sixthiterationlogs | as cuddly as a cactus, as charming as an eel.

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as cuddly as a cactus, as charming as an eel.

WHO: Jessica Jones
WHERE: House 6, House 60, and the road to and from
WHEN: December
OPEN TO: House residents, neighbors and passersby, OTA for starter requests
WARNINGS: Alcoholism, character death mention.

6. Jess pauses outside the home, boot soles sunken into an inch or two of snow despite the path's recent shovelling. She figures she's only ever stumbled up this porch after nightfall, ignored the faded number plaque veiled as it was under shadow. That's not a satisfying answer to her rudimentary question of "what the hell," however, so she must not be directing it at herself. Did Frank pick 6 on purpose? Jess scoffs, not him or at herself or at the house, but at the fact that she's even wondering. If he did, who cares. It's been six goddamn months since he made that call. The reason for which it was made has ceased to matter or she wouldn't be willing to haul her box of crap in as she's doing right now.

She trudges up and in, gravitating towards the living room chair she's prone to pass out in. She sets her box down in it, then offloads the red bag slung over her shoulder on top of it. The box has no lid and is stuffed with clothes; the top layer fades from white to damp blue as the snow melts in the house's eager warmth and abundant light. Sighing, she bellows hot breath from her cheeks onto her bare fingertips. Fingerless gloves could get her through most New York winters but she's finding out that a cold snap in the woods is exponentially less willing to compromise.

Survival on her own is doable, provided she blacks out drinking every day to distract from the misery. Aside from services, favours and good turns deserving of another, none of which she's willing to provide, Jess hasn't worked out the currency around here, nor the booze situation half the time. Tripling down on her drinking problem doesn't seem tenable, as per the law of the conservation of matter. And there's her health to think about, she'd suppose. Instead she thinks about her death, the one she went through already, and how pointless and selfish it was. Freezing herself into a sad Little Match Girl mummy clutching an empty bottle isn't exactly an improvement.

She mills around the house long enough to warm up a bit before heading back out for her second and last round of personal effects (moonshine and a bunch of chocolate bars). Interrupt her at any point during her journey, or come around House #6 later in the day and greet its temporary new occupant.

[ HMU for a closed starter set elsewhere, such as the bunker, the daily lunch or swapping books at the school. ]

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He notices her come in the first time, of course, but doesn't let on that he's home, though Bruno the croc-dog isn't so subtle. He runs up to Jessica and rubs against her leg while she starts unloading stuff. Frank doesn't offer to help, not even with an inevitable second run, but there are bright red mittens sitting out on the table should she choose to notice and want to take them on her second jaunt.

While she's gone, in whatever form that takes, Frank drags her first load into the master bedroom and dumps anything loose onto the freshly made bed. It isn't a chivalry thing, giving her his room, but rather that he had given it to Matt weeks earlier and been too preoccupied to move his shit back downstairs. If she left them behind, the red mittens will be sitting on the bedside table, along with a matching hat and scarf. And there's another gift in the drawer that might take her a minute to discover: a hand-rolled marijuana cigarette from Frank's Winter stash. Welcome to House Six, or whatever.

When she gets back with the rest of her stuff, he'll be in the kitchen, making coffee and preparing for dinner and Kamala's inevitable return. All three dogs run out to greet her this time, along with a tiny peacock-kitten who is too shy to approach on her own, but she's clearly watching Jessica's every move where she's perched on the windowsill. Patti the lynx is lounging on the back of the couch where she usually hangs out, and doesn't even take a moment's pause from her nap with all the commotion.

She avoided the critters well enough the first time. Must have been shadowing their master who was staying scarce. That can't be the case anymore, a tide of tails and lolling tongues breaking against her shins. Jess nudges them aside too gently, accounting for a reserve of hidden strength that she hasn't stopped by the power machine to pick up. She's firmer the second time, able to stomp her way through the parting pups, just for them to crash together behind her and shove their noses in behind her knees.

"Shoo," she scolds them, heading for her chair without paying attention to the absence of her belongings on its seat. "I'm not one of you." Hair is shaken back from her face as she raises her head, steps halted when she sees her stuff has helpfully disappeared. God, this is what it's going to be like for the next two weeks, isn't it? Not that the snow will have stopped by then. That's just as long as it's likely to take her to break down and start occupying space at the Inn, though she belongs there even less. She's not new, she's not lost, she's a cold bitch that's all.

