nysalogs | Trust is earned, not given

Entry tags:

Trust is earned, not given

Who: Jessica Jones (

assholic) & OPEN
What: April's catch-all
When: Beginning of April until at least the 21st (likely also usable for log threads from the event)
Where: Wyver; The pubs, her home with Clark, the arenas. Thesa Station; Visiting the pods to check on her people, the bars.
Warning(s): As this post will also be available for the memory share event, there is a possible warning for discussions and/or graphic descriptions of sexual assault and violence. I'll update which threads need to be warned for. Usual warning of language and possible sexual content. Update: Jessica/Brock's thread has a cw for sexual assault memories.

I: Thesa Station
[When the whole idea of living rustic got a bit too much for her, or when she just wanted to stop feeling like she was being judged or watched by everyone in Wyver, she headed up to the station. She figured she'd get in as much time there as she could, considering how long they'd been locked out from visiting before. Their tech seemed to be iffy at best. Plus, they had better alcohol there that she knew wasn't laced with anything magical, and that right now as an immense bonus.

There was also Trish, and lately, Jess had a lot to talk to her best friend/sister about, and it was killing her that she wasn't there, wasn't really there to give her advice. Or laugh at the shit she'd gotten herself into.

So on Thesa Station, Jessica could be found either hanging around Trish's pod, drinking herself into a stupor, or heading to sleep it off in a corner/cot/room. There's also the wildcard option, if none of those fit.]

II: Wyver
[Despite wanting not to, she still lived in Wyver. She had people down there she gave a shit about, and despite part of her thinking they'd be better off without having to deal with her shit, there was too much going on right now for her to think about leaving them. No one was safe on the planet. Not in either town. But for the moment, even after her... ordeal, she was sticking with Wyver.

That choice might have something to do with the person she lived with, but she wasn't about to tell him or anyone else that.

In Wyver, Jessica could be found working at the Arenas for money to burn, trying to avoid the odd accolades some shops were giving her because of the ring she'd been seen with in public before stuffing it in her pocket, drinking herself into a stupor, and trying not to get herself into more shit than she was already in. That might be a tall order. There's also a wildcard prompt if none of these suit.]

III: Memory Share - (CW: Potential mention of sexual assault/trauma/violence with some of Jessica's memories)
[As if what she'd gone through hadn't been enough, now she was seeing other people's thoughts? Or... memories. The whole thing played like a VR snippet of someone's life, and she felt a growing sense of dread that the next bubble she got caught in would be her own instead of someone else's -- a fact she was bothered by enough considering the immense invasion of privacy that it was, one that crossed a line beyond snooping and taking pictures of someone in the act. This sincerely bothered her, and for the duration of the event, she would be very... unsettled.

(As a large lump of memories from Jessica's canon/past deal with sexual assault/violence/drug abuse, I'd like to make sure anyone who'd like to play with one of her memories is fully understanding of the scope of them and to double check on what people are comfortable with. Please PM or PP me (

junglewere) if we haven't already talked about it or it's new CR, or just to make sure we're all on the same page and no one is made uncomfortable or upset by anything threaded.)

This can be a prompt for either people to come across her memories, or her to come across others. Or, there's a wildcard option if you'd prefer.

IV: Wildcard
[Wildcard in general. If none of the other options are what you'd like or you have a specific scenario in mind, please feel free to write your own starter or msg me for specifics if you'd like.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Where's fucking Danny when you need him...?

[She grit her teeth and drew back her hand, bringing her fist down on the crinkle as hard as she could. Rape round two had started, and she could hear the cloth tearing as the bellhop lay over her, intentionally digging his knee into the ruin of hers while he started to rut on top of her. Kilgrave laughed from his vantage point, offering 'suggestions' and tips while Jessica quietly fed him from the plate she held, trying not to notice what was happening while she screamed on the inside.

She'd looked the bellhop up after as well. Apparently when you come out of being mind controlled into raping a seventeen year old virgin who lost her leg afterwards and you were a happily married man with a daughter around the same age, the thing to do was to kill yourself. Or, that's what he'd done. She didn't blame him. She didn't think he was weak for doing it. She didn't think he'd screwed his family over by leaving them. He'd been broken. On the inside. And sometimes that kind of breaking can't be fixed. Broken people can be unpredictable. Dangerous. She wasn't glad he was dead, but she understood.

