Why deal with your problems head on

[assholic]

Who: Jessica Jones (assholic) & OPEN
What: Ruminating over her life and what she was going to do post-event.
When: Between March 23rd and March 31st
Where: Wyver; The pubs, the outskirts of town, her home with Clark, possibly the arenas (working out some shit). Thesa Station; Visiting the pods to check on her people, the bars, maybe trying to find somewhere else on the planet to live.
Warning(s): As always with Jessica, language. Probably mention of torture, violence, assault. Will update if needed.

To say that Jessica had had a bad few days would be underselling just how angry she might be and how much of it she was keeping to herself. Or trying to. But dwelling had never helped her get over shit, so she did what she was used to doing when dealing with tragedy and pain; she shoved it way down inside and tried to drink herself numb.

I: Thesa Station - Pods
As soon as the way back to the station had been fixed, or maybe the Orbiters just knew they were pushing their little lab rats a bit too much, Jessica headed back up. It had been too long since she'd been able to see Trish, Malcolm, Luke... or any other familiar face that needed to be checked on, and she'd had this sinking feeling for a few days that this world, this version of it had to be fucking with her. That she'd go up and find a 'whoops, sorry we killed your friends' note. She'd almost made something close to a sob of relief when she'd stopped in front of Trish's pod, seeing that familiar face with a frozen look of almost peace on it.

Anyone may be able to come upon Jessica in the pod room, coming or going or just quietly talking to one of three pods. She'll have bruises around her hands and face, hands looking scraped up.


II: Thesa Station - Bar
After making sure that everything was as good as it could be with people she couldn't wake up, Jess could be found trying to drink her way through the station's alcohol supply. She'd likely start at the bar, but might, later on in her drinking state, find her way towards a booth to slouch into. She'll have a few bruises around her hands and face, hands looking scraped up. She can be found up at Thesa Station for at least two days, drinking, sleeping, and visiting with her friends until she remembers there's people on the planet she gives a shit about enough to pull herself together to go back to check on.


III: Wyver - Arenas
Back in Wyver, Jessica is reminded that she's still pissed off. She still has no idea why she was singled out and taken, and she didn't get the satisfaction of taking any of that rage out on the people that had taken her, or the people she'd been shoved into that room with. All that anger had to go somewhere, and Clark didn't deserve her being bitchy at him. So down to the Arena she went. She was healed up for the most part, still a little bruised on her hands, but the poisons were out of her system and the cuts and gashes had healed up. With her abilities back, Jessica felt like taking full advantage of that, signing herself up for fights beyond the level she'd gone at before. She'd been on a self destructive cycle before, but now... now she was just pissed off.

She could be found at the arenas, before, during, or after a match, likely a little worse for wear, but apparently angry enough to win the majority of her fights.


IV: Wyver - Bars
All those winnings have to go somewhere. Why not back into her system via bottles? Another drinking Jess prompt, but this time, back in Wyver for those who're still on the planet.


V: Wyver - Home
When it's all said and done, when most of that anger is vented and she's seen to what she needs to see to and drunk herself stupid, she will always crawl back home. Not just because it's the one place she knows she can go, but because of the person she can find there. A part of her is afraid one day she's going to walk in that door (or crawl through it), and he's going to have gotten sick of her shit and not be there. In torn jeans and a dirty shirt, Jess reaches her door, wondering if today's that day.


VI: Wildcard
Have something else in mind? Want to see her somewhere else around Wyver? Maybe up at the Station? Or feel like changing something a bit? Feel free to PM me or PP me @junglewere.

Comments

II - Bar

[dendarii]

Miles hadn't been directly affected by all the insanity on the ground, but - Byerly sure had been. And as such, Miles blames himself. For letting any of this happen, for being a shitty Emperor, for - a lot of things. And as soon as it was clear that he could get back up onto the station, he'd taken it. Just to get a break from these goddamn worlds and their goddamn problems.

He notices Jessica at the bar. Doesn't recognize her, maybe - had she ever shown her face during their conversations? - but any company seems soothing right now. He climbs up onto one of the bar stools, signaling for some brandy. Or wine. Whatever.

"You look like hell," he says.

[assholic]

She hadn't, but if he spent enough time around her, the tone was likely to leak through and he might remember her. She certainly remembered him as she turned to look over at the would-be Emperor, wondering how Byerly had fared during all this shit. She hadn't checked up on him yet. She made a mental note to do so.

Drinking from a glass, bottle on the counter beside her, she glanced over at him, not saying anything about him having to climb up into the chair. Rocket was overly sensitive about being short, and she figured that was a universal point of pride, particularly with the males of any species. Sipping, she looked down at her hands. They were healing, but not healed up yet. She shrugged before she spoke. "Kidnap and torture does that to a person. Could be worse." She could be dead, after all. Not everyone had made it out of that room alive.