With a huff, Jess drops her new load where the old one was and starts to peel out of her jacket. She catches sight of the lynx then, which asserts to her that real cats don't look like that fucked up kitten. For good measure, Jess takes a long look around the whole room to ensure she's clocked every fuzzball that's made itself known as well as the green beast in the back yard, if it's still alive. She makes a personal vow to feel zero solidarity with any of them, no matter what. Of her many failures, it will bet he cutest one by far.

Edited (cool when ur account expires b/w preview and posting) 2018-12-11 03:06 (UTC)

He's come to think of it as "Jessica's chair" as well, hearing all the back-and-forth before she settles into it. Frank is grateful she finally decided to move in, even if it was 100% for the free electricity, not that it would be about anything else.

"Coffee, tea or wine?" he calls, shoving their roast in the oven to slow-cook. He was about to take a break himself so he tells himself it isn't about Jess, but it's not like he can pretend she isn't a factor now that she's here.

"Coffee." She goes searching for a closet she's never used, looking for somewhere to hang her jacket up. The dogs continue to follow her, not a millisecond of silence between the pattering of their twelve paws. Once she's put away her dripping jacket, she pulls her hair over one shoulder to wring it free of moisture. Smatterings of water soak into her shirt and jeans, then smears from her hands as she wipes them on her hips.

Jess returns to her chair, relocating the box on it to the floor beside it. Even the chair feels warm when she drops herself into it. Her sofa in house sixty is always cold until she's been curled up on it for an hour or so. She hopes what objects she scattered around the place will prevent anyone assuming it's unowned, but if someone needs shelter for the season, she doesn't know how fussed she'll get over it. There's a whole other, nearly identical village across the river, with almost no residents, and Jess hasn't formed an attachment to her ugly brown shack. Anything inside it that expressed her has been stuffed into boxes and carried in two armfuls.

Frank comes around in a good five minutes time, wearing his ugly teal hoodie and jeans for his stint as mom and housewife. He passes her one of the mugs held by the handles in one of his massive hands and goes to sit on the edge of the couch nearest her that Patti has been keeping warm. The kitten cranes its neck to watch him, like she's considering coming over but isn't sure if the floor is lava or not. His heavy frame sinks into the sofa as he realizes he hasn't sat down all day, closing his eyes for a brief moment with his cup held on his knee.

Going through his mind is her talking smack about his beard to Kamala, one side of his mouth hitching up as he slowly draws his cup in to blow across the hot surface of perfect coffee. Good choice, he thinks but again, doesn't say.

The dogs nudge and sniff at her legs, finally causing her to relent and give them some attention. They're roommates now, and they were here first; she can no longer pretend they exist in different worlds and that carelessly crossing the two will hasten the decay of both. She pulls off her gloves to pets their heads and scrubs behind their ears with numb fingertips, then leaves them high and dry to take her mug in both hands.

She blows steam from the coffee's surface as Frank settles very much like a house, heavy and immoveable. It's probably not the busload of dogs that's tired him out so much, but that can't help. One small contribution she can make to the house, as long as she's a drain on its resources and residents, is caring for the dogs too, feeding them probably, on top of begrudgingly acknowledging them, and she hadn't considered that before now. She was preoccupied with the shame of sharing space with a teenager, as an active and unrepentant alcoholic. (Who now plans to do most of her drinking in the bunker, ostensibly "on duty.")

"I assume my shit's upstairs," Jess drones at him, sipping her coffee and searing away the stale swig of whiskey she took before undertaking the walk here.

If he notices her finally paying the dogs due attention, he says nothing, even when Bruno hops up on his other side to snuggle in. He wraps his arm over his own chest so he can run his finger along that weird crocodillic nose. Jessica's words get him to turn his head towards her, slowly parsing their meaning though it was hardly a complicated inquiry.

"No, uh. Just down the hall." He inclines his crooked nose towards the master before finally taking a well-deserved sip.

The layouts of these houses never fail to astonish her in how baffling they are. One bathroom for each floor at the inn, kitchens closed off in the back of the house, master bedrooms on the ground floor. The overabundance of walls and doors do direct and keep do heat in like a son-of-a-bitch and she's come to treasure that inversely to the lowering temperature.

"'Kay. Well, I'm tired and I smell like ass under this sweater." It's been too cold to bathe or get a good night's sleep. The rosy flush from hoofing it outside might be concealing the sunken bags under her eyes or it may be complementing them. She couldn't tell if she had a mirror. She doesn't notice those things about herself anymore. "I'll probably skip dinner." And skip sitting down for it with him and Kamala, surrounded by mutts, family-like. If that's how they do it. She's happy to not know for another day.

