[ Jesse smirks to himself when Saul effectively clears out the waiting room on his behalf. It feels kind of nice to be a priority--something he obviously isn't used to. Certainly not with Mr. White, and only sometimes with Saul, actually. This is one of those times, and he's glad to hear it. He rocks back in the chair a little, balancing on the two rear legs precariously, a sneaker pressed to the front of Saul's desk to steady himself. He can never sit still, can he?
He just laughs, shaking his head at the mention of Huell. Of course he doesn't fuck around with food. He's tempted to say something about hoping it's not all gone by the time he gets here, but Saul asks him about the brownies and his face lights up. He eats up praise, and he knows these brownies are good. It's a family recipe. One of the few decent things he'd gotten out of being a Pinkman. One of the only connections to his family he has left, aside from the fact that he lives in his aunt's old house. ]
Like, in the oven? Uh...thirty minutes?
[ Oh, Jesse. ]
I mean. I made a couple test batches, y'know? So as to make sure I got 'em just right before I made a batch of the real ones. Try one, man. Tell me what you think.
[He doesn't need to be asked twice, really. It's almost nostalgic; the sort of feeling the Jimmy McGill of days past back in Cicero, Illinois might have. Jimmy Mcgill of Albuquerque, well, he was too busy trying to be on good behavior to dabble again in the Devil's Lettuce of any variety. And Saul Goodman, well, most of the time he had other options to take his mind off reality.
But, a weed brownie, he thinks, is exactly the sort of fun distraction missing in his life lately.
Opening up the container, he picks out one of the brownies (an edge piece, thank you very much), and takes a bite. It's... actually very good, much better than he expected it'd be. Not bad at all.]
You ought to open up a bakery as a side business. Or include an order form with your other product.
I tried making cookies but the color was off. Cannabutter's got this, like, tint to it. So brownies ended up bein' the way to go after all. They still tasted good, though.
[ Jesse explains, grabbing a brownie out of the tupperware for himself. Why not? He doesn't have to work today. Hopefully not at all, but if they end up needing him it probably won't be until after sundown. Besides, he can run that lab with his eyes closed at this point. Being a little stoned shouldn't make a huge difference.
He lets the chair fall forward so all four legs are on the ground, leaning in as he eagerly watches Saul's expression while he takes a bite. He knows they're good, but it doesn't hurt to hear it. ]
Aha! What'd I tell you? See, I don't fuck everything up!
[ Jesse rubs his chin, thinking as he chews a bite of brownie. He swallows and immediately shoves another bite into his mouth, this time talking with one cheek full, like a chipmunk's. ]
You might be onto somethin' there, man. [ He points across the desk. ] I mean, it'd make a hell of a lot more sense for money laundering than me buying a nail salon. Still can't believe you tried to sell me on that brilliant business plan.
A bakery, laser tag, if it gets you laundering your money, I'll take it.
[Look, if your money isn't properly folded in, you're making it harder for the rest of them, Jesse!!! It's important for Saul, to keep his own tracks clear, and for Jesse, so that the manufacturer money can keep flowing. Everyone wins, and the IRS gets their taxes and has no need to investigate further.
But still, he scoffs, shaking his head at Jesse's dismissal of the nail salon once again. A no to the nail salon, a no to the laser tag, no one sees his broader vision here. (And if the broader vision also helps a few other friends and clients, well, who could blame him there)]
You just didn't see the broader picture of the nail salon. Free pedicures, and think of how popular you'll be with all your hot babes out there.
[But they aren't here to talk business, not at the moment--even if Saul will probably still add this to his billable hours--and that's driven home by a sharp knock at his office's back door. Getting to his feet, Saul checks to see who's there (safety reflex, after all), and opens the door for Huell, carrying two large bags full of Taco Cabeza's finest. He slips Huell a $50 for the tacos and his troubles, and with a promise that he'll give him a call later, shuts the door.]
I left the decision making to him. Between the three of us, I think he knows the menu best.
Laser tag. [ He scoffs. ] Still can't believe those places are still around.
[ To be fair, Saul, you were supposed to pawn off the laser tag place to Mr. White. Jesse might have been down except now it's forever tied to one of the worst days of his entire life (and the last day of Gale Boetticher's life). It's a non-option. A bakery, though...]
Dude. Ain't no way I'm bein' caught dead in one of those chairs.
[ Jesse's about to make some comment about how all those 'hot babes' will probably just assume he's gay, but there's a knock on the door just as he goes to open his mouth. He steels himself momentarily, hoping that it isn't Walt about to barge in and ruin their fun. He swears the guy's got some kind of radar for that. Always pissing on everyone's parade. It isn't. Jesse says a silent thanks to whatever deity might be responsible for that, raising a hand in a greeting gesture as Huell wanders in to deposit the tacos and whatever other goodies he's procured. Jesse shrugs off his hoodie and rubs his hands together. He's already hungry and it'll be a little while before the brownies kick in. ]
Hell yeah, I'd trust him to grab food for me.
[ Jesse nods. He may not feel the same about Huell in the future, but he's a good guy in his eyes for now. He grabs the parchment paper that covers the brownies and sets it in front of himself, then slides the Tupperware lid across the desk in front of Saul's chair. ]
Makeshift plates, yo. Gotta improvise. What'd he bring?
[ He asks, brows raising as Saul sets the paper bags down. ]
Laser tag offers one-of-a-kind experiences at an affordable price! Where else can you spawn camp and destroy a team of eight year olds?
[Has he done this? It's very likely, back in his Slippin' Jimmy days, or even before everything went downhill for Jimmy McGill. These days, laser tag is too much running and crouching for him and his bad knees.
