He's not aware of it at first, the shift that's happening - he's too lost in how absolutely fucking satisfying that punch had felt, even as he shakes out his hand and grips at his wrist, flexes his fingers because motherfucker, that really hurt. Whatever, worth it. He's pleased as punch and his mouth turns up into a bit of a cruel, self-satisfied grin as he finally looks back up at Samuel, up from his hands, and it's just around that time that the man's eyes start turning into something less human.
What the- hell-
There's no time to marvel over it, because there's a hand around his wrist and Jesse barely even has time to register the change in age before he's reflexively running after Finch, stumbling a few steps while his sight's still locked onto Samuel and whatever the shit is happening to the guy right now. "What the fuck," he calls over his shoulder, incredulously, he grabs onto the door for a second to stop their running in time to see whatever that is coming out of his mouth, but he's pulled again, in the opposite direction.
It's not a hallucination, it can't be a hallucination. What the fuck would he be on to make something look like that? Certainly not fucking crystal, and he knows what goes into his shit, he knows it's not laced with anything else to make something do that. "What the fuck?" he repeats, louder this time, horrified, this is something out of a goddamn Del Toro movie and he's never seen anything like it, not outside of dreams and Hollywood - it makes the hair on his neck stand up and makes him run after Finch in earnest.
Getting high was a bad idea, getting high was a very very bad idea. The paranoia's settling in hard and it's mixing with Finch's own terror in a very particularly ugly fashion right now.
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What the- hell-
There's no time to marvel over it, because there's a hand around his wrist and Jesse barely even has time to register the change in age before he's reflexively running after Finch, stumbling a few steps while his sight's still locked onto Samuel and whatever the shit is happening to the guy right now. "What the fuck," he calls over his shoulder, incredulously, he grabs onto the door for a second to stop their running in time to see whatever that is coming out of his mouth, but he's pulled again, in the opposite direction.
It's not a hallucination, it can't be a hallucination. What the fuck would he be on to make something look like that? Certainly not fucking crystal, and he knows what goes into his shit, he knows it's not laced with anything else to make something do that. "What the fuck?" he repeats, louder this time, horrified, this is something out of a goddamn Del Toro movie and he's never seen anything like it, not outside of dreams and Hollywood - it makes the hair on his neck stand up and makes him run after Finch in earnest.
Getting high was a bad idea, getting high was a very very bad idea. The paranoia's settling in hard and it's mixing with Finch's own terror in a very particularly ugly fashion right now.