She looks tired, but he's sure he does, too. He's been staying up practically every night knitting for an army. He flexes his wrists, they ache but he's not about to complain if that's the only thing he has to do for these people. Like he told Kamala, he's slacking off here - hard. While Frank had specifically gotten dinner together so they could all three eat it as a unit, he can get why it's not the easiest thing for her. Family meals still have the potential to fuck him up for obvious reasons, too, so he's not about to try to convince her to do anything else.

"Okay. You rest up, we'll save you a plate." He'll be up again tonight, knitting and being a general nuisance, so he'll probably be around whenever she wakes from her nap anyway. Though he looks like he can't move from the couch at least until he finishes his coffee anyway.

Considering the state he's in, she wasn't anticipating a fight. Must have been girding herself for something, though, to relax and rest her head to the back of the chair. They can get started on this navigating this weird new dance around each other tomorrow morning. Afternoon or evening, ideally, if Jess can sneak out before anyone's noticed she's conscious.

"And you're sure Kamala's fine with this," Jess double or triple checks, her head lolling his way and her coffee perched on the chair's arm, her fingers laced through the handle.

"Fine with it?" That gets as close to a dirty look as he can muster, mostly he just wonders how she gets these ideas in her head. "Kam's the one who wants you here."

He meant to say 'the most' or something to that effect, but sometimes he just can't take it anymore. One minute she's asking him to stay over because she's lonely and another she acts like it's some big chore to hang out with him. He knows that's just Jess, but he's tired and he already feels guilty for the way that sounded anyway, thanks for asking.

"We both do, sorry. Haven't been... sleeping." That's a good excuse, right? He's just going to shut his eyes a minute, that will totally rejuvenate him.

She's the chore but he's committed as ever to not seeing that. Nonetheless, Jess appreciates him trying. Perhaps over winter she'll stumble upon a way to make him sick enough of her to not want her around. Actively looking for it has fallen off her priority list. She's wrung out from the search, a year or more of fruitless labour. Here they are, when they should be strangers. She's switching to asshole autopilot, relying on old and trusted self-defense mechanisms, out pure self-preservation. Not that she'll admit it.

"It's fine." It's actually better than fine, a little smirk chipped into her mouth. "I kind of like it when you're a dick." It proves he knows who he's dealing with. It didn't used to feel so similar to a sign of affection but that's just what happens when you've known someone a long time. Jess has a deeper pull of her coffee, shutting her eyes as the warmth seeping through her defies the caffeine failing to keep her awake. Another good few gulps, so she doesn't fall asleep in the bath, and then Jess will haul her stuff down the hall and get to washing away the layers of stale sweat and dead skin.

He rubs at his eyes and looks over at her. Why is she smiling? Why can't she ever smile like that when he does something nice for her?

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, tone as impossibly dry as it is exhausted. It probably won't change anything, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like making her smile like that. His free hand flops against the arm of her chair as he cranes back his neck to look her in the eye just about the laziest way he can. "Don't be surprised if Kamala doesn't like you skipping dinner." She's been looking forward to this all week.

Damn. Jess hoped not picking a date would hinder any anticipating, his or Kamala's. She sent him a heads up over the network before her first trudge over and that was it. No one was supposed to have the time to make a big deal out of it but she should know better than to assume she's a step ahead of Kamala's indomitable enthusiasm.

"I'll survive." With the coffee melting ice from her tone and the two of them languidly filling their chairs, they must look cozier than she'll let them feel. She could be content to rest there, unmoving until Kamala comes in the door, but then she'll never get out of dinner. Possibly, she can adequately handle dozing off in the living room like an old married couple in a Pixar movie, but she can't keep the apathy up for a whole meal, not in the state she's in. With a bracing breath and a last gulp of coffee, Jess starts to push herself to her feet.

The mug is put aside on the coffee table, then her belongings grabbed up from the ground. "See you in a few hours then. Or..." The mildest shrug. "Tomorrow." Whenever their ships go from passing to wrecking. Night, morning, whatever.

He straightens up a little, but doesn't move from his slump further than that. Frank looks over the back of the couch to nod at her lazily as she goes. Maybe there's a soft grunt of acknowledgment as she recedes into the master bedroom. Maybe he'll get a quick nap in before Kamala comes home, too.

Knowing they're getting a new roommate today didn't magically erase everything she needed to do. It did give her an incentive to run home for dinner like a little kid expecting a new toy. Sure, it's an alcoholic lady with zero survival skills seemingly. Kamala is still excited to have her join the team.

