[ Holy god. That massive, giant ass— thing Jesse has seen wandering about out there. Every time Jesse has spotted it out there, he's ducked down low at the window so only his forehead and eyes are visible, and just - S T A R E D.
Of course, Jesse hasn't done a whole lot of sleeping since winding up in this place. He's barely slept at all, really. He's exhausted. He's terribly homesick. He misses Jane like he's missing a huge part of himself. And he wishes, despite wanting to hate the hell out of him, that Mr. White was here to tell him what to do. How to handle all of this. Mr. White would know what to do. He always knows what to do, in some way or another. In between staring out the window, Jesse has done a lot of pacing inside the house. Nervous, restless pacing. Biting his fingernails. Fiddling with things. Wishing to god he had cigarettes, something to channel his nerves and terror and homesickness into.
He's pacing inside the house now, actually. Biting his fingernails. The sudden knock on his front door has him freezing on the spot, eyes going wide. He holds his breath, and waits. Swallows. Maybe it's that girl he met down by the river? Yeah. Maybe. That has him slowly approaching the door, and sloooowly opening it ajar enough to peek out. And—
Oh... my... god...
Jesse stares up at the bull thing, agape. Compared to bull thing? Jesse is tiny. Five-foot-eight, a hundred and fifty pounds of skin and bone. A tiny runt of a dude next to— this thing.
The words that come out of bull thing's mouth very nearly rebound off Jesse's ears out of sheer overwhelmed terror. ]
Uhhh.... [ Jesse shifts on the spot, shrunken in on himself while peering through the crack of the door. ] Uhhh. I. Um. I-I... I'm. [ An audible gulp. ] ...H-Hi?
NO PROBS i should've added to that permission post that i match ppl's preferred log styles whoops
Of course, Jesse hasn't done a whole lot of sleeping since winding up in this place. He's barely slept at all, really. He's exhausted. He's terribly homesick. He misses Jane like he's missing a huge part of himself. And he wishes, despite wanting to hate the hell out of him, that Mr. White was here to tell him what to do. How to handle all of this. Mr. White would know what to do. He always knows what to do, in some way or another. In between staring out the window, Jesse has done a lot of pacing inside the house. Nervous, restless pacing. Biting his fingernails. Fiddling with things. Wishing to god he had cigarettes, something to channel his nerves and terror and homesickness into.
He's pacing inside the house now, actually. Biting his fingernails. The sudden knock on his front door has him freezing on the spot, eyes going wide. He holds his breath, and waits. Swallows. Maybe it's that girl he met down by the river? Yeah. Maybe. That has him slowly approaching the door, and sloooowly opening it ajar enough to peek out. And—
Oh... my... god...
Jesse stares up at the bull thing, agape. Compared to bull thing? Jesse is tiny. Five-foot-eight, a hundred and fifty pounds of skin and bone. A tiny runt of a dude next to— this thing.
The words that come out of bull thing's mouth very nearly rebound off Jesse's ears out of sheer overwhelmed terror. ]
Uhhh.... [ Jesse shifts on the spot, shrunken in on himself while peering through the crack of the door. ] Uhhh. I. Um. I-I... I'm. [ An audible gulp. ] ...H-Hi?