[dendarii]

His face had been all over the network; he finds communicating via audio only to be a bit odd. Anyway. He'll recognize her voice soon enough, but not yet.

"You were among the kidnapped, then?" he asks with a wince. His gray eyes flick towards her hands, taking in the marks there. "Which side?"

Was she with Byerly? Would it matter? He's certain both groups had it terribly.

[assholic]

"Wyver. I heard they snagged people from both cities. Bullshit, if you ask me. Everyone I wound up with was someone like me. Brought here by these assholes and told to play nice. Like I have a goddamn clue what any of the royal shits here are up to." She finished her glass, setting it down and pouring a new one. "How'd snobby jerkface do?"

Translation: How was Byerly? Jess and concern didn't mesh well.

[dendarii]

"They did." Which is an answer in itself; his face is stony, his gray eyes stormy. When she asks about Byerly specifically, though, he lifts his head, opening his mouth to ask why - and that's when he recognizes her. Ah. He has to stop a moment just to look at her; it's his first time seeing her. "Byerly is ... intact," he says after a moment, measuring his words carefully. "Not well. But alive."

i. Thesa Pods

[ukase]

Pod people didn't matter too much to him, but sometimes, it was just nice to see a familiar face. He only had one to visit, and after all the shit of seeing people tortured, it reminded him of his own little stint in Iraq way back when. That was a long time ago, and he had endured so much more with HYDRA to become 'hardy' as they liked to call it, but watching the haunted looks on the faces of people after torture always brought it back.

He planned on spending a bit of time - probably have a nap too - visiting Rollins, a guy who he knew probably would never wake up. He had a bottle of bourbon in one hand as he entered the pod area, walking between the rows to find the right one.

And then drew up short when he spotted Jones down the far end of the row he had just passed. He debated leaving her there, letting her have whatever peace and quiet came with visiting people that couldn't talk back. He hadn't actually seen her up close and personal before, and he continued on down the next aisle all the way to the end, only to round back up to her row again.

He leaned on the end pod, resting his bottle of bourbon on his thigh, noting the damage to her. His own was burns, those that looked to be brought about by a harsh wind storm mostly. His skin was cracked and scraped up, but he was no particular worse for wear mentally.

"Who are the special people you don't actually swear at?"

[assholic]

There were other people here, she knew that. She could hear the sounds of footsteps echoing around her, people coming and going, visiting and leaving. All of them ignored her, and that was just fine with her.

Until one of them didn't. Of all the people she may have thought to see here, he hadn't been one of them. With the weird interest he seemed to be showing in her, she felt a small fission of fear lace through her that he'd found something that meant something to her. There were too few people here she trusted, and she still didn't know where she stood with him. What game he was playing or what he expected. The last thing she wanted was something to happened to one of those frozen bodies because of her.

So her answer, such as it was, was to give him the finger, then turn to start walking towards him, towards the split in the aisle that would lead her back to the bigger one. The further away from 'her' people she got him, the better. She neared him, seeing the marks on him, new and old, and wondering if he'd gotten them pulling people out of whatever hell they'd found themselves in, or if he just liked to get himself messed up like she occasionally did. Self loathing we a hell of a drug. "Shouldn't you be on a leash..."

[ukase]

There were way too many people in here to actually take note of who meant anything to anyone, but he certainly took note of the pods she was hanging around. The fact that she immediately left them to come towards him gave him the impression that she was trying to draw his attention away from them and onto her. Read: important.

It seemed like a no-no to mess with the pods, and he had no intention of doing so. He'd likely see red if anyone messed with Jack, even if it really didn't matter. These people were as good as dead, and when had he ever wasted time on that? Not much, but it was hard to break the need for a human connection, even if that one was a popsicle. He was used to guarding HYDRA popsicles after all.

The bruising was new, made her look all haggard and tough. He had no doubt she could probably punch more than a few things in here, and the most likely target was him. She had promised after all.

"What can I say? The woman holding my chain needed to spend time with her unconscious hubby, so I get to roam free until she realizes," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders like it was no big deal. "Not many people like leash-play... too much master-pet bullshit." He nodded his chin towards her. "Nice war paint. Any internal damage?" He meant literally not emotionally.

[assholic]

She could, and she was in a mood to vent a little. Seeing Trish like that, Malcolm, Luke... all frozen and just there but not really, it made her feel that much lonelier. She didn't want to keep dumping shit on Clark. Whatever they had, she didn't want to fuck it up by him getting sick of her shit. Hell, she was sick of her shit, which is why Brock got an eyeroll as she stepped past him.

"Why? Feel like cutting me open to kiss it better?" She'd flip him off again if it wouldn't be redundant. Instead, she just reached out and aimed to snag his bottle from him. All's fair in being an alcoholic mess.

