[ Jesse lets out a low, surprised chuckle, head tipping back just slightly, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders for the first time in what feels like hours. There’s something about the deadpan delivery that disarms him, the dry cadence slicing clean through the grime of this place. He steps a little closer to the barrel fire, hesitantly, the heat licking at his arms through threadbare sleeves. Sparks float up like fireflies and vanish into the night. The scent hits him again: salty, smoky, vaguely synthetic, but compared to the chemical reek of the scrapyard, it smells like home. Or what he remembers of it, anyway. Feels like worlds away, now.
Jesse glances sideways at the man, trying to read him under the flicker of firelight. He doesn’t look soft, but there’s nothing sharp and malicious there either, unlike he's used to. He's become adept at analyzing his surroundings and reading body language. It's a life-or-death matter in the world and the lifestyle he comes from. This guy looks like he’s survived things Jesse doesn’t have names for. He sees it in the way he moves. Efficiently. Measured. Like someone who knows what a second too slow can cost. Reminds him a little of Saul's guy, Mike. Maybe that's what makes him stick around. He swipes a hand under his nose, sniffs once, then exhales hard through his teeth like he’s trying to blow out whatever ghosts have hitched a ride on his shoulders. ]
Alright. Long as it ain’t people or possum, I guess I’m in.
[ Digging into his impossibly deep pockets, thanks to all of his clothes being a few sizes too big, Jesse pulls out a half-pint of whiskey and a protein bar that's a little squished, but still intact. He holds them out for inspection, brows raised to see if the offer's accepted. It's probably more than the meat's worth, but some warm food sounds better than the vending machine stuff he's been getting by on. ]
Wanna trade? These for a little bit of the, uh, Not Ferret?
no subject
Jesse glances sideways at the man, trying to read him under the flicker of firelight. He doesn’t look soft, but there’s nothing sharp and malicious there either, unlike he's used to. He's become adept at analyzing his surroundings and reading body language. It's a life-or-death matter in the world and the lifestyle he comes from. This guy looks like he’s survived things Jesse doesn’t have names for. He sees it in the way he moves. Efficiently. Measured. Like someone who knows what a second too slow can cost. Reminds him a little of Saul's guy, Mike. Maybe that's what makes him stick around. He swipes a hand under his nose, sniffs once, then exhales hard through his teeth like he’s trying to blow out whatever ghosts have hitched a ride on his shoulders. ]
Alright. Long as it ain’t people or possum, I guess I’m in.
[ Digging into his impossibly deep pockets, thanks to all of his clothes being a few sizes too big, Jesse pulls out a half-pint of whiskey and a protein bar that's a little squished, but still intact. He holds them out for inspection, brows raised to see if the offer's accepted. It's probably more than the meat's worth, but some warm food sounds better than the vending machine stuff he's been getting by on. ]
Wanna trade? These for a little bit of the, uh, Not Ferret?