[ When Lalo smiles this time, it feels a little less contrived and more genuine, which puts Jesse a little more at ease, though he's far from letting his guard down. Maybe partaking in alcohol with someone you don't entirely trust isn't the smartest move, but Jesse, too, is aware that people tend to talk more with a little booze in their systems, and it might help him get a little better grasp on who exactly he's dealing with here, or at least if this is someone he should avoid or befriend. ]
Oh--I'm Jesse. Jesse, uh...Jackson.
[ It was the first thing that popped into his head and, yeah, the name he'd written on his lease back in Albuquerque when he'd first moved into that little duplex apartment. No, he doesn't realize the hilariousness of the alias he's chosen. Might as well have introduced himself as George Bush or Charlie Chaplain. At least he didn't lie about his first name, though, which makes things that much easier. It's not like Pinkman is a household name or anything, but this Jorge doesn't outwardly appear to be from a wildly different world or time-period, so he's better off playing it safe. Besides, something about him kind of gives him the creeps. He's not about to make that public knowledge, though, so, against his better judgment, he reaches out with his tattooed hand to shake Jorge's, making sure he's got a firm grip when he does. ]
Bar's this way.
[ Jesse tips his head towards the door that leads inside and he heads down the hallway and then down the stairs. Music, once faint, grows louder as they get closer to the bar. It's not obnoxiously loud, but enough so to draw in patrons. ]
So...what's your poison?
[ A lot can actually be said about a person depending on what they decide to order to drink, particularly around new company. Some prefer to keep things light and sippable, but others are less cautious and go straight for the hard stuff. He's curious what this guy'll choose. ]
no subject
Oh--I'm Jesse. Jesse, uh...Jackson.
[ It was the first thing that popped into his head and, yeah, the name he'd written on his lease back in Albuquerque when he'd first moved into that little duplex apartment. No, he doesn't realize the hilariousness of the alias he's chosen. Might as well have introduced himself as George Bush or Charlie Chaplain. At least he didn't lie about his first name, though, which makes things that much easier. It's not like Pinkman is a household name or anything, but this Jorge doesn't outwardly appear to be from a wildly different world or time-period, so he's better off playing it safe. Besides, something about him kind of gives him the creeps. He's not about to make that public knowledge, though, so, against his better judgment, he reaches out with his tattooed hand to shake Jorge's, making sure he's got a firm grip when he does. ]
Bar's this way.
[ Jesse tips his head towards the door that leads inside and he heads down the hallway and then down the stairs. Music, once faint, grows louder as they get closer to the bar. It's not obnoxiously loud, but enough so to draw in patrons. ]
So...what's your poison?
[ A lot can actually be said about a person depending on what they decide to order to drink, particularly around new company. Some prefer to keep things light and sippable, but others are less cautious and go straight for the hard stuff. He's curious what this guy'll choose. ]