[ukase]

She was smaller than him by... a lot. He had no doubt that she could kick his ass though when he felt the pull of her hand on his bottle. His own grip remained firm, refusing to give it up at the moment as he looked at her, getting a real up close and personal look. If she wasn't all scowled and with that cloud of bitterness raining down on her, he might have considered her extremely attractive. As it was, the attitude and the acid cloud was more interesting.

"My medical skills stop at bandaging and stitches, so you'd be shit out of luck if we pulled out knives on the first face-to-face meeting and I did cut you open." He kept the bottle firm to his thigh to make it more difficult to steal. "Is that your way of asking to share a drink with me, babe?"

V | Wyver | Home

[apricitous]

When Jess walks back in, crawls back in... however she makes her way back in, Clark will most certainly be there. He'll be on the couch, reading a book, wearing only his pajama bottoms.

Usually, he'd be wearing a t-shirt and said pajama bottoms, but since he'd found her, since he'd brought her home, he's been eschewing the t-shirt. If she wants to walk through the door and curl up on his chest, he wants as little between her and what she wants as possible. Not to mention that it gives her something else to focus her attention on in general.

The book closes as the door closes and he peeks over the edge of the couch.

"Hey, Jess."

The smile is small but heartfelt.

[assholic]

She wasn't going to complain about coming home to a view like that. There was a part of herself that always had to just stop and let her catch her breath when she saw him. Like he was a figment that would blow away if she moved too quickly. Like her heart skipped a beat and she had to wait for it to start back up again. That smile just made that skip last for two beats instead of one. "Hey," she said, softly, walking in on her own two feet today, but with the side of her shirt torn and hair a bit mussed.

She wanted nothing more than to go do exactly what he seemed to be quietly offering; to curl up on his lap and just listen to his heartbeat. But she had someone else's blood on her and a little of her own, and she didn't want to get that all over him. "You in for the night?" Kicking off her boots, she started towards her room to get something clean to change into after she had a quick shower.

[apricitous]

His eyes follow her, past where the walls should allow truth be told, though he stops when he starts seeing her remove clothes. Regardless of how often they see each other naked, people still deserve privacy.

"I'm in for the night. There's a shepherd's pie in the oven that's got about a half an hour to go, but that's all."

[assholic]

She wouldn't mind. She would with anyone else, but not with him. She'd already bared the most vulnerable parts of herself to him. Her body wasn't what she felt like hiding from most of the world. Towel wrapped around herself, she paused before she went into the bathroom. "Give me a few minutes to clean up and... I'd like to come join you."

It was harder than it should be just to admit that, but she was working on pushing past that natural inclination to pretend not to be affected. Not by him.

[apricitous]

"I'll be here," is all he says to that, and he'll go back to his book with one ear on her heartbeat, on what she's doing, the way she's breathing, if only to make sure she's all right.

Ho Ho Home

[panzersoldat]

There is a distinct sound coming for the house. It's the heavy rhythmic plodding of a very large horse. Each hoof fall makes the bells braided into it's white flowing mane jingle and jangle. Upon the pure white mountain of a horse is a man. He is massive. Massive and clad in red. Read coat, red pants, lined with white fur. A red and fur stocking cap sits jauntily upon snowy white hair. The bulk of the man is not made up of bowls full of jelly though. This one is pure muscle for his girth. Santa's been to the gym and got ripped.

Santa bears a sack. It's not particularly large, but this is short notice. Very short notice. He just returned to his home from the station himself. He's likely not really 100% ready to be riding any horses, but there he is. There he is riding up to that house. Riding up to it and sliding off the saddle. The landing isn't all that graceful and he walks with a slightly pained shuffle, that sack thrown over his shoulder.

He approaches the door and before even knocking he lets out a very loud, heavily Bavarian accented. "Ho Ho Ho! I have heard tale that there is a good girl called Jessica residing in this house that I missed at the Holidays. I, der Weihnachtsmann have come to correct that slight!" Then he's knocking on the door, in full Santa regalia, all because he made a promise.

[assholic]

She hears the jingling, not entirely sure what the hell it is, but reminded of both ice cream trucks and, yes, sleigh bells. But this is Wyver, and there's no such thing here, so she picks up her book and her bottle of beer and sips and tries to ignore it. Until she hears that loud, booming voice with that heavy accent that managed to both send a shiver down her spine at the remembrance of where she'd heard it last, and surprise, because he'd died. She knew he'd died. She'd seen him burning before she'd been pulled out.

But that voice was unmistakable, and there wasn't anyone else that would know about a promise made from one prisoner to another under the effects of poison coursing through their systems.

Bottle set down and book dropped to the floor, Jessica went to the door and opened it with a genuinely surprised look on her face. And if Reinholdt had known her, he'd know just how rare an occurrence that was. "You've got to be kidding me..."

