blowfish | IC CONTACT

In the month that had followed Wade's not-so-glorious return to the land of the sober, things had been relatively quiet for a while, if a bit tense for all involved. The mass revelation of the existence of storage still hung over everyone like a bad smell, but it was more than that. For the first time since he'd first started amassing real friends in Haven, Wade once again felt like he was the odd duck out. The feeling was an uncomfortably familiar one-- there was a certain electricity in the air; a dread that something was about to happen.

He remembered it from his days back home, when his (temporary) allies and colleagues would look upon him with apprehension and a vague suspicion, as if dealing with a wild animal that was only chained, never completely tamed. He feels that now, in his own housing block-- the feeling that most of the inhabitants are tiptoeing around him (or, in the case of Hiruma, watching him like a hawk to gauge when-- not if-- he would fuck up again) and it was definitely not a feeling he welcomed.

The noises would be audible even to someone outside of the housing block. They're desperate, scrambling sounds-- sounds of either a struggle or of someone tearing the place apart in an attempt to to find something. If Jesse were to follow the disturbing cacophony to its source, he would find the apartment he and Wade share in utter shambles. Once-made beds are unmade again, drawers are pulled haphazardly out and left there. In the center of all of this mess stands Wade, his hand to his head, his posture tense and almost trembling; the very picture of a man who is at the end of his rope.

Edited 2015-03-27 20:23 (UTC)

For Jesse's part, it's been difficult to get the conversation with Hiruma out of his head. No matter which way he tries to look at it, the guy had made a couple of irrefutable points, which put him in the difficult position of having to approach Wade for the second time about a topic he'd rather let alone.

So, he's been procrastinating. With the sound of a loud ruckus coming from their room, it vanishes from his mind completely. Eyebrow quirking, he pushes the door open with a good deal of apprehension.

... it's like a bomb went off in here. Jesse frowns, both at the mess and at himself for that mother-like internal commentary. He takes a tentative step inside-- closes the door behind him on second thought, quietly.

"Wade, what the hell?" Despite phrasing, it's not the least bit sharp. He sees that tremble and it worries him. "What's goin' on?"

Wade is not a man to startle easily, most of the time. It comes from seeing what he's seen, living what he's lived, and being trained at a rather young age not to let your enemies take you by surprise. There are a few exceptions-- he's crazy and scatterbrained, after all-- and sometimes he's too deep into his own head to realize when someone's coming up behind him.

Like right now. Jesse's voice is gentle enough, and yet the sudden sound of it causes Wade to jump almost a foot in the air; causes him to attempt exaggerated gestures of nonchalance after the fact.

"N-Nothin'. Nothin'. Just... think I might've misplaced something, y'know? Between the newcomers and all the shit that's been happening in the past month or so, it's hard to keep track of your stuff sometimes. It's okay, though. I'll find it myself."

He's not used to being able to sneak up on Wade either. Jesse tilts his head to the side, shoulders slouching.

"Are you, uh, sure you don't need a hand?" He gestures to the disarray spread everywhere. "I mean, are we still gonna have a room to sleep in tonight if I leave you to it?"

Still gentle with his tone, he takes another step in and scans the area. Had to be something important.

Edited (words) 2015-03-30 17:36 (UTC)

...Oh. Right. He has made a bit of a mess, hasn't he. Wade casts a glance around the room, silently taking in the utter chaos before returning his gaze to Jesse's with an awkward chuckle.

"...Uh. Yeah. Guess I got a little carried away, didn't I? Don't worry, I'll clean up afterwards. Just... kinda gotta find what I'm looking for first, yeah?"

There's a certain sick desperation in his laugh this time.

Now his curiosity's getting the best of him along with a certain amount of concern. He drifts over to where Wade is standing, watching him, but not too carefully, lest he give off the impression that he knows something is up.

"You'll find it faster with someone helpin' you look."

Hint hint.

....Shit. Wade swallows convulsively-- this was exactly what he was afraid of ever since Jesse walked into the room to see what was wrong. Panic stirs at his stomach. No matter what, Jesse can't find out. He waves him away with forced nonchalance, making a show of bending down to look under the bed so that he doesn't have to look at Jesse's face.

"Nah, I'll be fine. I'm the only one who knows what I'm lookin' for, anyway. Shouldn't be too hard to find it-- I've got a few places in mind after this. Thanks for offerin', though."

Why would he not want anyone else to know what he was looking for? Jesse silently picks through the possible explanations and folds his arms over his chest. Normally, after receiving such a blatant tell, he'd back off and let Wade tend to his private business.

It's just that...

Hiding stuff, wanting to keep it secret, desperate to find it when it goes missing to the point of tearing up the room? Red flags for a relapsing addict's behavior.

"Uh huh. So this stuff nobody else can help you find, or know about-- how many glasses do ya think you'll have when you get it back?"

It's as though all the blood in his body has turned to ice. His heart bounces up somewhere inside his throat, and in a complete reflexive reaction, Wade jerks his head up to look at Jesse and thumps his head a damn good one on the underside of the bed.

"Wha-- ow! Fuck!"

He rises to his feet, clutching his head, where he has no doubt there'll be a pretty nasty goose egg for the next few minutes or so. He can't really fault Jesse for coming to this conclusion-- how could he? Jesse had only recently dragged Wade up from rock bottom, and that sort of addiction didn't just go away within a few days of someone finding out about it. Wade can feel the thirst even now-- faint but monstrously potent, like the first few days before a full-blown attack of the flu. His tongue darts out to lick his lips-- a nervous habit-- as he thinks of the bottle hidden underneath the floorboards; that seductive ambrosia that calls to him even now.

Wade's voice is conciliatory; contrite.

"Listen, I know this looks incredibly sketch right now, but it's not what you think, I swear! I just--"

He breaks off before he can reveal anything more. "There's just... something that I really need to find right now. That's all."

What a weird role reversal situation for Jesse, stone cold sober and slinging accusations. The only thing preventing him from being in Wade's position is that his poison of choice is no longer available to him.

While he understands, he can't let Wade do this to himself again, not when he just got him back. If that makes him a hypocrite, and a selfish one at that, fuck it. He'll be a selfish hypocrite. He frowns at Wade when he rises up (that thunk on the head had to hurt) and tacks on the same spiel.

"C'mon, man, I used to run this game all the time. Gimme a little credit. You think I don't know exactly what withdrawal feels like?"

A challenging step closer.

"When you do find the last of it, you better toss it."

IC CONTACT

[Action]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject