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

[underachievement]

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. ]