( The resounding BANG! explodes into Jesse's consciousness like a gunshot. Curled up on his side, face mashed into the pillow with low mouth-breathing snores, the sound ricochets a violent jolt through his body, frightening him awake. He flings onto his back, gangly limbs flailing, and he gapes wild confusion at the guy. That's one grimy, scary looking guy. Looks like a biker. A hobo biker. The kind of grungy asshole Jesse would sling meth to down at the Crystal Palace. Shit, oh shit ohhhh shit, the guy is coming towards him. Jesse's hands scramble for purchase on the creaky bed as he shoves himself up, scooting hurriedly backwards until his back thumps against the cheap pine bedhead. )
Um-- ( What the hell's happening, yo? Where the hell is he? Who the fuck is this greasy asshole? --Oh fuck, this greasy asshole's got a knife. He's got a fucking knife. Jesse's eyes widen, and he begins stuttering, frantically protesting as he squirms back into the bed's headboard, a hand thrown out at the guy in shielding defense, ) Whoa-whoa-whoa, yo! Whoa, man, whoa, back up, yo!
blood offering
Um-- ( What the hell's happening, yo? Where the hell is he? Who the fuck is this greasy asshole? --Oh fuck, this greasy asshole's got a knife. He's got a fucking knife. Jesse's eyes widen, and he begins stuttering, frantically protesting as he squirms back into the bed's headboard, a hand thrown out at the guy in shielding defense, ) Whoa-whoa-whoa, yo! Whoa, man, whoa, back up, yo!