Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heisenbitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pineslog2017-05-23 02:41 pm
heisenbitch) wrote in pineslog2017-05-23 02:41 pm
[ OPEN ]
Who: Jesse & OPEN
Where: Jesse's pharmacy & around town
When: May catch-all
What: Digging trackers out of his thigh, covering cameras, picking up chicks, doing art with kids, and getting bored out of his mind while festering in Orwellian paranoia. This town sucks.
Warnings: Nothing major of note so far! Will edit if this changes.
Where: Jesse's pharmacy & around town
When: May catch-all
What: Digging trackers out of his thigh, covering cameras, picking up chicks, doing art with kids, and getting bored out of his mind while festering in Orwellian paranoia. This town sucks.
Warnings: Nothing major of note so far! Will edit if this changes.
â–º BLUE SKY PHARMACY - open
[ Jesse kind of looks a joke, in his baggy dark jeans and his skull t-shirt, his close shaven head, and a white lab coat his boss makes him wear in the pharmacy. The coat is too big on him around the shoulders and the arms, and the cuffs hang halfway over his hands. There are dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, he's pale, the wounds on his face from when he'd woken up in hospital all busted up now fading scars.
With no choice but to keep busy, lest he start losing his mind from paranoia at being all too aware of the goddamn cameras, or losing his mind to boredom, Jesse resumes his jobs around the store: unpacking boxes of cold and flu pills, unpacking brightly coloured packs of period pads onto shelves, restocking boxes of condoms on shelves, signing off on paperwork his boss has left for him to fill out, wiping down shelves with begrudging tiredness… and occasionally slipping out the back door into the alleyway for a smoke whenever his boss ducks out for a coffee or to run an errand. Other times, he's got nothing to do, and he stands around the store looking bored as hell, or wanders around drumming his hands on his thighs or finger drumming on surfaces or doing stupid, restless things like doing wheelies in the wheelchair that people can hire from the store.
The bell over the door rings again as another customer steps into the store. Jesse might be found doing any of the above tasks. ]
â–º AFTER SCHOOL PROGRAMME @ PINES ACADEMY - open
[ It's one thing to feel like a prisoner in some bizarre fucking Twilight Zone pantomime. It's another thing entirely that kids are trapped in this shit. But Jesse tries not to focus on that. In fact, if there's one thing Jesse enjoys the hell out of, it's hanging out with the kids every Wednesday and Friday afternoons, from 5.30 through to 7. He'll take them out into the grounds of the school for skateboarding some weeks, takes them to the woodwork room to show them how to build things other weeks, will set up art supplies in the art room other times.
This week, it's art. He hasn't set up all the art supplies yet, though. Instead, Jesse is standing on one of the tables that he's dragged over to the corner of the room, and he's stretched up on his tiptoes with an art smock that he's trying to reach high enough to hang over the camera. ]
â–º OUT AT NIGHT - open
[ Jesse never really cooks for himself. Microwavable meals and frozen pizzas are about the scope of Jesse's culinary skills. That would mean eating alone, though, in his huge, empty house, surrounded by silence and loneliness while his mind races at a hundred miles an hour. So, most nights, instead of going home from work or from the after school programme at Wayward Pines Academy, he heads into town. He almost always has an agenda to pick up a chick at the bar at some point, someone to take home with him for the night. If he's drunk and desperate enough, it doesn't even have to be a chick. Whatever he can get to fill the hollowed out deadness inside him and kill the endless churning restlessness bottled up inside him.
Some nights, he eats at It's Raining Hen, picking away at fries that he doesn't really feel like eating while slurping on a soda. Sometimes he grabs a meal at Tequila Mockingbird while sitting by the window, and almost always winds up slouched at the bar with a few drinks. Sometimes, he doesn't feel like eating at all and so skips eating altogether to head straight for Weaver's, where the guy who owns the bar is a total jackass but Jesse's chances of picking up someone for the night are higher. ]
â–º DIGGING TRACKERS OUT OF HIS LEG - open
[ The tracker embedded in his leg that Jesse had mistaken for just a weird lump until Laura's announcement to the town the other day feels like a cancer growing inside him. It makes his skin crawl, knowing his every move isn't just being watched but tracked.
