Fic: Jared Padalecki’s Journal, Part 20 [J2]
Sorry y'all. I've been holding back posting this part because I'm not that pleased with it and have been trying to improve it, but I think I've done the best I can do for now. Let's go ahead and say that the remaining parts will be posted every other day from now on. You know how December can get, and I want to do justice to the great scenes coming up. Don’t worry, this will definitely be completed before Christmas.
For all parts, click on the 'fic:jpj' tag. For rating, pairings and notes, see part 1.
July 23
Bench: 150
Squat: 225
No. of beers: 1
“What did you want, Misha?”, Jared asked, blowing on his latte. He’d reluctantly agreed to meet Misha for coffee, after the older man had called him 8 times in a week. They were sitting in the Starbucks across the street from the Kripke Enterprises office.
“I want to reiterate my job offer,” Misha said. A half-faded and yellowing bruise still showed on his jaw, looking out of place with his expensive suit and silk tie.
“I’ve got a good job, Misha. One I like, and I think it fits me better. Did you see my interview with the homeless guy who sings opera downtown? It just got posted today. Matt got some great footage of him; he’s really talented, actually, and the big buildings make everything sound really good.”
“No, I didn’t see it,” Misha said. “Things have been a little busy, what with getting punched in the face by maniacs and all.”
Jared flushed at the reminder. The morning after his birthday, Jared had been awoken by a knock on his door. The delivery guy had handed over a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a box of Mexican candy. While cooking dinner, Jared had mentioned to Jensen that he loved it and could rarely find it. The card with the flowers had read simply “Sorry - Jensen,” but that was the only contact Jared had had from him. He had pondered sending the candy back - for about 5 seconds, until he asked himself who he was kidding and dug in. The box had lasted over 24 hours, but only because he’d valiantly left it in his apartment while he was at work.
“Is that what you want to do with your life, Jared, interview crazy homeless people?”, Misha asked
“He’s not crazy. Well, he’s crazy for opera, which I think is nuts, but then I don’t really get techno music either, all those mind-numbing beats and no voices to speak of, but they’re always playing it in clubs, so I guess everybody…” He paused as his phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket.
Misha started talking again, something about a new author they’d landed at Kripke, but Jared tuned him out. He’d gotten a text message from a number he didn’t have in his address book. It read ‘dont trust misha.’
‘who is this?’, he quickly texted back.
“Anyway,” Misha was saying, “we’re doing important work at Kripke, publishing some great books.” He started listing some of the additional acquisitions the company had recently made.
‘carver, im across the street,’ the return text message said.
Jared glanced out of the plate-glass window and saw his ex-coworker Carver Edlund, or at least Jared thought it was him, standing underneath an overhang on the building opposite. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie pulled tightly around his face, holding a cellphone in one hand. What is this, a spy movie?
‘wtf are you talking about?’, Jared texted back quickly.
‘katie left & stole KP client list, thats why m wants u bak’, was the reply.
‘whos katie??’, Jared replied.
‘M’s blond skank.’ Oh, *demon chick*, I’d forgotten her real name.
“Katie left with your client list?,” Jared asked Misha, interrupting his sentence.
Misha flushed. “How did you hear that?”
“Anonymous source,” Jared replied archly. “Is it true?”
Misha nodded slowly. “Apparently she got a better offer from Singer Press, and sweetened the deal by taking our contracts with her and getting them to feature their books in their magazines and newspapers instead of ours. If I don’t get some mainstream press coverage of our products by the end of the quarter, Kripke’s gonna salt and burn me.”
“‘Salt and burn you’?”, Jared repeated, thrown off.
Misha shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s one of those things Kripke always says in meetings when he’s pissed. I think he’s a little crazy, actually. So what do you say? 25% pay raise.”
Jared had to admit that having Misha sitting there, asking him for his help, stroked his ego. It was almost like the old days, when they had fun together and Jared felt like part of a team. Just then, his phone rang. “Hello?”
“Padalecki, it’s Tim. We’ve got a story that’s just up your alley. Some chick’s claiming to see Jesus on the side of her burrito. The whole taco place is filled with gawkers, the Catholic church’s sending somebody over. Can you meet Matt and Danny there? You know the drill, get the crowd to say stupid shit, get an ambiguous shot of the burrito, make a bad Mexican food pun, whatever.”
Jared looked back at Misha, sitting impatiently across from him. “Sure thing, boss. Text me the address, I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone. “Misha, I gotta go. Good luck with the PR thing, but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, not anymore, so I don’t really wanna work with you. Say hi to Carver for me.”
