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: 2023-11-26 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.