up the bottle again and starts to light up. He asks in a croak after another beat, a few small tendrils of smoke making their ways out of his mouth, ] You want any?

[ Oh - Jesse doesn't mean to cause that sort of reaction, and he bites at his lip when Pinkman's quiet and edgy about it. Maybe he should've left it alone.

But it's a gun. Pinkman has a gun, and Jesse looks down at it for a moment, just taking it in. Taking it seriously. Alright - alright. One deep breath, inhale and exhale, then he reaches for the bottle of vodka to take the cap off and take a drink. And then he looks up at Pinkman, and settles back down against the counter, raising his eyebrows a little. It's alright. He doesn't mind - it just means that Pinkman has a way to protect himself, and Jesse's glad for that.

He'll also make grabby hands for that bottle. ] Fuck yeah I want some. [ He gets that anxiety problem, Pinkman. ] Don't freak out. I don't give a shit that you got a gun, and I ain't gonna tell anybody. [ So just. Trust him on this one. ]

[ There's an immediate moment of panic that occurs to him between putting the gun down and Finch's actual response to it - fight or flight, like Finch's just going to take off right there - it's a gun, it's a gun, and that means something incredibly heavier to Jesse than it might to a lot of other people, the feeling of something like that in his hand and the weight of the kind of consequences that thing carries and - ]

[ He's overthinking it. He's overthinking it and there's a line in his shoulders that physically and obviously unwinds when Finch speaks up again, a knot that releases. ]

[ Jesse passes the bowl over, his lighter too, and finally spews out a stream of smoke, planting his hands on either side of him on the counter. He doesn't answer right away, just beats his fingers against the edge to some nameless tune before he blurts out, ] Hate 'em. I hate 'em. I fuckin' hate 'em.

[ He gets it, though. He definitely would've run if it had been a knife, he gets it, and when Pinkman gets that out, Finch blows the smoke in his lungs out in front of him. Fuck, that - feels good. It calms him down, eases him up just a little bit. ]

Yeah - yeah. [ Jesse reassures, looking at him solemnly. ] S'alright - s'alright to hate 'em. I don't like knives. [ He wishes he could touch without feeling like he's making Pinkman uncomfortable. The urge is pretty strong and he has to put the bowl and lighter down after a second inhale to shove his hands back in his pockets. How do people comfort other people without touching? Fuck. ]

S'alright, I get it.

[ Knives, yeah, that's a pretty fuckin' understandable one so far as Finch goes - it's not like it's been so long that he's forgotten what happened, even with going home. It's not something that's gonna be leaving him any time soon. ]

[ But he still sighs, goes a little boneless, some kind of relief when Finch tells him it's all right - you can hate them - and it's just such a regular part of the world he used to be in, so understood in a way that he can't wrap his damn mind around. He snatches up the bottle of vodka and shakes his head as he pushes himself up onto the counter, parks himself a seat there and asks hesitantly before he takes a swig: ]

You ever used one?

[ Well, if Pinkman's going to sit, Jesse will too. He pushes himself up onto the counter as well with a sigh, leaning back on his hands. Has he ever used a knife? He has to think about it. ]

Mm. Once. Didn't - actually do anything with it, but. [ Just a pocket knife, and just once. He'd grown accustomed to keeping one on him while living in New York, if only because of the frequent muggings. But he'd never actually stabbed anyone. ] Y'live in New York and work late nights, and y'learn to defend yourself real quick, no matter how much ink you got. [ He sniffs, once, pushing his hoodie sleeves up. He's gonna smell like weed and he knows Galen's gonna know, but he doesn't care right now. It's pretty tame. ] Why?

[ He meant a gun, technically, but he'll take either or - they're both weapons, they're both intended for one very specific and sole purpose. It's the same idea and he takes it as such. Jesse swallows a healthy amount of vodka, holding back a cough and setting the back of his hand against his mouth when he does. It's been a while since he's frequented harder liquor; he's gotten to accustomed to beer. ]

No reason, [ he replies at first, and then, sarcastically, with a smile that's so forcibly smug, ] Conquering all our fears together. [ In the meantime he's going to lean over and pluck that bowl right back, shake his head as he sets the vodka back down and takes himself another long drag of weed. He fully intends on getting motherfucking wasted as fast as he can. ]

Thinkin', [ he finally concludes, almost honestly. ] Just thinkin'.

[ That is definitely a no. Jesse's not even sure he's actually held a gun in his hands before. He actually sort of laughs at that, conquering our fears, and immediately reaches for the vodka when Pinkman puts it down. Yeah, wasted sounds good.

Jesse's in the same boat - he's used to beer, or at least, he had been before Kore. Now he's been almost exclusive with the vodka and whiskey. It burns and it feels good at the back of his throat, and he coughs a little, rubbing at his face. ]

Shouldn't do that. Thinking's shitty. [ Jesse mutters. For Finch, thinking means dwelling. ] Half the time I don't wanna think at all. [ A beat, and then he takes another swig of vodka and points vaguely at Pinkman. ] Don't think about guns. Don't do that t'yourself.

Yeah, no kiddin'.

