blowfish | IC CONTACT

[Joel has thought long and hard about how to approach this - there's no good way to do it, he knows that for goddamn sure. 'Sorry I tortured you and would've murdered you if my daughter hadn't shown up'. Yeah, that'd go down well.

But he has to say something, he owes the guy that much. Never let it be said that Joel shies away from doing unpleasant things.]

I don't know your name, but I did a terrible thing to you, and I owe you an explanation - and an apology. [His voice is downright brusque, today, businesslike and detached, very different from the low, terrible anger of a few days ago.]

Yao messed with my head the other day. They do that. They made me forget where I was, so I thought I was somewhere else. With bad people. Real bad people. [He thinks back to Colorado, and almost says evil, though that's not really a word he trucks with much.] I thought you were one of 'em. It's not an excuse, just an explanation. I'm sorry for what I did, for whatever that's worth, and I can promise it won't happen again.

Um, hi. [An unsure pause. She'd rather not start a conversation with 'sorry my dad tried to kill you.'] I just wanted to make sure you're okay. After, um, everything.

[ a little sigh before she begins betrays her bone-deep exhaustion. it's the only tell in vanozza's otherwise unshakeable poise.

many of her hours have been spent looking in on sarah and ellie and the rest with lucrezia. it's wearing in a slow, relentless way that she only feels when she is alone. she has no hours left for herself, though she tries to spare a few minutes for others. like jesse.

friendships are dangerous things to forsake. ]

If I ask if you are well, will I receive an honest answer?

[He does not remember the walk home. He does not remember meeting Doctor Impossible and speaking with him, he does not remember these things because his brain is too saturated with blood. With blood that is not his own, warm and wet and pooling across the ground in a message even vocal than Cecil's usual messages were.

His laboratory coat, his face, his hands, his entire self is baptised in blood. But he does not take a path to the bathroom, to a place where he can wash the night away from him, he instead halts his footsteps in the lounge. He looks, and feels, lost.

His hands seek out the radio and fiddle with the knobs, until the silence and static fill the air around him. Until he is suddenly sat with his head resting against the speakers, letting that static fill his world as he waits. As he waits for a voice that is familiar, that is normal, to come onto the air and reassure him that everything is okay.

But it is not okay.]

[ It's 3.30am, Jesse, and you get a mysterious call. Since the both of you have already spoken on the network, your phone now recognizes his number, and a picture of him should appear as the phone starts to ring. ]

[ It has been a long, long, looooooong day, and the sun is not even all the way to the center of the sky yet. A beautiful spring sun, white and glowing with a carelessly hollow center, and Cecil stares up at it.

It's been a few hours now, since... everything. He knows what he has to do, is determined what he will do. But... He is hesitating still. Because of Jonathan. Because of what Jonathan had said. And getting rid of him after had not been easy, had not be kind, and... Cecil is regretting it now. He is regretting it as he stares up at a cold and empty imperfect sun. And it's only when he stops staring, when he turns around to go back, to find Jonathan, to apologize and remind them both that they are not alone-- that he sees Jesse there. ]

Um...

[ Jesse has lost Carlos also, Cecil remembers; Jesse's face is obscured by a hollow white circle of light. He remembers Jesse is a friend of Carlos's, and Carlos... is gone. At least... Gone for five days. ]

I... Am sorry. I asked you to protect him, but... That was wrong. A scientist is... self-reliant. A scientist is... always fine, so... He did not need either of us protecting him, anyway. I know that, and... I should not have put that kind of impractical and false responsibility on you, his friend.

I'm sorry, Jesse.

Jesse? [ she doesn't wait for him to say anything - just keeps talking. ] Hey, one of the people in my room's gone, so there's this empty bed. And I just... was wondering if you wanted to take it?

You don't have to. It'd just be better if it's you than some stranger. And... then if bad shit happens, we don't have to find each other. [ she's bad at this. she's bad at taking sentimental stuff and making it sound practical, even when it is. really, she just gets nervous when the people she actually gets attached to live 24 houses away. it's kind of why she doesn't get attached in the first place, to be honest. ]

Edited 2014-06-21 09:17 (UTC)

[ crackle crackle ] Jesse? [ once again she fails to wait for a reply. ] The bed in my room's full now... And he's kind of a jerk.