There's no knock at the door. Hurricane Kamala stomps the wetness off her boots outside the door before busting in with a loud announcement. "I'm back! Dinner smells amazing!" She's quickly working to shut the door behind to keep that precious warmth inside and shed her layers. She's got like maybe two seconds before animals are all over her to delay her dinner date further.

Naturally, all the dogs greet her like they haven't seen her in weeks, and it wakes Frank out of his doze on the sofa. Somehow, he'd fallen asleep with the coffee in his hand without ever spilling a drop. All her hollering gets him, though there's no fear like there was in the early days. He pries his eyes open, muscle memory placing his cup on the table next to Jessica's before he's even fully awake.

"Shhhh," he urges her, only half serious. He's already getting up to get their roast out of the oven. "Jess is sleeping. I think."

Who knows with her, honestly? Bruno runs over to him and jumps into his arms after he's done saying hi to Kam and he carries her into the kitchen cradled to his chest.

Once she's delayered, Kamala returns the favor by greeting them like she hasn't seen them in weeks. Everyone gets all the ear scratches and pets she can spare until Frank shushes her. She ditches them to chase after him much like Bruno has. Jessica beats out coaxing her cats to love her for the millionth time. "What? She has to be up for dinner! Not to sound like my Ammi or anything, but she's totally too skinny for her own good. Besides, your roast is even more amazing while it's hot."

That settles it. Kamala is detouring to the master bedroom turned guest room to find her. She knocks at the door with a few quick taps. Really it's her yelling that will do the trick. "Jessss! Dinner is ready! Are you decent?"

Jess likes showering; she can't stand bathing. She provably couldn't be trained to like it, only tricked. Being quick and sparing in the bath is her plan of action regardless of the presence of hot water... which she hasn't enjoyed since her days at the Inn. It does coax an extra minute or two of indulgence out of her after she's fully cleaned up and that's as long as her tolerance for soaking in her own filth can hold out. The little tub drains while Jess roots through the bedroom for where Frank has hidden her shirts, also known as her pajamas, and barely manages to crawl into one before passing out face first on top of the blankets.

So, no, she's not really decent, but she's still groggily coming to as the question is asked. Jess unsticks her face from the fibres soaked with her drool, then buries it in a clean spot of pillow. Reluctantly, she tucks her arms under her chest and rolls partially to her side, enough so she isn't talking into a pillowcase.

"What time is it?" she yells back, wet sandpaper voice scraping poorly.

"I warned her," he admits aloud though he still feels bad. Why does he feel bad? It's not like Jessica has ever afforded him any type of consideration in the past. Quite the opposite, really. Frank puts the croc-dog down by his dish He looks up at the forget-me-nots drying over the window and sighs as he gets three plates together. Jessica's plate has a much smaller portion than either of them. There's also a glass of wine measured for each of them: Jessica's much taller than either Frank's or Kamala's. Kam's, of course, is just a few mouthfuls, but he thinks she'll appreciate the gesture. It's almost her birthday and this s a special occasion. Or at least, Kam will see it that way.

Kamala waits as patiently as she can outside the door. It helps her new tiny friend has come over to see what the fuss is about. Kamala picks up the peacock kitten so she can continue her never ending quest to baby another furry creature. "Time for dinner! So like six or something if you want to be picky." Kamala slips into the Ammi-like no-arguing tone without even thinking about it. She lets the kitten nuzzle her chin while she waits. "Do you need more time to get dressed?"

Jess will give credit where it's due for Kamala keeping herself hallside instead of bursting into the room. Six in winter means there's no sunlight left to filter through the windows and the moon must be low and covered because there's none of its light bouncing off the snow either. Jess stumbles around the unfamiliar room until her palm collides with a light switch.

"Just give me a minute," she responds, the curt edge of it intended for Frank, not Kamala. Why would he put her clothes away? Doesn't he know she's such a mess they've never been put away before? They're probably scared. Or annoyed, like her, at having to share space with Frank's clothes. Is he gonna be coming in here every day or night to get a clean outfit or did he not think that far ahead, like she was incapable of doing until now? Some of her shirts, she's not going to be able to tell apart from his, they're deliberately oversized and dully colored.

Jess gives up on looking for underwear (they're in the unpacked box she brought in last, the above train of thought frenzying her beyond recall. She locates her red scrub pants from her arrival, dragging them on as she steps haphazardly to the door. The front of her shirt is clumsily tucked in while the back hangs loose, and her hair is a half-dried, frizzy mess thanks to static cling and no conditioner. Upon the door creaking open, her befuddled glare lands on the frankencat before Kamala. Really, Kamala. It's nice and all but she could never eat a whole one.