And so, in a fit of frustration, morbid curiosity, downright irked in anger, he chugged down half a bottle of booze and took out a surgical blade he'd lifted stealthily from the pharmacy. He grunted in pain as he'd dug the thing out of his thigh, and he'd held up the bloodied, small thing with creeping horror to inspect it. Scrambling off the couch to his feet with an off-kilter sway, he spat in slurred fury, "Eat me, you fucks!" at a camera in the corner of his living room with his jeans down around his ankles, blood running down his inner thigh, and the tracker held up at the camera while flipping the bird with his other hand.
It's the next day now. He's a washed out wreck. And he's limping slightly. The limp is noticeable when he's working in the pharmacy, it's noticeable when he's at the after school programme at the high school that afternoon, and it's noticeable as he slouches into Weaver's that night and grimaces in pain while sliding onto the stool.
And, boy, is he in a cold, withdrawn mood. Not because his leg hurts, but because Laura had been right about the trackers being replaced: when he'd passed out drunk on the couch, he woke up the next morning with a hangover and a new tracker under his skin. ]
no subject
Me too but it won't do much good if you hurt yourself. [She grumbles a little, that sound of someone who cares but is annoyed at the same time.]
Can I help?
[She finally asks, knowing that there is really no way that she can help, but the desire is to strong to keep ignoring. She drops her backpack onto the table next to him and stands directly behind him.]
You almost got it.
no subject
Whatever. It'll have to do. ]
Toldja I got it. Thanks, though. [ And then, retorted with dry triumph up at the camera: ] Bite me.
no subject
I think if a camera could bite we should be worried. [A chill creeps up Clary's spine and she glances around.] Did you get them all? [She's no good at looking for the camera's. Why is this place so weird? It doesn't feel right. Nothing that's been discovered the last few days has felt right.
Clary wishes there was something she could do. She hated the static feeling of just waiting for stuff to happen.]
no subject
[ No point pretending it doesn't feel like they're still being watched. Or who knows, maybe he has got all the cameras, but the ever pervasive feeling of being watched lingers like crackling static in the air no matter what.
The table creaks as he turns around on the spot. He crouches down and jumps to the floor. Now he's eye level with Clary. Or, well, looking down at her a little, with him standing a little taller at 5'8". He flashes her another smile; a thin but warmer, lingering one this time, though it doesn't quite reach his exhausted eyes. The last several days have been playing endlessly on his mind, too, and wreaking havoc with his sleep. A lot of things have been wreaking havoc on his sleep, really. ]
And you're not late, by the way. Programme don't start for like another fifteen minutes. Just need help setting up. Thinking of doing like free style art today. Y'know, painting, drawing, collages, fingerpainting, whatever the kids wanna do. [ He lowers his voice and leans in to add: ] Figure just lettin' 'em draw or paint whatever's on their mind due to the last few days might be good for them.
no subject
That's good. I feel like I've been running around all day. [She looks up at Jesse then, really looks at him. She knows his smile and she can see the tired lines around his eyes. She doesn't remember that being there before.] You doing okay? [Another stupid question. Clary feels like she's full of stupid questions lately. Of course he isn't okay. None of them are but she's at a loss of what to do.]
Free style sounds like a good idea. [She tries to wave away her concern.] I've been drawing everything that comes to mind lately. Just to get it out of my head.
[It's something that Clary does a lot though lately it hasn't work like it had in the past. There is to many conflicting pieces like a puzzle that just isn't meant to be put back together.]
no subject
The deception of all these false memories of this place rattles Jesse to his bones. It reminds him of something from home. Something to do with lies. Something to do with a dawning realisation that someone had lied so profoundly to him that he'd wanted to murder them. God, the memory of that is so hazy, but the feeling is there, and that exact same feeling is what he's been left with at the revelation that all his memories of this town are nothing but lies.
He pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. He nods at what she's saying, fully understanding the need to get stuff out of her head. Speaking of which... ]
Hey, look, d'you wanna, like... Grab a bite to eat or something afterwards? Y'know. Talk?
no subject
His question finally hits her and she blinks.] What? Of course. I'd love too. [Clary pauses feeling a small blush creep into her cheeks.] Food sounds good or something. [Her tone remains light.] I've been living off frozen pizza's for the last few days and a change to that sounds magical.
[She isn't an awful cook but it isn't something she's spent a lot of time doing. Take out has always been Clary's go-to but her slimming funds means that she's been mostly eating frozen dinners or ramen noodles.
Talk. The word feels oddly weighted but she doesn't want to comment on it now. Later, during the talk. Clary wonders if it has to do with those dreams, the trackers. She'd poked at her leg but she hadn't had the nerve to slice into her own calf when she doesn't even know what she's looking for.]