make a new plan, Stan. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lazyinlove) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-06-26 01:13 am
lazyinlove) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-06-26 01:13 am
(open) The wall
Date & Time: Tuesday (today)
Location: Out in the city!
Characters: Stanley Lucerne and whoever stumbles across him.
Summary: Stan has the feeling he could plaster a wall if he set his mind to it...so he gives it a shot. He hasn't recruited anyone, so all are as likely/welcome to be there as you want.
Warnings: Cursing. He's an American teenage boy from the modern era. Also drugs, whoops. You know, stuff like that.
((OOC And any format is fine, I'll follow. Just starting in prose because it's less work on my phone.))
It wasn't a gradual thing. Gradually, it might've made sense. Maybe he could've mulled it over in his sleep and worked things out. People did that. Famous people. He'd fallen asleep in many a history class to the drone of 'and in a dream, inspiration solved x huge historical problem.'
Instead, it was sudden. As soon as that lady with the weird speech patterns had suggested it, he'd known it was in there. The ability to help. The knowledge of how to go about rebuilding. Which was weird, frankly, since he'd never so much as lifted a hammer before in his life. Yeah, sure, there were tools in the garage back home. His dad might've even known how a few of them worked, though that was debatable. A certainty was that he had never even attempted to show them to Stanley, who had always made his disinterest in manual labor known to those around him.
So it was more than a little unexpected when this morning he woke with not only the feeling that he was capable of helping in the aftermath of the bombing, but the alien new feeling of actually wanting to do so. Which was how he found himself gathering stones and materials, and quietly setting to work. It didn't even matter what the buildings had been before, because he wasn't interested in helping anyone specific. It was sort of like being possessed.
Then again, it could've been worse. He could've been levitating and vomiting pea soup. That would've sucked...
Location: Out in the city!
Characters: Stanley Lucerne and whoever stumbles across him.
Summary: Stan has the feeling he could plaster a wall if he set his mind to it...so he gives it a shot. He hasn't recruited anyone, so all are as likely/welcome to be there as you want.
Warnings: Cursing. He's an American teenage boy from the modern era. Also drugs, whoops. You know, stuff like that.
((OOC And any format is fine, I'll follow. Just starting in prose because it's less work on my phone.))
It wasn't a gradual thing. Gradually, it might've made sense. Maybe he could've mulled it over in his sleep and worked things out. People did that. Famous people. He'd fallen asleep in many a history class to the drone of 'and in a dream, inspiration solved x huge historical problem.'
Instead, it was sudden. As soon as that lady with the weird speech patterns had suggested it, he'd known it was in there. The ability to help. The knowledge of how to go about rebuilding. Which was weird, frankly, since he'd never so much as lifted a hammer before in his life. Yeah, sure, there were tools in the garage back home. His dad might've even known how a few of them worked, though that was debatable. A certainty was that he had never even attempted to show them to Stanley, who had always made his disinterest in manual labor known to those around him.
So it was more than a little unexpected when this morning he woke with not only the feeling that he was capable of helping in the aftermath of the bombing, but the alien new feeling of actually wanting to do so. Which was how he found himself gathering stones and materials, and quietly setting to work. It didn't even matter what the buildings had been before, because he wasn't interested in helping anyone specific. It was sort of like being possessed.
Then again, it could've been worse. He could've been levitating and vomiting pea soup. That would've sucked...
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"Is there a ticklish spot on the roof of your mouth too?" He asks instead, running the tip of his tongue over this new discovery a few times with interest. If everyone has that, no wonder kissing is so much fun. Maybe Michelle has one...
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But Saul would hope Stan doesn't need him, specifically. Or any other criminal lawyer. Then again, they're standing out in the wide open day, stoned. He doesn't have particularly high hopes.
"What?"
Like that's the strangest thing he's ever been asked.
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He opens his mouth and demonstrates, sliding the tip of his tongue along the roof of his mouth in a curved pattern, like the sidling of a snake. It would be lewd with intent, but the kid is too busy daydreaming to even consider that, so it just looks sort of silly. He ends up making himself laugh again. It really tickles.
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Stan is super stoned. And Saul has no plans to try that, lest it actually tickle and he start giggling again.
"You're weird, kid."
But it doesn't sound like he thinks this is a bad thing.
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Though he doesn't seem particularly sorry, either. Mostly he just seems amused by this new discovery. His mind is already wandering off, imagining the uses for it. After indulging in that for a bit he remembers where he is and what he's supposed to be doing. The wall. Right. He's got this. Stan gets back to his feet, and stoops down to pick up the next stone.
"Next time you wanna get weird, knock at 409."
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"409? Jesse's apartment?"
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So naturally Saul's first thought is that Stan really got the drugs from Jesse, but he's way too out of it to care the way he should. He sounds a little annoyed, though it's halfhearted; mostly, he's just staring.
On the other hand, part of him is glad Jesse's taken Stan in. He's a kid. Jesse doesn't sell to kids.
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Now Stan is a flustered kid, trying to figure out the best way to undo that accidental damage. Then again, Jesse's lawyer probably knows about the drugs. Hell, forget the weed, he probably knows about the real drugs Jesse's on. It's probably no big deal. Right?
Crap.
The stone gets pasted into place with the putty mixture while Stan tries not to look Saul in the eyes. He's a pretty sub par liar? Unlike Tony, so he never gets away with steady eye contact. There's always a flinch at some in opportune moment.
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"Hey. Don't worry about it."
No more dragging other people into their shit.
...even if it's probably way too late, in this case.
"Thanks for the weed."
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Of course it comes out like fuck oh fuck why instead, but that's how it goes in these situations. He groans quietly.
"Look. Uh...I didn't have a place to stay, you know? They ran out of rooms. And then I sneezed in Jesse's cookies and he...you know. Did me a favor. Gave me somewhere to stay. So-"
Stan wipes the putty off on his stupid looking (and wet) initiative issued clothing and grabs a muddy schoolbag from nearby, digging through it. He manages to come up with a loose coin, about enough for a sandwich. Probably his lunch money. He presses it into Saul's hand, and licks his lips nervously.
"Let's call today legal counsel, right? You said you're still a lawyer. So there's that...there's a privilege thing. Right?"
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Stupid, but good. Or stupid because he's so good. Saul examines the money Stan's forced on him and frowns like he's considering something way beyond this realm. He then drags his attention from the coin to Stan's face, his own expression skeptical.
"Is this because you want me to take you on as a client or because you don't want me to tell Jesse this meeting ever happened?"
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The kid is frank, if not much else that seems promising.
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"Don't worry about it."
But he won't let Stan go quite so easily. Before he turns on his heel to leave, he adds, "I'll be watching you, kid."
~*~so dramatic~*~
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