The first punch had sent a ripple through the image, the sound distorting for a minute, the room darkening a bit. The second made the ripple larger, a loud crack sounding to cover sounds she wished she could unhear. The third sent fissures all through the memory in a random, three-dimensional zig-zag that touched everything but her and Brock. The fourth shattered it completely, and she was on her knees by the side of the bar, Brock beside her. Enough time had passed that it was night now, but Jessica wasn't noticing that. She was just feeling the numbing sensation of her hand hitting something hard. Again. And again. And again. She didn't really notice when the memory burst, and instead of punching at a rift, she was now punching into the ground, hitting stone and feeling it cut across her knuckles.]

I don't know who that is.

[It didn't take a genius to hear the change in scene, the way that there was the sound of flesh on flesh behind them as they worked. He was less effective in his attempts to assist in this matter, sitting on his ass and ramming his heel into the spot she was punching when he could, but his strength was good but not on the same level as her own.

The fact that it took so much to get out of this particular memory was a testament to the strength of the Storm that they were enduring, even if it was little more than a fragment to the real thing. It wasn't a relief so much as a progression of the evening when the memory shattered and they were left in the dark alley next to the tavern that Jessica apparently liked to frequent. He wondered if she would tonight.

He didn't touch her, knew better than to startle her at this point, but her continually punching the ground was going to break her hand. That would just put an entire damper on the evening.]

Jones, that's enough. We're out. Deep breath but stop punching the ground. [He wrinkled his nose.] And my ass is wet from sitting here. God, I don't want to know what I'm sitting in.

[It took another punch or two before his words sunk in enough that she could take in more of her surroundings. That she was smelling fresh dirt and grass and the clean air of the new world they were on instead of the smells from that room. The tang of blood was still there, but it was hers, and it came only when her hand passed close to her face.

She stopped, bent over, hands on the ground with her fingers digging into it, trying to get a hold of herself. Her knuckles were white as she felt the grit from the ground dig in under her nails, her shoulders shaking as she took in long, deep breaths.]

Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane...

[Her voice was quiet, shaky, a little breathy as she recited those familiar street names. As they did shit all to calm her, but it was a familiar routine, and that had her getting her breathing back under control.]

Goddammit.

[He almost considered shoving her over with a foot to the side when she punched twice more, but it seemed that she had snapped out of it. He rested his palms against the ground and looked up to the sky beyond the building they were near, giving her what little privacy that he could. He'd let her walk away, but he wouldn't be the first.

He and his crew had seen ton of terrible shit, and it was a rule of thumb never to leave someone suffering alone. Not until there was no gun to finish the job combat stress had started.]

I can see why you wanted him fired into space. He's a fuckwit.

[On any other night, at any other time, she'd laugh. It wouldn't be a ha-ha laugh, but more of a stressed, needing to relieve tension laugh. She wasn't able to dredge that up just yet. Instead, she sat there for a few moments more, then lifted her head to look at him through the curtain of her hair.]

He's a fucking virus.

[He spread and corrupted everything he touched, and if he ever woke out of that pod, they were all fucked.]

Just... don't try to... whatever. I don't want to talk about it anymore.

[No, what Jessica wanted now was to spend every last silver she had on cleaning out the tavern of their last drop of alcohol.]

[He shrugged his shoulders and finally pushed himself to stand up again, dusting off the wet hind end with a hand before he reached out with the other in order to help her up. They were going to have to deal with that hand, and he figured a tavern had a bit better lighting than standing out in the street. Plus, there was no telling when the next memory might decide to hit.]

What happened to the girl?

[That was likely the most pressing question. He didn't think it would involve Kilgrave much, since that topic was now over. He imagined that everyone in the room but her either died or wish they were dead.]

[She looked at the hand and a part of her really didn't want to take it. She wanted to hit it aside, maybe get up and scream at him a bit. But she recognized that was just her needing to lash out, because she'd been hurt, was hurting, and she wanted to hurt someone back. And that person was currently sleeping up in a pod, all snug and cozy.

So she made herself take it, letting him help her up, because while she might have lived through that, it wasn't something she'd want anyone to see, even without the aspect of her being involved. She wouldn't want to see it if it had been someone else's life.

The question made her flinch, like he was blaming her for what happened, but she took a breath, shaking her head and dusting the worst of the muck off her hands.]

Lost her leg. Wound up in a mental institute. Kept trying to hurt herself and talked about the mind controlling demon.

[Though, she was probably dead now too, along with the rest of the planet that hadn't been selected by the Orbiters for this little... whatever it was. Maybe that was a good thing.]

