it’s a sloppy jessica (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
underachievement) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2018-08-09 08:12 pm
underachievement) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2018-08-09 08:12 pm
Entry tags:
I know it keeps you healthy.
WHO: Jessica Jones
WHERE: outskirts, Forest
WHEN: August ~8
OPEN TO: Frank
WARNINGS: alcoholism, language, bozos with trauma, vague cult allusions, AU history
The party was a competent distraction for a night, and shockingly, they're not rounded up the next day with the fountain pouring fruit juice. Life resumes as normal but without the unrelenting rain. Jess wonders if it wasn't the storms that drove the wendigo out of the forest. She wonders at the wendigo over Peeta because even she knows it's disrespectful to project her guilt onto his death. Yet she's tempted to do it all the time, of which there's too much in a day, especially for an insomniac.
After a lot of lying awake and doing nothing, she finally pulls her focus back to what circumstances she can control. Raising her alcohol tolerance, if she can first figure out how much is too much. She keeps overshooting it. Chugging moonshine before sleep drowns the nightmares dead, except Jess wakes up puking every time. That takes a toll on your esophagus, it turns out, and constant drinking takes a toll on your entire body when you left your suped up metabolism in your other dimension. She didn't think she had much muscle on her when she got here but she's definitely gotten weaker. She punches a pillow and the mattress barely yields under it.
She already knew she posed no threat to a wendigo, but right now, she'd barely dent a porcelain-skulled, pasty-faced limey prick. And that can never happen.
Jess isn't interested in learning the proper technique or, [gagging sound effect], sparring. She tries some stretching, the kind she hasn't done since high school, but feels ridiculous, since she has no idea if she's stretching the right things. Committed to doing this aloneand not bothering Danny, she decides to just start running, and she'll figure out what she needs to prep next time based on what hurts, and what makes it feel better. That's probably how the ancient Greeks learned to jog.
She gets winded within minutes, then taking minutes to get her breath back and to talk herself into continuing. Running is a life skill and one she doesn't want to find herself lacking when inevitably she needs it. Even though many of the less traveled or more forest covered paths are still strewn with natural debris, it works for Jess, who takes breaks as she needs them. At each stop, she is freshly amazed by the foresight she had in bringing a bottle of water. She rinsed it, too, so there's almost no rotten vodka aftertaste. Almost. Jess is coming around to it by the time the bottle is half-empty and she's somewhere outside the village, sitting on the trunk of a well aged, recently fallen tree.
WHERE: outskirts, Forest
WHEN: August ~8
OPEN TO: Frank
WARNINGS: alcoholism, language, bozos with trauma, vague cult allusions, AU history
The party was a competent distraction for a night, and shockingly, they're not rounded up the next day with the fountain pouring fruit juice. Life resumes as normal but without the unrelenting rain. Jess wonders if it wasn't the storms that drove the wendigo out of the forest. She wonders at the wendigo over Peeta because even she knows it's disrespectful to project her guilt onto his death. Yet she's tempted to do it all the time, of which there's too much in a day, especially for an insomniac.
After a lot of lying awake and doing nothing, she finally pulls her focus back to what circumstances she can control. Raising her alcohol tolerance, if she can first figure out how much is too much. She keeps overshooting it. Chugging moonshine before sleep drowns the nightmares dead, except Jess wakes up puking every time. That takes a toll on your esophagus, it turns out, and constant drinking takes a toll on your entire body when you left your suped up metabolism in your other dimension. She didn't think she had much muscle on her when she got here but she's definitely gotten weaker. She punches a pillow and the mattress barely yields under it.
She already knew she posed no threat to a wendigo, but right now, she'd barely dent a porcelain-skulled, pasty-faced limey prick. And that can never happen.
Jess isn't interested in learning the proper technique or, [gagging sound effect], sparring. She tries some stretching, the kind she hasn't done since high school, but feels ridiculous, since she has no idea if she's stretching the right things. Committed to doing this alone
She gets winded within minutes, then taking minutes to get her breath back and to talk herself into continuing. Running is a life skill and one she doesn't want to find herself lacking when inevitably she needs it. Even though many of the less traveled or more forest covered paths are still strewn with natural debris, it works for Jess, who takes breaks as she needs them. At each stop, she is freshly amazed by the foresight she had in bringing a bottle of water. She rinsed it, too, so there's almost no rotten vodka aftertaste. Almost. Jess is coming around to it by the time the bottle is half-empty and she's somewhere outside the village, sitting on the trunk of a well aged, recently fallen tree.