kore_logs | Introductions

Who: Dirk and Pinkman
What: Laying of ground rules
Where: House 13
When: Day 75

The River girl had said rooms were unoccupied, but not entire houses, so he doesn't bother looking for a place that's empty of personal effects. The first place he looks into is a little smaller than some of the other houses he's seen, but two of the three bedrooms seem to be free. Sharing with one person can't be as bad as all that, right? He'd done it in university and his roommate had only requested a room transfer twice.

He drops his overcoat and jacket in the largest bedroom and wanders into the kitchen searching for a clean glass and something to drink. Every dish seems to be in the sink. Instead of exploring the piled up dishes in the sink, he starts prodding into the cabinets instead. He finds a bottle of whiskey and sets it aside for the moment. Half-way through his examination, he catches sight of the camera in the corner of the room and climbs onto the counter to get a better look at it. Lab rats, indeed. This is more like a Big Brother house. The wiring goes directly into the wall, so there's going to be no following it without tearing up the wall. Well, something for later. He taps at the lens, then makes a face at it for good measure. This is frustrating. This is stupid. This is not acceptable.

Still on the counter, he growls and kicks the wall, denting the plaster in the process, then points what he hopes is a menacing finger at the camera. "I am going to figure this out."

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It's not the door opening he hears, and even the footsteps go largely unnoticed. Jesse's safely tucked away in his room, sketchbook in his lap, too preoccupied to pick up too much in the way of danger. The rustling in the kitchen he can even chalk up to his own paranoia, but it's the kick to the wall that really gets his attention. Yeah. Someone's definitely here. Who the hell -

Jesse's immediately up and out of his bed, barefoot and clad in nothing but his boxers, has the sense of mind to haphazardly yank on a hoodie before he's starting his investigation of whatever the fuck is going on in his house. The door opens quietly, and Jesse steps out, silently, a crowbar in hand. He wields it like a baseball bat, doesn't see anyone in the hall, and starts to make his way to the kitchen.

There's a guy standing on his counter next to a dent in the wall, back to him, and Jesse creeps up as softly as he can with the crowbar, raises it and - !

Wait, he knows this dude. He's new, talked to him on the communicator and everything. It's kind of hard to miss that hair. The crowbar drops a little, from threatening to standby, and Jesse immediately lets out, "The fuck are you doin', man?"

At the sound of Jesse's voice, he turns around quickly, his feet fumbling over the counter as he goes. He nearly slips off of the counter, but leans back into the cabinets as a save, his knees bent and hands gripping to one of the cabinet handles for purchase. "Oh, a pry bar." Well, that's not very promising. But he does recognize this kid. He's one of the many that he's already talked to today. He holds out a placating hand, then immediately regrets the decision, grabbing for the cabinet handle once more before he slips off of the counter.

With great care, he climbs down off the counter top and smooths a hand down over his tie, attempting some level of collected cool. He's going to stay right here while the kid still has the big metal object, though. "I am intimidating our captors into a state of confusion and unease." Yeah, let's go with that. It's better than 'I got frustrated and kicked the wall.'

This guy's a hot mess. Jesse watches him fumbling with his stance on the counter with an abstract kind of disbelief that's very apparent on his face. To his credit, he even releases the crowbar for a moment when Dirk looks like he's going to fall, holds up his own hand like as if he's going to steady him. Thankfully, he doesn't have to.

"You're-" He cuts off and lets the crowbar drop by his side, dangling non-aggressively from his hand as he lets out a frustrated sigh, mops a hand over his face before he can even answer. "How's that workin' out for ya?" He gestures to Dirk. "I meant what the hell are ya doin' here? You tryin' to wreck the place?"

Once the pry bar isn't pointing at him any longer, Dirk feels a little more secure here to relax. "Oh. No." He turns a little to look at the hole in the wall. "This was just...testing." He reaches out a hand to prod at the damage he'd done. A piece of plaster falls away from the wall and he brushes it from the counter with a tense smile.