[ He agrees at first - thinking is pretty shitty, and for Jesse, it's about the same, thinking being a whole downward spiral sort of thing for him as of late. Habits he's gotta start breaking. He scrapes the ash out of the foil and starts to sort out filling it again, shaking his head slowly as he goes along. ]

[ Because it's the latter bit that he doesn't quite agree with, can't bring himself to get to that plane of existence just yet. He'll stop thinking about guns and why he's needed one as of late when he's good and high. Or maybe he won't. His response is passively carefree, if not for the half a hitch in his voice when he starts off. ] Hey, man, why not? Good a thing as any.

[ Oh, come on, Pinkman, not even half an hour into talking and you're making Finch scowl? Jesse looks up at Pinkman and gives him a look. ]

You gonna make me yell at you again, motherfucker? [ He takes another swig of vodka to emphasize that point. Pinkman's not the only one who wants to get wasted as quickly as possible. He will trade Pinkman the vodka for the bowl when he's finished, though. ] Right now? Right this fuckin' moment. You don't gotta worry. Torturing yourself about it is just gonna hurt.

[ He brings his fingers up to his mouth, gnawing at his cuticles. ] You don't gotta answer. But what thoughts you got going on right now?

Yell all ya want, hombre, I ain't gonna make ya quit what ya love. [ He takes another quick pull off it before he hands the bowl over to Finch, ducks his head a little and bangs his fist a couple times against his chest before he speaks in a flurry of smoke. ] You wanna slow your roll there? You're startin' to sound like rehab.

[ It's not even like he means any of it. He just doesn't know what to do with himself anymore, when he's shown concern. He doesn't know the first way to begin to approach it. ]

[ He turns his head to the side when Finch asks his question, a little jerkily before his expression reads too quickly on his face. There's something about guns, something about that feeling in his hands when he holds one, but it's like all he can see is Gale fucking Boetticher's face. He's not bringing that up here. Not with Finch. He's not sure if he just thinks the guy hasn't earned half his stories or if he just doesn't want to tell them, damned if they prove to be too much. ]

Thinkin'- [ He keeps his head turned away, takes a swig off the vodka again before he finishes his thought. He can already feel a buzzing sensation start to creep in from the edges, and it's nice, it's comforting. ] Think I want a dog. I wish I could get a dog.

Yeah, well, fucking rehab ain't the piece of shit y'make it out to be. [ Jesse bitches, but he just takes another swig of vodka and drops it. Fine. Give him that bowl, he's going to angrily take a drag.

Of course, it's hard to stay angry. Jesse breathes out the smoke up at the ceiling, watching Pinkman idly from the side - and don't think he doesn't catch the start of that expression. He doesn't bring it up, because Pinkman's already cagey enough. Maybe he shouldn't pick at this shit. It's not like it gets him anywhere - it's not like the people he's poking at appreciate it. And that just makes him want more to drink, really, because what's one more thing he's awful at?

He takes another deep drag. Better.

Jesse flops back, laying out flat on the counter, legs hanging off the edge. It's uncomfortable as hell. Gonna petition for the couch in a second here. ] You could get a dog. [ Jesse says, staring up at the ceiling. ] What's stoppin' you?

It ain't- [ No, he's not even pressing into that. He just bites down hard on his tongue and swears under his breath, touches a finger to his mouth to make sure he's not bleeding. He is, a little. Whatever. ]

[ He's got bigger concerns here, better start containing himself fast before he really bubbles over and makes a mess of everything. Makes a fool of himself, well, he's done that enough in his life and he ain't about to start a track record with Finch. ] Used to have one when I was younger, Lucy. She got hair all over the couches, the parents kinda up and, [ 'psh' is about the noise he makes, jerks a thumb to the side to mime her getting kicked out. ] Liked her though. I just-

[ He lets the vodka bottle clunk onto the counter before he finally looks ahead, leaning forward a little and heavily onto his hands. ] I forget a lot, ya know? Like bills.

[ And it's here he finally looks at Finch, swallows tightly before he speaks up again. ] Like my aunt, she used to have ta take these meds, every day, every day, [ and he picks up a hand and snaps his fingers with it for emphasis, ] and I'd try to remind her but, every day? Hell no. I'd forget all the time. How do I know I ain't gonna forget to, like, feed a damn dog? Like, every day?

[ He listens, watching quietly from where he's flopped out. He can feel it starting to sink in, the vodka and the weed, and the haze is nice. But he's still attentive. He can still listen, because honestly? He's starting to think Pinkman doesn't ever have anybody to do even just that, the way he talks. ]

You got a dog in your house, you ain't gonna forget t'feed it. [ Jesse tells him, squinting. ] That dog's gonna love you t'death. S'what dogs do. [ He pushes himself up with some effort, and that rush of blood makes him all sorts of dizzy. He grips at the counter almost in irritation, steadying himself, and then gestures in the direction of the living room. ]

C'mon. Couch. [ He slips off the counter clumsily, and pauses to look at Pinkman. ] ... You could do it, man. S'different than pills - how long ago was it with your aunt, huh, that recent, forgetting the meds?

-- You could do it. It don't matter.

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