nysalogs | Gravity -- why hath thou forsaken me?

Entry tags:

Gravity -- why hath thou forsaken me?

Who: Jessica Jones (

assholic) & Clark Kent (

apricitous) & OPEN
What: New ability rearing its head
When: December 07 - December 14
Where: Closed log @ her and Clark's home, randomly around Wyver.
Warning(s): Language? Will adjust if needed

Whether it was the Orbiters enhancing something she already had or something new creeping into her system, Jessica Jones was now capable of more than just 'falling with style'. Her morning with Clark and how well that had gone (/sarcasm) was making her a little concerned about having to leave the house. As to what that meant to others?

They might come across a scowling woman clutching onto a doorway. Or a tree. Or maybe she's reached out and grabbed someone -- perhaps a little too hard? Anyone noticing this might also notice that during these times, her feet might not always touch the ground, and if she's grabbed onto someone, that someone might feel an odd upward tug.

God help anyone that makes her jump. She'll remember you. She'll owe you.

[Feel free to PM about specifics or pp me @

junglewere. Open prompts for anyone in Wyver, but she can be pinged/messaged by people in Olympia if anyone happens to gossip.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

His eyes are still, technically, on his book. But he glances up at her.

"Would you like my assistance?"

She has her teeth clenched, face pressed to the ceiling. She doesn't look down at him when she answers. "Would you like to suck my dick?" She pushes off from the ceiling, moving back down halfway to the floor, then just sort of... hovering there. Well, that was better than bouncing back up.

He's still on the couch, book still in hand.

"You'd have to ask me out for drinks before I considered it. Lucky you, I'm a cheap date."

The book closes.

"I'm not your nanny. I'm not going to tell you what to do. But if you want my help, you have it. So... do you want my assistance?"

She tries to grab for him, but she's just windmilling in the air, kicking her feet and getting nowhere. She huffs, slumping, which looks utterly ridiculous in midair. "I hate you."

"As you like." Book is opened again. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm here."

She glared at him, wishing for just a moment that she had laser eyes. She'd zap him in the ass. Hovering there in the air, she rubbed her face over her hands, trying to take a deep breath and just... think about something else. Like the alcohol she wanted. Another kick of her leg proved that she wasn't going to swim in the air. That, apparently, wasn't how this worked.

So she thought about-- nope. Not thinking about that. That's what had gotten her in this mess... and there she went, back up to the ceiling. "I really, really hate you." No she didn't.

"I'm not holding out for the word 'yes' like a four year old," he says as he turns a page, "but something that actually sounds like an affirmative would do. As opposed to 'really really' hating me."

"It's your fault I'm up here," she grumped, opting to try to pull herself along the ceiling towards the kitchen. Hey, this was kind of working.

Oh, that gets the book closed.

"It most certainly isn't."

"Is so," she shot back, not looking back at him as she reached the little dip in the doorway she had to crawl over, upside down, to get into the kitchen.

"Blameshifting is beneath you, Jessica," because nope, not going to let himself get riled. Nope, because it's ridiculous. His flying wasn't contagious, after all.

"...much like everything else right now."

Yeah, he said that.

"I'm putting it squarely where it belongs. I had it all under control, and then I had to go and think about you and your stupid rumblecock and you can't just say that to someone that hasn't gotten laid in like, two years. It's fucking rude." She was pulling herself over to the cupboard now, letting out a soft 'aha' of victory as she opened the door and reached down for her bottle. "There's a Geneva Convention for a reason."

Blink.

Blink blink.

Blink blink blink.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me." She knew he had. He heard everything. She angled herself around, pushing down so she was mid room level again, pulling the cork free and taking a long, long swallow.

"I certainly heard you," he says with a snort as he puts his book aside and actually looks up at her, "I'm just wonder-"

Okay, he's processed that a couple times and now he's figured out what she meant. Huh. Well, it's certainly a thought, though it strikes him as less helpful than-

Detour. Detour. Deeeetour.

"I was actually talking about my tongue. Though... I suppose I could? It strikes me as more awkward than enjoyable, though."