He knows that edge is for him and he takes a gulp of his wine to try and help him digest it. He's the one who told Kamala not to wake her up! Whatever. He's just going to miserably sit at the head of the table and overlook his kingdom. This is what he's earned, right? It could be far worse, all things considered. It's getting more bearable the more wine he drinks, waiting for Kamala and Jessica before he starts in on his meal.

Kamala winces a little at a tone she assumes is for her. Maybe she is being a bit pushy. She resolves to cool down a little lest she drive Jessica away on day one. Jessica's emergence really drives home why she should proceed with caution. The older woman does look a little too trainwreck-y for the teenager's liking. She can guess a lot of it has to do with crashing hard with heat. She's sporting that look a few times to be honest.

"She's our new baby." Kamala explains as if that explains what the heck she is carrying. While she's tempted to lean over and fix Jess' hair that really is too much on day one. Instead she turns in the direction of food and Frank so she can shout a much needed status update at him. "Don't start without us, Frank! We're coming!"

She steals a last second of respite, leaning her shoulder to the doorframe and mouthing a silent "oh my god" to herself. What have you gotten yourself into this time, Jones? Then she drags her feet along the path of Kamala's footsteps, deeper into the dense and delicious aroma of roasted meat. She forgot to clock if she was hungry before. She definitely is now.

Approaching the table, Jess's eyes have almost finished adjusting to the light. She can make out which glass of wine is the fullest and deduce that that setting is reserved for her. "I tried," she grumbles in greeting, setting herself down at the table. Damn these two and their incorrigible liking of her.

"Me, too," Frank admits softly in return, eyes going to either one of their faces as they both sit with him. Seldom, David and himself might eat dinner together. Here, Kamala and he had made more of a ritual of it. But the addition of Jess is more jarring than he anticipated, a memory cutting in deep of sitting at his family's table that night before burning the place down, of asking Karen if their dishes ever made it to the sink. He breathes through it and even musters a tiny smile for the moment, though of course, it doesn't match his tired gaze.

Edited 2018-12-13 22:59 (UTC)

Kamala gently lets her kitten down before heading straight to the sink to wash her hands. She's the last to take a seat which really hammers home how they both look. Yikes tbh. She looks between the two with growing concern. She definitely sounds like her mom right now with this response... or at least the first part.

"You both need to sleep more. You look like me after fighting those evolving killer robots." She shakes her head and drops it so she can pray. She bows her head and folds her hands in prayer. "Bismillahi wa 'ala baraka-tillah." And with that she's gonna dig into this food. She's getting to the wine thing once she's inhaled a decent amount of this fantastic meal.

A deceptively small-starting yawn overtakes Jess and her retort that she was sleeping, Curiously, Jess watches her pray and wonders mildly about the exact translation. Maybe thank you for these gifts and these two on-fire garbage cans on either side of me.

While Kamala digs into the food, Jess dives into her wine to rinse away the hangover-like pall of a deep nap cut short. Jess has two gulps before putting the glass back down, despite a silent oath to herself to not stop until three. It does look like wine but it tastes like stale blood and rotten fruit. A retching bubble rises in her throat, bile crawling up the back of her tongue, and Jess covers her mouth with a hand as she keeps it down. Her face is as confused as it is disgusted.

"Good wine," she croaks insincerely.

He bows his head while Kamala prays then starts in on his meat. He's a lot hungrier than he thought he was too, though it's probably something to do with not sleeping as well.

"Talking to these people feels like fighting evolving killer robots, so." Frank approves of her assessment.

Feeling Bruno nudging his leg, he bends down to scoop him up and lets him sit in his lap while he eats though he knows he shouldn't encourage the terrible creature. He doesn't try to go for Frank's food or anything, just appreciates the virtual furnace that is the man's body heat and curls up on one meaty thigh to sleep just out of view. The wine is another matter entirely. It's only a few months old, so it hasn't truly settled into its own flavor yet. He's so used to drinking it that maybe he's numb to how bad it is - then again, he didn't actually think Jess had standards where alcohol was concerned. The Man in the Hat had much worse shit than this from what he remembers.

"Thanks," is all he says, blithe heading towards cheerful as he takes another bite. Someone's feeling passive aggressive this evening.

Edited 2018-12-14 04:01 (UTC)

She looks sympathetic to Frank's plight. She knows he struggles with the other adults. It's pretty clear that he's gotten a little more of that recently. It isn't even worth asking who it is this time. "That kind of day, huh?" Kamala asks between bites. She makes a mental note to do something fun for them. She always hates to see him extra mopey.

