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[mcgill]

[The man seated uneasily in front of the camera probably looks familiar to anyone who knew or knew of Saul Goodman, ex-defense attorney and daytime TV judge extraordinaire. He has the same face, mostly, save for the abundance of hair on his head (which is sticking up just slightly, like he's been exposed to a stiff breeze or, in his case, static electricity) and fewer wrinkles around his eyes than anyone who got close enough to him might remember. And his smile, just like Saul's, is playfully crooked — though it's laced with a nervousness that doesn't really fit the image Saul projected whenever he had an audience. This man isn't as confident as his older lookalike, that much is clear, nor is he as brightly dressed. (A white dress shirt and a bland, striped tie are all that's currently visible.)

But he has that same ol' sparkle in his eye, and he straightens up a bit as soon as he's ready to speak, which is a habit anyone would recognize: that sudden shift from casual to professional Saul made any time he approached the bench or a business meeting.

And as for his voice — that's the same, too.

This is almost definitely Saul Goodman, but:]

Hiya. The name's Jimmy McGill. James, technically, but — I prefer Jimmy.

[He lifts his hands into view. Saul's trademark (fake) Rolex and gold pinky ring are missing, but that's because they're obscured by a pair of heavy-duty electrical gloves.]

I've got a little problem on my hands, pun only halfheartedly intended. [A laugh, one quick huff of air. Saul's laugh: Heh.] Seems the powers that be decided I should have the ability to manipulate power itself. Electricity, I mean. More specifically — [A brief pause, a swallow. He tries to play it off; there's no reason this word should bother him.] Electromagnetism. So, since I have no idea how to control an honest-to-God superpower because they're not really real where I come from, this is... uh, it's an issue. Anyone got any tips? Tricks? Ways to wake up, maybe?

[He smiles again, this time thin-lipped and a little desperate. It looks like he's on the verge of panic.]

Please?

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[restingstitchface]

[This poor man. He looks in a right state; nervous laughter, swallowing and a thin-lipped nervous smile? What would be the right thing to do, here?

He switches on his feed. He looks clean, calm and pleasant.]

Your discomfort is evident. As a doctor, I really don't see how I can permit you to suffer. Therefore, I can prescribe medicine, if you need it.

Though it would require a discussion. I am not in the habit of breaking out my prescription pad. My pills won't magically banish your fear of losing control.

[mcgill]

[And then there's this guy.

Jimmy squints at his screen, head tilting just a fraction.]

I, uh, wouldn't call this suffering, really.

[He sounds a little judgmental, like, DO YOU PEDDLE DRUGS TO NEWBIES OFTEN, MAN?]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane tilts his head, slightly - and to the same side as Jimmy. He presses his lips a fraction at the unspoken accusation, which he's heard indubitably as a psychiatrist, how dare you.

Anyway. Peddling drugs? Please. His mind is meant for higher matters.

Like studying this man's response. People often respond with bravery to fear, and he's generally found them unwilling to admit pain. And that's why he has to drag it out those lucky few he can get his fingers into.]

What would you call it, then?

[mcgill]

Discomfort.

[On approximately a dozen levels, now.]

And some general... what would you call it? What's the word for being freaked out after something weird happens?

[restingstitchface]

Anxiety? There are so many words in the English language to describe various states of distress. It really depends on the symptoms you experience.

[He slowly tilts his head back. There's a cold, clinical light in his eyes. Pure, scientific curiosity.]

Of course, a man with your new talents might call it going haywire.

[mcgill]

[Jimmy shifts around in his seat, dropping his hands from view so he can fidget without Crane seeing.

Crane probably knows, though.

He forces a little laugh. This is fine.]

Haywire, yeah. Maybe. Lemme guess: You're a shrink?

[restingstitchface]

[Crane's expression doesn't waver. Shrink is but one word he's been called before.

And it's nowhere near the worst of them, he thinks, as he calmly folds his hands in his lap.]

I'm a psychiatrist.

[Yes he is. But show some respect, man.]

[mcgill]

[Nah. Psychiatrists, psychologists — they're creepy no matter what you call 'em.]

Are you psychoanalyzing me right now, doc?

[restingstitchface]

[Huh, so he's creepy? Now Jimmy's begging to see his mask. He made it himself you know.]

No. But I believe my answer wouldn't make a bit of difference.

You're convinced I am, either way.

[mcgill]

[NAH.]

Apologies if I've offended. I'm overgeneralizing, aren't I?

[restingstitchface]

[How cute. Jimmy thinks he has a choice.]

Yes. Have you had bad experiences with psychiatrists in the past, then?

[mcgill]

No, I was just — making an assumption. A faulty one, at that, which I guess is why that saying exists.

[restingstitchface]

I can accept that.

[He crosses his right leg, then folds his trousers over his knee, where he rests his hands. He speaks in a mildly curious tone; those who know him would say that means he hasn't accepted it at all.]

Assumptions are dangerous things to make, mind. I wouldn't make a habit of it.

[mcgill]

[Jimmy watches Crane rearrange himself, expression mostly neutral. The part that isn't neutral is a little intrigued, which he tries his darnedest to hide. He's sure Crane will pick up on it, and that seems... unwise.]

I try to be impartial. I'm a lawyer — er. Was a lawyer. I'm a judge now, apparently, so... yeah, that's something to work on.

[restingstitchface]

You're a judge?

[He sounds pleasant enough, and even gives a warm smile.

How cute. The man believes he can defend himself with judicial power. Power's something he loves too, and it's something he enjoys wielding - but his kind is of a superior sort to human laws.

All things give into fear.]

What level of court do you serve?

[This might be entertaining if he makes decisions in murder cases.]

[mcgill]

I am now.

[Jimmy doesn't think he can defend himself with anything. This is brand! new! information!

The only judging he's done before has been in his head, or to Kim, and the uncertainty about this whole thing is written all over his face. He really doesn't know if he's fit to wear those robes.]

Small claims court.

[restingstitchface]

[Ugh.

That made Jimmy less entertaining in the manner to which he'd been accustomed. But he could still be useful, nonetheless.]

The dregs of civil proceedings, then?

[mcgill]

Something like that.

[He's hoping the court cases he'll handle here are similar to the ones he handled back home, albeit in a different capacity. Quick, easy, in and out in a couple of days.]

[restingstitchface]

Oh. I cannot imagine anything worse.

[Oh, but he can.]

Anyway. There is a large population here. I'm cautiously optimistic you'll discover the the help you need.

[mcgill]

[Rude, bro. That's Jimmy's life you're talking about. Only he's allowed to say it sucks.]

Thanks. I'll take all the optimism I can get.