[Which is a good thing, apparently, because Jesse can't stop kissing the top of Trotsky's head. He reaches for the treats and holds one out to the puppy.]
[After a cursory sniff, Trotsky is perfectly happy to lick that right out of Jesse's hand, thank you very much. Hope you like dog slobber.]
Pretty much. I should've named him Oscar. Or Rowlf. Mr. G suggested Bruiser, which I objected to on the basis that I don't think this guy could give a bruise to a fish.
Oh. Mr. G-- his name's actually Will. Will Graham. I started calling him Mr. G just to tease him but it kinda stuck. He's this old crotchety dude who doesn't like people, but he's also like this genius criminal profiler who works for the FBI. And he likes me. So he's tutoring me so I can get my GED here.
And-- before you start, I know it doesn't count for anything here or back home, and I've got a job already, but. I kinda just wanna do it to prove that I can, you know?
[Record scratch. Jesse stops what he's doing, the smile fading from his face. He kind of doesn't even hear the second part of that, it takes so long for the first part to sink in.]
... What? It's not that crazy, is it? I mean, you said yourself you thought I was smart. And I'm feeling really good about it. I've totally been studying my butt off.
... Since like the week after I first got here? Look. I don't know what you've heard or read about him, but you should know-- there's this reporter out there, Freddie Lounds? Who is like, hellbent on destroying his life. Literally none of the rumours she spreads are true. He's kind of a... misanthropic oddball? But he's not actually a bad guy. Trust me. I've been alone in a room with him on a weekly basis for like almost three months now. You can relax.
[Skye takes the comm from him with a frown and fumbles around in the databank for a bit.]
Uhh... you know phones don't actually keep recordings of phone conversations unless someone's bugged it, right? All I can see here is the date, length and IDs involved with the call.
Seriously? The government ain't bugging these things?
[What if he gives her a power boost? Does that help? He's pretty sure she won't believe him unless she hears Will Graham's freaky-ass creepy voice for herself.]
Ugh, fuck it. Look - the guy's got it out for me. I'm pretty sure whatever that reporter's been saying, it's right. You shouldn't be hanging around his psycho ass.
Yeah. That's great. But he's obsessed with this girl Abigail who's like so scared of him she'd rather stay in a hospital than go home with him when he says he's supposed to be her legal guardian, and somebody back home tried to kill her and she's lying about it, and he's stalking me just because I tried to help her. So, you know, he kinda actually sounds pretty psycho to me.
... She died, back home. Abigail, that is. I don't think Mr. G is really over it? I mean-- he was supposed to protect her, but she was murdered. So I think that's why he's a bit... weird and over-protective, when it comes to her.
I don't know! I'm not some kind of like... crazy omnipotent all-seeing being! Maybe he didn't know you offered to heal her! All I know is, he's not a bad guy.
I'm going because he's probably parked out there with a pair of binoculars and a butcher knife. If you're telling him anything, tell him we split or something. Maybe he'll lay off on working you.
[He bends to pick up his slightly battered comm off the floor.]
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[The second the puppy approaches him, Jesse's already wrapping his arms around it for a hug and scritches.]
Hey, Trotsky! Hello! You're such a good boy! Look at you with all this floofy hair!
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Instead I just got a giant, stupid ball of fluff.
[Her voice is very fond as she says it, though, and she hands the box of dog treats over to Jesse.]
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[Which is a good thing, apparently, because Jesse can't stop kissing the top of Trotsky's head. He reaches for the treats and holds one out to the puppy.]
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Pretty much. I should've named him Oscar. Or Rowlf. Mr. G suggested Bruiser, which I objected to on the basis that I don't think this guy could give a bruise to a fish.
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[Jesse does not mind the dog slobber one bit. He's already pulling out another treat.]
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And-- before you start, I know it doesn't count for anything here or back home, and I've got a job already, but. I kinda just wanna do it to prove that I can, you know?
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[Jesse's looking rather pale. A lot paler than GED tutoring warrants.]
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... Since like the week after I first got here? Look. I don't know what you've heard or read about him, but you should know-- there's this reporter out there, Freddie Lounds? Who is like, hellbent on destroying his life. Literally none of the rumours she spreads are true. He's kind of a... misanthropic oddball? But he's not actually a bad guy. Trust me. I've been alone in a room with him on a weekly basis for like almost three months now. You can relax.
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He called me. Like three weeks ago. You can find it, right?
[It shouldn't be too hard.]
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Uhh... you know phones don't actually keep recordings of phone conversations unless someone's bugged it, right? All I can see here is the date, length and IDs involved with the call.
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[What if he gives her a power boost? Does that help? He's pretty sure she won't believe him unless she hears Will Graham's freaky-ass creepy voice for herself.]
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[She says, while in bed with a bad guy.]
Look, I'll try to get him to back off.
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[But she can't, so he picks up his useless comm and chucks it across the room. He doesn't particularly care if he busts it.]
Christ...
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No. No, don't - don't say anything to him. Jesus.
[He huffs out a sigh and glances out the window before pushing himself up.]
I should go.
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This is the most ridiculous not-argument I've ever had.
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[He bends to pick up his slightly battered comm off the floor.]
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