His tone is less convinced, though, more dismissive of what he himself is saying, because they have more important business here. Namely: tacos. He piles the boxes on his desk while he speaks, popping them open as he goes to see what's there. Most of the tacos and burritos are slathered with cheese and sauce and far too messy to identify what's in them.]
He's got something written on the side here, but hell if I can make it out. I got a jar of antacids if you want. Looking at it, we might need it.
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zvi
no subject
Date: 2023-11-02 02:16 am (UTC)He just laughs, shaking his head at the mention of Huell. Of course he doesn't fuck around with food. He's tempted to say something about hoping it's not all gone by the time he gets here, but Saul asks him about the brownies and his face lights up. He eats up praise, and he knows these brownies are good. It's a family recipe. One of the few decent things he'd gotten out of being a Pinkman. One of the only connections to his family he has left, aside from the fact that he lives in his aunt's old house. ]
Like, in the oven? Uh...thirty minutes?
[ Oh, Jesse. ]
I mean. I made a couple test batches, y'know? So as to make sure I got 'em just right before I made a batch of the real ones. Try one, man. Tell me what you think.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-06 04:44 am (UTC)But, a weed brownie, he thinks, is exactly the sort of fun distraction missing in his life lately.
Opening up the container, he picks out one of the brownies (an edge piece, thank you very much), and takes a bite. It's... actually very good, much better than he expected it'd be. Not bad at all.]
You ought to open up a bakery as a side business. Or include an order form with your other product.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-13 11:26 pm (UTC)[ Jesse explains, grabbing a brownie out of the tupperware for himself. Why not? He doesn't have to work today. Hopefully not at all, but if they end up needing him it probably won't be until after sundown. Besides, he can run that lab with his eyes closed at this point. Being a little stoned shouldn't make a huge difference.
He lets the chair fall forward so all four legs are on the ground, leaning in as he eagerly watches Saul's expression while he takes a bite. He knows they're good, but it doesn't hurt to hear it. ]
Aha! What'd I tell you? See, I don't fuck everything up!
[ Jesse rubs his chin, thinking as he chews a bite of brownie. He swallows and immediately shoves another bite into his mouth, this time talking with one cheek full, like a chipmunk's. ]
You might be onto somethin' there, man. [ He points across the desk. ] I mean, it'd make a hell of a lot more sense for money laundering than me buying a nail salon. Still can't believe you tried to sell me on that brilliant business plan.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-22 05:59 am (UTC)[Look, if your money isn't properly folded in, you're making it harder for the rest of them, Jesse!!! It's important for Saul, to keep his own tracks clear, and for Jesse, so that the manufacturer money can keep flowing. Everyone wins, and the IRS gets their taxes and has no need to investigate further.
But still, he scoffs, shaking his head at Jesse's dismissal of the nail salon once again. A no to the nail salon, a no to the laser tag, no one sees his broader vision here. (And if the broader vision also helps a few other friends and clients, well, who could blame him there)]
You just didn't see the broader picture of the nail salon. Free pedicures, and think of how popular you'll be with all your hot babes out there.
[But they aren't here to talk business, not at the moment--even if Saul will probably still add this to his billable hours--and that's driven home by a sharp knock at his office's back door. Getting to his feet, Saul checks to see who's there (safety reflex, after all), and opens the door for Huell, carrying two large bags full of Taco Cabeza's finest. He slips Huell a $50 for the tacos and his troubles, and with a promise that he'll give him a call later, shuts the door.]
I left the decision making to him. Between the three of us, I think he knows the menu best.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-26 12:27 am (UTC)[ To be fair, Saul, you were supposed to pawn off the laser tag place to Mr. White. Jesse might have been down except now it's forever tied to one of the worst days of his entire life (and the last day of Gale Boetticher's life). It's a non-option. A bakery, though...]
Dude. Ain't no way I'm bein' caught dead in one of those chairs.
[ Jesse's about to make some comment about how all those 'hot babes' will probably just assume he's gay, but there's a knock on the door just as he goes to open his mouth. He steels himself momentarily, hoping that it isn't Walt about to barge in and ruin their fun. He swears the guy's got some kind of radar for that. Always pissing on everyone's parade. It isn't. Jesse says a silent thanks to whatever deity might be responsible for that, raising a hand in a greeting gesture as Huell wanders in to deposit the tacos and whatever other goodies he's procured. Jesse shrugs off his hoodie and rubs his hands together. He's already hungry and it'll be a little while before the brownies kick in. ]
Hell yeah, I'd trust him to grab food for me.
[ Jesse nods. He may not feel the same about Huell in the future, but he's a good guy in his eyes for now. He grabs the parchment paper that covers the brownies and sets it in front of himself, then slides the Tupperware lid across the desk in front of Saul's chair. ]
Makeshift plates, yo. Gotta improvise. What'd he bring?
[ He asks, brows raising as Saul sets the paper bags down. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-12-08 05:36 am (UTC)[Has he done this? It's very likely, back in his Slippin' Jimmy days, or even before everything went downhill for Jimmy McGill. These days, laser tag is too much running and crouching for him and his bad knees.
His tone is less convinced, though, more dismissive of what he himself is saying, because they have more important business here. Namely: tacos. He piles the boxes on his desk while he speaks, popping them open as he goes to see what's there. Most of the tacos and burritos are slathered with cheese and sauce and far too messy to identify what's in them.]
He's got something written on the side here, but hell if I can make it out. I got a jar of antacids if you want. Looking at it, we might need it.