[ Jesse's just getting off a shift with Maintenance, unzipping his coveralls and stepping out of his work boots. He shoves it all unceremoniously into a nearby locker. None of it's dirty enough to warrant cleaning. Besides, they have plenty of access to clean uniforms as needed. He wonders if they use the same kind of industrial laundry service like the one he used to work at. It feels like ages ago now, but the thought persists.
Jesse pulls on a pair of dark jeans and steps into some comfortable sneakers. He layers a long-sleeved Henley on top of his white undershirt, pushing the sleeves up. Normally, Jesse's hyper-vigilant about observing his surroundings, but there's something about this place that's making him feel safe. Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't seen a single soul he recognizes, and nobody seems to have recognized him yet, either. Even the patrons barely gave him a glance as he moved about the casino, fixing machines and pipes and whatever's needed fixing. He's never held this type of job before, but ever since learning how to work with chemicals, and learning how to assemble and disassemble a meth lab, he's become familiar with tools and there isn't much these days that can't be learned by watching a video or reading a manual. He's coming into his own, and for once, it feels nice.
That is, until the illusion bursts like a bubble as he hears an all-too-familiar voice cut through the thoughts in his head like a hot knife through butter. Jesse's head whips to the side just in time to see none other than Saul Goodman holding up a pair of ties. Jesse's mouth goes dry and he stumbles back a couple of paces. He stops himself, though, trying to toughen up. Straighten up. Toe the line. There are consequences if you can't hold it together.
Jesse clears his throat and takes a step forward. Eye-contact doesn't come easily. It doesn't happen at all, at first. But he finally meets his ex-attorney's eyes. The gaze won't last, but it's long enough for recognition to set in. Even if Jesse looks a little older, a little more worn. Badly healed scars are noticeable even in the low light, or maybe particularly so, when a dim overhead bulb casts shadows beneath the raised lines on his skin. But it's still him. It's still Jesse. Undeniably so. ]
What...they're all outta plaid?
[ There's the slightest twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth before it falls away. ]
C. Off-duty
Jesse pulls on a pair of dark jeans and steps into some comfortable sneakers. He layers a long-sleeved Henley on top of his white undershirt, pushing the sleeves up. Normally, Jesse's hyper-vigilant about observing his surroundings, but there's something about this place that's making him feel safe. Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't seen a single soul he recognizes, and nobody seems to have recognized him yet, either. Even the patrons barely gave him a glance as he moved about the casino, fixing machines and pipes and whatever's needed fixing. He's never held this type of job before, but ever since learning how to work with chemicals, and learning how to assemble and disassemble a meth lab, he's become familiar with tools and there isn't much these days that can't be learned by watching a video or reading a manual. He's coming into his own, and for once, it feels nice.
That is, until the illusion bursts like a bubble as he hears an all-too-familiar voice cut through the thoughts in his head like a hot knife through butter. Jesse's head whips to the side just in time to see none other than Saul Goodman holding up a pair of ties. Jesse's mouth goes dry and he stumbles back a couple of paces. He stops himself, though, trying to toughen up. Straighten up. Toe the line. There are consequences if you can't hold it together.
Jesse clears his throat and takes a step forward. Eye-contact doesn't come easily. It doesn't happen at all, at first. But he finally meets his ex-attorney's eyes. The gaze won't last, but it's long enough for recognition to set in. Even if Jesse looks a little older, a little more worn. Badly healed scars are noticeable even in the low light, or maybe particularly so, when a dim overhead bulb casts shadows beneath the raised lines on his skin. But it's still him. It's still Jesse. Undeniably so. ]
What...they're all outta plaid?
[ There's the slightest twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth before it falls away. ]