Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
has_nothing) wrote2013-08-31 08:29 am
has_nothing) wrote2013-08-31 08:29 am
Poison for people who don't care
The weed, he usually smokes on his own.
The coke, he does with T.J.
The crystal... he's got a couple of guys that he usually hangs out with. Locals. It's not the same as it was with Skinny and Badger, they're just guys he met through his dealer. If he sees them around, sometimes they'll shoot the shit and go smoke a bowl or two, no big. At least until one weekend, when he hears something.
He's at this guy Posse's house. Jesse's got no idea what his real name is; they call him Posse because someone said once he was big enough to be his own posse and it just stuck or something. Either way, Jesse's sitting on the guy's couch as he pulls out a teenth of crystal, and he frowns.
"Yo, so what's up with Roofer?" Jesse asks, because not being able to get into contact with the guy-- he's been holding about half an ounce for him-- is pretty much why he's at Posse's in the first place, "You know his phone's just gone right the voicemail the past few days, right?"
Posse's measuring out enough for a bowl and he pauses. "You didn't hear? He's dead, man. A couple of days ago. He just fell out, like right in the middle of this club. It was crazy as hell."
"What?" Jesse asks, and even though this isn't even near the same thing, the first thing he thinks about is Combo and that corner he never should have been on in the first place. But this is different, because as far as he knows, neither Posse or Roofer never really sling anything. They're like Jesse is right now, just using every once in a while.
Though, once in a while is becoming more often for Jesse than he wants to admit.
"Do they know why? I mean, people just don't die for no reason, you know?" Jesse asks, and he's feeling a little sick to his stomach about it.
"I don't know, I think he probably ODed or something," Posse says, and he blows out smoke as he passes the pipe over to Jesse.
He smokes up. He forgets, at least for a while. He figures it's shitty, but Roofer probably should have been more careful, should have paid attention to how much he'd had. That's like, one of the most important rules.
There's a funeral, but Jesse doesn't go. He didn't know Roofer all that well anyway, as messed up as the whole thing is. He even stops using for a few days, and figures it's probably best to just let that half an ounce go that Roofer owed him, what with the guy being dead and all. At least, until he gets a call that some guy, this Diego Novoa guy with one of the local gangs wants to talk to him. Jesse's heard of Lobos Locos and all, but he stays way the hell out of all that. There's no way he's about to get into any of that shit again after the last time.
He goes to the meet though, only because this Diego guy says he's got Jesse's glass and just wants to make good on the purchase. It's maybe a little weird, but it seems pretty on the up and up.
Two guys with neck tattoos let him into the back room of this sandwich place on Crestview, and for all intents and purposes, it looks pretty much like it's supposed to. Maybe Jesse is expecting something like Tuco's set up, pile of meth on the desk, big ass safe in the corner, but it's not like that at all.
"You Diego?" Jesse asks the guy behind the desk, a Cuban dude with slicked back hair and a tattoo that Jesse can't make out peeking out of the sleeve of his jacket.
"Hay, que rico," he replies, amused, even as Jesse's trying to get a read on the guy. But he reaches into his desk drawer just after that and pulls out a bag of glass. It's cloudy just like every other time Jesse's seen meth in Darrow, but by now, he's figured that's about as good as it's bound to get here. There's no Heisenburg, and by now, Jesse's come to the conclusion that that's a good thing.
Diego tosses the bag to Jesse, and he catches it, turning it over in his hands to get a look before pocketing it.
"Heard that was yours, compadre," Diego says, "And I'm not in the business of fucking over customers. Especially not because some idiot couldn't fucking moderate."
It's a pretty harsh way to put it, but by now, Jesse knows to keep his opinions about that shit to himself. Especially not when he doesn't really know what this Diego guy's deal is. He probably shouldn't have shown up here in the first place.
"He had family I think," Jesse replies, and hates that he can't remember whether or not Roofer did or not. He might've mentioned it a couple of times, but usually they were all in the middle of something already, "It's pretty sad. He was an okay guy. Guess some people are better off just... in a program or something if they can't handle it."
"Just a bad batch," Diego replies, and Jesse frowns, wondering if he's heard him right, "It happens."
"...what do you mean?" Jesse asks, and he knows he's pressing his luck, but it sounds like maybe this wasn't as much of an accident as it might've seemed at first. Did they, like, know before it happened?
Jesse's waiting for an answer, but in that moment, it looks like Diego's hospitality has run out. He makes a show of reaching into his desk drawer, pulling out a gun and placing it on the desk, and he may look like he's trying to be all nonchalant about it, but Jesse knows when he's being told to fuck off.
"Hey, you got your glass," he says, "now bounce, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, right. Sorry. My bad," Jesse says, "Thanks for the crystal."