Jared left Starbucks with his head held high - until he almost tripped over an uneven patch in the sidewalk and nearly spilled the remainder of his latte over himself, at which point he started watching where he was going. The proud feeling stuck around, though, even after he found himself in the middle of a refried bean food fight. Beans were *really* hard to get out of your hair, it turned out.
For all parts, click on the 'fic:jpj' tag. For rating, pairings and notes, see part 1.
July 23
Bench: 150
Squat: 225
No. of beers: 1
“What did you want, Misha?”, Jared asked, blowing on his latte. He’d reluctantly agreed to meet Misha for coffee, after the older man had called him 8 times in a week. They were sitting in the Starbucks across the street from the Kripke Enterprises office.
“I want to reiterate my job offer,” Misha said. A half-faded and yellowing bruise still showed on his jaw, looking out of place with his expensive suit and silk tie.
“I’ve got a good job, Misha. One I like, and I think it fits me better. Did you see my interview with the homeless guy who sings opera downtown? It just got posted today. Matt got some great footage of him; he’s really talented, actually, and the big buildings make everything sound really good.”
“No, I didn’t see it,” Misha said. “Things have been a little busy, what with getting punched in the face by maniacs and all.”
Jared flushed at the reminder. The morning after his birthday, Jared had been awoken by a knock on his door. The delivery guy had handed over a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a box of Mexican candy. While cooking dinner, Jared had mentioned to Jensen that he loved it and could rarely find it. The card with the flowers had read simply “Sorry - Jensen,” but that was the only contact Jared had had from him. He had pondered sending the candy back - for about 5 seconds, until he asked himself who he was kidding and dug in. The box had lasted over 24 hours, but only because he’d valiantly left it in his apartment while he was at work.
“Is that what you want to do with your life, Jared, interview crazy homeless people?”, Misha asked
“He’s not crazy. Well, he’s crazy for opera, which I think is nuts, but then I don’t really get techno music either, all those mind-numbing beats and no voices to speak of, but they’re always playing it in clubs, so I guess everybody…” He paused as his phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket.
Misha started talking again, something about a new author they’d landed at Kripke, but Jared tuned him out. He’d gotten a text message from a number he didn’t have in his address book. It read ‘dont trust misha.’
‘who is this?’, he quickly texted back.
“Anyway,” Misha was saying, “we’re doing important work at Kripke, publishing some great books.” He started listing some of the additional acquisitions the company had recently made.
‘carver, im across the street,’ the return text message said.
Jared glanced out of the plate-glass window and saw his ex-coworker Carver Edlund, or at least Jared thought it was him, standing underneath an overhang on the building opposite. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie pulled tightly around his face, holding a cellphone in one hand. What is this, a spy movie?
‘wtf are you talking about?’, Jared texted back quickly.
‘katie left & stole KP client list, thats why m wants u bak’, was the reply.
‘whos katie??’, Jared replied.
‘M’s blond skank.’ Oh, *demon chick*, I’d forgotten her real name.
“Katie left with your client list?,” Jared asked Misha, interrupting his sentence.
Misha flushed. “How did you hear that?”
“Anonymous source,” Jared replied archly. “Is it true?”
Misha nodded slowly. “Apparently she got a better offer from Singer Press, and sweetened the deal by taking our contracts with her and getting them to feature their books in their magazines and newspapers instead of ours. If I don’t get some mainstream press coverage of our products by the end of the quarter, Kripke’s gonna salt and burn me.”
“‘Salt and burn you’?”, Jared repeated, thrown off.
Misha shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s one of those things Kripke always says in meetings when he’s pissed. I think he’s a little crazy, actually. So what do you say? 25% pay raise.”
Jared had to admit that having Misha sitting there, asking him for his help, stroked his ego. It was almost like the old days, when they had fun together and Jared felt like part of a team. Just then, his phone rang. “Hello?”
“Padalecki, it’s Tim. We’ve got a story that’s just up your alley. Some chick’s claiming to see Jesus on the side of her burrito. The whole taco place is filled with gawkers, the Catholic church’s sending somebody over. Can you meet Matt and Danny there? You know the drill, get the crowd to say stupid shit, get an ambiguous shot of the burrito, make a bad Mexican food pun, whatever.”
Jared looked back at Misha, sitting impatiently across from him. “Sure thing, boss. Text me the address, I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone. “Misha, I gotta go. Good luck with the PR thing, but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, not anymore, so I don’t really wanna work with you. Say hi to Carver for me.”
Jared left Starbucks with his head held high - until he almost tripped over an uneven patch in the sidewalk and nearly spilled the remainder of his latte over himself, at which point he started watching where he was going. The proud feeling stuck around, though, even after he found himself in the middle of a refried bean food fight. Beans were *really* hard to get out of your hair, it turned out.