infomodder | ic contact 2 mask or menace

[Yikes. Jesse is treated to a chorus of barks before Will shushes them and moves away so it's not a deafening affair.]

I'm not busy. Weeds'll be there tomorrow. [No questions. Just steady, calm.] Do you have somewhere to meet in mind, or do you want to come up here?

[ The calm tone is reassuring. Sort of. Maybe. Actually, nothing is reassuring right now. ]

I can— uh. I can come to you no problem. [ But here's the kicker, because Jesse is more than certain he's supposed to know where "come up here" is without needing to be told: ] ...Gonna need an address, though.

Edited 2017-09-15 16:35 (UTC)

[Fortunately for Jesse...]

Oh, right. It's [insert address in De Chima here!] ...be ready for a little mess. Nothing atrocious. But we've just moved in...you know how that is. [Boxes being unpacked, things in bags, bits and bobs wrapped in bubbly stuff and plastic. Important things like entertainment over the minor things like gravy boats. The usual.] I'll put some of the dogs in the front yard. So you'll know.

[Some of the dogs. Some. Like three. Three should be good, right?]

[ooc. Apologies for the super slow reply! It's my hiatus month - I can put up a log for them meeting in a couple days, though, if you'd like!]

O-Okay. [ Dogs. Okay. Look for the property with dogs. This dude obviously has... a number of dogs. Would the Jesse this dude is used to make some kind of comment about that? Some kind of joke? Some kind of—?

Actually. Whatever. Jesse tells him, "Be there soon," and ends the call, and then he's grabbing up his car keys and his black jacket and heading out the door. Thanks to having no fucking clue where he is or where he's going, though, it's over an hour before Jesse's yellow Stingray is pulling up outside the address given to him. Jesse climbs out of the car, eyeing the three dogs that have come bounding with barking yaps at the fence while Jesse approaches. The barking is loud, bound to alert whoever is inside the house that someone has arrived.

He stops short of the gate, peering down at the bounding, leaping dogs barking at him. They seem to know him? Maybe? Jesse hesitantly reaches a hand over the gate to give them a pat, two of the dogs trying to lap and lick at his fingers - though, the third dog snarls and snaps at him. Jesse jerks his hand back with an almost comical jolt of surprise and an exclaimed, "Whoa!" Okay, maybe that one doesn't know him. Or it's just super protective. ]

[That third dog would be Charlie, usually an adorable little thing. Her surprise stems from having once considered Jesse Pinkman a favorite, Hers in a way. Her man in the attic. The boyfriend that came and went with no real regularity. He looks and smells right enough that she wants to kiss his face, but not right enough to fool a dog's nose. There is something Wrong with this one. Something Not Her Man. Something that just sets her on edge, this creature wearing her fella's skin like no big deal.]

Hey now! Is that any way to greet a guest?

[Will comes from around the side of the house, dressed down in tattered, dirty jeans and a shirt that's also seen better days. He's tugging holy, muddy gloves off his hands, follows that question up with a whistle. Charlie bounds over to tell Dad just how fucked up her boyfriend smells, and ends up getting those gloves tossed her way. There is some training at play here; she snatches them up and bolts away, presumably to put them in some space they belong. Or, like, just bury them until Will needs them again. Either is fine.

Will crosses the distance with a smile on his face that doesn't seem to fit, doesn't seem something usual on said face but is still friendly enough, and tsks at the other puppers to part so he can open the gate for Jesse.]

Good to see you. Come on in.

[If he looks past, to the front window, Jesse will see a few raccoon faces watching him intently.]

[ Pushing his hand a little anxiously over his shaved head, Jesse's eyes dart up to the dude approaching from the side of the house. So, this is Will Graham, huh? This is... whoever Will is supposed to be to Jesse. A friend? A partner in crime? A confidante? He doesn't know what to make of that smile directed at him, friendly though it seems. Jesse automatically pulls his mouth into a thin, perfunctory smile in return; a smile that doesn't look like it fits on Jesse's face right now. Smiling is the last fucking thing he feels like doing right now. ]

Uh, y-yeah. Thanks. [ And Jesse steps through the gate, hands braced in front of him at the remaining two dogs leaping up at him with tails wagging. That, at least, draws a small but genuine smile out of Jesse, bemused though he is, as he offers them tentative scritches on their heads. It's at that moment that he looks up... and sees the racoons in the window. Oh man, but that's weird, how they're staring at him. That has Jesse stopping in his tracks. His surprise slips out of him before he can stop himself: ]

Whoa, are those... like, pets?

[Will looks back a little longer than necessary to see what Jesse's referring to. He needs a moment to brace, prepare, mentally steel himself for what's bound to happen. Others may tell Jesse bits and pieces, but others are not Will Graham. He must figure out what is and is not necessary to pass along, what this new Jesse needs to know versus what he does not. The Porter would be far too kind to bring him in with all the knowledge of the last, at least regarding futures and the true natures of Mister Whites.]

Those are April's. My wife. [He turns back, his smile the same sort of ill-fitting but friendly enough.] Come meet the gang again.

[There's a wink in his voice as he moves ahead to open the door, the sort of hinting that comes from an older age, a bit of experience. He doesn't want to make this new Jesse feel uncomfortable beneath sky and capable of being seen from the road, no. Better to get anything truly unbearable out somewhere cozy. Somewhere homey.

Dogs bound in, the one who snarled at Jesse giving him a wide distance. Little raccoon faces appear in the hallway to see what all this fuss is about. Jesse might get a whiff of fresh coffee drifting form the kitchen.

Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!]

[ Meet the gang again. And just like that, Jesse suddenly gets a very surreal, uneasy sense of feeling like he's stepped inside someone else's skin, someone who is supposed to be him, yet is someone else entirely at the same time. This, thinks Jesse with gnawing dread twisting about in his stomach as he follows the man up the path towards the house, must be what old people with dementia feel like: Misplaced, unfathomably lost, slotted into some time and place where they know they're supposed to fit in somehow but have no recollection how.

The house he's led into is, at the very least, cosy. Definitely homey. Standing on the other side of the threshold once he enters the door, Jesse gazes around quickly, taking in the warmth and the comforting faint scent of coffee. His gaze falls onto the man, then, and Jesse pinches his lips into a tight, grateful little smile while awkwardly slotting his hands into his jeans pockets. ]

Thanks. Y'know, for meeting me at such short notice. You, uh... [ His gaze drifts off towards the living room, aimless and unsettled, while he tries keeping his tone light and airy. It's not entirely convincing; there's something strained in his voice, like something deep down inside him is trying to choke him with panic, or nerves. ] You got a real nice place. It's all, like, super spacious and homey and... stuff.

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