She's contemplating activities when Jessica's reaction takes her by surprise. Awkward, but okay. She's pretty sure Frank wouldn't let her try something super gross especially considering this is definitely a one shot for her. She picks up her glass to drink her much tinier portion. Maybe it's the pairing with meat or different tastes, but she actually kind of likes it. "Hm... I think I'll go with kind of weird in a good way? Thanks, Frank." She'll go back to eating her roast and hoping the kids get along.

Must be a sipping wine. Jess has a third mouthful and then focuses laboriously on her meal. She doesn't like to be watched while she eats, and while she can't tell if she is, she still doesn't visibly react to the taste of the food. He knows how she eats and shouldn't need to hear from her that it's good. She's eating it, after all, and he portioned her the right amount that she might leave her plate clean. She intends to make her way through her meal quietly, though hopefully Frank and Kamala talk between themselves, if that's what's normal for them.

If that's what it is, Frank's doing it wrong because he takes big gulps of the stuff between bites. He does know Jess doesn't like to be watched but all of his focus is on his meal anyway except for all the thoughts bouncing around his head. That's normal, at least. He thinks of something he could tell Kamala she might not know yet, though lately he thinks she probably has a better beat on what's going on than he does.

"Foggy Nelson's here. Uh, he was... my lawyer." When he killed all those people, right. Super weird dinner conversation, Frank. "He had a good idea though. Putting a bell up at the fountain so we know if someone's coming through between shifts." If either of them know him like he's sure they do, he's going to take that upon himself to do since likely no one else actually will, and put off sleeping even longer.

She doesn't actually watch Jessica all that much after the initial reaction to the wine. Kamala still burns a crazy amount of calories like she did back home. The difference between here and there is that this comes from all the walking, projects, animal care, and training with Danny. Most of her focus goes on eating. She and Frank do talk at dinner when they have something interesting to share.

Kamala predictably lights up in interest at what Frank has for her. It's something new about him not to mention an actually good idea. "Wow that was super obvious. I am surprised no one else thought of it before." She washes down her food with her second mouthful of wine. She wonders how much she can safely pry into this. That's not a time in Frank's life Kamala would have cared to know him as he knows. That doesn't mean she's totally uninterested in stuff that isn't directly about the killings.

"So what's your lawyer like? I mean aside from smart and caring. I kind of got that from coming up with good ideas after being kidnapped with no escape plan in sight." Blunt as ever. She digs back into her pot roast, fully prepared to listen to all the details.

Jess hangs lazily from every other word after Foggy Nelson. He's an okay guy, from her shallow research of him (and her even shallower recollection of it). Tops out at okay but there's no need to correct Kamala's impression. His shark suit won't have made the trip and you'd have to be a world class dick to come off as uncaring to Kamala Khan. He can't be too upset about losing his livelihood if it means regaining his best friend. Jess should probably stick to her plan of leaving Matt alone. His life must be nearly impossible to navigate here and that's before factoring in the loss of his super senses. At least he has friends. She's more like a colleague, or a peer he got stuck on a group project with when he'd rather be paired up with the mysterious and alluring ninja assassin.

(Bonus: She gets to avoid Elektra at the same time. Jess really has no clue where to start there.)

Admittedly, the wine and meat add to or subtract something from each other, resulting in an improved bouquet as her meal goes on. Or it's killed off enough of her tastebuds for her to think that. She peers up at her tablemates between slicing her roast into bites, interested in Frank's take on Nelson. He's had the most experience with him, under the least disorienting circumstances. Surely his measure of the man would be the most accurate but she hesitates to give him that benefit of the doubt, sight unseen.

It's Frank's turn to feel eyes on him and he takes an uncharacteristic pause in his meal to scratch at the hairless scruff of Bruno's neck. None of it is easy to talk about, not when he feels like he owes Foggy so much. But against all odds, the man had been decent to him here. It's much more than he expected.

"He is, both of those things." Frank swallows, picking his fork back up but glancing out the window to avoid looking 'into the Sun' as Jess might say about making eye contact with Kamala (or occasionally himself.) "You'd have to be to be Matt's best friend."

Which joins up the loose ends of her first meeting with Matt nicely, probably. He doesn't really think about it too hard.

"He did a lot for me and I was... I was an ass." No surprise there. He takes a pointed bite as he bows his head back over his plate.

She doesn't even pick up on the fact he isn't looking at her. Kamala is too busy being shocked over the fact that Matt managed to con more people into dealing with him. The guy really is something else. "That's his bff?! God, Matt is the luckiest guy ever. How does a jerk like that have so many friends and a pretty girl living with him?! It's crazy!" Safe to say Matt made a terrible first impression considering how heated she is.