But there's only three people in the room at the other end, and two more people just disappeared from Deadpool's room. I think there's enough room now... I mean, if you still want to come.

[ It's late. Ridiculously late, and Jesse might have had some troubles finding sleep himself with his bunkmate moving around so much down below his bed. It takes Ellie ages to fall asleep in this godforsaken place, much more than the world she came from. And that's saying something. It's different when you're forcibly separated from the man who's protected you for so long, when you felt so safe in the same place as him. Now is a different ballgame, involving people who come from many worlds-- Some more privileged than others. ]

[ But eventually, she got there. Ellie is a restless sleeper, flipping this way and that under her sheets, murmuring, breathing heavily... It's just a part of her. And sometimes, a lot of times, she'll have nightmares. Yet another part of her. ]

[ The darkness of the room is silent, perfectly quite save for her soft noises until finally-- ]

Aaaaaaaaghh get OFF ME!

[ With a shriek, Ellie is forced from her slumber. She sits up fast, even managing to hit her head on the frame of Jesse's bunk above her. She yelps, hunkering forward to grab her head while the rest of her trembles and writhes from the night terror in her mind. She curses under her breath, voice shaken as she rocks back and forth. ]

Who else lives with you in your building?

[ Yes hi Jesse how are you, fine weather we're having, gosh isn't that just swell? ]

[Scientists are solitary. Like the majestic mountain, they exist only within the realms of understanding for some people, are solid and enduring, and sometimes have a snow-capped look about them. Mostly in winter. So Carlos is not used to living with other people, he makes rudimentary mistakes even after a few months. Living with the Faceless Old Woman and preparing to live with Cecil did not prepare him for life in housing block one.

One of the things he still fails to do is knock when the bedroom door is closed.

This is something he regrets now. It is something that he would like to go back and redo. It is something he cannot do because he is incapable of moving backwards through his current linear timeline. It is something he cannot do because his eyes are fixed on Jesse Pinkman's hand. And, more specifically, what is is holding.]

Hello Jesse.

I'd like to apologize for what occurred in the maze. I hope that you were able to find the exit, and are faring well.

[It's hot like the desert (thanks, Cecil, you asshole), which means that Jack is not a happy polar bear. He had thought Haven was hot beforehand, and this is just... it's deathly.

He had made the mistake of going outside, and the sun had nearly made him pass out, which is why he darted into the nearest house and - without thinking - began ripping clothes out of closets and drawers to cover himself with to create more shade from the sun spilling in from the windows.

Hopefully Jesse won't mind coming home to a polar bear hiding in his shirts, pants, and boxer shorts. S'cool, right?]

slides hand up thigh

[Gus' voice is as smooth and even as ever.]

Mr. Pinkman. I've just arrived. Would you meet me inside apartment thirty-seven as soon as you receive this message?

[Not that he knows these phones don't receive voicemails.]

I'd very much appreciate it if you could be prompt.

Edited (fixed the number this.... time...) 2014-10-20 19:40 (UTC)

[In a whisper. Actually, think, raspy voice, an attempted whisper.

Way too fucking loud to be a real whisper.]

Jessica-kuuuuuuuun! J-Jessica-kun!

[right after this, because hiruma likes covering bases.]

Dunno why you're hanging out with kids, but I ain't here to ask questions. Some peewee named Clementine's in some shit, mouth of the subway tunnel.

She asked for you specifically, better make it quick.

[he just hung up on you..........]

Oh! Looks like the sky put the fire out for you.

[And now, since he's not with somebody else:]

Why'd you do it? Did you want to make a scene? Hah! You could have just pulled your pants down.

Edited 2014-11-09 00:56 (UTC)

[Gus doesn't wait for Jesse to answer.]

Mr. Pinkman.

Would you mind explaining what you were thinking to me?

[It takes everything in him to keep the panic at bay. Wade's tried his entire life to cut himself off from his emotions; to keep I feel completely separate from I am. He succeeded in some fashion when he was on a job, but those feelings were always still present, simmering below the surface. This was the first time he'd ever been completely devoid, like a switch inside his heart had suddenly been turned off. And like a man stricken with thirst is in risk of becoming violently ill when he drinks too much, the sudden influx of emotions, after days of feeling absolutely nothing, threatens to completely overtake him.

