@notyourdad76
It was fairly rare that Jesse got handed opportunities. There was the big one twenty years back, obviously, and a handful more over the years. The recall itself, most recently. But it was highly uncommon for a chance at happiness to just drop itself into his lap apropos of nothing, and even rarer when it was a simple joy rather than salvation from hard times.
And yet here he was. With his best and finest chance in said twenty years to utterly, hilariously, non-harmfully, with no long-term repercussions, completely screw with Jack Morrison. And God help him, he was just too damn much Gabe’s boy to let that pass him by.
He certainly didn’t know the guy well enough to actually help him deal with the temporal fuckery – really, short of Gabe or either Shimada, he wasn’t really the best choice for that for anyone. So once word had gotten out about the newest casualty of Gibraltar’s seemingly random time-warps, he’d kept to himself, at least long enough for the guy to get his bearings. Now, however, that grace period had ended.
Twenty-one, huh? Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. Probably a cocky little shit, thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity, and the whole world’s linin’ up to agree with him. Anyone could be obnoxious with that much sunshine blown up their ass. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror. An undershirt tight enough and a flannel big enough that flashes of shoulder muscles occasionally peeked out; sleeves rolled to the elbows to highlight one toned forearm and all the intricate (and frankly badass) visual detailing on his prosthesis. He didn’t own any new jeans, but these were the least old and best-fitting, at least where it counted. Boots, buckle and hat all accounted for, of course – he’d just as often have worn sneakers around base, but first impressions mattered, after all. Especially when you were aiming to make the young, stupid and probably constantly low-grade horny version of your boss’s boss fall all over himself. This was as head-to-toe cowboy, take me away as he got without his serape and a borrowed horse.
So it was that of a sunny January afternoon, he made his way out into the commons, fiddling idly with his phone. He glanced up at the TV as he walked in, then over to the sofa. “Evenin’, Commander,” he offered, with a polite smile and his most honeyed drawl, tipping his hat slightly before settling down onto the other end of the couch. Oh, this was gonna be an absolute hoot.
