nexus_sages | (no subject)

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Well, this was not at all the place that door usually led to. Now he's been drugged before, once (it didn't end very well when he found out who'd done it) but he hadn't a lick of whiskey today so he knew it weren't that, and Nash considered himself a fairly well off man up there in the noggin. So as to how that cellar door lead here was something of a mystery, putting aside all that 'here' was.

Matter of fact was, though, he could waste his time trying to make a fuss or just roll with the punches. Either way, he figured it'd sort its self in time.

So that being said, "Which one'a you gonna handle my ma's wrath when I ain't home for dinner?"

He rolled a toothpick between his lips with a cheeky grin. Then, more seriously, "what makes a man irredeemable?

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Things aren't as bad as Jesse's world, far as he can tell, but Nash has seen the ugly in man and has no doubt what the worst could be. The things that a man will do when he get's desparate is truly the way of the devil. He believe it. Temptation to drink or knock someone in he ear once has nothing on the shit someone will pull to get out of a bad situation, and it almost always makes the situation even worse. See, maybe some other families don't care about how someone pays their debt. Nash did. Judgement.

"Well," he let that drawl out a little, "that's a loaded question," he idly scratched along a sharp jawline. Enough to say, more the former than the latter.

"Sure is." Maybe to sidestep that for the moment, Jesse quirks a lopsided smile and lifts his chin. "Hey, don't think I got a name, pardner. I'm Jesse. Gang leader o' the Rotten." He doesn't offer a hand for shaking; as a member of the living dead, he's conscious of not forcing people to touch him if they don't want to.

It was just complicated, or at least Nash thought it was.

He nodded, and offered a name in return. "Nash, as in Nashville." Curious whether or not Jesse was from a world that had, once, been similar to his own.

"Gotta say, didn't take you for a gang leader." More a conversation changer than anything. People wouldn't think of the Thompsons as a crime family either.

"Aw hell, Tennessee born 'n bred, I'm guessin'? Grand Ole Opry an' birthplace o' country in general! Hell of a state. Wish I coulda seen it afore things went tits up back where I'm from. Maybe I did before this whole dyin' business knocked some memories outta my noggin! Guess we'll never know now, huh?" He's so cheerful about this all! Maybe Jesse is just that irrepressible. He keeps smiling as he rocks on his heels.

"What threw it off? Bein' dead or bein' a cowboy? Gangs is the only way to get by back home. And seein' that there wasn't one for the dead who could still think 'n talk, why not make one? Be the change, like they say."

"That's right, my Ma's a Texan though. Came up from Dallas." A beat, and he rocked back on his heels with a smile.

"Hell of a state it is. Tennessee's where all the good music came from," he said with some semblance of pride. "Born just outside of Memphis, actually. Was conceived in Nashville though as the story goes, an' been on over a couple times."

A lot of fun times, there. Made him a little sad to hear that Jesse couldn't remember what it was like being alive. He'd offer, but he didn't figure someone like Jesse would be all that welcomed. The south was friendly, but not that friendly.

"Well, you let me know when you find that cure of yours an' we'll go on down to celebrate." Strange to see someone so happy though, even with the condition. Kind of grew on him, this guy.

He butted his smoke on a heel and flicked it into a near-by ash. "Maybe the dead part, but I guess that makes sense."

"I'm gonna hold y'all to that!" He points with his smouldering cigar. "Second that cure's gone through, we're gonna raise hell a stick a chuck under it! Y'all seem like a fella who knows how to do just that." Those tattoos are rad as hell, man.

"Figgur yer from a place that ain't got zed? Lucky man. My neck of the woods got a whole lotta walkin' dead. Most of 'em ain't too smart and just lookin' to bite the livin'. Me and mine, we ain't like that, but it don't stop the rest of the gangs lumpin' us with 'em. But hey, we get by!"

It's funny how fast something like shooting pool a couple drinks, or maybe a local live show can turn into something along the lines of fists and broken chairs. He tossed back a laugh, "there's a whole lotta bad 'bout me, not stickin' to my word ain't one of 'em."

Zed, guess that was what this whole dead thing was called. "Ain't like it matters much. Just cause they ain't dead don't mean that much, y'know? Lotta them might as well be."

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