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. ]

Comments

[oorah]

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."

[morphogenia]

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."

[underachievement]

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.

[oorah]

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.

[morphogenia]

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.

[underachievement]

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.