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.

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It's not really so hard to knock him off-balance - he's leaning over fully already, most of his weight resting on his hands, and the shove sends him reeling. He tries not to fall into the product itself and ends up headbutting a stack of boxes in front of him, swearing loudly and rubbing the flat of his palm hard into his noggin afterwards. It earns Nola a haphazard kick in her direction, but it's not like it's anywhere in the neighborhood of actually hitting her.

"You wanna eat sometime today?" he shoots back in a voice that's almost threatening, but he cracks a half a smile anyway and picks up the cigarette that fell out of his mouth and onto the concrete floor back here. "You're a fuckin' terror, you're killin' me here."

He paws through the box he's got underneath him now, sitting on the edge. Mostly pills in this one alone, nothing of interest that they want right now - well, he says 'they', but he tosses and catches a bottle of Valium before he starts prying open the vial for himself. "'Do I remember pop tarts,' she asks," he scoffs, glancing up to her as he shakes around the pills inside. "The fuck are you talkin' about, everyone knows the hot fudge sundae ones were the best ones out there."

Yeah, sure, it's because he's already leaning, not because he has the balance of a toddler on roller skates. Heh, that would be awesome to see. Little motorbaby rolling around in the dust-- ... there is no good ending to that scenario. Not out here. Don't get dark, Nola, just the lack of food in your system keeping your brains unbalanced as Jesse is.

She is a terror. But she's his terroer and they're stuck with each other and anyone else would have dropped her by now or left her on the side of the road with that goddamn gun of hers. Scratch that, that happened already. A few times. Then this unholy combination got stuck together and have been stuck since. It was luck. A lotta luck.

"No way! They weren't real poptarts. Poptarts gotta have the fruit and they gotta have the crust you don't wanna eat! Those ones were chocolate! There were all delicious, not just mostly! They don't count." She whines, looking up at him with a grin that would send the cheshire cat home in shame. "Miss waffles, too. Miss fruit roll ups! ... What about you?"

She'll just let Jesse do the digging, do the work, and be happy with whatever he gives her... but will likely complain anyway for show. What? They have a dynamic! Plus she can't help getting into things she picks up and that's where they get problems. Real ones.