He turns. He leaves, past the neck tattoo guys and out the door, his hand wrapped around the stash in his jacket pocket, but he knows he's sure as hell not about to use it.
The coke, he does with T.J.
The crystal... he's got a couple of guys that he usually hangs out with. Locals. It's not the same as it was with Skinny and Badger, they're just guys he met through his dealer. If he sees them around, sometimes they'll shoot the shit and go smoke a bowl or two, no big. At least until one weekend, when he hears something.
He's at this guy Posse's house. Jesse's got no idea what his real name is; they call him Posse because someone said once he was big enough to be his own posse and it just stuck or something. Either way, Jesse's sitting on the guy's couch as he pulls out a teenth of crystal, and he frowns.
"Yo, so what's up with Roofer?" Jesse asks, because not being able to get into contact with the guy-- he's been holding about half an ounce for him-- is pretty much why he's at Posse's in the first place, "You know his phone's just gone right the voicemail the past few days, right?"
Posse's measuring out enough for a bowl and he pauses. "You didn't hear? He's dead, man. A couple of days ago. He just fell out, like right in the middle of this club. It was crazy as hell."
"What?" Jesse asks, and even though this isn't even near the same thing, the first thing he thinks about is Combo and that corner he never should have been on in the first place. But this is different, because as far as he knows, neither Posse or Roofer never really sling anything. They're like Jesse is right now, just using every once in a while.
Though, once in a while is becoming more often for Jesse than he wants to admit.
"Do they know why? I mean, people just don't die for no reason, you know?" Jesse asks, and he's feeling a little sick to his stomach about it.
"I don't know, I think he probably ODed or something," Posse says, and he blows out smoke as he passes the pipe over to Jesse.
He smokes up. He forgets, at least for a while. He figures it's shitty, but Roofer probably should have been more careful, should have paid attention to how much he'd had. That's like, one of the most important rules.
There's a funeral, but Jesse doesn't go. He didn't know Roofer all that well anyway, as messed up as the whole thing is. He even stops using for a few days, and figures it's probably best to just let that half an ounce go that Roofer owed him, what with the guy being dead and all. At least, until he gets a call that some guy, this Diego Novoa guy with one of the local gangs wants to talk to him. Jesse's heard of Lobos Locos and all, but he stays way the hell out of all that. There's no way he's about to get into any of that shit again after the last time.
He goes to the meet though, only because this Diego guy says he's got Jesse's glass and just wants to make good on the purchase. It's maybe a little weird, but it seems pretty on the up and up.
Two guys with neck tattoos let him into the back room of this sandwich place on Crestview, and for all intents and purposes, it looks pretty much like it's supposed to. Maybe Jesse is expecting something like Tuco's set up, pile of meth on the desk, big ass safe in the corner, but it's not like that at all.
"You Diego?" Jesse asks the guy behind the desk, a Cuban dude with slicked back hair and a tattoo that Jesse can't make out peeking out of the sleeve of his jacket.
"Hay, que rico," he replies, amused, even as Jesse's trying to get a read on the guy. But he reaches into his desk drawer just after that and pulls out a bag of glass. It's cloudy just like every other time Jesse's seen meth in Darrow, but by now, he's figured that's about as good as it's bound to get here. There's no Heisenburg, and by now, Jesse's come to the conclusion that that's a good thing.
Diego tosses the bag to Jesse, and he catches it, turning it over in his hands to get a look before pocketing it.
"Heard that was yours, compadre," Diego says, "And I'm not in the business of fucking over customers. Especially not because some idiot couldn't fucking moderate."
It's a pretty harsh way to put it, but by now, Jesse knows to keep his opinions about that shit to himself. Especially not when he doesn't really know what this Diego guy's deal is. He probably shouldn't have shown up here in the first place.
"He had family I think," Jesse replies, and hates that he can't remember whether or not Roofer did or not. He might've mentioned it a couple of times, but usually they were all in the middle of something already, "It's pretty sad. He was an okay guy. Guess some people are better off just... in a program or something if they can't handle it."
"Just a bad batch," Diego replies, and Jesse frowns, wondering if he's heard him right, "It happens."
"...what do you mean?" Jesse asks, and he knows he's pressing his luck, but it sounds like maybe this wasn't as much of an accident as it might've seemed at first. Did they, like, know before it happened?
Jesse's waiting for an answer, but in that moment, it looks like Diego's hospitality has run out. He makes a show of reaching into his desk drawer, pulling out a gun and placing it on the desk, and he may look like he's trying to be all nonchalant about it, but Jesse knows when he's being told to fuck off.
"Hey, you got your glass," he says, "now bounce, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, right. Sorry. My bad," Jesse says, "Thanks for the crystal."
He turns. He leaves, past the neck tattoo guys and out the door, his hand wrapped around the stash in his jacket pocket, but he knows he's sure as hell not about to use it.