By which he meant that he had no intention on a cease fire here. After all, no skin off his nose if she decides to float through the apartment all day.

"And I don't believe the Geneva Convention addressed that point."

"Your what?" Her nose wrinkled and she gave him a semi-perplexed look from the kitchen. Then thought about it. "Oh. Enh, I guess that's a thing some people might like."

Another long guzzle, followed by a whoop as Jessica fell flat on her ass, spilling alcohol on... yes. Her jeans. "Goddammit!" She only had two pairs, Clark. This was bullshit. Now she was going to smell like a drunk all day. Great.

Getting up, she brushed at the wet stains, scowling. "Sure they do. I'm sure sexual torture's in there somewhere."

He'd startled and been about to check and see if she was all right before he heard the 'goddammit'. Then he settled back on the couch to watch her stand.

"And I don't recall bringing out the nipple clamps."

But he does actually stand up at that point.

"Are you all right? Other than smelling like a still?"

See this look, Clark? It's the look of a woman who has no problem with coming over and punching you in your smug, pretty face. "Ha, ha. Look who's found their moonlighting job as a comedian."

She had a very strong urge to just go back to bed and try to mulligan this day. Somehow, she doubted that would be effective. "Why, you wanna kiss my booboo better?" At least she hadn't spilled much. The whiskey was actually pretty good, and she went to get an actual glass to pour it in.

And he will be a good moppet and roll with it so you don't break something, even if it smarts. But his head tilts to one side to agree yes, he's being a little snarkier than is necessary. He doesn't like watching people flounder when he's right there. It puts him in a mood.

"Slammed through a mountain, remember? I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"This is why I'm sticking with bobbing around like a lame Disney character inside. Where there are no mountains." Look at her, Clark. She was wise.

"I like to think the mountain had it coming," he says with a shrug. "Not that we were close or anything. Also, it did hurt."

"..." She came to stand in the doorway, arms folded as she looked over at him. "I hope wherever you come from, people tell you you're weird."

"I'd need to have friends for that. Never managed to make any."

The line isn't delivered for sympathy. It's matter of fact, a reality of his life. Secrets meant closeness wasn't possible. He'd had Lois and his own mother. There were people he was acquaintances with, but no one he told things like 'I crashed into a mountain' or 'laughing too hard makes me float a few inches unconsciously'.

"Not any I got to keep, anyway."

"What?" Have a look of complete surprise, Clark. Because this was Jessica, thrown for a loop. "How the hell do you not have friends. You're a goddamn human puppy. You slobber love and goo on people. You've got sunshine spilling out of your ass. I call bullshit."

There's a long, slow blink from that description, but he just shakes his head and moves to take out the garbage. Might as well get that done before he gets dressed for real.

"You have a... very interesting view on me, Jessica. But the fact of the matter is that you can't have friends when you spend most of your life drifting and the other half hiding everything important about yourself from people."

The bag is pulled out of the bin and he starts to replace it automatically.

"The people in my hometown weren't... the best. I told you about the panic attacks, the fits. Small town, small school... people have their opinions. Not all of them are kind." The bag is fitted to the bin. "Some of that faded when I got older, had a handle on myself, but I still couldn't do most of the things kids do for fear of hurting someone. Even then, things were gling all right. I almost made a few friends before I had to pull our bus out of the river."

He flicks a smile over at Jessica.

"Then they were scared of me. Or they wanted to test me, so they pushed me around. Tried to see if I'd crack and do something weird."

He waves a hand as he heaves up the garbage bag. His tone is simple, matter-of-fact. There's a bit of old pain in there, he wouldn't even imagine to try and lie about that, but it's just a reality of his life. Something he'd learned to live with.

"I got older, I left town. I traveled, trying to find something, someone like me, some trace of where I'd come from. Sometimes I got to stay for a while, but invariably something would happen and..."

He spreads his one hand with a shrug.

"It was the bus all over again. Or it would have been. I learned to move on quick. Saved time."

Then he's taking out the trash.

Edited 2017-12-07 22:16 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject