#( * the traumatised are unpredictable. they know they can survive. / j. pinkman. )

[embodies]

send me 💬, and i’ll use a line from a sentence meme i’ve reblogged to make a starter. @mayhemr.

❛ so, what ? we just sit here with our thumbs up our ass ? ❜ his boldness comes out in flashes, like lightning splitting an unruly and otherwise placid sky. it can take people aback, the shock of an idle wallflower growing thorns, biting back. resilience comes with time, with loss. he's not stupid enough to believe he's the only one to have gone through it, recognises the battle scars in the man housing him. life leached from the eyes, stance guarded but weary, voice eroded and sandpaper - rough. doesn't quite wonder for the biker's plight, but understands it. ❛ these guys— they'll kill you all, y'know that ? whatever he's payin' you is like loose change to these freaks. an' if you've got happy family back home, they'll take that too. we've got to do something. ❜

[embodies]

like a lifeline thrown, the pill bottle is seized with eagerness and trembling hands only aid the rattle of its contents as he pours a generous collection into his palm. jesse throws them back like a shot, any hesitation or squeamishness surrounding pills with no fluids temporarily extinguished for a greater need. he would be lying if there wasn't a consideration, staring into the open mouth of the bottle, to rinse the rest. to go for a second handful, cupping the tiny tablets like a baby bird, and a third and a fourth and however many it takes. the thought sends a shiver down his spine, leading him to rid himself of the container as quickly as he'd reached for it. he daren't look at it anymore. ❛ yeah. ❜ his agreement for the direness situation is drily delivered, a spark igniting of that rage he experienced earlier. don't you think i know this is fucked, vic ? do you need to rub it in ? he manages to quell it this time, clasping his hands together and cracking his knuckles, forever fidgeting. detachment of his emotions from spreading to his very uninvolved friend, reminding himself of who the real culprits in this web are.

his paranoia matches vic's, on the rise as the substances dissolve into his system, baby blue gaze shifting left and right as if anyone is suspect. and, to some extent, they are. he finds it hard to explain ( or to justify ? ) the symbiotic relationship he and walt share, the innate trust he has in his mentor counter - balanced by doubt all the same. interestingly, he knows walt needs him. for what purpose remains to be seen, but one absolute truth that remains steadfast is that. walt would not kill him. that sets the standard, at least. the bar is on the ground. in the dirt, pushed in by an uncaring heel. ❛ without me, there is no walt. that's— that's just how it is. ❜ as if it were an algebraic formula, no rationale or equation he can use to fully categorise it. a shrug of the shoulders punctuates the silence for a moment, a deep breath taken in as the wave of effects from the pills starts to settle into his bones.

❛ well — you know, now, i guess. 's not exactly . . . somethin' i'm keen to mention at show and tell. ❜ the humour comes out empty, deflated. his posture is wilted, a plant devoid of water. they're a far cry from those days relinquished to jesse's makeshift couch, smoking the worries away, momentarily carefree. onto harder drugs, tougher tensions, the criminal's version of growing up. it feels hard to see a way out, defeat slumping him further into his seat until their shoulders lean unto one another. if he were in better spirits, he might at least be grateful for this small beacon of friendship amidst the turmoil. not that he wants to speak it into existence, but he fears this night of camaraderie might be their last.

jesse  confirms  everything  victor  didn't  want  him  to  ,     everything  victor  didn't  want  to  be  true.     head  shakes  ,     and  victor  inspects  the  cocktail  of  pills  in  his  hand  ,     before  knocking  them  back  all  too  eagerly.     fucking  hell.    the  bottle  is  passed  to  jessie  without  hesitation  ,    as  victor  leans  forward  against  his  own  knees  ,     pressing  the  heels  of  his  hands  into  his  forehead.     walt  didn't  do  anything.     what  else  is  new  ?     but  to  make  jesse   .  .  . 

a  quiet  groan  ,     hands  moving  down  to  press  into  his  eyes  instead.           ❛❛  jesus  christ  ,     jesse.  ❜❜           its  not  disappointment  that  litters  his  tone  ,     at  least  ,     and  not  fear———no  ,     victor  is  all  concern  ,     the  heaviness  in  his  voice  that  of  utter  sadness.     he  can't  imagine  his  friend  ever  doing  something  like  that  of  his  own  accord  ,     without  the  influence  of  walter  white.     his  stomach  turns.           ❛❛  i  won't  even  ask  if  you're  okay  ,     i  can  already  tell  what  the  answer  would  be.     that's  so   .  .  .   this  is  fucked  ,     jesse.     i  mean  fucked.  ❜❜           victor's  heart  begins  to  race  ,     and  he  can't  tell  if  its  the  pills  or  the  anxiety.     what  does  this  mean  for  jesse  ?     what  happens  now  ?     what  if  gus  has  him  killed  ,     what  if———what  if  anything  ?     he  could  drum  up  a  thousand  different  scenarios.     he  takes  another  drag  ,     begging  it  to  do  something.

❛❛  what  ,     um   .  .  .     i  mean  ,     what's  goin'  on  ?     is  walt  doing  something  to  keep  you  safe  ?  ❜❜           here  his  voice  lowers  ,     as  though  worried  prying  eyes  and  ears  could  be  anywhere  ,     around  the  corner.           ❛❛  does  anyone  know  ?    i  can't  figure  you've  ever  done  this  before.  ❜❜

[embodies]

JESSE PINKMAN AS THE DUTIFUL DOG / MORAL COMPASS. A STUDY.

the overarching motif that consumes my writing jesse is this sense of him being both a foil to walter and his subservient. it is no coincidence that the first url i chose for jesse’s solo blog was a variant of the word dependence. the double entendre is clear to see: jesse is both dependent on drugs throughout ( and before / after ) the events that occur in the series and dependent on other people. as much as some might say he has an addictive personality, there is far more to it than this: he has been conditioned his entire life to feel no real sense of purpose. both by his parents and by walter ( in school and in the show ), his only use was found in looking after his aunt and quickly crumbled once she passed. jesse at his core needs to be guided by somebody - and in turn guides the viewer through a complex tug-of-war of morality against the increasingly evil acts of heisenberg. jesse is the moral compass that reminds us our protagonist is inherently evil. it baffles me to think that jesse died in the original season one script because the show seems futile without him: in an age where people like the joker and patrick bateman are idolised by masses of cishet white men, jesse to me represents the white in an otherwise grey show full of complexities. no character is pure in breaking bad but ( aside from walt jr. / flynn, who creates an amazing parallel ) jesse is the closest to that definition. this morality and purity is reflected hundreds of times in the show and jesse is often directly linked to children such as brock to make that link clear. my favourite episode of the show is peekaboo and for good reason! initially going to rob spooge and his lady, jesse is caught in the middle when he finds their son living in squalor. he is shown to yearn for a greater connection with his little brother too, and is eager for him not to follow in his footsteps. he doesn’t just gravitate toward and protect children though: his empathy extends to everyone, desperately trying to see the good in every character despite where it gets him. he values these feelings far more than any monetary gain ( again a direct foil to walt who stashes far more money than he needs for his initial goal ). this empathy is contagious, with stone cold characters like mike and gus seeing the potential in jesse early on. but all this moral ‘goodness’ is for moot, for jesse is the ‘dog’ of a show, often likened to dogs both verbally and visually. in a cage, on a chain, with a collar. jesse’s loyalty is his most endearing trait and precious asset, making him ultimately a valuable commodity in this criminal chess game that envelops him. the ultimate pawn: jesse is a leader that believes he is a follower. he has all the capabilities of looking after a group ( shown with badger, combo, and skinny ) but none of the confidence to enact it. wasted potential at its core. he shows an eagerness for knowledge and learning despite his shoddy schoolwork, never fully realising himself or considering that he could be the one to teach. but alas, jesse becomes the perfect target for the show’s many manipulators, never quite able to get a foothold and always searching for a fix. these are supplied plentifully to him: in drugs, in praise, in attention and company. in the end jesse is a sum of the parts society gifted to him and is the ultimate example of nurture ( or lack thereof ) at work. a tragic character that still reaches for the light until the last frame.

[embodies]

❛ honey, i'm hoooome ! ❜ affections called out more for nosy neighbours than to alert his would - be wife of his presence, roll of the eyes punctuating his trudge through the door. sometimes he doesn't think he's quite cut out for this domesticity act as he once was adamant : the suburbs are one big jerk - off to who can cultivate the best garden and every hello, how you do is really an attempt to ask questions, to pry. their joint worst nightmare.

he's quick to unsheathe his jacket ( but not before checking through the blinds ! ) — it was initially such a novelty to dress up as someone he isn't. yo, it's like, cosplay ! but now it feels like an uncanny second skin, a mask forever glued to his face, features never to be seen by the outside world. self expression is a cruel commodity to take away from a human being. a necessary evil for the illusion of safety.

❛ you would not be - lieve ! the jackasses i see on a daily basis out there. ❜ haphazardly button - up shirt is also rid to the pile; the return to his own personal normality is not quick enough. thrusting a hoodie over his torso ( you can change your name but the scars remain ) he immediately feels more at home.

❛ i mean, total zombies just let out in public. this guy tried to negotiate the price of a fuckin' kitchen cabinet. like what, you're gonna haggle over a can a' beans next ? be for real. i made better money cookin' up baby blue with old shit - for - brains. ❜

@cartelheir. ♡

[embodies]

' i had my suspicions, but until now i wasn't sure. '   ↪ @gsfring : jesse.

jesse has met many a character in his time : from birth, the highbrow way of his parents, in school and forever more the condemnation of authority. cops and their wisecracks, the volatility of addicts. the innocence of children. the immaturity of those who never grew up, modern day peter pans minus the glorification. gus is a man he has never been able to pin, immune to the venn diagrams otherwise drawn in his mind of what people are like. fring is inhuman. and now, cryptic as ever and taunting him with the beginning of a thought, jesse can only plea for answers.

❛ suspicions about what, exactly ? there's nothing more to say. you know how it all started out. ❜ the relationship between the two cooks is anything but clear - cut to the naked eye, teacher and student turned unlikely lab partners. jesse would like to believe ( and, to his superficial consciousness, does ) that's all there is to it, but like a fish that doesn't know it's on a hook, he bites. ❛ he's looked out for me, like, a million times. mr. white's not some evil genius. 's just an old guy in too deep. ❜ a tense pause : he resists the urge to say no offense.

[embodies]

silence seizes him in a beautiful display of irony, realisation tarring his features like a brush laden with paint. recognition is clear in his eyes in the simple motion of a one-eighty spin and the corners of his mouth curl upwards as if drawn up by a puppeteer. ❛ well, shiiiiit ! just when ya think your luck's runnin' out, sweet mj comes crawlin' back every time. ❜ he's full of youthful emphasis, fingers flicking in a crude and boyish gesture of enthusiasm. grandiosity in a small and frail body : a blowfish puffs up to appear threatening.

melodic lilt in his voice, he's quick to swoop up precious salvage ( wipes off some lint that's likely part couch cushion part ass, waste not want not ) and secures it in his trusty hideout of choice, under the sink.

❛ now, let's pop that sweet waffle house cherry, bitch ! ❜

a clap on the shoulder, camaraderie and newfound vigor coursing through him : and akin to the seven dwarves, off they go.

admittedly , the high he always nurses doesn't leave much room for hunger , anymore. but who would victor be , to turn down an invitation from a friend , spoil the mood that so quickly rose into something so fun ? he nods , pats at his pockets and digs around in them , checking to make sure he actually does have cash on him , and isn't just talking out of his ass. then he stands , and as he stands before the couch adjusting his jacket ——— he spots jesse's missing supply behind them , smushed against the cushions.

❛❛ oh. ❜❜ the word comes out like a snort , a stream of amused giggles following shortly after. ❛❛ jesse , look. ——— i told you i didn't take your shit , we were fuckin' sitting on it. ❜❜

good thing he doesn't want any of that. the baggie doesn't look very appealing , crunched up and warm where it sits. ❛❛ put that somewhere safe , before we go. ❜❜ he's still laughing as he steps away , to wait by the door and fidget in place. ❛❛ when we get back , you can top off your meal with a hit , yeah ? its all comin' together. ❜❜

[embodies]

send 💬 for a starter with a randomly generated line of dialogue. ↪ @nitebit​ : for jesse. accepting.

❛ are you kiddin' me ? we're not ' fine ' ! ❜ outbursts are a rarity ( no, fewer and further in between than that, a myth ) for the delinquent, all too often willing to settle for a begrudging sulk that so often acquiesces with unwanted outcomes. either he's reached his limit or the cocktail of substances in his system has summoned an uncharacteristic lash - out from him. either is plausible. ❛ you can't keep doin' this, bunny. it's not healthy. for me, definitely not for you. ❜ his words ride on a scoff of a laugh because the entire situation really is absurd. ❛ if you give a shit, cut it out. ❜

[embodies]

early series jesse n ur muse @ his parents’ christmas get-together n they’re both jus Not Interested in anything but the free food,  jesse n ur muse honesli jus passin the time bc they’re snowed the fuck in like they’ve tried board games they’ve tried video games and just fuck it let’s get stoned,  jesse accidentally hittin your muse in a snowball fight that was Not Intended and gettin his ass handed 2 him for it,  honesli let jesse make a BOMB christmas dinner he’s never had the opportunity but he’ll do his fuckin best give this boi a break

[embodies]

DOOM: ANNIHILATION PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. ❛ if you’re about to say what i think you’re gonna say, i’m gonna shoot you in the face. ❜

@prkh & jesse pinkman.

he still isn't used to the clipped monotony of a british speaker — at least, he assumes this is a universal trait as opposed to a particular of ramya's specific cadence. maybe a bit of both. regardless of origin, it leaves his jaw dropping into a fitting imitation of a guppy, temporarily speechless. whatever was about to leave his now shock - gaped mouth dissipates, replaced with wonders of what did she think i was gonna say ? like a tortoise receding into its shell he wilts at the first sign of confrontation, whether the threat is in jest or not. ever the loyal dog, he proverbially rolls over and shows his belly by raising his hands in innocence, shoulders swamped in the folds of his hoodie. it is a wonder he doesn't drown in the clothes he wears, or perhaps that is the intention. his stance is ever the criminal's, and if an onlooking bystander didn't know any better, they would think ramya really was holding him at gunpoint.

❛ hey, hey, chill, cool it. i was gonna say— ! ❜ he stalls for time, alarm only thinly lacing the substance that is his voice. one upraised palm drops slowly to his pocket, with the same measured caution a man on the run might retrieve something to show the cops. plastic bag reveals itself, freshly packed full of the good stuff. because if jesse has learned anything about conflict, it's that good old mary jane is a foolproof resolution. seemingly irreparable arguments muffled by the sweet haze of the mind that ensues.

❛ —smoke ? ❜

[embodies]

❛ —oh. ❜ it's impossible not to regard her with surprise, which says more about jesse than it does about her : his company is more often in the business of needing something a little stronger. it's a welcome change of pace, fingers fumbling awkwardly for squashed carton of cigarettes. ❛ you uh, need a light ? ❜ wincing at his own queries ( of course she needs one, idiot ) he answers his own question with a muffled grunt and tosses her both box and lighter in tandem. the smallest of signs of trust. he has always been too sparing in faith.

❛ what's the deal with the bandages anyway ? ❜ he taps his own body in gesture of her injuries, figuring it hurts not to ask if he's equally as bruised and banged up. that's how people like them get here, right ?

@embodies : ‘ do you want something for the pain? ’ - jesse

they always say don't take drugs from strangers, but it's an atypical situation. pat supposes she could push through it, hold off until the day her injuries are a ten on the pain scale; but her body hurts, sharp under her bandages and spreading all over. in one way or another, she's been at the mercy of others since she was brought here. if they wanted her dead, she would be dead already.

" if you can get anything, " she says, a suggestion in her tone punctuated with a soft shrug. " to be honest, i just wanted a cigarette. "

[embodies]

❛ have patience. your strength will come in time. ❜ — @vi0lnt. ( vito corleone & jesse pinkman )

ASK MEME TAG. ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

encouragement is a rarity, enough of one to give jesse pause before he speaks. when he looks back over the kingpins he has encountered, none of their reputations quite look like the don's. so often has he seen fear used as a weapon, mind reeling with guns and boxcutters and explosives. so often have threats been common currency for what men want, words like leverage and advantage used like chess pieces on a board. jesse pinkman is the drug world's ultimate pawn. and the worst part is he knows it. but the corleone family and its allegiances have nothing but niceties ( as far as they go with criminals ) to say about their godfather. he has his enemies, of course, but jesse doesn't note the telltale tremble in the body language of his followers. they speak of his courtesy, his respect and friendship, they say he knows how to return a favour.

jesse isn't a strategist like walt, doesn't decide he wants an alliance simply because it'll work well in his favour. but he does yearn for something more, for some valuation in a decrepit crime world. he's too far in to escape now, his name with one too many tallies to ever live a so - called normal life anymore. but this might be something close to it. so long as what they say is true, not the claims of a brainwashed cult. do italians have cults ?

