checkyourpulse | (no subject)

It's hard for a crew of two out in the zones , but they manage. They make it work even when it seems like it doesn't. Honestly, it suits Nola just fine. No, Phantom. Phantom Arcade, baddest bitch in the game. Having Jesse's-- Diesel's back is as easy as just having her own. A crew of two is all they need. Easier to get around in places they shouldn't be. Easier to keep themselves fed. Easier to turn a profit out in the desert.

Little more difficult to acquire the product, but that sure as fuck doesn't stop them.

They have their ways. He drives, she keeps watch. He gets them in, she keeps them out of sight. He gets what they need and she keeps them alive. Nola's the muscle and Jesse's the brains-- no, shut up, I'm serious! That's how they roll. And they just fucking rolled right out of the city with a shitload of Bli meds to trade, sell, give away. Whatever they want! NO RULES! They can do anything. They can be anything. All the shiny, shiny new is going to her head a bit, making her a little more reckless every day. The radio says don't be a hero, but that's what she wants. And a hero's gotta start somewhere, gotta make a name for herself. Fucking over Bli is the best way to do that.

Spreading pills around to the people that can't kick the habit, well ... do whatcha gotta do. Supply and demand, right?

They're holed up in what used to be a truck stop. Gas is long dried up, but it's a roof over their heads and a counter to move their merch. Truck's parked out back, covered, hidden. Lights are off. You don't usually move at night. Sun goes down, you stay where you are if you can help it. They're not expecting customers, at least not until Dr. D. spreads the word to the herd. Might be a few people desperate enough, and they definitely know where they are, but it's probably gonna be a quiet night.

Nola hates quiet nights. Which, unfortunately, tends to make her more obnoxious than usual.

"D, you swipe anything good? Anything liquid? Anything sugar?! What's left? What's left?! Starving, D. Come on!" She stares up at him eagerly from her spot on the floor with her back against the wall and her legs flopped out in front of her. She's gonna shoot someone's foot off if she keeps messing with her gun like that, and it probably won't be her own.

Threaded | Flat

Jesse gives a whole-hearted sigh as he crosses the room and hops himself up onto the counter, cigarette dangling haphazardly from his mouth as he fiddles with a small box. "Ya know they're bringin' back this nicotine gum shit?" he asks, blatantly ignoring her own questions for the time being. He shakes the box in her direction before he tosses it over to her, takes a long drag off his cigarette before he leans back on his hand with a cheeky grin. "Maybe I oughta actually try quittin'." Fat chance in hell. He nods at Nola. "Go 'head. Chew on that."

Heh. Heh heh.

But, no, it was a good haul. It was a fucking fruitful haul, they got even more than Jesse was expecting, place stocked to the nines and the one guard keeping watch locked in a porta potty for the most of the day. And they'd gotten everything, from oxy to sedatives to fucking Apokyn for a few of their Parkinson's customers. Some real helpful shit in this run. It was nice, sometimes, to break off from just pandering to addicts and Ritalin rats, get some real helpful shit out there in the open where it needed to be.

"Alright, alright, alright," he concedes at long last, and cigarette in mouth again, he claps both hands against the counter, lifting himself up a solid couple of inches before he leaps off and lands solidly on his feet. "C'mere. You want we should eat something? Let's check out what we got. Wouldja-" He waves impatiently at her for her to come to him. "-quit it with the damn gun, you're gonna get us both maimed."