[ Jesse stands there a beat too long, awkward tension coiled around his spine like barbed wire, eyes twitching between the wig, the bent-over frame, and Joel's grim concentration. It looks bad. Like, real bad. The kind of bad you can't unsee, even if you bleach your brain and pray. But then Joel hits him with that flat-toned 'she ain't my type', and Jesse stutters out a crooked, nervous laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck like maybe he can scrub off the mental image trying to staple itself to his memory. ]
Oh. [ Relief washes over him all at once. ] I thought you were, uh--
[ He makes a vague little motion with his fingers--circular, somehow obscene in its aimlessness--then gives up, flapping his hand like he's waving away smoke. ]
Yeah, never mind. My bad.
[ He clears his throat, still half-embarrassed, but the heat behind his ears starts to cool as curiosity pries its way in. Jesse takes a few steps closer, the soles of his sneakers sticky on the heat-warped tile, glancing around like the place might suddenly become normal if he just looks at it long enough. It doesn't happen. Of course it doesn't. Joel's tools glint in the low light, a mess of salvaged tech and cracked fiberglass spread out like an autopsy, and Jesse catches himself staring again, curious and maybe a little fascinated. ]
So what, you like...harvesting 'em? Rippin' parts for trade? Not a bad idea, yo. Kinda creepy, though, considering they're like...I mean, you saw the bartender, right? Maybe these guys are just temporarily out of order or somethin'.
[ He drifts a little farther in, shoulders loosening now. Jesse squints toward a cluttered display shelf half-hidden behind a faded poster of some long-dead pop star selling chewing gum. There's a cracked snow globe, a dusty rack of novelty sunglasses, and some kind of vibrating neck pillow that starts humming ominously when he brushes past it. But it's something else entirely tucked behind a row of toppled shot glasses that catches his eye: a battered handheld gaming device. The screen is spiderwebbed, casing scuffed to hell, but the buttons still click when he thumbs them. A spark of something almost childlike flickers across his face. Jesse calls over his shoulder, holding it up. ]
I wonder if this thing's fixable. Used to have one kinda like it when I was a kid. Thing could play like 20 different pre-loaded bootleg games before it fried.
[ He brings it closer to the light, tapping the screen gently like it might twitch back to life. ]
no subject
Oh. [ Relief washes over him all at once. ] I thought you were, uh--
[ He makes a vague little motion with his fingers--circular, somehow obscene in its aimlessness--then gives up, flapping his hand like he's waving away smoke. ]
Yeah, never mind. My bad.
[ He clears his throat, still half-embarrassed, but the heat behind his ears starts to cool as curiosity pries its way in. Jesse takes a few steps closer, the soles of his sneakers sticky on the heat-warped tile, glancing around like the place might suddenly become normal if he just looks at it long enough. It doesn't happen. Of course it doesn't. Joel's tools glint in the low light, a mess of salvaged tech and cracked fiberglass spread out like an autopsy, and Jesse catches himself staring again, curious and maybe a little fascinated. ]
So what, you like...harvesting 'em? Rippin' parts for trade? Not a bad idea, yo. Kinda creepy, though, considering they're like...I mean, you saw the bartender, right? Maybe these guys are just temporarily out of order or somethin'.
[ He drifts a little farther in, shoulders loosening now. Jesse squints toward a cluttered display shelf half-hidden behind a faded poster of some long-dead pop star selling chewing gum. There's a cracked snow globe, a dusty rack of novelty sunglasses, and some kind of vibrating neck pillow that starts humming ominously when he brushes past it. But it's something else entirely tucked behind a row of toppled shot glasses that catches his eye: a battered handheld gaming device. The screen is spiderwebbed, casing scuffed to hell, but the buttons still click when he thumbs them. A spark of something almost childlike flickers across his face. Jesse calls over his shoulder, holding it up. ]
I wonder if this thing's fixable. Used to have one kinda like it when I was a kid. Thing could play like 20 different pre-loaded bootleg games before it fried.
[ He brings it closer to the light, tapping the screen gently like it might twitch back to life. ]