She supposes the guy does have some redeeming qualities when he isn't being mean and judgy for the sake of it. People can't be nice all the time as Frank's admission reminds her. She lets out a soft sigh. "Well you have time to make it up to him now. I think if he was willing to defend you back then he understood why you were... difficult. Just don't forget to apologize, okay?" Too many people forget that part when it comes to making amends including her.

She does a poor job suppressing a smile as Kamala rips into Saint Matthew. So the network wasn't their first interaction. Or their worst.

"He really pissed you off, huh?" More than likely over her close relationship to the serial killer at the table but Jess wouldn't mind hearing Kamala go off about it, regardless of what it is. There's never any malice behind her anger, making it easy listening. As far as she knows, Kamala's is a healthy temper, arguably the first Jess has ever encountered. She and Frank are both too old to learn from it but it's a better anchor for the conversation than either of their gloomy, insomnia-wrung dispositions.

Frank snorts at how salty Kamala apparently is too. "He's not that bad." Okay, but like look at Jess. Frank's standards are low. His eyes dart around as he wonders if he should tell them all the shit that happened with his trial. May as well at this point, right?

"I think Foggy's sick of me apologizing." Already. He's been doing that a lot, but... here goes. He sets his fork down again. "When we were in the trial, Matt kind of - fucked off. Yeah, I know. I know I just stuck up for him, whatever, he's still a dick. Foggy was making a case that I needed therapy, you know, padded walls. He thought the jury was gonna go for it, too. But Fisk send me a message through one of my guards. He told me if I ever wanted to know what happened to my family..."

Frank clenches his fists on the table as he realizes it's probably the most real he's gotten about this in front of Jessica. He wants to finish the story out, though. He needs to.

"That I had to get myself locked up, with him. So that's what I did. Sunk the case and almost took down the guy's career with it."

Kamala keeps the next comment about how much she thinks he's a jerk to herself. She can tell they're about to get into a story. Really that's what Kamala had been fishing for from the start. To her credit, she listens quietly. She approves of his multiple apologies especially after learning how Frank had almost ruined his career. She looks visibly uncomfortable at the idea of shoving Frank in a some mental health facility even if he might have needed it at the time. It feel too much like throwing him away somewhere he'd be quiet after everything that happened.

She sighs deeply at the end of it. There's a lot to unpack. "Wow she wasn't exaggerating. Fisk is super manipulative." He totally had Frank's number. She really would have to steer clear if he ever popped up. The seriousness of this fades away once Kamala remembers she's supposed to be mad.

"And seriously this just validates me even more. How did you forgive him for ditching you like that?! And who does he think is mouthing off to you in front of me like he didn't potentially leave you to get executed or something! He's awful!"

Jess knows the other side of the story, the bits slaked from headlines and sensationalist photos and courtroom renderings. After verifying who he was, Jess spent most of her week in New York putting him out of her mind. His sudden throwing of the trial didn't sit right with her but she wasn't going to fall into an investigative rabbit hole over it, not so soon after leaving Kilgrave behind. He was no longer hers to make sense of. Enter Cloneville.

"I'd bet you anything he's the one who took the case," Jess remarks while contemplating her last bite of food. Nelson signing on for the Castle horror show didn't sit right with her either, but it spoke seductively to Matt's magnetism for martyrs. Plus the firm dissolved after it tanked. Awful good thing they didn't crash into each other's lives back then.

"Yeah, sweetheart, Fisk is a real shitstain." But he's not all that worried about Kingpin, not the way he used to be. He laughs a little, just a huff under his breath more than anything, at how heated Kam is on his behalf. It's really not necessary, but he can't help being touched by it anyway. And with Jessica's addition, okay yes, it makes it worse that it was Matt's idea to take his case. It's getting harder to defend Matt in general here now that he's putting it all together "Yeah, actually. Well, I think Karen helped convince him."

But still. Foggy hadn't been keen on the idea from the beginning and Frank could never blame him.

"If they hadn't taken me I would've gotten life anyway, or maybe yeah-" He doesn't want to make light of his own death though he would have done so with zero hesitation before. Kamala's already had to endure that once, he won't be dismissive of it now. "Point is, Foggy Nelson saved my life with absolutely zero help from me." Pity party firmly back on track.