[He thought she might slap his hand away, refuse to take it because 'she could stand on her own two feet, thank you very much', but when she took it, he hauled her up easily. Likely she was shaken to her core, and in any other circumstance, he might have needled her to try to bring about a joke or offer a drink. He knew she'd go for the latter.

Instead, he casually slung the arm he had used to pull her up across the back of her shoulders in a kind of weird solidarity. It also might make certain no one walking by took it upon them to disturb the moment either.]

So that's the Kilgrave legacy. [That's what he was calling it now anyway.] ...you know, in the agency I worked for, he was on a kill-on-sight list. No questions asked, just a bullet to the brain. Unfortunately, not a lot of snipers hang out on random rooftops in cities... seems like you ended his legacy and ended up with a helluva lot of scars for it.

[It wasn't her fault, and he certainly didn't blame her. If anything, he had more insight into her complete asshole nature. Just meant he had new ins to bug her when all this memory shit was over.]

You guys should have put more effort into finding him.

[She didn't blame them. Not really. She was too used to people brushing the idea of him off as 'no big deal', until it was too late. The only thing of the whole shit show she could be relieved about was that Kilgrave was too stupid and indulgent to do more than make his life easier. If he'd had serious plans for being destructive, they might have gone after him harder. But she didn't doubt that more lives would have been lost.

Feeling the arm around her shoulders, she looked up at him, frowning. She didn't know him well enough to know how he was going to handle this. What he'd use against her, or if he would at all. It bugged her, but there was nothing she could really do about it. He hadn't intended to see it. She hadn't intended to let him. It was just the fucked up nature of this place and the Storm that had shoved them into that. Still pissed her off.]

If you start treating me like a delicate snowflake, I will happily fly up and drop you from a couple hundred feet.

Likely, but we didn't. There were bigger political fish to fry, I imagine.

[It was no excuse, but he wasn't going to take ownership for not killing a guy either. It wasn't the way that the cards had fallen, and as far as he was aware, Kilgrave had a much lower body count than some of the other heads of States that needed theirs to be pushed into a shallow ditch. If there had been a bigger move, there would have been a bigger response.

He glanced at her upturned face from the corner of his eye, but otherwise, he let her see his profile as if he were looking at something else far more interesting. He snorted at her threat and then leaned over to press an obnoxiously loud and sloppy kiss on her temple.]

You make it sound like I have the emotional capacity to feel sorry for you. Of course, is 'snowflake' off the table as a new nickname? I feel like I should clarify before you punch me into a wall.

Yes, asshole. Snowflake is off the fucking table.

[She gave him a shove, lifting her hand to wipe at where he'd kissed, mostly to show him she was annoyed than to get rid of any saliva that wasn't there.

But the small banter helped stabilize her, bringing her back from where her mind was running around to the here and now.]

I need a drink.

[And without offering for him to join her or waiting to see if he would, she marched off towards the front of the tavern, heading for the door.]

Damn, that one felt like a freebie.

[He rocked with the shove, having set himself to lean into it so he wouldn't be thrown right off of his feet. He nodded his head when she claimed she needed a drink, but he had a feeling she actually meant she wanted to start with a bottle and move on from there.

He followed her, mostly because she hadn't told him that he shouldn't. He had intentions to take a look at her hand as well, clean it up and bug her enough that she wasn't likely to think too much about what they had seen. She could fall apart when she was home wherever she actually lived with whomever she happened to live with.]

You must be this place's best customer.

They tolerate me.

[She went over to the bar that was peppered with people lined up against it, most of the tables and booths taken. There was a spot near the end of the bar with three stools still open, and she headed to sit with her back to the wall, pulling out a handful of silver and dropping it on the bartop.]

That dragon breath stuff. A bottle. And keep them coming.

[He meandered into the tavern and looked around, noting it was busy enough that the low hum of conversation would cover over the sad state of people drinking themselves into oblivion. He took the stool that left one between them, keeping that joke alive of personal space. Of course, he still set a foot on the stool bottom in order to claim it.

When the barkeep looked at him, he pointed at Jessica.] I'm with her, and she's paying. [Like a gentleman.] I'm also her mostly D.D. [If anyone knew what that meant.]

[No, Brock. No one knew what that meant. But the bartender set down two glasses and the large dark glass bottle that looked like you could see the contents inside swirling around on their own. He poured out into both glasses, the liquid having an odd metallic shimmer to it; amber with a red sheen.