He clears his throat and turns back, grinning as widely as possible, all teeth. He's always found that people are less likely to hit him with large metal objects if he seems less threatening. "I'm moving in!" He dips a hand into his shirt pocket, pulling out a business card to hand over. It reads:

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
We solve the whole crime
We find the whole person

33a Peckender Street, London
Tel: 020 7946 0101

See, look, he's a professional. "I was led to believe that the arrangements here are rather communal."

"Testing," Jesse repeats incredulously, almost a question. He follows up with some pretty heavy sarcasm, "Tryin' to find a stud or somethin'?" Of course, then Dirk gets plaster all over the counter, and Jesse raises an indignant hand, a small 'tch' of disapproval escaping from his mouth.

He really can't talk. This is the guy who initially tried to get into this locked house by kicking in the door.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. This guy was just gonna move himself in? It was kind of the nature of the beast - people, after all, needed places to stay - but color him wary about a whole new person barging in on his (well, 'his') property and settling down. The card doesn't seem to do much to placate him either, though he does take it, reads it a few times over. "There ain't really a system to it," he replies a little distractedly. "People just kinda gotta bunk down where they can."

But that's not what he's most concerned with right now; it's suddenly the card that's making him question this newfound guest. Detective, huh? Years of dealing, manufacturing, and pretty steady drug use don't get him any less jittery around police types, even if it's just a private investigator sort of deal. "This like a private kinda place? Cuz you ain't no cop. Ya ain't the type."

"No, no, no, I have never been one for the traditional methods of investigation. In fact, my work often finds me working opposite to official lines of inquiry." That explained, and seeing as the kid no longer seems deadly or outright hostile, a drink may be in order. He moves to the sink and selects two glasses that seem more or less clean, rinses them, and pours a couple fingers of whisky into both.

As he does this, he continues to speak, "I am a holistic detective. The term refers to my methods, in that they are holistic and, in the proper sense of the word, chaotic. I study the interconnectedness of all things. As anyone familiar with quantum mechanics will tell you, it is really the only way. Drink?" He offers one of the glasses over, takes a sip of his own, then glances towards the fridge. "Do we have any ice?"

Jesse, who is decidedly not familiar with quantum mechanics, doesn't really get it yet. Well, he gets the idea as a whole, drawing lines between what you have to, gets you from point A to point B, sure, he gets it at its most basic of understanding. Where the difference between regular cop work and this guy's work, that's where it's giving him a problem.

"Yeah," he answers after a beat, just as distracted as before. He's looking at the glass newly in his hand for a few long seconds before he finally starts towards the fridge, sets his drink on the counter before he props open the freezer. "'Bout all we got, really. Why, you want rocks?" His fingers drum indecisively against the handle as he looks back at Dirk. "What kinda cases you run?"

"Undoubtedly," Dirk answers, while waiting for the guy to get the ice out. The continued interest in his detective work is flattering, and he definitely doesn't mind expanding on the subject.

He leans up against the counter and crosses his arms, the drink still dangling from one hand waiting for ice. "What kinds of cases? Missing persons, cheating spouses...international espionage and the apprehension of hired assassins...missing cats. You know. The usual." He tilts his head to look in the freezer, wondering at the state of the ice.

Hey, know thine enemy. Sort of. He really doesn't think Dirk is anything too threatening from what he's seeing, but you never know what kind of stuff is gonna pique a guy's interest. The less Dirk knows about Jesse's hobbies, he figures? The better.

"Cats," he responds a little blankly as he yanks a bag of ice out of the freezer, turns back and drops it unceremoniously on the counter, tugs open the zip tie for Dirk and turns the bag around for him. His own, he takes without rocks, takes a healthy sip and grimaces a bit at the strength. "Yo, assassins? Like hitmen?" Like the mafia?? "Shit sounds exciting, ya ever get in anything real cool? Like a shootout?"

"The English are not, as a whole, an incredibly armed people." So, no, no shoot-outs. Dirk sometimes takes his whiskey straight, but today he'd rather it be cold than strong. He grabs a few cubes and drops them into his glass. "As far as I know, the assassin was not affiliated with the Cosa Nostra or any other organized crime family. Rosita Valjenko, codename The Cleaner. I was able to apprehend her after a mix-up involving a cut-rate phone answering system." He's not going to mention that the cut-rate answering system happened to be his.

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