❛ i, uh— i appreciate that . . . sir. ❜ unsure how to refer to him, humbled gaze never lifting from his chest. he is too used to psychotic characters like tuco, the ripple of a butterfly's wing capable of setting off an outburst. he will not make such mistakes again. ❛ but i . . . don't know if i have the time. there's always— more issues coming up. with heisenberg, there's no such thing as patience. ❜

[embodies]

❛ maybe you just need someone to tell you what to do. ❜ — @erebius.

ASK MEME TAG. ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

❛ yo, you don' needa go exposin' me like that, alright ? 's not my fault — chicks that know what they want are hot. ❜

he takes a detour to humour, not wanting to admit to himself that mr. white might be less of a co - partner and more of a dictator. deep somewhere in the subconscious corners of his mind, these facts already reside. he's made the jokes at his own expense, bitten back at his former tutor and paid the consequences.

is it really such a rarity to find someone who cares for him ?

the truth is, people that care are all around him : vic and skinny and badger and combo and wendy all form parts of an intrinsic little bubble he calls home. but he keeps coming back to the man that guides him, following an innate compass and accepting the rodent - small pellets of praise when they drop his way.

❛ he knows what he's doing. 'course i'm gonna follow his lead. ❜

[embodies]

"i think you're in shock." / jesse ..

there is solace in the bodies : speakers thumping louder than any thought that dare pervade, brain numbed by enough substances to render each and every person at that party nonsensical. for can it even be called a party ? there is nothing to celebrate here. a bass - ridden catacomb for the downward spiraling. he wades through the masses without major objective, the smell of smoke thick in the air. someone offers him a slice of grease masking as pizza which he dismisses with a wave of his hand : he hasn't eaten in days.

every bass drop sounds like a gunshot, the gunshot that had extinguished gale's life, a cruel reminder that jesse is no longer the small fish living on chili powder and snuffed dreams. like it or not, he is a villain in this cartel world, a target on his head and a noose around his neck. he is hardly recognisable now, eyes sunken and scalp shaved close, a harsh set to his features that should never have reached him. if the world had left him untouched. always if.

the sound of his once known friend is a faint cry amidst the chaos, throat hoarsened by the strain to be heard. jesse knows that need, the sweet clamour for acknowledgement. though now he knows its antithesis : the urgency to be hidden. to recede into a pit in the ground, let the earth swallow him up entire. i want to disappear. to fade into the background once more : how fortunate he had once been.

his eyes fall on vic with a vague absence of cognizant thought : looking through rather than at. he seems vacant at first, devoid of response. at the flip of a coin ( what a cursed maxim to look back on ) he switches, forearm pressing harshly into the other's throat, thrusting him into the plaster wall behind him. he doesn't take well to concern, in the blood - red mist of shock he mistakes it for blame.

his gaze is piercing, eye contact steady. above the din of the music, his voice resonates loudly but firmly.

❛ i think you— need to mind your fuckin' business. ❜

@erebius. ♡

[embodies]

' i bought two. '   ↪ @vihilum : riley & jesse.

he doesn't immediately place it as a gesture of goodwill, even when the evidence is clear to see. he figured, maybe she's just mega hungry, bad case of the munchies on all accounts. but as she nears with not just one ice cream but make it double ( the nostalgia of team rocket, he never quite grew up ) her words affirm the suspicion that never really crossed his mind. should it have ?

❛ wait, what ? whoa, you stealthin' me with sugar on your pit stop ? ❜ a breathy laugh escapes him : he should admire the hustle really. ask him to pull up the car then pull out the stops. he reaches out of the open car window for offered cone, and has to admit it looks deliciously needed for the summer heat. really, he's just touched by the thought. it's a consideration he doesn't even spare himself nowadays.

❛ hey, thanks. i'll— i'll pay you back next— ❜

and she's back in the passenger seat, the door slamming shut a punctuated no, that's not how this works. friends don't owe each other : their bond is not currency. this is not a cartel.

he smiles, slowly then all at once, appreciative. but first, a toast. he tips his ice cream at her in salute and digs in, encompassed with a warmth that no frozen snack will rid him of easily.

[embodies]

‘you’ve never hurt me. ever.’ Riley for Jesse!

soft angst starters   :   no longer accepting.