She grabbed one for herself and tipped it back, dropping it back down and reaching for the bottle to pour herself another.]

You are not driving me home. Or dragoning me. Or... whatever other D word you want to shove in there.

[It was clear that D.D. was a swing and a miss when two glasses were set down and a bottle of booze he wasn't certain that he liked the look of. She would, of course, buy the potent stuff, and this wasn't exactly an establishment where asking for a glass of water seemed like it would go over well. Right, frequent trips to the bathroom it was going to be.]

I know. Drunk marriage proposal never end well.

[He picked up the glass and threw it back because the alternative was to make him look like a coward, and he wasn't that. It burned, and he gave a little involuntary cough as heat settled in his belly and yes, it was going to be a long night.]

Besides, if I drink much of this, you might be pushing me in a shallow ditch to sleep the night away.

Where's a Vegas when you need one.

[She finished her second shot, then poured a third, reaching over to half fill his glass. He would, of course, have to go easier than her, but that didn't mean he had to pussy out early on. She needed to just... not think of what she'd seen. Forget that it had been a reality for too long and lose herself in that comfortable numbness that drinking gave her when she hit a certain point.]

Of course I will. Your body will keep me out of the ditch enough that it might be comfortable.

Because I always wanted to be buried in a desert.

[There was heavy sarcasm in his voice, though also a tiny bit of old gravity as well. He took the half glass and downed it, wincing at the rising burn of alcohol, like the very fumes would give him the ability to breathe fire in no time. God, he hoped he wasn't drinking some form of sludge. He'd be fine with dragon blood or something; that sounded real mythical.]

As long as my body heat will keep you from freezing to death. You live far away from this drinking hole? I mean, we should angle towards a ditch in the direction of your house anyway. [He actually wasn't living anywhere, which was an adventure he hadn't missed.]

[Drink three went the way of the rest, and she looked over at him, glancing down to see his foot on the bottom of the stool in that casual way of saying 'mine' that body language had. She poured herself a fourth, leaving the bottle there for him to pour when and if he could handle more.]

Don't know if you've noticed, Spanky, but it's pretty warm around here.

[Guess who wasn't answering the last part of that.]

Don't know if you realize, Princess, but alcohol affects the ability of the body to regulate its temperature. Maybe you don't suffer from that? You that much of a special snowflake?

[He glanced at her as he poured himself another full glass, but he left it sitting there as he tried to pace himself. No point getting handsy tonight, despite the fact he was certain she'd probably be fine with a fuck or two.]

Let's be honest, we're more likely to get stabbed. This feels like a place that enjoys stabbing.

Call me a snowflake again, Shitface, and we're going to see just how little effort it takes to throw you through a wall.

[She'd slowed down herself, sipping the next glass, already feeling that warmth spreading up through her stomach to the rest of her body. There was a slight nausea that followed her drinking too quickly on an empty stomach, but she was used to that by now.]

Pickpockets. This place is full of pickpockets.

[Who knew well to avoid her by now. Three different attempts with three broken wrists and crumpled fingers had made her a 'no' as far as a target.]

You realize I might actually want that? Of course, I figure that would get you a ban here.

[He sipped at his alcohol and thought of the real possibility that he would be vomiting tonight at some point. He definitely should have eaten something more substantial than he had, but then again, he hadn't expected the night to go quite like this either.

He managed to look aghast at the idea of pickpockets. Man, how long had it been since he invested time and energy into that trade?]

Oh no, what will I do if they touch my flower?

[They had food here, if he cared to order it. It was a tavern, and unlike the bars back home, as long as the doors were open, there was something available to eat. Bread, stew, fruit, cheese. Of course, if he wasn't willing to fork cash over for it, he'd have to convince her to buy something.

She really wished they had pizza here. Almost enough to think about convincing someone to start making it.]

Cry like the little bitch you are?

[He was as close to order food here as he was to requesting food poisoning. He wished he had had some MREs on him, but alas, there hadn't been time to collect them with a building literally collapsed on him, so he was stuck with food here. Least he could cook like he was a boyscout over a campfire in the woods when he felt inclined to.

He snorted and downed the rest of his glass, already feeling the rising gentle buzz of the booze in his bloodstream. He normally kept himself to beer and the occasional shot. This stuff was strong too.]

You'll defend my honour, won't you?

Do you have any to defend?

[There was more bite to her words than she meant there to be, but if he couldn't handle her having a bad moment after that bullshit, then chasing him off early was probably for the best.]

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