He needs to see Jesse. That's the one thing that prevents him from holing himself up in a secluded place and dealing with this on his own. He needs to find out if things are still all right between them.

So it's with no small amount of trepidation that he finds himself knocking on the door to the room that he and Jesse share, probably looking just about as nervous and anxious as he feels.]

Jesse? You in here?

Jesse.

[ From her demeanor, it isn't immediately obvious that she had to work up the courage to just talk to him. But she did. He's her housemate, someone she gets on with well, but not anyone she'd call a friend... yet. Maybe. Friendship is tricky, sometimes.

Still. She digresses. There was a point to this sudden conversation. ]

When's your birthday?

[With no context:]

You shameless bastard!

[takes a while for people to clear out, longer than hiruma thought; a whole day of waiting in the backdrop of a busied block one. it's late evening now, maybe not the best time, but there's no chances left to put it off, telling himself to go later, when the dust settles. that there hasn't been a good opportunity.

maybe i shouldn't bring this up at all.

but he's there now, much to his fleeting dismay, and he eases the door open before nerves fray enough to force him back and away.]

You in here?

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)

[in one hour, hiruma figures it out.

a very, very long hour spent waiting with a deflating football and the erratic tap of his boot's toe.

it's their designated time for play, sheltered away the housing block in an open sandpit by the church. it's a time jesse doesn't miss; hasn't ever missed (unless they missed it together). all work and no play was never a motto they could abide by. unlike many of the others, they're not people who can spend days on end poring over a whiny network—people have been dropping into storage like flies, and that's not a pleasant wake-up call.

really, he should have fucking known. but for all the time jesse's been here, after a year of waiting, hiruma was always under the impression that he himself would be the first to go. he didn't have a reason to think that. it was just a feeling he always had. maybe it was simply irrational worry keeping him awake at night. maybe he's outstayed his world-hopping welcomes.

maybe.

hiruma doesn't cry, when he can't find jesse's picture on his phone.

he doesn't do much of anything, at first, after the second scroll-through; the third; the sixth. it's only when he shuts the phone on the tenth, does something seem to grab him violently—the very cold hand of realism clamps down with a bitter force on the back of his neck, bringing an overwhelming nausea into his gut, and before long he clues into his shock.

the strong tremor in his hands forces him to drop the communicator, the football, and the façade.

no.

no, no, no.

wide eyes dart down, down, down to the scar on the back of his hand that looks like it's a mile away from his face. past the rapid rise and fall of his chest as the hysterics set in and the panic attack holds him in place like he's a rat caught on a glue board. the more he struggles to keep calm and think about this with a level head, the heavier his breathing gets.

Together or bust.

there's something to be said about bending until you snap back.

to strip himself clean of how hard his soul's been rattled (another one, god no, not this one, not jesse—it's not fair, he's worked so hard and seen so many people disappear or die, it's not fair his whole life has been just out of his reach), he reaches to slam his fist through the stained glass window of the church, knuckles splitting as colour rains down an absolute mockery of an ashy face. the other digs into asphalt and dust where his knee drops, nails scraping when there's nothing to throw, nothing to hit but brick wall and ground.

he wants to pick himself up and shake himself off, but the mantra comes out as a yell against unforgiving dirt, pressing gravel into his forehead.

You're a good reason to keep my shit together.

("i don't cry," hiruma's always replied to the ones who've believed to the contrary, trying to make his business theirs. "i never need to.")]

Edited 2015-04-10 19:47 (UTC)

voice; after the medicine is distributed;

voice;

audio.

[action] : backdated to after Cecil's death

video! in the dead of night

[ action ]

voice.

forward-dated until drops are processed, via walkie talkie so here's hoping he's got it turned on

action; JUST GONNA SPAM YOU FOREVER.

voice; idk backdated a few days probably

backdated to before the event oh god what are we doing

audio/voicemail

action; BEFORE THE EVENT OMG SO LATE OR EARLY WHATEVER

no subject

voice;

no subject