❛   that’s not true.   ❜   few and far between are the moments where he is not meek, words now pouring out brash and bold from an otherwise hesitant throat. jesse is a people pleaser at heart, willing to yield to the mildest of pressures if only it keeps the peace.   there are exceptions to the rule,   moral compass flitting frantically as if tampered with by a magnet.   this is one of them.   ❛   ya can’t bullshit a bullshitter, riley. i know as well as you do—   you walk beside someone with a limp, eventually you’ll start limpin’ along side them.   ❜

he takes a deep drag of his joint, savours the crisp kindling of it in his lungs as only an addict like him would, flicks the ash with a pointed motion.   ❛   this is our limp. smoke it, shoot it, swallow it,   it’s all the same.   comes crawling back like a wino lookin’ for some spare cash. and if he keeps knockin’ for long enough   ?   don’t tell me you’re not lettin’ him in.   ❜   to the concrete his roll - up falls, stomping it out and grinding his sole into the remains. determination steels his features, loyalty outweighing any high he could be on.

❛   i’m not gonna be the reason you open that door.   ❜

[embodies]

jesse has learned to look for double entendres, a keen eye posed upon the meaning behind the veil. walter speaks ( spoke ? ) often of teamwork, of the mythical concept of us, of you and me. it was becoming rapidly apparent that his allegiance was one - sided, steeped in ego, soured apples in a barrel he can no longer escape. sisyphys suffers no greater a struggle than pinkman does now, forever destined to regress. to fail. success seems no longer an option, a glimmer of hope on the horizon that never appears any closer no matter how much ground he traverses. gus speaks of sucesses.

he is tempted : not by the fickle tendrils of greed that seem to have their clutches on every other counterpart in this game, but by the promise of an escape. a lifeline, thrown out to a drowning man. the end of the road with heisenberg speaks only of death and destruction, a glory he does not pretend to have interest in. gus doesn't seem much more morally imposed than the rest of them, but his evil paints broader strokes than walt's self - absorbed odyssey. he gets stuck on that word. recognition. knows not how to define it, therefore how to interpret it. ❛ he's the one that taught me. ❜ sulking, deferring his praise to the mentor, unable to give corporeal form to the notion that the student may have surpassed the teacher. that he may provide more use.

there is a more glaring obstacle though, whether they wish to debate the prior point or let it lie. the partnership founded in that ramshackle rv is founded on an entirely singlehanded vulnerability. before he realised how deep the roots had been buried, how completely unreciprocated their bond was, it was too late. the position of authority walt bears is too strongly built for jesse to come out unscathed : He will not permit that to happen. it is not the first time he has found it hard to articulate the gravity of a situation, little more than a beetle writing in a spider's meticulously constructed web.

❛ besides, i — can't leave. ❜

his eyes flit downward, ashamed and guilt - riddled at the very prospect of dutiful servant made judas : but the weightiness of that can't is clear. he won't let me.

unencumbered by the haze of anaesthesia,  pinkman’s glare is emphatic.  like metal emerging from a furnace,  set to be hammered into shape.  like a precipitous bolt of clarity,  high-voltage shockwaves rippling outward.  ruinous for some.  lucrative for others.  (  because he does what i say,  a rivulet of his former partner’s testimony trickles down.  because i can trust him.  gustavo had nearly dismissed the assessment  —  a junkie heeds the call of his next fix,  impervious to guidance  —  until its connotations gave him pause.  walter did not commend pinkman’s alleged reliability.  he spoke of a collar.  a muzzle.  a tether.  )

he is sober,  gustavo thinks,  and therefore transparent.  a boyish insolence,  a cross-examination:  jesse pinkman treads a tightrope through rough terrain.  barely broaching the perimeter of his potential.  suspended above an abyssal pit.  once,  he’d appeared so small,  so terribly inconsequential,  his mutiny a trifling thing  —  a nominal price to pay for his proximity to excellence.  now,  hiding serves no purpose.  the viewfinder seeks him out.

his candor swings with pendulum smoothness.  “  your performance merits recognition.  ”  the sort of recognition walter is incapable of synthesizing.  gustavo dips his chin,  the gesture tantamount to an olive branch,  and speaks naught of a tether,  but of an opening.  “  if this is to continue,  i will not deter you from running the lab as you see fit.  ”