Edited 2018-12-15 05:46 (UTC)

Kamala groans in disapproval. Jessica is probably right. God she wishes she had another excuse to punch him. She'll probably just have to wait for Matt to talk again at this rate. She softens at the mention of Karen's role in all this. It explains a lot for Kamala actually about how things are between them here. There's definitely still a lot of love and loyalty amidst all the ~complication~ as far as Kamala can tell. It had to come from somewhere and what better place than standing by him at a clear low point in his life? "I should have figured that was her part." Kamala notes with a sigh. She pokes at her food in irritation. Since it's Kamala she is pretty quick to get over it once being reminded of the big picture. Foggy is a good guy and they're experienced with all this craziness. There's only one thing they can do now.

"Yeah, we're definitely adding Foggy to our help list now. What else does he need?" She asks if only because she knows Frank. He probably already covered the basics with Foggy and Karen already. She wants to help with the bonus stuff.

Should she have figured that? Whatever. Jess's plate empty, she works on what's left in her glass.

If Nelson can get a bell initiative together, Tony Stark can probably upgrade it to an automated alert system. Or some other techhead with too much time on their hands. There's no shortage of other people to have the idea so she keeps it to herself, along with the opinion that there's merit to the raw arrival experience. Jess obviously preferred it to seeking out familiarity. After getting manhandled by Constance and her flock in Reims, if someone had approached her with a similar speech, she would have bolted in the other direction with nothing but the scrubs soak-sealed to her back.

But she's not normal. Nelson's idea is the safer route, given that not everyone who arrives through the fountain can swim.

Jessica's lack of commentary shouldn't bother him, but he still shoots her an expectant look anyway. He's spilling his guts here! Nothing new there though, either. He sighs and turns back to Kamala, pushing food around his plate rather than trying to finish it off.

"He needs help finding his place here. We were bouncing some ideas around earlier, but you're better at talking people through shit than I am anyway. He's staying with Karen at the Inn if you wanna go see him tomorrow."

Kamala sneaks in a bite while watching the two adults in the room. Yikes. It really occurs to her how might sting a little to talk about such a sensitive time in front of your crush and get nothing out of it. She doesn't do much more than observe. She has zero interest in interfering with romantic affairs given what a disaster her first crush was.

"I can definitely manage that! Just tell me what he looks like since unless he got called a superhero or villain at some point, I don't really know much about him. I don't want to bug people to find out."

Sitting at a dinner table, keyed up for any slight she might make against her partner, is an unforgettable skill, apparently. Like bike riding, except Jess hasn't touched one since she and her brother would ride around the block. At present, she can tell something is amiss and it's because of her. Jess glowers resentfully into her glass as she empties it into her mouth, upended.

She didn't ask for any of this.

"Blonde hair," Jess provides neutrally, glass base thudding gently on the table. It seems she can't win, whether she's saying too much or too little, so who cares. "White guy. Matt's age, they went to college together." That's all the relevant information she has (that she shouldn't, considering her dutiful avoidance of both men in question), divulging to Kamala while concentrating on piling her utensils and plate together so she can take them to the sink. Jess jams the plug in and gets the water running so she can contribute to the meal by wiping all evidence of it from this earth.

Frank immediately feels guilty because no one saw that coming, eyes locked on the table as Jessica gets up. How is this already so fucked up, he literally just didn't want her to die. That was it. Okay, that wasn't it and that's exactly the problem.

"He's friendly," he contributes, probably unhelpfully. A lot of people were, here. At least superficially. He chews his lip before finally looking up to try and catch Jessica's eye, apology and gratitude both laid bare for her to pluck out if she wanted. The thanks is for eating with them, if only because it meant a lot to Kamala. The sorry is for everything else.

She commits the new information to memory. Weirdness between the adults aside, she thinks this went well. Kamala likes having Jess around. It's reassuring to see with her own two eyes she's okay on the daily. The rest the two of them can work out whenever.

"Thanks, guys. I can totally find him based on that." She's going to work on finishing up what's left of her food so she can put her dishes in. She'd remind Frank for the millionth time it's fantastic, but hey. He knows already.

Jess susses out where the soap is and works up some suds in the sink she continues to listen idly. Kamala ushers them towards a good note to conclude on. Neither of them bring up the possibility of the inevitable new arrivals being someone they know, IE care about or fear. Jess has read the previous iteration lists enough times to know Nelson wasn't on there (and as for Elektra, she still assumes that's a pseudonym). She would prefer to discuss that with Frank in private rather than trouble Kamala with it when her birthday is coming up in a couple days.

She returns to the table to retrieve her empty glass, making brief eye contact with them both and mustering a passing, flat sort of smile that's the facial equivalent of small talk.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

as cuddly as a cactus, as charming as an eel.

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around dinner time

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