[panzersoldat]

He towers above her. In fact, if he's not careful, he'd hit his head on the top of the door. Only he's not letting himself in the second she opens the door. Instead, he stands there politely. There's a massive smile on his face, it really brings out his laugh lines. He had thought he might not be able to smile like this after last week, after dying, but here he is. A sparkle in that one blue eye as he stands before this shocked woman. "I never kid about this sort of thing. Being Santa is serious business!"

Behind him, his massive horse nickers a little and shakes the bells in his mane. "I suppose I did forget the snow and the elves, but you know how it is. But I just can't leave a deserving young woman without." He grins down at her, a sharp contrast to what she must remember of him, the blood staining his beard, the pain on his face, the fires later on. This is what he's supposed to look like.

"May I come in? Don't worry. My companion will stay outside."

[assholic]

There was an odd, unusual urge to hug him, and she had to fight not to. She didn't know this man. Didn't know more than a name and that he had balls and a good attitude towards torture. And that he was one of those self-sacrificing types. Still, she hadn't expected to see him again, and seeing him dressed up like Santa on her doorstep had her letting out a surprised laugh. "Jesus. Yeah, yeah. Come in. God, don't let Clark know you've brought a horse over. He'll wind up building a goddamn stable attachment to the house for it."

Stepping back, she swept her arm to gesture him in. "I can't believe you actually have the damn suit."

[panzersoldat]

He wouldn't have minded a hug. Reinhardt is a very physical man. He would have likely hugged her back, maybe even picked her up. But as it was, he stands there with his sack of goodies, beaming down at her like she's his best friend and not just a vague acquaintance that had definitely joined him in not enjoying their week long get away.

He turns his head back to the horse and gives a nod. In German, he gives a command. The horse tosses his mane again and then happily trots off to somewhere. He'll be back if Reinhardt whistles for him, the proper knight's white horse. "I won't tell a soul, cross my heart."

He'll duck his head to get in through the door. He's not sure if he needs to take his boots off at the door. He stands sort of awkwardly trying to figure out. He wants to be a polite guest is someone else's house. Until he sees the beer. His smile splits wider and he nods to the bottle. "Beer and bacon for Santa? I should have brought better presents!" Not that he's going to steal her beer. He's better than that.

He sets the bag down and gives a laugh. "I do. You see, I know there are children here." Well, teenagers really, far too old to believe in Santa any more, but that doesn't matter. To Reinhardt, children all the same. "And at the holidays I thought they might like to have a little taste of home. Something nice. So I commissioned this from a tailor." He had hand-carved wooden toys, trinkets, and jewelry. He had baked German holiday sweets. Reinhardt went all out, the whole shebang.

"And now there's someone else that Santa needed to visit. I'm sorry I'm late." He had wanted to come sooner, but recovery had taken priority.

I

[godwins]

Bucky comes up here to check on Steve— his Steve— and now his creepy other self, who's come back and forth a few times. The latter is just to keep tabs, or at least that's what he tells himself. Looking at the other Bucky, with his long hair and blank face, he thinks they don't even resemble each other. Part of him wonders why he's staring. Part of him just feels spooked. It's that kind of place.

He's leaving when he runs into Jess, hands in his pockets but still standing up straight.

"Oh, hi." Their last run-in didn't go so well, but he hasn't been in a mood to hold grudges, lately. Still, he can't make himself sound chipper. Then he notices the bruises on her face and hands, and his expression sharpens. "You look— what happened?"

[assholic]

She hadn't thought about it much, to be honest. She'd told him no and that was the last she'd thought of it. She'd met the other 'him' before he'd gone back into the pod, and she figured that was a level of self reflection and personal crisis she didn't want to have anything to do with. And since then, she hadn't really seen him around. Figures she'd find him here.

His expression says it all, and she wonders whether it's actual concern or that weird old-timey guy thing where 'dames' don't walk around looking like they got the shit kicked out of them. "You saying I don't look my usual best? I'm wounded."

[godwins]

That he doesn't say "you look like hell" is maybe an old-timey guy thing, but Bucky's punched a girl before. He didn't wonder very long if he'd done the right thing by doing it, either.

"Maybe if you did your hair up. That's what I used to do." Which is mostly a joke, but he did try it once, when he was eleven, and it didn't actually keep anyone from noticing the black eye.

He does wonder what happened to Jessica, since he knows about all the kidnappings. And maybe he's preparing to ask, when he sees something in one of the pods that stops him.

[assholic]

"I'm not big on fussing." Truth. She bore her wounds quietly and just hoped they healed quickly. Fortunately for her, they usually did.

Hands in her pockets, she was starting to walk past him when he halted. "What, you spy other you? I hear he went back before the shit went down."

[godwins]

"No," he shakes his head, still clearly spooked. "I think— I think that's my father."

He doesn't take a step forward. All of his thoughts have flown out of his mind, like paper airplanes out a window.